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#grabbing the shovels boys
outismm · 2 years
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Do they know how much I love them
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dalesgf · 3 months
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E????EXCUSE MEWHAT?????!!!!!!!!!??:8/&&.$2&;$
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So, I imagine that Soap is around 5'11, which is not short at all, even if it seems so if you look at the people he works with.
However, from his whole family, he is the tallest.
His da is 5'8, his brother is 5'9, his sisters are 5'2 and 5'3 and his mam is 5' nothing. To his family, Johnny is not only tall but also overgrown.
(This is also why entering the military was a shock to the system --- Soap was used to being pretty tall if not the tallest person around and then boom, he's smol)
The first time Soap takes Ghost to his family home, he is instantly named a giant. Literally, his mam when she sees him says something along the lines of 'and I thought my boy was a giant' and his da makes the typical joke of 'what does the army feed you?' and one of Soap's sister says she 'woulda climb him like a tree too if she had the chance' and his brother goes all 'was gonna give the fella a shovel talk but I think he's too big too bury by myself any case'. Soap is so embarrassed by them but Ghost is awkwardly shy anytime his height is pointed out.
On top of it, he tries to help Soap's mam in the kitchen (I like to think he likes to cook) and there is the comical image of her, standing there tiny at 5'0 and Ghost towering over her at 6'3 or 6'4 (Soap's not sure, Simon slouches often) and trailing behind her as she orders him around. There's literally a moment when she goes to grab herself a step ladder to reach something on the top shelf and Ghost just stretches his arm a bit and gets it for her. She might or might not ask if he can dust the cobwebs from the corners of the ceilings she can't reach herself. (Ghost dusts the cobwebs, duh, even if Johnny can't snicker at him enough).
Johnny's brother uses Ghost's height to make his kid eat his veggies, 'if you eat your veggies, you're going to grow as tall as him'. Ghost goes along with it.
The kids in general treat him like a walking jungle gym --- especially because he's not only tall but also strong enough to function as a walking jungle gym. One of Soap's nieces who used to love piggyback rides from him now insists Ghost has to be the one because he makes her feel taller than Soap does.
They're supposed to sleep in Soap's childhood bedroom and Soap's da brings in an ottoman and a couple of pillows so Ghost's feet 'don't stick out'. Soap laughs it off until he realizes that Ghost's feet would, in fact, stick out from his tiny double bed if he slept straightened out.
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ohimsummer · 3 months
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✎ . . .❝ SATORU, BE NICE! ❞
— poly! satosugu verse, satosugu x reader, feeding them, shoko cameo, satoru serial sweets devourer, kind of proofread, I wrote this in twenty minutes EUGH
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You’ve never heard of ‘selective smelling’ before, but you think Gojo might have it. Not thirty seconds after you’ve taken the lid off your peach cobbler, there’s the quick scrub of metal against wood flooring, and you turn around to see him sitting next to you at your kitchen island. His gaze darts back and forth between yours and the dessert in front of you. It’s a silent, obvious question. Or more like a demand, because if you even hint at a refusal then he’ll whine about it for hours.
Sighing, you ask, “Do you want som–“
“Glad you asked!,” he interrupts, smile growing as Gojo leans forward, chin in hand. “Yes, indeed I do.”
Shoko chimes in from your couch. “Tell him to piss off, he’s so greedy.” Geto nods in agreement.
He turns to glare at her. “Shut up, she offered.”
“Yeah, because you were gonna stare her down otherwise.”
Your eye catches Geto’s, and you both share a grin and a head shake. Creamy, vanilla ice cream plops down from your spoon to top off the peachy dessert, and Gojo halts his bickering at the sound of metal scraping hard plastic. He looks to see you shoveling the spoon into your mouth, watches the content look on your face as you savor the flavorful taste. Comparable to a begging puppy he is, wide, pleading eyes and you can practically see a tail wagging behind him as Gojo hungrily eyes the bowl. Ocean blues flicker in your direction, brows raised in a ‘my turn?’ as his hand creeps toward the spoon.
“Ah, ah.,” you scold him. “I’ll do it, you might eat half of it in one bite again.”
You find Geto slipping into the chair behind you as you scoop up another, normal amount of peaches and vanilla on the spoon. Gojo’s eyes light up, bright and vibrant, you think you see a trace of drool on the corner of his mouth. Though his excitement is swiftly replaced with confusion when you pull back, avoiding the swipe of his hand to grab the utensil from you.
“Open up, ahhh!,” you mimic the command to him, holding a hand beneath the spoon to capture any drips. Satoru obeys without complaint, delight shining through his expression as you dip the spoon into his mouth, retrieving it from closed lips to find it now empty. In typical dramatic fashion, he gives a loud moan, beaming the whole time, enjoying the sweet taste of peaches and cinnamon.
“Good boy.” And you pat the white strands atop his head. Gojo’s eyes flit open at your praise, chews hesitating for a second, before flecks of red begin to sprinkle across his cheeks. Geto chuckles at his friend’s embarrassment, before looking at you offering him a taste.
“Want some?”
Gojo, face still a light shade of red, wraps possessive arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder to lean his head against yours. “Don’t offer him any, it’s for me.”
And if Geto didn’t want some before, he definitely wants a try now. “Sure, I’ll have some.”
Call it utter betrayal, or Gojo’s craving for your attention at all times, but either way he doesn’t like the victorious look Geto gives him as he leans forward to take the spoon between his lips, allowing you to feed him in the same fashion.
“Oops!” Gojo looks away as he readjusts, bumping your arm and causing you to smear a dollop of ice cream on the corner of Geto’s mouth.
“Satoru!,” you give him a disapproving look, thumbing away the white cream and licking it off your finger, not noticing the way Geto studies the motion. “Be nice, or you don’t get anymore!”
He only gives a pouty ‘fine!’, and watches in what might as well be agonizing pain as the spoon disappears into Geto’s mouth. He chews it once, twice, a couple times, and then swallows it down.
“Like it?,” you ask.
“Very much.” Geto’s never been too big on sweets. “Can I have another try?”
Gojo leans forward to stare right at you, pulling you into hypnotizing rivers of sky blue. “No, it’s my turn!”
He’s never been one to argue just for the sake of it, but over you, Geto will gladly engage. “You’re gonna end up eating most of it anyway.”
“That’s not the point, and I got here first, wait your turn!”
And while they bicker, you just eat spoonful after spoonful, raising indifferent brows at Shoko and she smirks in return. Maybe it’ll be all gone by the time they decide who goes next, and neither of them will get another taste.
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@staryukis satoru dog comparisons so I thought of u bestie <3
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beefrobeefcal · 19 days
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the BEEF | #1: Joel Miller
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Summary: no-outbreak AU, Joel has a headache and that headache wants his attention. [based on a prompt THOT up in collaboration with @strang3lov3]
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 3,833
Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, angry fools who want to play hide the sausage, angry joel, shovel violence against a truck, monster cock, age gap (joel is in his 50's, reader is younger), p in the v (unwrapped), rough dresser sex,
Author's Notes: welcome to the BEEF. Each P-boy has a thorn in their side that has to be dealt with. Thank you to @covetyou for inspiring the idea, and thank you @neverwheremoonchild, @strang3lov3, @rebel-held & @bitchesuntitled for their brains and eyes.
and thank you to every friendo in the Bistro - it's all for you, babies.
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Joel Miller was your street’s cranky asshole. No one dared throw a party or hold a garage sale without letting him know first. No one dared let their grass get over a certain length and the whole neighbourhood breathed a sigh of relief when he would go out of a town and not see the kids scribble with chalk on the sidewalks in the summer. He never called the cops; no, instead he showed up and berated whoever was hosting an event or engaging in an activity he found offensive. And he was intimidating. He wasn’t the tallest, but he was built like a brick shithouse. You’d lived on the block for almost nine years, and in that time, Joel had gone from being a broad, sturdy single father to a single, empty nester who lived off HungryMan frozen meals. He was a big man with linebacker shoulders and a meaty chest stacked on top of a boulderous belly. His plaid button up shirts always looked like they were holding on for dear life to avoid his temper.
And you were utterly in love with him.
Before the most recent snowfall, you’d been in your room on your bed with the window open a crack to let in some fresh air. Right below your window was Joel’s front porch, and as soon as you heard his door fly open, you grabbed your vibrator and listened.
“Get off my lawn!”, you heard him bellow at who ever had dared to approach his house.
You smiled to yourself and turned on your purple silicon friend and shoved it in your underwear.
As Joel berated the hapless victim of his temper, you nudged yourself closer to the edge. As you did, you cared less about the volume of your cries and let your noises out at top volume. By the time you came, Joel was standing on his porch with his mouth agape, staring at your bedroom window and the offending party walked away with a look of disgust.
*****
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.
You watched as your snow shovel slipped out of your hands and hit your Joel’s truck. The one with the vanity plate ‘SM 9000’ that you had no clue what it meant. You could only sit back and watch as it fell and gouged in the paint job on Joel’s 1989 Dodge Ram pickup, your panties grew damp as you heard his front door open and slam against his house.
You turned around, raising your hands, trying to look like you were de-escalating the situation. “Joel, I-“
“The fuck’re you think you’re doin’?!”, he bellowed, stomping towards you.
As he yelled and flew into a tantrum over your shovel’s sins, you couldn’t help the stupid, lovesick half grin blooming on your face.
“… and you ain’t got no respect for no one’s property and…”, he stopped, took a breath, and looked you over, face twisting in a confused rage as he tried to figure out why you were looking at him as if he were a can of tuna and you were a cat watching him being pulled open ever so gently.
“The fuck is wrong with you?!”, he yelled, stepping forward, trying to scare you to no avail. He huffed and stomped his foot, trying to snap you out of whatever trance you were in.
You sighed and tilted your head, loving the attention he was finally bestowing on you, not caring that your reaction was essentially dumping gasoline on a house fire.
“Fuckin’ disrespectful shit…”, he snarled as he grabbed your arm and dragged you towards his house.
“Joel? What’re you doing? Where we going?”, you asked with a big dumb grin on your face then wincing at the harsh grip he had on your elbow. Your boots slipped and skidded on the icy walkway and you tripped heading up the stairs.
“Fuckin’ clumsy dumbass…”, he grumbled, shoving you through his front door and slamming it behind you both.
You looked around his entry way, noting the ugly wallpaper and the stale cigarette smell lingering. You crinkled your nose, and he turned around, his frown deepening into a scowl.
“Boots off!”, he barked, harshly motioning to your feet.
You didn’t miss a beat and toed them off quickly, kicking them into the wall. His jaw clenched as he watched the dirty snow clumps slide slowly down, leaving wet patches on his yellow-turned-brown floral wallpaper.
His eyes snapped up to yours, expecting an apologetic look. Instead, he was met with…
“Why the fuck you lookin’ at me like a love sick puppy?”
Joel was enraged. You didn’t run away or beg for forgiveness. No. You stood in his entry way, kicking your boots and making a mess, looking like he was David Cassidy or Patrick Swayze. You smiled back softly and that was the last straw for him.
“WHAT IN THE FRESH HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”
You could have cum right there. Joel Miller was yelling right in your face. You’d gotten off by listening to him lose his shit at anyone trying to fundraiser or collect donations who had dared knock on his door but having a front row seat to a live performance was better than you could have ever imagined.
Joel watched your lips part and your brows twitch as they furrowed and your head tilt back slightly. He heard your breath hitch between his furious growling breaths, and his eyes slid down your parka-clad frame and he swore he saw your thighs clench.
His eyes went wide as he realized the effect he was having on you.
“You fuckin’ dirty little shit…”
The whimper he received in response made his cock twitch in his WalMart Levi’s. He sucked in a harsh breath and swallowed hard. He hadn’t had a woman look at him like that since he went to the strip club with his brother for his bachelor party, and he knew she was looking for a hefty tip. But you – the only thing he could think of is that you were trying to find a way to get out of paying for the damage your shovel caused. There was no waythat you were actually interested in him in that way. No. No woman had wanted to fuck him since before his daughter, Sarah, had been in junior high. He was a fat old asshole and you… you weren’t.
“Joel…”
Your soft voice pulled him back and the frown he carried all but left his face, being replaced with eyebrows to his hairline and his mouth open in confusion and shock.
“Joel, I… I’m sorry about your truck.”
You grabbed the zipper to your parka and pulled down, opening it to reveal your great aunt’s knitted sweater with a loon on it. Joel’s widened eyes swept over you and his brows furrowed.
“The hell you up to?”, he croaked, trying to sound intimidating.
“It’s warm in here”, you respond, tossing your parka on to, but missing completely, the stair banister.
His mind was racing. You actually seemed to be coming on to him as you stepped closer in your mismatched socks. You looked up at him through your lashes while your hands slowly slid up your legging-clad thighs and up to the hem of your sweater. He watched as you pulled it over your head slowly, getting it stuck for a moment, revealing a worn out white t-shirt with a faded image of a marshmallow peep and the slogan ‘Holla At My Peeps!’. He took another step back and you tossed your sweater at him, and he stumbled back, falling onto his recliner.
“Jesus, woman!”, he hollered, ripping your sweater off his head just in time to see you standing above him.
“You know how hot you are?”, you asked, leaning forward over him.
He froze. He must be dead. Or asleep. Or maybe he slipped when he stormed out the door to yell at you and hit his head. Or maybe he was drunk. Maybe he took a NyQuil tablet instead of the Omega 3-6-9 fish oil pills.
“The hell is wrong with you?”, he sputtered out, looking at you wide-eyed.
You didn’t answer. You only leaned forward, nudging your nose against his and letting out a breathy giggle. He tried to speak again, but his words got lost in the high pitch grunt he let out when your knee came up and nestled in between his thighs, pushing against the considerable bulge that had developed.
His hand involuntarily gripped your wrist that was supported on his arm rest, and he sucked in a deep breath.
“I know exactly what you need, Joel Miller.”, you cooed, tongue jutting out and licking your teeth, trying to sound seductive. “You need a good fuck.”
His mouth hung open in shock. You grinned wildly and kissed the tip of his nose before nipping at his bottom lip and tugging it between your teeth.
Joel let out a groan and closed his eyes, the hand on your wrist moving to your t-shirt’s hem and slipped underneath it. You nudged your knee against his crotch again and kissed him, tasting no-name waffles and burnt coffee.
The kiss seemed to break something in Joel. This wasn’t a dream, or an antihistamine induced hallucination or a concussion - this was real. You, his hot, young, stupid neighbour was crawling onto his lap and shoving your tongue down his throat.
He grunted lowly and pushed you back, looking up at you with dark eyes. You tried moving forward again, but his hand held you back.
A whine emanated from your throat, and he shook his head. “I’m not fucking you-“
You scoffed and he shushed you.
“Oh, hush and lemme finish, you loony shit!”, he huffed. “I was sayin’ that I'm not gonna fuck you in this chair; it barely holds my weight and if you’re gonna be bouncin’ on me, this fuckin’ thing’ll screw the pooch.”
You shrugged your shoulders, irritated. “Okay, fine. Then where?”
“My bed, you nimrod!”, he snapped with a scowl, then grinned. “Got a nice mattress with good lumbar support.”
*****
You had followed Joel to his room and were pleasantly… let down. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the beige walls and the picture of a horse above his non-exciting bed were not what you had thought he would have. What surprised you was the essential oil diffuser plugged in on his bedside table, giving the air a fresh lavender smell.
The fact that the rest of his house looked like a rejected concept for an early nineties sitcom and his bedroom looked like a bed and breakfast that had no theme, for some reason, made you want him more. This man and his lack of consistency. You needed him in you now.
Grabbing his arm and turning him around, you pulled him into a desperate kiss; teeth and tongues, fighting for real estate in each other’s mouths.
“Get naked, sugar.”, he grunted as he broke the kiss with a lopsided grin. He unsnapped his shirt, revealing a grey, stained undershirt, its ribbing pulled tight and stretched over his belly while his mouth and surrounding patchy facial hair glistened with your saliva.
While he wasn’t being that polite, he wasn’t being mean. That was a problem. Even with how mundane he’d revealed himself to be, it wasn’t enough. The residual dampness that made your panties stick to your core was a result of him yelling at you out front, and that goodwill your pussy had shown was slowly drying up.
Joel’s hands began to make quick work of his belt and stretch denim jeans, but he noticed you not moving to do the same.
His hand flapped at you in an urging motion, “Make with the no clothes. Can’t fuck you with them on.”
His eyes narrowed as he noted your lack of movement, and he paused. You began to see signs that Joel was getting mad, and your mind flipped through every situation you’d witnessed him lose his shit in.  What was it that would set him off quick? You weren’t about to throw a block party in his room, nor were you a religious group knocking at his door early on a Saturday. Then it clicked.
A devious grin broke out slowly on your face as you sat on his Temperpedic mattress and crossed your arms.
“Make me.”
“You indignant little shit…”, he growled, clenching his fist.
A flutter in your lower belly. More.
“Come on. Make me.”
“You fuckin’ tease… Fuck you!” His eyes were filling with fire.
An almost painful need bloomed in your core. More!
“Fuck me yourself, coward.”
He sputtered and guffawed, eyes wide in rage.
“You fuckin’ shit! Bangin’ up my truck and actin’ like a needy Jezabel just to fuckin’ tease me like this!”
You could have cum right there, between the iron grip on your wrist and his loud belittling.
You couldn’t stop the giggle that erupted, and he snarled. He grabbed your hand and yanked you up off the bed. You truly thought his back was bad enough that the effort of getting you up alone would be too much, but he shoved you against his dresser, then slamming his weight into your back. You whined, feeling your pussy clenching on nothing.
“You’re such a shit!”, he grunted, grabbing your elasticized waistband, and yanking your leggings and panties down on one side while your hand went to the other; the two of you awkwardly working towards removing your barrier.
When they were low enough on your legs to step out of, you clumsily did so, then tried to turn around to help Joel. He wasn’t fast enough, swearing under his breath as your hands lifted his belly to access his strained button fly. His mouth was on your neck, sucking and biting like a dog on a window while a steak was being grilled just on the other side.
You pushed his jeans down around his hips and they pooled around his ankles. He kicked them off and bit down on the crux of your neck and shoulder as your hand cupped and felt up his hard cock.
Jesus. Oh fuck.
Joel was hung. Like unreasonably so. You’d had your fair share of men slamming their pork steeples into your wet cunt, but none of them could even hold a candle to the monstrosity that sat heavy and covered in satin in your hand. You planted your hand on his chest and pushed him back, needing to get a peek at what Joel was packing. You immediately looked down, seeing the Wile E. Coyote faux-satin boxers protruding out in an impressive, and frankly intimidating, bulge.
“Oh shit...”, you breathed out, contemplating on whether you truly needed to do any serious sitting for the next week, or if you could maybe just get away with laying down at work.
His hand snapped to your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eye, and he gave you a dark smile, “Showed up to a gun fight with a knife, sugar?”
You didn’t have time to respond because Joel shoved his hand between your legs and harshly began rubbing your clit.
Your eyes fluttered and rolled back. Joel watched, an approving sneer on his face.
“’S fucked up … you like this?”
“uh…. Uh-huh…”
“You’re a lunatic…”
You smiled lazily. “You’re fingering a lunatic… w-what’s that say about you?”
He paused then huffed out, “That I’m fingering a lunatic, you moron.”
You let out a throaty laugh that bleeds into a moan as Joel shoves two thick fingers into your hole, slowly dragging them out before plunging them back in.
“You’re a sick little shit… you seducin’ and teasin’ an old man, an’gettin’ me all wound up… Neighbourhood headache… that’s you. Fuckin’ shit up and walkin’ away with a smile on her dumb face.”
“’M close… don’t…. don’t stop…”
His fingers kept the slow languid pace going as he leaned in and harshly whispered, “Unlike you, sugar, I don’t like to leave people disappointed.”
His eyes never left you, watching your every move. Every involuntary twitch and shudder, every flutter of your eyelids and breath leave your parted lips. He could feel it around his fingers and see it on your face that you were feeling everything intensely and now that he had you like this, he wasn’t going to let you go without making sure you weren’t going to pull this shit again.
Joel was many things, but a man who could let things go was not one of them. He was tired of hearing you cream and cry on whatever silicon thing you were shoving into yourself through your bedroom window as he lost his shit on someone; tired of seeing you make eyes at him while you sat in your front yard as he grumbled at a neighbour for the state of their lawn. He was still furious at you for once letting your hand - your soft, sweet, tender hand - linger on his when handing him his mail that was accidentally delivered to your home, forcing him to sit in his shitty recliner and try to finish with his calloused, rough, and hard hand. He never came.
You were going to pay for that. He’d promised himself that for almost five years and now here you were, on your way to being a muppet with how his hand played in your pussy. Joel’s time had come.
You came, moaning, on his hand as he watched, his fingers still moving in and out of you, and his thumb took up the task of tending to your twitching clit. Your face twisted and you cried out, trying to push his hand away.
Your tongue felt thick in your mouth and a moan seeped out. As you rode the wave, he yanked his hand out and grabbed your arm, throwing you onto the bed.
“Goddammit, you’re such a pretty shit.”, he grumbled, reaching for your ankle, and tugging your ass to the edge of the bed. You tried sitting up on your elbows, but he shoved you back down with his body weight.
His weight. Good god, he felt heavier and better than you ever thought he could as he pressed you down into the mattress.
But he got up off you, trying to wrangle your ankles and pull your exposed pussy to just the right spot to save his back from being strained. You tried sitting up again, wanting to have some sort of control over the situation, but Joel growled and grabbed your hips, and, in an impressive feat, flipped you onto your front all while grumbling about what a pain in the ass you were.
“Can’t even fuckin’ be considerate enough to stay put…”
You heard him spit then grunt, figuring he was priming that fucking meat wagon between his legs, and you let out an impatient huff.
“Knock that shit off!”, he snapped, flicking you on your ass cheek. “You just came, nimrod. You can fuckin’ wait!”
“Yeah… but I wanna cum again!”, you whined out with a smile, trying to not laugh at how irritated he was with you.
“I bet you do… but you’re on my time, and I am a patient man, sugar.”, he crooned lowly, snaking his hand up your back and to your hip. You squirmed a bit, but his hold kept you planted in place, and his other hand held his cock as he nudged it against your opening.
The smile on your face dropped as his huge member pushed in; your mouth opened, and out came a gasp followed by a choked moan.
“That’s it… Jesus Murphy…  not even fuckin’ your throat and I got you to shut your mouth…”
Yes, you knew Joel was huge. But it was just an abstract concept up until that moment. Now that he was shoving his massive dick into you, you felt like the universe’s mysteries were now clearly laid out. You knew what religion was right, who shot JFK, how they made the moon landing look real…
Nothing in life would ever surprise you again because you were being split open by this grumpy, fat man. You were being ruined by Joel Miller.
He grunted as he pulled back and then slammed into you.
“Tight little snatch, sugar… takin’ me like a champ.”
You couldn’t respond. Your brain had melted and left your skull empty, and you were unable to do anything but breathe loudly and moan, “S’too big… too big…”
Joel snickered and grunted, snapping his hips and shoving himself deep. You wriggled and squirmed, simultaneously needing him stop and to fuck you harder. Your head began to feel faint, and your core squeezed him, forcing a groan out of him.
He began to snap his hips faster, panting and grunting like the fat kid in gym class being forced to run a mile. You whined and squirmed, trying to get your knees under your body to be able to push back against him, to get him deeper, but he grabbed your calf and bit your leg right above your sock with a growl then groaned, “Stay… stay put… don’t move… jus’lemme… lemme finish…”
You let out a yelp than melted into a moan, throwing yourself into another orgasm. Joel’s thrusts became hurried and more erratic. The high-pitched whine that ripped out of Joel sounded like a dog begging for table scraps as he shot his load into you.
He collapsed onto your back, both of you panting. After what felt like hours but in reality, was only about 30 seconds, Joel had gone quiet. You nudged him, hoping to god he didn’t die from a pussy-induced heart attack. He grunted and struggled to push himself up off you, then flopped on the bed next to you. You rolled over onto your back and looked at him. His cheeks were flushed, and his brows furrowed; his wispy salt and pepper hair stuck to his forehead and his eyes were closed. He was still breathing heavily through his mouth. You smiled, feeling a fulfillment you hadn’t since you’d convinced your parents that it was your sister who broke the CD-ROM drive in the family computer even though it was really you. Cuddling into his, your fingers drew heart shapes in his sweat coated chest hair.
Now that he’d fucked you, you wanted to clear the air as it were, and make sure he wasn’t going to make you pay for any damage to his truck. “So…”
Joel grunted in response, one eye opening and looking at you.
“I was just wondering… what’s your licence plate mean?”
He sighed and closed his eye again. He said the meaning quietly and at first you weren’t sure you heard him right.
“What?”
His cheeks flushed a little harder and he rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a huff.
“ShagMaster 9000.”
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spamgyu · 2 months
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SVT VU - Orange Peel Theory // Drabble
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orange peel theory is making it's rounds on local tiktok and twitter. this is my humorous take on how the VOCAL UNIT discuss/deal with the orange peel theory with their significant others.
[hhu] [pu - coming soon]
JEONGHAN
"thank you." she grinned up at him as he placed a plate of oranges in front of her. she had been nose deep in her laptop, trying to complete her last email of the week when he unsolicitedly placed the snack in front of her.
much like all other times he had done when she was far too busy with work to remember to eat.
jeonghan placed a kiss atop her head as she happily munched away on the snack, a sly smile slowly growing on his lips as she grabbed another slice.
"would YOU peel oranges for me?" jeonghan crossed his arms over his chest.
"yes?" his girlfriend was taken back by the sudden hostility.
all while she was preoccupied with her daily zoom meetings and endless emails, jeonghan had brain rotted away on his phone – stumbling upon videos of girls testing their men .... with oranges.
he didn't understand why this was up for debate, knowing he would peel millions of oranges if it meant making his girlfriend's day all the better.
but he also wanted to have fun; setting up his own phone away from her sight as he captured the video just for him to laugh at.
he always did enjoy messing with her.
JOSHUA
joshua sighed for the third time since they had sat on the couch.
which was only about 5 minutes ago.
he glanced over at her to see that she had yet to take notice of the sound he had made, this time letting out a much more dramatic sigh.
giggling, she finally had taken the hint; taking her eyes off the television and looking over at him. "yes, honey, can i help you?"
"everyone else's girlfriends are asking for oranges..." he pouted. "peeled."
joshua wasn't much to keep up with trends, let alone be chronically online the same way his members were. she didn't think he would be well aware of the current debate taking over social media – and frankly, she didn't care for it.
it was just an orange.
"did you want me to ask if you would peel an orange for me?" she asked with raised brows.
"duh..." he nodded. during today's practice, he had overheard seungcheol and mingyu exchange stories of how their significant others had tested them with the theory – the rest of the boys soon joining in. everyone else seemed to have their own share of stories... but him.
"i– it's hypothetical though. it's more of if you're willing to peel–" she watched as he pouted once again. "would you peel an orange for me?"
joshua grinned, digging into his hoodie's front pocket to pull out two oranges, a banana, and an apple.
"apple?"
"i'll use my teeth."
"no!" she cried, grabbing the fruit from him.
JIHOON
"have you guys heard of the orange peel theory?" soonyoung asked, shoveling a spoonful of rice into his mouth.
she and jihoon shook their heads at their unsolicited guest who somehow managed to make himself a little too comfortable in their shared apartment; claiming that before she came along, he was jihoon's babygirl.
she didn't care to fight soonyoung over it; jihoon did enough of that himself.
"isn't that a gym?" jihoon quipped.
"that's orange theory, babe." y/n corrected, grabbing another shrimp from the middle of the table.
soonyoung always came over unannounced, but never empty handed – arriving today with seafood boil for all three of them to share.
"ah..." he nodded, taking the shrimp from y/n's plate – peeling it for her.
she was shit at peeling her own shrimp and jihoon was more than happy to make sure she didn't ruin her perfectly manicured nails.
soonyoung rolled his eyes at the couple who never stayed up to date with the latest internet trends. "sickening." he mumbled.
peeling shrimp was far more romantic than peeling oranges, anyways. but if anyone were to ask jihoon, he'd skin anything she asked him to.
including their unannounced guest.
SEOKMIN
he didn't exactly fail her humorous attempts to test him on the orange peel theory.
but he didn't pass either.
in his defense, she had asked him in the middle of the night – waking him from his slumber to ask if he would peel an orange for her, only to reply "tomorrow."
and he knew she wasn't mad. there was no reason to.
it was a silly tiktok she had seen while she scrolled next to her boyfriend who was deep asleep – practically shaking their walls with his loud snores.
but seokmin felt guilty after he had read the groupchat he had shared with his members, each of them sharing how their significant others had managed to bring up the hot debate topic circulating social media.
if he had known....
"babe... why is our fridge full of peeled oranges?" she laughed. she had originally gone into the kitchen to grab a drink only to be distracted by the lack of bottled waters.... and an abundance of orange filled tupperwares.
"i'm sorry."
glancing over her boyfriend who stood at the doorway of their kitchen, she let out another laugh – walking over to pull him into a hug. "did you peel all those?"
he nodded into her shoulder, making her giggle.
"i didn't take it personally."
"i did." he pulled away, bringing his fingers up to her face. "and now i smell like an orange."
SEUNGKWAN
"look what i brought!" he sang as he kicked off his sneakers, shaking the bag in his hand.
seungkwan had paid his family a visit, coming back from the tiny island just south of the mainland with various treats he enjoyed growing up.
including a bag of tangerines.
"ooooh!" she clapped, following him into the kitchen – digging into the bag of his mom's homecooking. "these are going to be so good. can you–"
before she could even finish her sentence, he had placed a peeled orange on top of one of the containers; a large smile on his face.
"thank you?" she reached for the fruit hesitantly; wary of the strange smile on his face.
"i'd peel oranges for you."
popping a slice in her mouth. "i know... thanks."
"any mundane thing, i'd do."
she nodded, still quite confused with his actions. "i know."
"just getting that out there." he clicked his tongue.
"okay... weirdo." y/n chewed.
seunkwan frowned at her reaction.
"i take it back." he snatched the fruit from her hand.
"hey!"
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@thegirlwhoimagined @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @f4iryjjosh @akeminy @yonabutnotyuna @tacosandbitch @vanillacheol @aaniag @bettybotterboughtabitofbutter @xbaekcult @alwaysalmostthere @ashkuuuu @morkswatermelonnnn @isabellah29 @lottogyu @bubbly-moon @lllucere
(for some reason it's not allowing me to tag some who wanted to be added to the perm tag list ... cries... pls check ur settings so i can for future posts)
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bagofshinyrocks · 4 months
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Snow Angels... Kinda
Prompt: Simon is sent outside to shovel the snow from the driveway, and the little one joins him. Whether or not he's of help to his dad is another matter entirely. [Requested by @ertepla]
Featuring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN!Spouse!Reader
Word Count: 0.9k
Warnings: expletives
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Simon was usually the monument of speed and efficiency. Grocery store runs were completed in less than ten minutes, didn’t even need to call you for clarification. Could get dressed in all his winter attire in about 2 minutes, starting in pajamas and ending in what you called a tactical marshmallow. And the snow in the driveway stood no chance once he whipped out the shovel.
Except when it came to your son.
He had to set a timer when it was time for the boy’s baths, otherwise he and the one-and-a-half-year-old would spend an hour splashing and dunking toys.
Making dinner was still speedy, but if your son was strapped to his chest, both of them would get distracted. The boy would try to stick his hands in everything, and Simon would let him.
“He’ll be pissed off if I don’t let him eat plain flour, and he’ll be pissed off if I do let him. In one of these cases, he’ll learn that he doesn’t like plain flour.”
The little shit kept eating plain flour.
And even if Simon did everything wrong when distracted by your baby (not that he ever did, the perfect bastard), you’d never wish it any different. The gentle side of him was one of your favorite parts of him, and your son had never seen any other.
The pediatrician noted that your baby knew a good many more words than the average kid his age, and you (to Simon’s embarrassment) chalked it up to how much Simon spoke to him.
You heard the rustling of Simon’s winter gear, and immediately your son perked up. 
“Dada?” he shouted.
More rustling and Simon looked in the doorway.
“Wassit, munchkin?”
You watched as the boy scrambled towards him, giggling.
“Do you want to help Dada with the snow?” you cooed, beaming.
Simon scooped him up and plastered his face in kisses. “Aw, little man’s always so helpful.” He glanced at the clock on the bookshelf. “But it’s almost his bedtime, innit? Alright if he comes with me?”
“Please. Tire him out so he’ll go to sleep.”
Simon chuckled and gave the boy a little toss in the air. “Let’s get you all bundled up, yeah?”
Simon took his time to bundle the boy up, with a sweater, a waterproof snowsuit, boots, a hat, a scarf, and mittens. The boy could barely walk in shoes, and you imagined there would be a lot of snow piles with a baby-shaped belly flop.
Simon would get two or three shovelfuls worth of snow into a pile, and then pause to see what the baby was doing. Putting snow in his mouth, and then spitting it out and whining at the temperature. Climbing up or sitting down in the piles. Trying to take the shovel from his dad.
Your husband sat the boy on the blade of the shovel and skidded him along the driveway. You could hear both of them laughing from inside.
Simon was about halfway through when your son tried walking again. Leaning onto furniture worked, but leaning into piles of unpacked snow was not helpful. With a squawk, he fell sideways into a pile.
Your husband turned at the squawk and belly laughed at the scene. Two kicking legs and nothing else.
He walked over and grabbed one of the flailing limbs. The boy’s snowy face came into view as Simon lifted him out of the pile with one hand, dusting him off a bit with the other. 
Normally, a baby would cry. But his dad was laughing and asking his son cheerfully about what he was doing. And so the boy laughed and squealed and clapped his mittened hands.
“Simon Riley,” you hollered from the kitchen window.
He turned with a grin and gave the boy a little swing.
“Don’t you dare drop my damn baby.”
Simon pretended to do so, lowering the boy, and then pulling him back up. Then lowering him, then pulling him back up. Both of them laughed and laughed, and you pretended to gasp each time.
An hour later, the boy was fast asleep in his crib.
“Aw, he snores just like you,” teased Simon.
You swatted him. “Piss off. Good thing it’s not like yours, or the whole neighborhood would hate us.” 
The two of you left the nursery and went to your own bedroom, where two heating pads lay in your respective spots.
You crawled into bed with a quiet sigh, and Simon did so with a loud series of groans and grumbles. You kicked his thigh. 
“You’ve been a dad for a year and a half and you already sound like one.”
“Hell you talkin’ about?”
You imitated the noises he made earlier right in his face, and he covered your face with a pillow.
“My fuckin’ back hurts.”
“The baby’s that heavy that you hurt your back?”
“What? Nah, he’s easy to carry. Could throw him 50 meters. No, the snow is heavy.” He sighed and settled on his back, letting you curl up around him. “And I’m an old man, now, lovie.”
You hummed and closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his chest through his shirt and the steady beat of his heart. Then his chest jerked up and down rapidly with a chuckle, and you opened an eye in faux annoyance.
“Sorry, lovie, just remembering how he ate shit in the driveway.”
You both snickered at the Loony Tunes-type scene from earlier.
“The driveway is clear, but all the ground around it has his belly-flops and face-plants.”
“They’re snow angels, honey.”
A fresh bout of laughter at the comparison.
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Posted: 2023 Dec 11
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aalloochaat · 4 months
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fuckboy!eren falling for you at first sight and not even realizing it <3 [pt. 2]
pt. 1 here
fuckboy!eren who doesn’t realize he’s watching you with heart eyes until jean nudges him with an elbow to his side and a smirk on his stupid face. yeager, you look like you’re about to ask her to marry you, eh?
fuckboy!eren immediately hissing at that and shoving the stupid horse-faced idiot away, catching the attention of you and his friends. him shoveling food in his mouth to avoid talking as jean laughs and not-so-subtly pulls you in a conversation.
fuckboy!eren who literally melts when you pull him aside as he’s leaving, offering him a strawberry hair clip and a hair tie because you noticed him irritably pushing his long hair back.
fuckboy!eren keeping the hair clip and hair tie with him at all times.
fuckboy!eren spotting you at the campus cafe and sliding his card before you could pay, just so he has an excuse to talk to you. 
fuckboy!eren thanking you for taking care of him as he tries to coax you into getting a snack for yourself.
come on, pretty girl! it’s only fair, right? you fed me before, so it’s my turn to feed you!
you finally giving in and fuckboy!eren instantly becoming a ray of sunshine as he tells you to grab a seat.
fuckboy!eren asking you shitloads of questions, from asking about your major to your hometown to how in hell did a pretty lovely girl like you end up with a hulk wannabe as a roommate?
you laughing and playfully accusing him of buttering you up. fuckboy!eren not being able to deny it as he shrugs in a surprisingly bashful manner, one that makes your heart skip a beat. 
you and fuckboy!eren parting ways for the day after exchanging socials and making promises to hang out later. 
fuckboy!eren punching his fist in the air as soon as you leave, a goofy smile on his face. 
fuckboy!eren acting like a schoolboy with a crush, despite him being usually smooth with ladies and being the campus heartthrob.
this man, oh my god. he can be such a boy at times its so goddamn endearing i cant.
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Testing One, Two, Three (S.R. Smut +18)
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Summary: (Spencer Reid x Fem Reader) Spencer comes home, after a long week of being away, with a bag full of (sexy) surprises.
Content Warnings: Sex toy use, praise kink, dirty talk, mutual self pleasure, coming undone, overstimulation, very light submissive (Reader) dominant (Spencer) dynamics, talk of anal sex & pegging
Word Count: 3.3K
Note: This is one that I have had saved in my drafts for a very long time! And I just had the inspiration to finish it a couple days ago.
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Testing One, Two, Three
It wasn’t strange for Spencer to make trips to the grocery store, to the used bookstore, or the pharmacy before making his way back to Y/N’s storybook Tudor home after work.
This evening proved to be not unlike the others. Spencer, driving his powder blue Volvo pulls into Y/N’s driveway. She watches from the windows as he takes out his satchel, his overnight bag, and other large black shopping bags. It didn’t look like it was from the grocery store and their local bookstore didn’t give customers plastic bags. Curious, Y/N unlocks the door for Spencer, deciding to meet him at her front stoop instead of in the kitchen or the hallway like normal.
“Hey there, love,” Spencer says, the nickname brushing off his lips with ease. He looks tired and worn down. Y/N thinks that traveling through two different time zones and not getting enough sleep is a way to do that to a person, but she decides she’ll keep that to herself and just usher Spencer to bed earlier tonight.
“Oh, Spence. I really missed you,” she confesses, breathing in his familiar scent. It's a little different. He smells like cheap hotel shampoo and stale coffee, not like his usual minty and green tea body wash and expensive coffee beans. 
Spencer sighs into her neck, swaying slightly as he holds Y/N in his arms on her front stoop. His bags, even the mysterious black on, lay neglected on the ground by their feet.
“I know, Y/N. I know, sweetheart,” he reassures, rubbing his hand up and down her back in a comforting gesture. “I got you something. Well, really it’s for us. But for you, mostly I suppose,” 
“You’re acting clingy and squirrely,” she assesses, leaning back to look at Spencer’s unreadable face. He simply shrugs, as if to say you’ll find out when you find out. 
“I need caffeine,” Spencer remarks, as he insists on carrying all the bags into the house by himself, “And something comfy to wear. I’ve been in this shirt for the last two days. There was a break in the case 41 hours in and we couldn’t break for the hotel. It was too out of the way,” 
“Oh my poor boy,” Y/N exclaims, helping Spencer shed his cardigan and standing with him as he takes his shoes off, “What about a nice hot shower and then some leftovers. I made chickpea curry last night. We have leftover rice and garlic naan, too,” she offers. 
Spencer, offering his thanks, grabs at his tie. His shoulders tense with exhaustion and something unreadable. He’s not usually mysterious. Usually, Spencer’s nothing but an open book. 
“You alright?” Y/N asks, doling out the portion of chickpeas and rice on the delicately decorated plates she received for her 25th birthday. 
“Fine,” Spencer says, clipped and detached. 
So unlike him. 
“Hmm. Well how was work? Anything interesting happen?” Y/N asks, attempting to spark conversation with her boyfriend. They’ve only been dating for a solid five months; enough time for whatever it was to have run its course. If Y/N didn’t know any better than she should expect herself to be circling the drain tonight along with dishes that would certainly be neglected for a pint of Java Chip. 
“Fine,” Spencer says, nodding thanks for the plate of food. He shovels in a couple bites, seemingly uninterested in continuing the conversation. 
So unlike him. 
Usually, Spencer would be clamoring to talk to her. It wasn’t too long ago that they spent long nights sharing a bottle of red and talking about everything from books to movies to the meaning of life. 
“Alright, Spencer. Cut the crap. Are you breaking up with me? Because if you are–?” 
Shock washes over Spencer’s face. And he doesn’t wear it well. He does a spit take and it’s nearly as foolish as it looks like in movies. Spencer’s eyes grow about three sizes bigger. 
“What? Break up with you? God, no,” he stammers, the sentiment clear although his efforts lacked clarity. 
“Okay.” Y/N says, tossing Spencer a napkin to mop up his mess of curry and water. “Good to know. But why are you acting so….squirrely?” 
Shifting in his seat, Spencer attempts to remain calm. His eyes, a honey brown with a cool brown rim, flit to the mysterious bag he brought in from his car. It was as if she could hear the whirring of the gears clicking into place. She follows his gaze to the bag. 
“You bought something. Something that you’re either nervous about or embarrassed? So it can’t be books. And it’s not something innocuous like a throw blanket or pie dish. And judging by your breathing growing heavy, it’s something….salacious.” 
Spencer’s thin upper lip twitches with delight. He hums, neither confirming nor denying her claims. His eyes flicker with playfulness, a contrast to moments ago when Spencer’s eyes flooded with fear and shock.
“You’re smart.” Spencer concludes, smiling with knives. He stands to presumably grab the black bag that has caused so much intrigue. “Should have been a profiler with a mind like yours.” 
“I’ll stick to what I know.” Y/N tells him, her interest in the bag only growing 
when Spencer places it in front of her on the table. “Let me guess, we’re at the stage in our relationship where you can buy me sexy underwear without it looking like you’re sleaze,” 
Chortling, Spencer blushes profusely. His feeble attempts at hiding the bag's contents fail miserably as they only pique Y/N’s interest. His eyes are wide with wonder and anticipation in the kitchen light. 
“It’s not lingerie.” 
“Alright, well whatever it is, Spencer I’m sure I’ll love it. You’re being so jumpy, it’s making me think you’ve got some really kinky sex toy in here,” she says, reaching her hand into the bag to finally examine its contents. She’s good at reading faces. From the old man who reads French Literature on the Metro to the young barista at the local coffee shop, Y/N, like even Spencer admitted, is pretty well versed at reading people. Which is why, for a split second she reads pure terror in Spencer’s eyes. 
“Oh shit,” she says, turning the box in her hand and reading the label. “You bought me a wand?” Her voice goes up an octave as if she’s just realizing what she’s holding in her hands. 
Spencer, now thoroughly, embarrassed, covers his face with his hand. His cheeks are tinged a lovely pink and he peeks through his fingers, apparently still eager. “Will you kill me if I say that’s not the only thing in there?” 
“Spencer Reid!” she shouts, slapping his hands on the table with glee and excitement. It was the very thought of Spencer Reid in a sex shop that sent both shivers down her spine, like an electric shock and shock waves of laughter through her system. “You went into a sex shop.” 
“Yes, Y/N,” Spencer contends, his tone playful enough, “But please continue your teasing. We’ll see how cocky you’ll be when you’re on the receiving end of 5000 RPMS. And that’s the lowest setting,” 
“Is that a threat?” Y/N asks, leaning in closer to Spencer. Her cleavage is eye level to Spencer’s line of vision. His eyes dart there to the bag and back to her eyes. 
He shakes his head. “A promise. Continue,” Spencer instructs, pointing towards the bag. She listens, fishing her hand in the large bag.
“That’s a clitoral stimulator.” Spencer explains, “The website I got recommendations from says that it simulates oral sex. It has eleven settings,” he continues, watching as Y/N’s eyes grow big at the thought of the toy in her hands. 
“Hmm, eleven?” she muses, putting it down next to the menacing looking hitachi wand.
“Another one? Spencer, how much money did you spend on toys?” she says aghast as she takes out yet another item from the bag. 
“It’s a Lush vibrator.” Spencer explains, waving off Y/N’s concerns for his wallet. “It’s actually connected to my phone. That means I can control it, even when we’re apart. Which, considering how much we’re apart, just might come in handy.” 
“This must have cost a lot of money.” Y/N speculates, staring at the three presents facing her on the countertop. “You really didn’t have to. You really shouldn’t–” 
“Y/N,” Spencer says, her name sounding deadly in his breathy timber, “It’s my job to make sure you’re satisfied. And I thought it would be a little fun to bring in some…reinforcements.” 
“That’s certainly more forward thinking than my last boyfriend. He was under the assumption that toys stole his thunder. But between you and me, and like every other woman he slept with, it’s probably because he hardly ever made me finish.” 
“Really?” Spencer says, looking shocked. “And he was still insecure about bringing toys into the bedroom?” 
Laughing, Y/N tosses her head back in a chortle. There was something endearing about Spencer’s genuine shock. 
 Spencer, looking half bemused and half proud, shifts in his seat. “So are we going to test them out or what?” 
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Twenty minutes later, they were both in her bed. Y/N, on her back, with her feet planted firmly on the bed, watches as Spencer studies her carefully. Sweat pools in her cleavage and she grabs the sheets, needing something to grip as yet another wave of pleasure washes over her body. He had already coaxed an orgasm out of her with the clitoral stimulator. 
Spencer, fully dressed, holds the wand against her. He has a notebook to her left with small scribbles of notes detailing how fast she’s edged with each different toy. His scribbles, messy and disorganized at best, grow increasingly illegible. Spencer’s creases his brow, a sign of his intense determination, and is fuzzy as Y/N gazes down at him. She watches his look of stoic concentration, something that she finds entirely too attractive. But considering he plans on bringing her to climax time and time again tonight, she’ll give into her flights of fancy. 
“Think you like this one.” Spencer comments. He switches the wand to his less dominant, but still skillful hand to make notes on the pad. A self-satisfied smirk grows on his face, a sign that he’s enjoying this more than he’s letting on. 
“It’s really good.” she says, her voice betraying her already limited resolve. Spencer’s fingers lie casually on her thighs, searing marks into her legs that vaporize her skin. When he touches her it’s like her limb liquifies and her skin melts. She wants his fingerprints to sear into her skin, finally becoming part of her. 
“Yeah,” Spencer asks, a sarcastic smirk playing on the corner of his mouth, “Tell me more, sweetheart. Tell me how good it feels.” 
Spencer’s words are punctuated by the head of the toy rolling against her clit. He never keeps it in one place longer than a couple of seconds, either not wanting to overstimulate her too soon or to keep her on her toes longer for him. 
“It feels so…good. Better than it used to. Before I had you,” she stammers, the words clunky in her mouth as she concentrates on Spencer’s deft hand at her core and his warm lips against her neck. 
“That’s right, sweetheart. Before you had me to keep you nice and full, you had to use things like this. But I’m gone too often for you. I need to know my sweet girl is taken care of. So we’re going to test all of these toys out tonight. Till you’re drippy little mess, begging for me to finally fuck you.” 
Spencer’s sloppy kisses climb the slope of Y/N’s neck. He leaves whisper-wishes into the nooks of her skin, each one filled with promises and love. It’s a stark contrast; the sweet kisses to his hand that holds the vibrator: the bane of her undoing. 
“You know Hitachi wands are excellent for clitoral stimulation. This one has only one vibration pattern, but eight different speeds. Now that sounds like a challenge. And one that I’d like to break.” 
Y/N’s brow furrows as she gazes at Spencer with a deep concentration. He breathes against her neck, a trail full of wet kisses plotting their revenge against her sensitive skin. Spencer’s fingers hold the wand deftly as he concentrates the sensation against her clit. Y/N’s feet move up the bed, dragging the crocheted blanket with them. 
“Holy shit, Spence!” Y/N curses, her breath bated as the wand’s vibrations kick up a couple of levels. 
“That’s my girl. You like the fourth setting. Remember that, baby,” Spencer says, his lips curved into a proud smile as Y/N’s hips jut upwards in tandem with the toy, “Just like that, Y/N. I can tell you’re close. Give me another. One’s not enough for my greedy girl. And who am I to deny such a pretty face and a wet pussy. It’s all mine after all.” 
She feels the wand leave her clit and venture up to her stomach. Y/N’s muscles react like falling dominos at the sensation. She tenses as the vibrations shoot up and fry her nerves. Spencer licks his lips at the sight of her arousal sticking to her bare torso. He carefully dances the wand up to her nipples, watching with glee as they pebble even further in response to the vibrations. 
“One day I’ll give you an orgasm from just playing with these nipples. I’ll lick and kiss and suck on them till you’re dripping and begging for my cock to fill you up.” 
“Jesus, Spencer.” Y/N pants, her hips buckling as her climax reached its peak. “Can I come, please? Please let me come again? I need it so fucking bad, baby.” Her tongue peaks  out from her lips, wetting the surface as Spencer peered up at her. She grabs his collar to drag him up for a kiss just as she finally teetered off the edge, yet again. 
Spencer separates from the kiss, his lips puffy and red from Y/N’s frantic mouth. He smiles, gently caressing her head in a gesture that was entirely too sweet for their current situation. She feels Spencer’s erection in his pants; it had to be almost painful by now. 
“What was that two or three?” Y/N asks, a self-satisfied smirk plaguing her face. “I think we might set a record or something.” 
“That was two.” Spencer corrects. He takes more notes in his little notebook. “Of at least four or five. Depending on how much you beg later.” He slips off the bed and fishes through the bag. “Now, I think I have an idea for which I’d like to try next.” 
A bright pink silicone dildo with a flared based, freshly washed, lays in between them on the bed. Y/N raises her eyes in surprise. 
“Most men wouldn’t be too thrilled to have something other than their penis fuck their girlfriends, you know.” 
Spencer shrugs. “Yeah, but there’s a lot that we can do with it.” He claims, “Like double penetration or even, uh,” He blushes and stumbles over his next comment, “And pegging.” 
Y/N grins as an overwhelming sense of arousal washed over her. “Oh,” she says, skimming her fingers around Spencer’s neck. His skin is ridiculously soft, “we are so tabling that one for later. I would love to see you a mess for me instead.” 
Spencer grins. “Fuck, that’s good, Y/N. So good.” He kissed her forehead. “I wanna watch you ride it. Like you would my cock.” 
Y/N nods, as Spencer shifts on the bed, allowing for her to assume a crouched position. She looks at Spencer, his eyes laden with lust and love. He sits, legs spread in an attempt to accommodate his hardened erection in the old arm chair. He looks too good to be true, his cheeks are tinged with a blush, the dances that line between innocence and corruption. His notebook is forgotten, as he needs the entirety of his attention focused on the sight before him. 
“Good girl.” Spencer mutters, his hands resting on his thighs, but they twitch restlessly. It was as if he needs to physically hold himself back from ravishing Y/N at the sight of her crouched on her bed ready to fuck herself with a dildo her purchased for her. “Lower yourself on the toy. Give yourself an inch into your sweet little cunt.” 
His voice is deep, yet soft as he guided her pleasure expertly. She groans as the toy breaches her cunt, the full sensation is welcomed after the last hour of the wand and clit stimulator. 
“Don’t you wish it was your cock fucking my cunt, Spencer?” Y/N asks, her right hand wrapped around the flared base of the toy and the other holding herself up. Her abdominal muscles stunned with strain as her body remained in a crouched position, but the promise of release goaded her on. “You’re so hard, baby. I can see it from here. Don’t you want to touch yourself?” 
Spencer bites his lip. He nods as his hands undo his belt and his hips lift up enough so he can shimmy his pants and underwear to his knees. He wraps a hand around his cock, hard and glistening with arousal, and rubs upward with a tight fist. Spencer’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he continues to watch Y/N lower herself onto the toy. 
“Give yourself another inch, sweetheart.” Spencer instructs as he fucked his fist. He swipes his thumb over the tip of his cock. “Fuck I wish it was your mouth or your pussy on my dick.” 
“God, you have the prettiest cock.” Y/N pants, the toy filling her up more and more as she sinks lower onto the base. “But now that we have this toy, maybe you can fuck my ass? I know you’d like that, baby.” 
“Dirty girl,” Spencer praises, a smile covering his face as Y/N’s thighs quiver, “Tell me does that toy fill you up nicely? I had to pick out the best one for my girl.” 
“Yes, yes,” Y/N answers, her voice rough and raw, “So good….I feel so full.” The pink dildo filled her cunt. 
“Good. Good.” Spencer says, his hand moving up and down his cock at a hastened pace. “Show me how you’ll ride it when I’m not here to fuck you, baby. Show me how you’ll fuck that tight cunt.” 
Spencer’s words provide the encouragement for Y/N to hoist herself up and down on the dildo. She would've laid flat on her back, a position that would have been easier on her thighs and core, but the angle she’s  able to reach makes the suffering all worth it. 
“Fuck…so good, Spencer. But I don’t think I can come from just this…it’s not…it’s not enough for me.” Y/N explains. Spencer knows that. He understands the science behind the female orgasm enough to know that many women are unable to reach climax from vaginal penetration only.
“I know, sweet girl. Don’t you worry.” He promises. “Bring your fingers to your clit
and give yourself some nice tight circles.” 
She listens. Her fingers draw tight circles around her clit. Y/N bites her lip as she feels her pleasure build and build. “So good. So good.” 
“I know, I know. Grind against the heel of your hand. You go wild when I do that, love. Like a little fucking minx. You can’t get enough.” 
The tension builds in her stomach as she grinds against the heel of her hand. Cursing, Spencer watches with lust-laden eyes as Y/N writhes on the bed. Sweat forms against her brow as her feet dig into the mattress and her thighs burn in exhaustion. Until she finally feels that familiar burst of pleasure release. 
“Fuck, fuck,” She curses, so caught up in her own pleasure the room seemed to spin around her. “I–I…Spencer, I’m coming.” 
Her release washes over her as she slumps down into the bed, finally spent with all her energy expended. She can barely hear Spencer shuffle over, nearly tripping over his feet since his pants remained gathered around his ankles. 
“Holy shit.” Spencer curses. “That was the most sensual thing I’ve ever seen.” He looks at her with half awe and half love. He pulls his underwear back up and kicks his pants off as he sits on the bed. “Are you alright, babe?”
Y/N groans, her cunt is raw with overstimulation and it is like every single nerve in her body is lit on fire in the best way possible. She offers Spencer a weak thumbs up that morphed into an equally weak fist bump. He obliged and gave Y/N a sweet forehead kiss in return. 
“So toys are a plus for us,” Spencer muses. He adjusts the pillows on the bed and helps Y/N sit up in a more comfortable position. “Thank you for this. I really enjoyed it. And I’m, you know, glad you’ll be occupied when I’m gone.” 
Y/N’s face flushes as a warmth resembling love covers her entire being. “I should be the one thanking you,” she counters, “Wait…I didn’t get you off.” She says, sitting up and then failing as her tired body gave out. 
“That’s a problem you already took care of,” Spencer protests, gesturing to his stained underwear. “I had already come untouched by the time you told me to touch myself. You put on quite the show, sweetheart.” 
She raises her eyes in disbelief as Spencer chuckles and kisses her cheek. “I’m glad you found that equally pleasurable. I don't think I’ve ever come as hard as I just did. And I doubt it’ll ever happen again.” She rises from the bed, with the help of Spencer. He grabs her waist as they make their way into her bathroom.
“Is that a challenge?” Spencer says, with a cocky smirk
“Fuck yeah it is,” Y/N said, “but I think I need like three weeks to recover.” 
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Thank you for reading! Please remember, I appreciate you reading, reflagging, and commenting on all of my fics. I love your feedback and appreciate your support & community more than you'll ever know.
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Tag List (I don't want to bother anyone, so just tagging people I mainly interact with)
@reidsbookclub @foxy-eva @reid-ingandweeping @boldlyvoid
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munson-blurbs · 3 months
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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries
Day 12 of TUI-Mas
Warnings: pregnancy, allusion to smut, contractions, water breaking, labor and delivery, and Eddie wasn't there, epidural, medical emergency, lots of fluff
WC: 4.3k
A/N: I could not have written this piece without @the-unforgivenn 💚 everything accurate in this fic is because of her, and everything inaccurate is because of me. I love you, Annie. Thank you for asking my random birth-related questions at all hours.
Divider credit to @saradika
November 4, 1999
At nine months pregnant, everything hurts.
Perhaps that’s why when you wake up for work with an extra pinch in your back, you cast off any worries. Or maybe it’s because you still have over a week until you’re due, and first babies tend to take their time arriving, so there’s no possible way that today is the day.
You shrug on a sweater and your most comfortable pair of maternity jeans, your body heavy with pregnancy and fatigue. Your movements are sluggish, even more so than usual, and Eddie notices as he stands out the counter, shoveling a spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios into his mouth.
“You okay, Sweetheart?” he asks, tongue darting out to swipe a drip of milk from his lower lip.
Nodding, you massage just above your tailbone in a meager attempt to ease the pain. “Mhm,” you lie, grabbing two granola bars from the pantry. You unwrap one and take a big bite, letting the chocolate chips melt in your mouth. “Just ready to have this baby.” Another lie, or possibly a half truth; while you’re eager to have your body to yourself again, the prospect of labor and delivery terrifies you.
Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead, his palms gently rubbing your bump. “Eleven more days and then we’ll be a family of four.”
“Baby Brother is taking forever to get here,” Harris laments from his seat at the table, spearing a banana slice with his fork. He glances at your stomach with impatient eyes. “Can’t you do something to hurry him up?”
You cough as your husband’s cheeks flush pink; he rakes a ringed hand through his curls. No doubt he’s remembering last night when he’d innocently lifted your belly to relieve some of the pressure, only to find himself hard as a rock as his fingers lightly dug into your skin. I’ll go slow so I don’t send you into early labor, he’d remarked with a teasing wink. 
“Gotta be patient,” Eddie says now, seemingly having recovered from the brief flashback. He slurps the remaining milk from the bowl and stifles a belch, reaching for his jacket and keys. “Have a great day at work,” he kisses you, smiling against your lips, “and school.” He ruffles Harris’s hair, and just like that, he’s out the door. 
Harris finishes his breakfast, placing his empty plate in the sink and scampering to the door to put on his sneakers. You watch enviously as he ties them with ease; you’ve been relegated to slip-on shoes until your feet are no longer swollen. 
“Come on, Mommy,” he says, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. “I don’t wanna miss the bus.”
You silently pray that the short walk to the bus stop will ease your muscle tension, taking careful steps as you trail behind the far-too-energetic-for-8 AM little boy. 
Eleven more days. Only eleven more days, you tell yourself. The reminder has tears prickling along your lash line in a double-edged sword. You don’t think you can handle eleven more days of this discomfort, but will you truly be ready to have a newborn baby in less than two weeks? Once you give birth, you can no longer shield your baby from the world’s dangers and cruelties. Will your love be enough? Will you be enough? And how can you possibly figure it all out in just eleven days?
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Your mantra of eleven more days turns out to be just six hours. Since Will became a teacher two years ago, the two of you have made it a habit to spend time together after the students’ dismissal. You’re preparing art materials for tomorrow’s class when you feel it—a trickle of liquid sliding down your leg. 
Your eyes widen, heat crawling up your neck and into your face. I peed myself at work. It had happened once last month, but it was preceded by a sneeze, and you were already in the parking lot about to go home. When you’d told Eddie that evening, the two of you laughed so hard that you’d wet yourself again. 
But this feels…different. 
“Oh, no.” There’s another small stream, but it isn’t accompanied by any relief on your bladder. Your worried murmur gets Will’s attention, and he looks at you with concern. “I think my water broke, but I don’t know…it might just be pee…” Your voice trails off before you can speak in circles. 
Will leaps to his feet. “Okay, what do you need me to do?” The pair of scissors he’s been using to cut out paper stars clatter to the table as he rushes to your side. 
“Call Eddie,” you mumble, gripping your bump as a cramp—most likely a contraction, you realize—squeezes at your pelvis. “Tell him to—shit—to get my bag from the apartment and bring it to the hospital.” You bite your lip to stifle a groan. “I’ll call Wayne and ask him to get Harris from the bus.”  
He nods, dialing from the classroom phone as you rattle off the record store’s number. You pull your own Nokia cell phone—a purchase Eddie had insisted upon after you got pregnant, wanting to make sure you and Baby Munson stayed safe. 
“So, um,” Will hesitates after you’ve hung up with Wayne, ending the conversation with a promise to let him know as soon as the baby is born, “Eddie was in the middle of a guitar lesson, so I left a message with one of his employees—”
Please don’t say Ev, you wordlessly plead. Anyone but the stoner who can barely remember to show up to work on time. 
“Ev, I think?”
Shit. 
Will hooks his arm with yours, providing you with the stability to stand up. “Let’s get you to the hospital, all right? Maybe it’s a false alarm or something.”
You nod, but deep down, you know that this baby is on his way. Call it mother’s intuition, you muse wryly. 
After a quick stop in Principal Sinclair’s office to explain the situation, Will helps you into his Chevy Impala, grimacing along with you when another contraction hits. “Should we be timing those?”
You grit your teeth. “Shit, y-yeah. I completely forgot.” All those birthing books you’d read cover to cover to prepare for this moment, and you hadn’t even remembered to time your own damn contractions. “We need to track how long they last and the amount of time between them.”
Will remains unfazed. “We’ll just start now,” he says simply, flicking his wrist to check his watch. “It’s 2:32. Let me know when you get another one.” He turns the key in the ignition, taking your hand before putting the gear shift into drive. “It’ll be okay. Eddie’s gonna get the message, and he’ll be here soon.”
It’s as though he can read your mind, and you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. He’s right; if you are in labor, it’s still early enough that Eddie won’t miss the birth. 
You hope. 
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Your contractions are one minute long and twelve minutes apart by the time you reach Hawkins General Hospital, growing slightly stronger with each wave. Will relays the information to the receptionist, his voice wavering with nerves and excitement despite his best efforts to remain calm. 
Before you know it, you’re being wheeled into a room, a laminated bracelet with your personal details dangling from your wrist. The clock on the wall indicates that it’s just past 3 PM, which means that Eddie should be here in a few minutes. 
As if on cue, the cell phone in your purse chirps its familiar ringtone. Harris had insisted that you change it from the standard option, choosing one that sounds like birds chirping. It normally reminds you of springtime mornings; right now, you’re ready to throw it through the window. 
Will passes it to you, and you punch the answer button with an impatient, “hello?”
“Hey, Sweetheart,” Eddie’s carefree demeanor wafts through the speaker, “just wanted to check in and see if you’re feeling any better. Did you want me to pick up something from the store on my way—?”
Dammit, Ev. “Eddie, my water broke at work. Will called earlier and left a message,” you manage, maneuvering around the heart rate monitor to brace for another contraction. “I’m—ughhh, shit—I’m at the hospital.”
“What?!” You can hear his sudden shift to panic; the phone drops from his grasp and clatters on the counter before he retrieves it, uttering a slew of swear words. “Okay, I’ll be right there. Your bag’s at home, right? Oh, and Harris! Shit, let me—”
“Wayne’s on it,” you tell him, hopefully putting an end to his mile-a-minute thoughts. “I just need my bag and my husband.” 
There’s a relieved sigh on the other end of the line. “I can provide both.” His humor peeks through his fear in subtle reassurance. “Be there ay-sap. I love you so fucking much.” 
“Love you, too.” A soft click tells you that he’s on his way, probably simultaneously scrambling for his keys and shouting at his employee. 
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Nearly an hour later, there’s still no sign of Eddie. Will blots the perspiration on your forehead with a cloth; out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s watching the clock as well. “He’ll be here,” he says as though reading your mind. Or maybe he’s scared that he’ll have to stand in for Eddie throughout the entire process. “In the meantime, I’ll flag down a nurse so we can get you that epidural.” His words are even, but his smile is uneasy, both of you well-aware that he is out of his element. Though he’ll deny it vehemently, you know you owe him. Big-time.
“Why don’t you grab yourself some food from the cafeteria?” You’d heard his stomach growling just before, and he can certainly use a break. 
Will nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do you want anything?” he asks out of habit, cheeks tinged pink as you shake your dismal cup of ice chips. “Oh, right. Sorry.” He ducks out of the room as a nurse walks in. 
“Are we considering an epidural, Mrs. Munson?” she asks. Her bright smile is one you’ll be unable to return until after the pain medication takes effect. 
“Y-Yeah, please.” You shift uncomfortably while she examines you and announces that your cervix is four centimeters dilated. Part of you is relieved that labor is progressing at a pace where Eddie should arrive in time for the delivery; another part just wants this baby out of you, now. 
The nurse makes a note on your chart. “I’ll let the anesthesiologist know.” Another unreciprocated grin and she’s gone, off to poke and prod the next patient. 
Alone for a moment, you relish the quiet, save for the soft beeps of the machines you’re connected to. With great care, you caress the swell of your stomach where your son has developed from a microscopic speck to a full-term baby. 
“Your daddy will get here soon,” you murmur to your sensor-covered belly, “hopefully before you do.” You laugh for a second until another contraction squeezes you from the inside, shifting your expression from amused to pained. 
The anesthesiologist and Will arrive at the same time, the former pausing to let your impromptu birth partner enter first. He walks with more enthusiasm now that he’s eaten, though his meal threatens to reappear when he sees the doctor pull out the comically oversized needle. 
“Just lean forward,” she says to you, “you’ll feel some pressure, but once the medication kicks in, it’ll be worth it.” She offers you a kind smile before turning to Will and explaining, “you may need to help her.”
“Mhm. Sure.” Will mumbles, avoiding looking at the needle. You clasp your hand in his so you can sit up. The cool air raises goosebumps on the sliver of flesh no longer covered by the gown, but the chill is quickly replaced by a stinging sensation that has you gripping Will’s palm. You don’t realize the strength of your grasp until you hear him mutter, “ow,” but you don’t let go until the burning ceases. 
“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, watching him shake out his hand. “About all of this. I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to spend your afternoon.”
He shakes his head and guides you back against the pillow. “Maybe not, but I’m glad I can be here for you.” Now that the threat of broken fingers has passed, he truly means it. 
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5:46 PM. 
You’ve been in the hospital for nearly three hours, and there’s still no sign of Eddie. Will’s casually flipping through a copy of People magazine that’s so outdated, Nick Nolte was just crowned the Sexiest Man Alive. He’s visibly more relaxed now that the medication has eased your pain, chattering teeth a welcome replacement for your anguished moans.
Your concern that Eddie will miss the baby’s birth has hardened into pure fear that something has happened to him. What if he lost focus while driving and got into an accident? The weather was overcast when you’d arrived at Hawkins General; it could have started raining since then and created slippery roads, perfect for hydroplaning. The thought of him hurt while you’re unable to help him has your insides churning, and for the first time, you’re grateful for an empty stomach.
Maybe you should call Wayne and find out if he had heard from his nephew. But if he hadn’t, then both of you would be stuck worrying and answerless; even worse, if he had and didn’t want to relay bad news while you’re in such a vulnerable state–
“I’m here!” 
Relief surges through your veins, Eddie’s panting voice music to your ears. You roll from your side onto your back to see your husband standing by your bedside. Sweat drips down his temples and pools under his arms with the pungency of someone who’d just completed a marathon. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, a jacket haphazardly tossed over his shoulder and your bag clutched in his hand.
He swoops down and places his lips on yours in a series of frantic kisses, his free palm cupping your cheek as though ensuring that the moment is real. He only pulls back when you do, getting a glimpse of your face.
“Where were you?” Not an accusation, but a question threaded with genuine care. 
His nose nudges yours as he sneaks in another peck. “Did you know that Chief Hopper retired?” Your brows furrow in confusion at his non-answer to your question. “Well, he did, and the sheriff’s department decided to throw him a parade. Today. Closed off a bunch of the side streets and backed up traffic on the main ones.” He coughs out a terse laugh. “Glad I quit smoking, or my lungs would’ve given up before I hit a half-mile.”
You mull over his response for a moment before it finally clicks. “Wait…did you run here?”
He tugs at his shirt fabric in an attempt to create a breeze that will cool him down. “It was more like a walk-run combo, but…yeah.” He shrugs, no big deal. “Parked my car in a random lot and just…booked it.” His shoulder gently sag as the adrenaline from his adventure wears away. “I gotta sit.”
It’s then that he notices Will, rising from the chair and placing the gossip rag on the table beside him. “Byers, holy shit,” Eddie looks at him incredulously, “have you been here with her the whole time?”
“He has,” you answer for him, managing a grateful smile in your friend’s direction. “And I can’t thank him enough.” Will returns the gesture and pulls Eddie in for a hug, wishing you both luck before slipping out the door.
Eddie brings his full attention back to you, lacing his fingers with yours. His thumb brushes the side of your hand, bringing small but strong comfort with each gentle touch. “Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry–”
“Eds,” you interrupt before he can continue his apology, “you’re here now.”
“Yeah.” Soft, distracted, overthinking. You can practically see the gears in head spinning, His second child and the second time he’d nearly missed the birth. He clears his throat and shakes away the thought with a toss of his hair, swiping his tongue over his lower lip. “How are you feeling?” He takes in the sight of you, his wife, the most beautiful being his cynical eyes have ever seen. “You look pretty damn good for someone about to have a baby.”
You laugh. “That epidural is a miracle from above.” You’ll gladly take the chattering teeth and the itchiness over the sensation of your pelvis imploding. Eddie doesn’t share in your amusement, still focused on his own shortcomings. “Hey,” you say quietly, pulling him out of his mind with just one word. “Don’t think about the missed message or the traffic. We’re having our baby today.” You bring his hand to the apex of your stomach in the final few hours that it houses the life you two created together.
“I love you.” 
His eyes shine with emotion. He’s here, not only in this moment, but throughout the entire pregnancy. He didn’t bury himself in music or booze or other arbitrary distractions. He’d read What to Expect When You’re Expecting cover to cover, had gone to all of the doctor’s appointments, made sure to keep the kitchen stocked with your cravings and free of your aversions. He’d picked up the household chores (and delegated some to Harris) to ease your workload and wiped your tears when you’d cried while watching two squirrels play in a tree. 
You never asked him to do any of it; you never needed to. 
“I love you, too.”
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It all happened so quickly. 
One minute, Eddie’s watching the monitor spike with a contraction, utterly bewildered by the power of pain medication. 
“You really can’t feel that?”
“Just some pressure, but nothing like earlier. I told you; it’s a godsend.”
After hours of strategic breathing, a plethora of ice chips, and a steady outpouring of love between you two, you’re about to tell him that you feel the urge to push. 
And then a nurse rushes in. 
“Mr. and Mrs. Munson,” he begins, urgency evident even through his calm exterior, “your baby is experiencing late heart rate deceleration. We need to begin delivery immediately.” He glances at Eddie, then at you. “I’m going to check your dilation to see if we’ll try a vaginal delivery or prepare for a cesarean birth.”
 The blood drains from Eddie’s face as he processes the information, the lighthearted energy completely zapped from the room. “Is…is she…are they…”
The nurse finishes the examination, removing his rubber glove. “Ten centimeters,” he announces. “I’ll page the doctor.”
It’s a whirlwind, with almost no time for panic to set in. The doctor and the other nurses arrive immediately, and when Eddie takes your hand, you can feel him trembling. 
He takes a deep breath, willing himself to be strong for you. Your face says it all: you’re terrified, and you need him to be your rock.
“You’ve got this, Sweetheart,” he whispers fiercely, pushing past the lump in his throat. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know, and I’m so lucky that you’re having my baby.” He kisses your forehead; out of the corner of his eye, he sees the medical staff preparing for delivery. His heart skips a beat, and the realization hits that he’s about to be a father of two.
You’re exhausted, a salty mixture of sweat and tears decorating your face. Gritting your teeth, you push while Eddie coaches you, reminding you to breathe and allowing you to swear at him without even batting an eyelash. It’s mostly a blur, with all of your energy concentrated on getting this baby out, but you vaguely recall telling him that he’s not allowed to even think about touching you again.
“Almost there,” he cheers, flashing an awestruck smile so wide that his cheeks ache. “C’mon, you can do it! Oh, my god, you’re a goddamn superhero.” 
Three giant pushes later, you hear the telltale newborn wail as a nurse coos, “Happy birthday, little man! Here’s your mama!” She gently places your tiny baby on your chest, quickly wiping off the vernix covering his body. 
“He’s here!” you manage through simultaneous laughter and cries. You carefully hold him against you, kissing the wisps of curls on his scalp. “Hi, baby boy!” Turning to Eddie, you blink away the mist coating your eyes. “We have another son,” you choke out.
He just nods, relishing in the wonder of becoming a father again. His pointer finger grazes the baby’s little half-closed fist, only looking away when the nurse asks him if he’d like to cut the umbilical cord. “Y-Yeah. Please,” he awkwardly adds, doing exactly as he’s instructed. 
As the baby is lifted from your torso to be assessed and measured, Eddie kisses you with a passion you’ve never felt before, even from him. You can see that he’s crying, too, and he wipes his cheeks haphazardly.  
“I’m so proud of you,” he says, punctuating the statement with another kiss. “I couldn’t have asked for a better mother for my kids.” His nose rubs yours tenderly. 
You smile at him. “Do you want to call Wayne? I won’t be up for visitors until the morning,” you add, “but I just want to let him know that the baby’s here, happy and healthy.”
“In a bit,” he murmurs, watching the nurse carefully swaddle his newborn son in a hospital blanket. “I just wanna hold him first.”
Eddie takes your baby from the nurse, shifting to support his head. “Hey, buddy. I’m your dad.” His body slowly sways as he rocks back and forth. “You gave us quite the scare just now. I see you’re following in your big brother’s mischievous footsteps.” He swears his heart melts when the infant opens his mouth to yawn. “Yeah, you’ve had a busy day. Same here. But it was worth it, huh?”
He wears fatherhood so naturally, so perfectly. You wish you could capture this feeling in a jar and save it forever. For now, you settle for watching him fawn over his newest son, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Eddie murmuring, “and let me tell you: you have the best mommy a kid could ever ask for.”
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Morning arrives after a restless sleep. You know the nurses are just following protocol when they examine you every hour, but that doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it. 
But the next knock on the door is one that you welcome willingly. Harris and Wayne stand there, waiting for permission to enter. You smile when you notice Harris shuffling his feet and shaking his hands in an attempt to expel some excess energy. 
“Come on in,” Eddie whispers, beaming, “there’s someone very special we’d like to introduce you to.”
Harris rushes to your bedside, peering at the bundle in your arms. “My baby brother!” he squeals, jumping up and down. 
Eddie puts a finger to his lips. “He’s sleeping, so we have to be quiet, okay?” He ruffles Harris’s hair as the boy nods. “Do you wanna hold him?”
“Yeah! I mean, yeah,” Harris lowers his voice, sitting down on the bed. You scoot over, careful not to move too quickly, and he melds into your side. He’s always been small to you, but compared to his baby brother, he seems so grown up. 
“Okay, hold out your arms like this,” Eddie instructs, demonstrating the correct position, “and you’re gonna make sure to keep his head nice and safe, because he can’t hold it up on his own yet.”
Harris sports a look of concentration as you and Eddie work in tandem to place the baby in his arms. “He’s got the teeniest nose I’ve ever seen.”
Wayne laughs at this, watching his older grandson snuggle his youngest. “Does this little fella have a name yet?”
“Oh, right.” Eddie chuckles. “Gentlemen, this is Hendrix William Munson. ‘Hendrix’ after one of the most talented guitarists to grace this planet, and ‘William’ after an amazing friend and substitute birth partner.”
“Hendrix,” Harris repeats incredulously, never taking his eyes off of his brother. “I’m Harris. I talked to you when you were in Mommy’s tummy, remember?” Hendrix lets out a long exhale, like he’s acknowledging the question. “I know you’re still too little right now, but when you get big, we’re gonna play together all the time. Except when I’m at school.” He looks over at you expectantly. “Can I bring him to school with me? Like for show and tell?”
“Maybe when he’s older,” you say, lacking the bandwidth to point out the logistics of his request. 
Harris wrinkles his nose, but his expression quickly softens. “Yeah, you’re right. He can’t even do any tricks yet.”
It’s quiet for a moment, everyone focused on the two Munson boys. Surprisingly, Wayne is the one who breaks the silence. 
“You two have one beautiful family,” he muses, an arthritic finger grazing Hendrix’s blanket. “Y’should be proud of yourselves.”
Eddie gives his uncle’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Couldn’t have done it without ya, Old Man.”
Wayne knows this, accepting the compliment with a bashful grin but saying nothing further. 
Peacefulness surrounds the five of you, soft conversation seamlessly weaving its way into the calm. You can’t kid yourself; most days will be pure chaos, balancing spit-up and school plays, field trips and feeding schedules. And once Hendrix starts walking—and running—you’ll need all cylinders firing. 
But today, right now, you soak in the serenity. Just you and your boys. Your family. 
--
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sinsandsweetness · 10 months
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BIRTHDAY BOY
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(Rick & Daryl x fem!reader)
warnings- 18+ content. minors do not interact please n' thank u, smut, double penetration, FMM threesome, oral sex, fingering, anal, cream pies... i think that's it. (no Rick x Daryl, just them sharing you) 2k word count.
notes- inspired by @gxtitobxby 's 'Rickyl bday sex' blurb. enjoy!
You sat at the end of the dinner table, listening to the sound of silverware scraping on the porcelain plates. Your bare feet underneath, sneaking over to the boots of both men sitting across you. Earning a tiny smile that pulled at Rick's lips, and a quick glance from Daryl. 
"Is it ok? I didn’t know if you liked vanilla or chocolate so I was worried it was maybe too bland-" you put your fork down. The taste of the vanilla buttercream and strawberries still coating your tastebuds. 
"It’s really good, baby. Nice and sweet." Rick got up and grabbed the empty plates, brushing you on his way to the kitchen. "Just like you." He leaned down to plant a sweet kiss on the top of your head. You beamed at Daryl, awaiting his own response. Considering that the cake was for his birthday. 
" 's good," he said, shovelling the last bite in his mouth. Eyes shifting back up as your feet climbed higher, toes tickling at the denim. Trying to tease him, make him smile… get any reaction really. Your smile dropped at his continued lack of interest. 
From the kitchen, Rick called you over. You grabbed Daryl’s empty plate and maintained eye contact as you dipped your pinky in the icing left on the plate, sucking it clean as you walked over to Rick. 
"He’s just tired, baby. Why don’t you go get your pjs on n’ we’ll watch a movie or somethin'." Rick told you with a gentle hand on your elbow. Just as aware of the unimpressed energy coming from the man at the table. 
They had just gotten back from a pretty long run the night before. And apparently things didn’t go quite as planned. They ran into another group and were out two days longer than intended. You didn’t ask for details, but the blood on their clothes was enough to assume the worst. 
You could hear them talking in the kitchen as you climbed up the plush carpet stairs, not making out any real words, just the gravelly sound of their voices. 
In the bedroom, you stood in front of the mirror, a little disappointed to be changing out of the pretty sundress you put on. You knew that Daryl really liked it. That was the whole reason you’d picked it out. You spent all morning getting ready, curling your hair and securing half of it up with a silky pink ribbon. You got yourself all dolled up for him.
Just as you were rooting around the drawer of Rick and Daryl’s old tee shirts, kindly donated to you for sleep and loungewear, you heard the door creak open and through the mirror you could see Daryl. He came up behind you, put his hands on your waist and nestled his face into the crook of your neck. He breathed in and left a couple sweet little kisses. 
"I really did like the cake," he started, turning you around to look at him, your butt pressed up against the dresser. "Did you pick those strawberries yourself?" He asked. 
You nodded with a smile, bringing your hands up to the back of his neck. "I practically had to fight Carol off for em'."You admitted. 
Amusement flashed through his face. You figured Rick must have told him to quit being so moody. To give you even the littlest bit of praise for your hard work. With the lunchtime birthday party earlier in the day, and the cake you baked from scratch. You hesitantly pressed your mouth against his. 
"I liked the present too." He mumbled against your lips. His hands trailed up your dress, clearly recognizing it from the last time you wore it. You’d gotten him a switchblade. His other one broke and you happened to find one really similar at Hilltop. You’d traded a whole basket of food for it. 
"There is one more present you know…" You told him, hands slowly making their way to his belt. His tongue darting out to lick his lips as you unbuckled him. Sinking down to your knees in front of him, and kissing his hard on through his boxers. The contact making his cock twitch. 
"Can I give you my other present now?" You asked innocently, looking up at him through long lashes. Painted fingernails tickling at the waist band as his hands went right to your hair. 
"Go right ahead, princess," his head tipped back to the ceiling as you pulled down his boxers and eagerly licked all the way up his shaft, getting him all wet with your spit. When he’d had enough of your teasing, he put pressure on your head and forced you to take all of him. Not that you minded. A groan left both of you at the same time when the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. You bobbed your head up and down to whatever pace he wanted, controlling you with the grip on your scalp. Messing up your ribbon in the process.  
You could hear Rick enter the room, though you didn’t stop looking up at Daryl. Focusing solely on the man in front of you. The one who had never even gotten a real birthday. And when he’d told you that months ago, you decided to do everything you possibly could, to make up for it. 
The springs in the mattress squeaked, and you figured Rick was making himself comfortable. Lying back to watch the show. Daryl glanced over at him, already breathing heavy above you. 
They shared a look that could only mean one thing, and before you knew it you were being pulled up by your hair and shoved towards the bed, stumbling forward and hitting the mattress with your knees. Looking back at Daryl who gave you a little nod. And then down at Rick, with his one leg bent and splayed open, and his own hand palming at his hard on. 
"You think I can share your present, baby? Would that be ok with you?" Daryl asked from behind you, tugging up your dress and pressing himself against your lacy panties. Hands rubbing up and down your sides.
"Anything for the birthday boy. Ain't that right, sweetie?" Rick interrupted, answering for you. As if it wasn’t in his own best interest that he shared. 
"Uhuh. Anything," you agreed and turned your head to catch Daryl’s lips, but he only kissed you for a second. 
"Good. Now let’s get these panties off." He pushed you onto the bed and your eyes got wide at his demand. Rick smiled at your reaction. You did as you were told, and got on all fours in front of him, all while stripping your panties down to your knees. 
Rick brought his hand up to your face, thumb pressing against your bottom lip. A glint in his eyes as you sucked on his thumb, dragging your teeth on the calloused pad. 
Behind you, Daryl snagged the delicate lace around your knees and ripped them all the way off, hands coming up to knead at your ass. A sharp smack filling the air before you even registered the stinging skin. 
"Ow," you whined out loud at the third smack. Earning a little scowl from the man in front of you. 
"It’s his day, sweetheart. Gotta give him whatever he wants." 
You nodded in agreement and started at Rick's pants. Daryl toying with your entrance from behind. Dipping down and licking a stripe up your slit from behind. Then moving to bite hard marks into your ass cheeks. You were trying not to groan too much at the pain. Rick was right. You weren’t allowed to complain. This wasn’t about you, it was about Daryl. 
"How do you want her?" Rick asked him, over your shoulder. Daryl thought for a moment before deciding on what he wanted. Gently flipping you over so you were essentially sitting in Rick's lap. Rick held your hips up so that his thick cock pressed right between your cheeks. 
Daryl grabbed your knees and spread them, situating himself right in front of you, his own cock rubbing against your clit. The whole situation made your pussy throb. You loved being sandwiched between them. It was your absolute fucking favourite. And you knew for a fact, they felt the same way. 
"You gonna let us fill you up, baby?" Daryl asked, squeezing your breast over your dress. Rick pulling you down and grinding your ass down onto him. 
"Anything you want." You mutter, reminding him of your present. Resting your head back on Rick's shoulder, to allow Daryl better access to your chest and neck. He pulled at the string of your dress untying it and exposing your breasts. He dipped down to nip at your skin. Finally pulling the dress over your head to allow him access at whatever he wanted. When his teeth caught on your nipple, you let out a little cry. Rick's lips brushed your ear while he told you how good of a girl you were being, giving Daryl exactly what he wants. That you are all he wants. All they want. And most importantly, that you’re all theirs. 
Both you and Rick could feel your wetness drip down your inner thigh. Using that discovery to his advantage, Rick started rocking you against him until his cock was all slick with your arousal. He lined himself up, and pressed against your asshole. You couldn’t help but gasp a little at the intrusion, even though you knew it was coming. They just couldn’t resist the chance to fill you right up. 
You slowly sunk down onto Rick, the familiar burn and stretch of the muscle making you groan. 
"You’re turn, Daryl." Rick told his friend as soon as your ass cheeks were flush with his thighs. Completely filled with every glorious inch. 
Daryl dipped his fingers in the pool of wetness that was dripping from your cunt, rubbing it around and then dragging his own dick through it. You tried your best to relax as he aligned with your entrance and pushed. 
"Ah! Mphmm." You moaned right into Daryl’s neck. Grasping at his shoulders and clawing down his back. Fuck, you were full. It hurt. Every time it happened, it was definitely painful for the first little bit. But quickly they found a rhythm, with Rick fucking you from below and Daryl thrusting nice and slow as he pressed messy, wet kisses to your mouth. Within a few minutes, they turned you into a babbling mess with your sweet spot stimulated from every possible angle. You were trying to tell Daryl how good he makes you feel. How pretty he is and how sexy his arms and chest are. How big his dick felt inside of you. But a soon as he was consistently hitting your cervix, you started to forget the English language and decided to stick your tongue down his throat instead. Rick's hands dug into your hips harder than you knew possible. There would be fingerprints bruised into your skin by tomorrow. Daryl’s hands held the backs of your thighs, opening you up as much as he could. Looking down once in a while at the sight of you being split right open. You could feel him twitch inside of you. You could tell he was close. The tightness and pressure getting the best of all three of you. 
"I’m- I-" you couldn’t even finish your sentence, as both men picked up their pace the second they heard your whining confession. Fucking you into adorable little moans, sobs and convulsions. A flood of heat erupting from your core, and shortly after, the feeling of both men’s hips stuttering. Emptying themselves into you. Their cum dribbling out of you as they pulled out gently. And you whining quietly at the new empty feeling. The men quickly maneuvering you onto the mattress so they could watch their contents seep out of both of your holes. They each picked a leg and started to kiss and suck little hickeys on them. Daryl’s fingers came up to drag through their seed, rubbing it all over your clit. You moaned out as he pressed two digits in to your pussy, the sound of all your cum mixing together, and squelching made you tighten around his digits. The men stayed between your legs and gave you two more orgasms. Switching off where one would work with their fingers and the other would kiss you all hot and messy. Molding you into the desperate little mess you usually were.
They only gave you a break while the three of you showered, Rick kissing the water droplets off your shoulder as you massaged some green apple scented shampoo into Daryl’s dark locks. Steam and giggles filling the master bathroom as you all washed up. 
"You still wanna watch a movie?" Rick asked while pulling on some sweatpants. Daryl rubbed a towel on his hair as you watched the two get dressed, cross legged on the bed in your cotton boy shorts and Daryl’s favorite shirt. 
"We could…" he said with a curious hesitation, "Or… we could make one...?" He suggested, with the smallest hint of shyness in his voice. He was testing the waters. Seeing how much he could he get away with today. Rick let out a dry laugh at your wide eyed gulp. Sympathizing with your poor body. Already sore and covered in love bites. But all three of you knew that no matter what, you weren’t gonna say no to the birthday boy.
(continued here)
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geminibsworld · 4 months
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Preachers daughter (one shot *maybe* )
⚠️: daddy!kink (a bit) innocence!kink, pinv, fingering,oral recieving and giving (m & f)
it was a summer afternoon, church was just starting. pearl, the preachers daughter, sat up front smiling proudly, while her father preached about the good lord. her mother sat next to her, pearl looked around. her eyes landing on Jessie's gang, she rolled her eyes turning around to face the front. she was trying to listen to her father when she felt eyes burning into her. she turned around, her red lips agape, as she's met with bluest eyes she's ever seen.
Billy the kid, of course. an outlaw, basically. he had a wild reputation, he'd never kill anyone but he has a reputation. a harlot reputation. every girl and mom had been with billy. pearl could never, she would never allow it.
"Amen!" voices interrupted her, as she turns around clapping and smiling with everyone else. she stood up with her family, her dress sticking to her as it was 90⁰ outside. it was 1982, and things were simple. pearl and her family lived the simple church life. she liked it that way, simple.
"pearl," her father's voice came into peer, she turned and grinned.
"wonderful speech, daddy," her country accent sweet like honey. billy loved your voice, he knew you sounded like honey so you had to taste like honey. billy cleared his throat taking off his hat as he stood behind the family.
"hello.. young man," pearls father tight lipped smile, glared at billy. he didn't care, he knew what people thought.
Billy's hat was in his hands as he was showing respect, pearl smiled to herself behind her family.
"I've heard you need help on your farm, sir," Billy's gruff Texas accent played like a melody in her ears. she gulped, as she felt chills on the hottest day she's felt in awhile.
"well, uh, I don't know-" her father began.
"sir, I'm a hardworker and I can do anything you need, pay me or don't." Billy's pleaded, his voice trying to not sound desperate. truth was he needed work, he needed to take care of his own self too. he needed to eat.
pearl was outside, on the porch watching Billy front a distance as he was shoveling hay. she watched his back, his tall broad frame yet skinny waist. he was strong, his muscles flexed, and he threw his head back taking off his hat and wiping his forehead.
pearl got an idea. she'd bring him water.
pearl walked out in a small white dress, nothing underneath of course, too hot for all that. her parents were already asleep, she felt bad but was so curious at the same time. she walked feeling the soft grass between her toes under her small feet, holding a jug of water. she felt so nervous, she hadn't talked to a lot of boys before, if so they were related due to her father.
she peered into the barn seeing billy, shirtless this time, sitting on the hay wiping his forehead again.
"y'know it's rude to stare," his voice caused her eyes to bug out of her head. she gulped before saying,
"well, you need water," she stated, quietly feeling nervous now. he stood up over her, and stared down at her, he smirked at her nervousness before grabbing the jug outta her hand and drinking while making eyecontact with her. he watched her shake, he almost laughed. so innocent, he thought. he wanted to see her shake in another way.
"thank you, maam," he handed the water back to her, she gulped nodding not making eye contact. billy noticed this.
"why won't you look at me ?" his voice low, causing a feeling to arise in her in her lower belly. she'd never felt that before.
"well, my momma said if I ever so much as look at a man they'll take advantage of me," pearl said, quietly. billy nodded, taking it in.
"well, I would never take advantage of such a pretty girl," his accent thick, and low now.
pearl gulped stepping back, looking at his naked large chest then back to his eyes then anywhere else. billy liked how innocent she was, how she wouldn't look into his eyes, he craved that.
*
pearl was cleaning up after the service. billy walked by and looked in the stained windows, seeing pearl bent over, he caught a view of her panties. her whole ass was out, and she didn't even notice or so he thought. he decided to walk in when she walked away, he locked the door behind him, quietly. she walked back into the room, she jumped seeing billy.
"h-hi william," she coughed, smoothing down her dress.
"hi, honey," his accent heavy, she shivered when he said that. she shook off her thoughts before asking a question.
"why are you here?" she asked, unsure. billy smiled at her.
"to see my favorite girl of course," pearl looked away, and continued to pick up every Bible.
"I don't think she's here, try again later. normally harlots don't go to church." pearl sneered at him, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulders.
"oh but she is," he stepped towards her, too close, she thought. she gulped, looking away continuing on grabbing every Bible.
"she wears little dresses, never a bra, and always wears the most innocent looking panties. but I know she could be my harlot if I touched her in the right place. would you like that, honey?" his accent low, and rough.
her mouth fell open, she was feeling something she felt the other night. her lower stomach bubbling in heat, a wetness poured in her panties.
billy noticed her silence and her reaction, she looked so small and innocent. he stepped forward, brushing a few hair behind her ear. her bright green eyes staring back. he leaned in and pressed a small kiss to her lips.
she was surprised and pulled back. his eyes darker and his lips fuller now.
she gasped at the sight of him, he was so beautiful.
"have you ever touched yourself before?" his southern accent breaking the silence.
"um no," pearl said, quietly. her cheeks reddened by now, she was biting her lip.
"may i?" he asked her, peering into her eyes.
pearl reluctantly nodded her head, billy picked up pearl like she weighed nothing.
"wrap your legs around me, dollface," and she did. he carried her to the priests office, shutting and locking the door then laying pearl down on the desk. her body lay there, as she anxiously waited, billy threw everything on the floor turning her body so it's long ways.
"billy, I've never done this before," she sat up on her elbows, hair a mess and her strap falling off her shoulder. billy laughed as he took off his belt and vest. he had lost his hat a bit ago, his hair had grown so much.
"baby, I know what you have and haven't done. I still wanna take care of ya," he leaned down between her thighs. she was soaked, she was so embarrassed, she tried closing her legs.
"let me taste you," he mumbled into her, before taking a long wet stripe to her wet patch on her panties. she moaned out, her hands fitting her dress. he pushed up her short dress more, exposing all of her.
"that feels nice," she said, not even realizing what was going on. billy smirked, pulling her white wet panties down her thighs. once they were gone, he pushed her legs up on the desk spreading her all the way open.
billy gasped, she was dripping. literally honey, he thought. he dove right in, no warning. licking her clit, she screamed out. his tongue playing with her clit, slowly.
"oh my-" she breathed out, whimpering. billy smirked to himself before speeding up, his tongue doing soft but fast. a feeling way coming up, she felt like she had to pee. she was a moaning whimpering mess.
"my messy baby, your pussy is soaking. can't wait to feel you around me. " he grumbled into her, she cried out as he took in all her juices, not missing any.
"feel good baby?" he sat her up, she lazily sat up. her hair falling behind her.
"take your dress off baby," she obliged, tiredly. billy smirked watching her as he unbuttoned his button up, and pulled down his pants. her dress was off as she watched him, she looked down and gasped.
"big, ain't it? sometimes the ladies call me billy the man," he laughed, "too bad, I only want you to call me that," he winked at pearl.
"I bet you say that to all the girls," pearl mumbled, looking down away from his gaze. two fingers lifted her head, their eyes met.
"I wouldn't lie to you, honey," he mumbled planting a kiss on her forehead, "now lay back and let daddy do his thing,"
she laid back, his large fingers rubbed her clit in circles. she was seeing stars, she was a whimpering messy little girl and billy loved it.
"billy,-" she breathed out, eyes rolling in the back of her head.
"baby, im gonna try somethin'" suddenly two finger plunged into her, his large fingers giving her a filling feeling. his fingers curled, causing this feeling to happen. billy continued, adding another finger. he finger fucked her, hard.
"daddy," she moaned, billy had to hold back his moan.
"fuck it," he mumbled, grabbing his hardened member spitting on it while rubbing in his precum. while pearl was in her own euphoric world, he played with her small bud rubbing in circles with his thumb.
he placed himself at her entrance, before pushing in slowly. inch by inch by inch, she could feel herself expanding around his large member. the farther he got in the more she wanted more, he pulled all the way out before sliding all the way back in hard. she cried out, he wrapped his toned arms around her back pulling her up, before slamming his hips into hers multiple times.
"fuck bi-daddy," she cursed as he fucked her roughly. rough sex was Billy's favorite and most girls liked it because his big cock.
billy moaned as he fucked her, their hips meeting, he pulled her into a messy kiss. he stuck his tongue in her mouth, she could taste herself. she sucked on his tongue causing this animalistic sound to come out of billy. he pulled away, before pulling her out and flipping her over so she was bent over the desk.
"such a pretty pink pussy baby, can't wait to destroy it," he spit on his cock, jerking it a few times before sliding into her wet hole.
she moaned, billy went in so deeply he could feel her cream on his cock. he grunted, her ass jiggling against him. he reached for her long hair pulling her back so she could look at him as billy was filling her up.
"fuck," she cried out as he plunged into her, billy was turned on, she was his bad girl. he wanted that, he wanted to turn her and he did.
"preachers daughter my ass," he only went harder, she clenched around him crying out. tears staining her pretty pink cheeks.
"you my dirty whore? huh?" billy grunted, pulling her head back more.
"oh my God yes daddy, I'm your dirty whore," she cried out, Cumming again on his cock.
billy was close, he became sloppy yet hard still. he wanted to cum on her back, he wanted to see the cum on her.
"fuck, honey, I'm close," he breathed, letting go of her hair, moving to her lips.
"daddy fuck, don't stop," they moaned together before billy pulled out and finished on her back.
pearl was out of breath, and sore. extremely sore, there was a liquid pouring down her legs. she looked around for billy, he wasn't there. she began to feel used, upset.
billy came walking in, his thermals on and a rag in his hand, she felt much relief.
"lemme take care of this mess baby," he smiled at her, she nodded grinning biting her lip as he wiped her and him clean.
"I'd like to see you again, doll," he smirked, she bit her lip hiding a grin slipping on her dress. she picked her panties off the ground, handing them to billy.
"keep these", she whispered before asking, " you workin today?"
billy smirked getting dressed, before looking at her .
"oh I'm workin' today darlin. I'll take ya home, and we can continue, if you'd like of course." billy said, smooth but sweetly.
"sure, daddy,"
she stopped calling her dad, daddy so dw no one will be confused or weirded out.
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Shovel Talk(s) Part 2
Part One 🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four
Nobody in the history of the world has ever referred to Eddie as jubilant but that was certainly the best word for him currently. Eddie has survived the apocalypse (even if barely), been proven innocent for the murders (the Upside Down exploding into Hawkins helped), and he has a boyfriend. It makes Eddie feel like he's floating.
Steve drops him off, walks him up to the porch, and gives him the sweetest kiss goodbye. Eddie doesn't go inside right away because he wants to watch Steve as he leaves and maybe blow him an exaggerated kiss as he drives away.
"Glad that boy finally did something about how pathetic you were being," Wayne says in lieu of a greeting when Eddie finally slips in the front door and into the living room, plopping himself on the other end of the sofa, dragging one of the throw pillows that came with the couch into his lap to clutch onto. Ground him, because he's still floating.
"I was not being pathetic!" Eddie is scandalized.
Wayne lets out a wistful sigh and says, in a poor imitation of Eddie's voice, "when will Steve end my suffering and notice me."
Eddie lunges across the couch with the pillow in hand, whacking Wayne with every word he speaks, while also trying to dodge Wayne trying to grab the pillow from him, "I do not sound like that!"
Wayne tricks him into thinking the pillow is his only goal and before he realizes what's happening, Wayne has him in a headlock, dragging both of them off the couch as he stands, giving Eddie the gentlest noogie of his life. "I think I know how you sound, hearin' you bellyache for the last 13 years. I've had to hear your relentless sighing and bemoaning about Steve for at least six of 'em."
Eddie beats him with the pillow more until Wayne releases the headlock and then they wrestle until his uncle fakes hurt, so Eddie backs down quickly, and Wayne steals the pillow and beats him back onto the couch until Eddie yields.
"That was dirty fighting, old man," Eddie says when he finally stops laughing enough to catch his breath.
"What was it you used to tell me, when I said you were fightin' dirty?" Wayne asks, "Scrappy."
"Oh, is that what you think you are?" Eddie swings at Wayne's knee half-heartedly. Wayne flings himself across the room and into the recliner there like Eddie shoved him. "Oh, you big baby."
"You're awfully callus about bullying your old man," Wayne chuckles and settles into the recliner, popping the leg rest out. "Now, tell me about your boy. He was a gentleman to you?"
Eddie pouts, "Unfortunately, yes. One chaste kiss and then he was off."
"Smart boy."
Eddie narrows his eyes. "What's the supposed to mean?"
"Means I scare him."
"What."
"That a question or a statement, son?" Wayne looks awfully smug over in his chair.
"What do you mean you scare him?"
"Just gave him the good ole father shovel talk. Y'know? Hurt my boy and I'll make you disappear," Wayne says.
"You terrible old man!" Eddie throws his pillow at him but Wayne bats it out of the air. "I'm going to die a virgin and it'll be your fault!"
Wayne just shrugs. "Fine by me."
"You are the worst."
-
Eddie can't make his leg stop jiggling. He feels sorry for Nancy, who is sharing the bench seat with him because he's sure that it's shaking the whole bench. He's filled with energy and doesn't know what to do with it.
Robin sits across from them, finishing up the last of her milkshake as they wait for the to go order they're going to drop off for Steve, who is stuck at Family Video for another five hours. He was supposed to be here, too, but Keith called him asking him to cover and he'd said yes. Eddie wishes he hadn't. This was Lunch Date Day.
"Are you still upset Steve took an extra shift?" Nancy asks. "Even though you know he's just going to spend the extra money on you?"
Eddie's pouting, voice whiny as he says, "I'd rather he be heeeerrrrrrrre."
"It's disgusting how in love you are," Robin says, shoving the now completely empty milkshake glass away.
Eddie's leg stops shaking because he full on freezes. "Uh."
"Are you afraid of saying the L-word? You are not subtle in showing it," Nancy says, ever the traitor, "but luckily Steve's just as smitten."
"You don't know that," Eddie says, arguing for the sake of arguing. He doesn't believe he likes Steve more than Steve likes him. He's pretty sure they're on an even playing field.
"Yeah, I do. I threatened to shoot him if he hurt you and he didn't even flinch. He'd have taken the bullet for you."
"You did what!?" Robin yelps. She's looking at Nancy like she's grown a second head.
"I didn't even bring a gun with me! Besides, Steve knows I didn't mean it," Nancy says with a wave of her hand, "it was just an obligation thing. You have to threaten your best friend's significant other. The whole conversation was like, 30 seconds tops."
"I'm your best friend!?" Eddie gasps, faking surprise. They have become good friends. She'd taken it upon herself to make sure he did get to graduate with Robin and herself, and they did form a sort of friendship from that. Also, from being the collective third wheel to Steve&Robin, which is enough to make people come together. Neither of them truly thinks of the other as their best friend, but it's fun to joke about their own Capitol with a P Platonic Friendship around Steve and Robin, as they become rather bitchy and defensive about their own friendship.
It's hilarious every time.
"Well, it's you or Argyle, and I don't think Jonathan wants to share his best friend, so...."
"Cold, Wheeler. Cold."
Nancy rolls her eyes and looks over to Robin. "Are you telling me you haven't given Eddie the shovel talk?"
Robin frowns as she thinks before her eyes widen in shock and she gasps, "I think I accidentally gave Steve a shovel talk instead."
Eddie bursts out laughing, "Robin, how the fuck did you end up accidentally giving a shovel talk to your own best friend?"
"I just told him to, like, be careful with you."
"Careful with me?" Eddie asks, a little incredulously. "What the fuck does that mean?"
Robin is going on the defensive, now. Eddie can see that in the way she squares her shoulders before saying, "it was said after your first date! Steve's had a lot of those, and you hadn't. I just- I dunno, wanted him to see the importance of that."
"So, what, you told him you'd shoot him if he hurt me, like Wheeler here?"
"No! I never said I'd hurt him for hurting you. I just said that he should be careful with you because, as your first boyfriend, if, and I did mean if, you don't work out, it's like... he's setting the precedent for how boyfriends should treat you. What you'll put with with, y'know?"
"That's sweet-" Nancy starts but Eddie's speaking over her just a quickly.
"Robin, that's stupid. I'm a fucking adult. If I'm not being treated how I want to be treated, I'll tell Steve," Eddie huffs. "You can trust that I say what I mean."
"Can I?" Robin shoots back. "Just like when you promised to get the fuck outta dodge and instead went on a suicide mission that ended very, very badly for you?"
"That was different, Buckley," Eddie hisses at her, sitting up straight to lean more across the table, trying to get in her face, "there was a lot of shit happening, and no way out that I saw. It's called trauma!"
It seems that a defensive Robin goes straight for the jugular because she hisses back, "No, actually, I think it's called survivors guilt and suicidal ideation. You know what, I should be giving you a shovel talk! 'Cause I don't fully trust you to not hurt Steve, either by lying or running once things get rough. You don't-"
"OKAY!" Nancy shouts, startling both of them into silence with one word. "We are in an, admittedly very empty, diner but still a very public diner, so let's not. Robin, you're not Steve's mom, it's not on you to look out for who is going to hurt him or-"
"You do not get to speak to me about hurting him," Robin points an accusing finger at Nancy. For all the anger she seemed to have for Eddie just now, he can see that it's almost doubled for Nancy. "I wasn't Steve's friend when you hurt him, but don't think I don't know every detail."
He knows this story, too. Had gotten it out of Steve one night, weeks ago now, when they'd been passing a joint back and forth on Eddie's bed. Before Eddie can pipe up, not that he knows what he'd say anyway, the waitress returns with the to go box and the check.
"It's my turn to pay," Nancy says, snatching the check before it touches the table, following hot on the waitress's heels to the register.
"Ugh," Robin flings herself against the back of the bench, both hands coming up to hide her face. From beneath her hiding place, she says, "I'm sorry, Eddie. What I said was unfair, and uncalled for."
"We're cool, Robin," Eddie says, "I forget how much of a buffer for our anxieties Steve is until we all hang out without him. He's able to defuse an argument before it happens."
"Oh, don't word it like that," Robin drops her hands and slides out of the booth, scooping up the to go box in the process," it makes Steve sound like the emotionally mature one."
They all climb into Nancy's car and apologies are said but Eddie feels like the next time Steve can't make it, they'll all bail on the weekly lunch. They're just a bunch of traumatized young adults and Steve is the heart of them, the person that bonds them outside the shit they went through. And maybe they should figure out a better way to deal with this than just pretending it didn't happen but- well, the world just kept moving on and they had to either move with it or get left behind.
-
It's two weeks after Eddie and Steve accidentally told the Hellfire crew they were a couple, which is why Eddie is not expecting it when Erica and Lucas corner him. He was expecting to be cornered by someone last week.
They'd been taking longer to pack up than usual, and that should have tipped Eddie off that something was up.
"Munson," Erica says in her no-nonsense voice, hands on her hips, face unamused. For sharing no biology with Steve, Eddie finds the resemblance uncanny. "I need you to understand that you might be my Dungeon Master, but Scoops Troop will always trump that, so if you fuck this up with Steve, you will have to answer to me."
Eddie gives a soft grin in response, amused, "no worries, Lady Applejack. I have no plans to fuck this up."
Erica's eyes flick to Lucas, then back to Eddie. "I mean it, Munson. I have it on good authority that sometimes you hurt people and then you don't try to right it. You just move on-"
"Erica, stop it," Lucas says, voice a little panicked.
But Erica continues, because nothing ever seems to phase her, "and Steve and Lucas are alike in that way. So just know that if you hurt Steve like you hurt Lucas-"
"Erica!"
"I will end you. I will ruin your life, Munson-"
"Erica, STOP!" Lucas finally steps forward, yanking on Erica's arm to get her to stop talking. It makes her stumble a bit before rounding on Lucas. "Stop it."
"No!" Erica glares at her brother as she removes his hand from her arm. "Go outside if you don't want to hear it."
They stare each other down and Eddie's not sure what he should be doing. Should he step in? He grew up an only child, is this normal sibling behavior? But he doesn't have to step in because Lucas huffs and storms out of the house, front door clicking softly behind him even though Eddie expected him to slam the door.
"Now, you," Erica whirls around to Eddie, "do you understand what I'm saying?"
Eddie does not. He's fairly certain he's getting a shovel talk from a twelve-year-old and while amusing, he senses there's more to it than just his relationship with Steve. "You're threatening me on Steve's behalf?"
Erica scoffs and rolls her eyes like she thinks Eddie's an idiot. He's starting to think he might be. "Yes, I am but also more. Your relationship has been the hot topic these days, and my brother brought up a good point but he's too nice to say it, so I will. When school starts, if Steve wants to take you to a basketball game, even though they fall on Hellfire night, you postpone the damn game and you go. No matter how much you hate basketball or jocks or- or... other things." She loses steam at the end, eyes flicking to the door.
"What?" Eddie is even more confused, "I don't hate basketball. And if Steve asks, I'm not going to say no, okay? I care about Steve. A lot."
Erica frowns, which contradicts the words that leave her mouth. "Good. That's good. I'd hate to ruin you, Munson."
"Is there... more to it?"
It takes Erica maybe three seconds to decide what she's going to say. Just long enough for her to look at the door, then back to Eddie. "You owe my brother an apology."
"Uh, sure, I'll apologize but for what?"
"Remember the basketball championship and the last session of the Vecna campaign that you wouldn't postpone so Lucas could play? You never apologized," Erica crosses her arms, another move reminiscent of Steve, before continuing, "You didn't apologize, and Lucas thought that it was because he's a jock, and you hate jocks. But now you're dating Steve and he's a jock. So, if you don't hate jocks, Lucas thinks you just hate him."
"What, no, I don't hate Lucas!"
"Then tell him that!" Erica glares at him, "and let this be a little lesson for you. Going forward if you hurt either of my brothers, intentionally or not, you can kiss the tires on your van goodbye."
Eddie tucks his metaphorical tail between his legs and goes outside to apologize, because Lucas deserves to hear it.
Then, once the Sinclairs are gone and Eddie's back in his room, he runs through every conversation he can remember having with Steve. Has he dismissed things Steve liked too easily, too often? Has he said anything offhandedly that could be taken the wrong way without explanation?
Eddie's was an only child and didn't have to grow up worrying about anyone but himself. He made himself an outcast and shunned the 'norm' by choice. Doing so didn't exactly let him learn the social graces of patience and understanding.
It's eye opening, to learn that a decision he made months ago without a second thought has been hurting Lucas this whole time.
Has he ever done that to Steve, and not known it?
-
Steve's been distant these past few days and no matter how many times Eddie asks, Steve's answer doesn't change. I'm fine he says. I'm fine. Just fine. It's fine.
Except nothing feels fine. And Eddie doesn't understand the sharp change. They've got a date planned for tonight. Neither of them has specifically said it out loud, because it's sappy and stupid, but it marks three full months as official boyfriends. So, they've got a date planned, but Eddie's worried how it might end.
Eddie's been floating these last three months, but he suddenly feels grounded. He can't fix whatever happened if Steve won't tell him what it was! And in the absence of actual answers, Eddie's mind has invented his own.
Steve's realized that Eddie's not good enough for him. Steve's realized that he's actually straight, but thanks for the experimentation. Steve's found someone else and is working on how to break up with Eddie without blowing up their friend group in the process.
And Eddie hates himself for thinking these things. For projecting his own insecurities onto a version of Steve that doesn't exist. Eddie's gotten to know Steve.
Or he thought he had.
But now he's pulling away. And the only person he knows he can talk to about dating Steve is Nancy and he can't do that! He can't just go to Nancy's house and ask 'so when you were dating Steve and it was all going down the drain, was he distant or is that just a me thing?'
Fuck. Fuck!
He runs his hands through his hair and regrets it as his curls tangle around the rings on his hands. He should brush his hair, be getting ready, but he's procrastinating that because he can't decide if he's going all out, making himself look his best to see if it'll bring some life back into Steve's eyes when he looks at him, or if he shouldn't try at all and see if Steve even notices he's wearing the same thing he wore yesterday.
And it's bullshit that he's even thinking about testing Steve. Not two months ago he and Robin had argued in that diner about whether he's talk to Steve about these kind of things or not and now he was kind of proving her right. Except not, because he did try to talk! Steve just didn't answer when he questioned, and you can't really build a conversation from nothing.
Fuck! He should have known this would happen. That he would fall in love and Steve wouldn't love him back because that's always been his lot in life.
Oh.
Oh no.
He's been avoiding thinking it because once it's been thought, once it's solidified in his mind, it's true. And now he's thought it!
He's in love with Steve Harrington.
And isn't it just fuckin' peachy that this realization doesn't accompany happy feelings. He's in love and can't even be happy about it because he's so fucking sure his relationship is ending tonight.
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qsphyxias · 25 days
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Nightwing x Male! Thief! Reader
if you fetishize mlm/nblm relationships, get the fuck out of here!
synopsis ; nightwing and ur dynamic, as a small, not super skilled, thief that nightwing likes
warnings ; male! reader, cussing, mention of oral sex (no actual sex at all), banter,
note ; wish i wrote smth abt nightwing's GYATTT
words ; 1.3k+
Your teeth chattered in your jaw as you continued to shovel stacks of cash from the busted vault into your gym bag. Your eyebrows furrowed in frustration as you could feel your fingers going numb from the adrenaline rushing through your hands — Faster, damn it, faster!
The emergency lights flashed a red hue on everything you saw, and you couldn't hear anything but a pulsing in your head, and quiet and light steps behind you. Knowing who it was, you only sighed and remained tense, refusing to look your assailant in the eye.
"Really, s/o?" You winced at his disappointed tone of voice, already pissed at his audacity to talk as if — "As if you have the right to judge me, Boy Wonder." You spat out, frowning as you swivelled around to see Dick Grayson, a mere inch away from you. Your gym bag rotated around you on impact and caught itself on your shoulder. The impact and the shock alone were enough to make you take a step back — but not before Dick had slipped one of his batons behind the groove of your back, pulling you towards his chest by pulling on both ends of the baton.
"It's Nightwing now, actually." He corrected, seemingly unfazed by your resentful attitude. Your dynamic usually went this way; a small fight amongst rivals and old friends, with a mutual understanding that the other is off-limits. Looking down at your irritated face, Dick only grinned wittingly and nodded towards your bag full of cash over your shoulder, "I assume... money's tight?"
You could only laugh, feigning shock, "Oh, right, I forgot you don't know what it's like to be poor because your daddy's filthy rich." With a quick shove away from his suit-bound chest, you backed away from him and started immediately looking for exits.
Dick noticed and shook his head. "Hey man, he may be a billionaire, but he doesn't give me a single penny!" Dick stepped closer to you as you stepped back, cornering you. "Can you believe that?" He muttered, his perfect hair looking like a bright shade of red from your close-up point of view underneath the hue of the emergency lights.
You looked up at him, then looked down as you considered punching him in the stomach to get away. The vigilante began eyeing your bag, taking the chance and reaching for it when you were distracted looking for his weak points.
Acting quickly, you rip the bag away from him, bolting for a closed window jumping out of it and into another rooftop of a building. Glass had flown everywhere, some of it cutting you, and some of it landing inside your shoes. Dick laughed in slight annoyance as he saw you take off, not wasting another second and going right after you. "You can't run forever! I know this bank personally, s/o, they're getting their money back!"
You don't waste time looking behind you and flip him the bird over your shoulder, leaping onto another building with a running start. Midair, you feel a strong arm wrap grab your waist and fling you around in an unknown direction — just until you reach solid ground on top of a 24/7 diner. Not used to being in the fucking air you found yourself holding onto the superhero's shoulder's in a vice grip until you let go, finding the whole situation mortifying.
"Breakfast?" Dick looked at the bright Neon sign that was below eye level from his spot on the rooftop, grinning at you so coyly; he was serious.
"It's 4 AM, Dick." You say his name like an insult, rather than a title.
Dick, however, was unfazed, having heard that joke over a thousand times in his lifetime. "Well, yeah it's midnight, but I'm hungry and— Oh shoot! I'm short on cash... S/o? Do you happen to have cash?" Nightwing crossed his arms and hummed in thought looking around like a sailor looking for land.
You could only roll your eyes at his behaviour, knowing he was serious about using the money you stole to buy himself a chicken-fried steak and a stack of pancakes.
A normal person who was to look at this man's behaviour would have instantly known he was joking; you, however, were no ordinary man. For you have known Grayson for longer than you wanted to have known him, and a couple of years' worth of time spent with the acrobat was enough information for you to know; he fucked around, but man, did he love finding out.
You felt your shoulders drop in a "why-not" attitude, and you let out a long sigh, shrugging and gesturing to jump down from the rooftop of the diner.
With a pursed lip smile, Dick hopped down and opened the diner's front door, beckoning you inside eagerly. After you got down, you rolled your eyes at him but laughed anyway, finding the situation unbelievable. "Did you want a blowjob for your chivalry?" You joked, peeking over your shoulder to catch Grayson checking out your ass from behind you.
"Why; is that an offer?" Grayson ran his tongue over his bottom lip, rapid-firing his side of the banter. The hostess stood before the two of you, watching the exchange occur uncomfortably. Despite your public profanities, she couldn't care less, it was 4 am.
"Table for two?"
——————————————————————————————————
The air was calm in the diner, it smelt of coffee — which made sense, because how else would you stay awake at this ungodly hour? You were lucky that there was no one else here; a swarm of men and women alike would have crowded around the superhero sitting before you, had it not been empty.
As you scanned the menu briefly, you couldn't help but get a little distracted at the sight of the man before you. Stealing glances above the menu, you leaned back in your side of the booth and shrunk, trying to look as if you aren't staring at him just for the sake of staring.
"I know I'm gob-stoppingly gorgeous, but be careful, you might even fall in love with me with that look." Dick snorted, dropping the menu down on the table to reveal his shit-eating grin.
"Oh fuck off," You murmured, looking away for a second only to meet his eyes again. "... So what's the plan, Dick?" Your embarrassment was soon replaced with your focus on the important matter at hand. "Are you planning not to turn me in today? Plan to take me out to dinner like one of your girls?" His attention was now completely on you, his eyes carefully watching you as you got comfortable in your cushioned seat, balancing your head on your hands as you leaned forward.
"What do you want?"
Dick gulped. "Well, I... I want a huge stack of your house buckwheat pancakes and a soda float, if you please." His demeanour shifted completely as he transformed from sexy-man to child-patron when he waved his hand over to the waitress to get her attention and his order in. "And— What, a milkshake? A milkshake for the gentleman please— And fries!" He looked back at you, "can't have a milkshake without fries, am I right?"
You could only stare blankly at him as he conversed with the waitress across the room, "Dick, look at me." getting fed up with his indifference, you reached forward to grab his jaw lightly by the tips of your fingers, angling his face to confront you. You could feel your heart skip a beat as his dark blue eyes focused on you once again.
Your breath hitched, and you nearly forgot what you wanted to say. "... The hell do you want with me now that we're here?" You repeated under your breath, watching as one of his hands reached up to grab your hand on his face.
"Well,"
"Maybe I just wanted to waste some of your time, sweetheart."
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sweet-honey-tears · 1 year
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⦿ Home/Lock Screen ⦿
What the BHNA boys lock/Home Screen look like?
Characters: Kiribaku, ShinKami, Dabi x GN!Reader
Hi everyone, back again! This concept wasnt requested but I got asked about a certain character combination -so yeah! I hope you like it( I won’t say who you are but I hope you enjoy it!😊) each character has a different Lock Screen/Home screen! I hope you enjoy! And as always, request are always welcomed! Bye~🤍
Kirishima + Bakugou
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» Lock Screen «
Bakugou’s Lock Screen is back from UA. It's a picture of you sitting at your desk. You're tipping over in your chair. One of your hands in the air and the other trying to grab onto the desk. You have a leg leaving the chair like you're kicking a soccer ball. The other leg is trying to touch the ground again. You have this look of pure panic on your face. And in the corner, you can see the quick moment(a blurry flash) of Bakugou running over to help you. He looks almost angry like he’s about to yell ‘dumbass!’. Denki took the picture, trying to catch a photo of Kirishima with his concentration face on. But instead, it’s a picture of Kirishima, mi-yell, and a large arm reaching over his desk to try and stop you from tipping over. His eyes are wide.Katsuki smiles every time he sees it, it’s just so stupid and funny. It reminds him of both of you.
» Home Screen «
Bakugou’s Home Screen is a more recent photo. It’s of you and Kirishima. You have Bakugou's old skull shirt on, the faded material hanging off you. You lay against Kirishima's side, your head resting on his shoulder. Kiri’s arm is slung around you, his head slightly tilted back. You’re both fast asleep. And Bakugou is pretty sure he can see drool on Kirishima's chin. There’s a half eaten bowl of popcorn sandwiches between you two. And an All Might blanket covering you and Kirishima's lap. Balugou keeps it as his home screen because it’s more personal to him. Something he feels is sentimental- something he doesn’t want his fans to see by accident.
» Lock Screen «
Kirishima's Lock Screen is a picture of you and Bakougu cooking. You’re both standing side by side at the stove wearing aprons as you work. Yet Bakugou’s hand is in your back pocket, his thumb hanging out in case he needs his other hand. The photo only shows the back of your heads as the both of you do something so… domestic. But at that moment, you both kept shoving each other, talking about the latest villain. Trying to compete with each other on who could cut the most carrots.
» Home Screen «
Kirishima's Home Screen and pictures of you, himself, and Bakugou at a waterpark. Your body is sandwiched between theirs. Kirishima has one large arm wrapped around your waist and Bakugou has one wrapped around your shoulders. His fingers grazed Kirishima's broad shoulders. You have your hands resting on their lower backs. Both you and Kirishima are smiling, and Bakugou is grinning. His dimples showing up.
🔥 Dabi 🔥
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» Lock Screen «
Toya’s Lock Screen is of you eating an Oreo. It was right after a rather shitty mission and you're just sitting at the bar, eating Oreos. You still have soot on your face, and small scratches, but here you are- at the bar eating cookies. You have it cracked in half, so one side is a cookie and the filling and the other is just a cookie. Your front teeth are sunk into the cream, and there are clear drag marks from you scooping the filling out with your teeth like a shovel. The best part of the photo is you’re flipping off the camera. You look angry and Dabi finds the scene fucking hilarious and adorable. Like a toddler, just eating cookies angrily. You're giving Dabi the worst side-eye he’s ever seen.
“You want some milk too”
“Shut up”
» Home Screen «
If you’re wondering, his Home Screen is a very old photo of his siblings he found in the paper. It’s personal. Hidden. You understand.
⚡️Denki + Shinso 💤
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» Lock Screen «
Denki’s Lock Screen is little Eri dressed up as a pikachu. Yes, he has pretty much claimed her as his little sister.
» Home Screen «
Denki’s Home Screen is of You, Shinso, and himself at the last concert you went to. You’re on Shinso’s shoulders, an arm in the air yelling along with the lyrics. You have one of Denki’s chokers on and eyeliner that he drew on you. Your ripped band t-shirt is pulled upwards at your movement.
Shinso has a black band shirt on with his long-sleeve white and dark purple striped shirt underneath. It hugs his arms tight, leading to the loose second layer. His ringed fingers rest on your legs, ensuring you stay upright and safe. He has, his snake bites in ( he usually takes out due to work) and his black stud and off screen your hand is cupping his face right behind his ear. He’s smiling at the camera, while you're completely oblivious.
Denki’s holding his phone to catch the two of you and a section of himself. His lighting bolt and chain piercings are on full display to the camera. He’s smiling brightly, a little tipsy but extremely happy.
» Lock Screen «
Shinso Home Screen and Lock Screen is one picture split up. His Lock Screen is of you and Eri. Eri sitting crisscrossed in front of you as you do her hair. Twisting the blue-gray strands into a space bun. A brush, bobby pins, and red hair clips lay next to you. The both of you are laughing and looking off into the distance. Where in the cover of the screen, two hands are reaching out. The fingernails were painted vibrant pink. There are plastic rings on them, some from Eri’s old toy chest. One is a huge fake diamond and the other is a cheaply painted plastic cat face.
» Home Screen «
Shinso’s Home Screen is the rest of the photo. Denki is laying on his stomach, his sweet smile peeking out from over his shoulders. He’s wearing one of Eri's cat headbands, causing his golden hair to spike in all different directions. He has a temporary tattoo on his cheek, a yellow lightning bolt that Eri picked out for him. Shinso had one too. A black back on the top of his hand. One of the best parts about it is that it’s a Live Photo. When Shinso presses down on the Lock Screen, your shoulders move as you laugh and Eris' confused face breaks out a larder smile. Her hands clasped as her eyes close in laughter. The hands on the corner of the screen move as if showing off the rings on them.
When Shinso presses down on the Denki portion of the picture, Denki's mouth moves. The audio is of Denki speaking in a very sassy female voice. ‘How ya doing?’
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holylulusworld · 3 months
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Indecent Proposal (9.2)
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Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.
Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader
Warnings: tension, sexy mobsters, fluff, talk about sex, making out, voyeurism, established Stucky, mentions of a foot job
Indecent Proposal (9)
Indecent Proposal masterlist
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“Our pretty angel is still asleep Stevie,” Bucky smirks while watching his husband stare at you. “What are your plans for tonight? Do you want to go easy on her or ruin her completely?”
Steve smirks. “I will make her feel so good and fill her up. Our sweet doll will melt in my arms, just like you did when I kissed you for the first time. But we need to go easy on her only for today. She needs a rest, or we will break her.”
Bucky laughs. “Baby, it was you whimpering after I shoved my tongue down your throat and my hand down your pants. You’ve been putty in my arms.”
“I think you remember wrong, Buck!” Steve’s eyes darken and he purses his lips. “You were the one moaning my name first.”
“Because you were so damn good a sucking cock,” Bucky grins. “You still are the best, baby. No one can compare with that dirty mouth of yours.”
“Debatable, babe,” Steve shrugs. “I agree on the fact that I’m the best at sucking your dick.”
“So…breakfast and naughtiness or only breakfast…?” Bucky hopefully looks at his husband.
“Well, you are already needy, and we should let Y/N sleep a little longer,” Steve slaps his husband’s ass. “In the showers, dirty boy. I want you to scrub the naughtiness off your skin.”
“Ha, like hell,” Bucky snickers and runs off, shaking his ass on purpose. “Catch me if you can, Stevie. If you catch me, you can scrub the naughtiness off my back.”
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“How do you feel?” Bucky smirks knowingly as you hobble toward the kitchen counter. “What about breakfast? Ready to shovel down all the delicious food we made for you?”
You quirk a brow at Steve. “You made all of this?” While you glance at the food, Steve and Bucky look at each other. “Really?” You grab a plate and a fork.
“Uh-the cook made it,” Steve admits, earning a punch to his biceps from Bucky. “Hey, we don’t lie in our relationship.” Steve points out. “Y/N is part of this relationship too, and we won’t start it with lying to her.”
“Ah, we are playing knight in shiny armor today,” Bucky clicks his tongue. “I can be so good too. I can play houseman and use the vacuum cleaner.”
Steve snorts at his husband’s antics. “Buck, calm down. I only meant that we shouldn’t start our relationship with Y/N with a lie. She already knows that we are no angels.”
“How about we eat that food your cook made,” you step between the men to stop them from fighting. You don’t know yet that this is not a fight, but flirty banter. “It smells great.”
“You heard our girl, she’s hungry.”
“For cock?” Bucky grins. “Right, baby doll. You like a good cock.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“Yes, I do,” you pat his chest. “But now that my brain is working again, we should talk a little before I eat your husband alive.” You turn around to wrap your arms around Steve’s neck. “Right, pretty man. I’m gonna ride that dick tonight.”
“Uh-huh,” Bucky slaps your ass. “This lady is hungry for you, Stevie. I’m afraid you cannot go easy on her. She wants to eat you alive.”
“First I want to eat pancakes and some eggs,” you snicker. “But I wanna sit in Stevie’s lap this morning. Maybe rub Bucky’s cock with my foot.”
“What?” Bucky choked on the coffee he tried to drink while you turned your attention toward his husband.
You look over your shoulder, smirking. “Don’t you like a good foot job, Bucky? I can make you cum only using my cute toes.”
“She’s a maniac Stevie and I love it!” Bucky is giddy to explore all of your kinks with you and Steve. “She’s a dirty girl too.”
“No sex this morning,” Steve tuts. “Y/N is right. We need to talk about a few things. The sex with both of you is amazing, and watching you is a turn-on. But we wanted to have her in our lives for more than good sex.”
“I wanna sit on your lap while we discuss all the things we forgot to talk about before we started,” you push Steve onto one of the chairs and hop onto his lap. “That’s better.” You grin and press your lips to Steve’s.
“The most important thing is to agree that we never lie to each other. This relationship and having a baby together will only work out if we are all on the same side.” Steve says and points out that they lied to you before.
“We agreed to not kill Scott but-“ Bucky huffs as his husband throws him an angry look. “What?” The brunette shrugs. “You wanted us to be completely honest. In all honesty, I enjoyed getting rid of that piece of shit.”
“You killed Scott,” you hum, and hide your face in Steve’s neck to nibble at his sweet spot. “Good. I think he was talking to the cops. I cannot risk that my men get arrested. How shall I survive without their cocks pounding me at least once per day.”
“What?” Steve and Bucky hiccup in unison.
“What?” You lift your head to smirk at Steve. “I knew that you wouldn’t kill him for me after I asked you to do so. But I knew that you would kill him for yourself because he lied to you. That hurt your ego and pride.” You giggle as Steve looks at you like you grew a second head. “I just had to lean back and act like I didn’t hear about his death already.”
“A match made in hell,” Bucky starts cackling loudly. “Stevie, she’s the one!”
Part 10
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Tags in reblog.
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