#buttercream boy

[kpop-bbg]

[kitsun369]

[messybrokenlover]

Memory lane hurts, it's been so long since I've gone for a stroll like this. My body feels so heavy, my eyes are stained red, my eyelids half shut. Tears dredge down my cheeks I want to escape back to that time. What I would kill to read "hiya babe if you're reading this" one more time. What I would give to just read "Herro" and feel my heart flutter. I wish I could fall asleep to one more "Good morning" at midnight. What I would give to see the green notification light up, or fall asleep on another messy call. I miss the emotional messes I used to call home.

[bi-writes]

thinking about mob baking simon a cake for his birthday (without his prior knowledge) mm good soup

mail-order bride

"you think he likes chocolate, baby?" you ask the cats. they sit side-by-side at the breakfast counter, being good girls as they sit on their chairs and watch you mix batter. "he totally likes chocolate. big boys like daddy love chocolate, don't they, girls?"

you grease two circular pans, pouring the chocolate cake batter into them. you set them in the oven before getting to work on your chocolate buttercream. you're using the new mixer simon bought you--it's beautiful, stainless steel, heavy. when you saw in the store a few weeks ago, you gushed at it, telling simon you saw someone make cinnamon rolls, bread, cakes, all in this mixer, but when your eyes skimmed over the price, you said nothing more, just smiled up at simon and let him lead you over to where the cast iron pans were (you wanted a real one).

a few weeks later, you noticed it on the kitchen counter. sparkling silver, right there, with the whisk attachment on it just waiting for you. and in the cupboard, ingredients--bread flour, powdered sugar, cornmeal, corn starch, dutch process, baking chocolate, whole wheat flour--all for you to play with. and when you baked him the most decadent triple chocolate coffee cake he had ever had, he bent you over the same table his empty plate sat and ate your cunt out with your apron still on. when you kissed him afterwards, he still tasted like chocolate.

you turn off the mixer, reaching in with a spoon to lick the buttercream off of it. you hum with delight, setting it aside, and when the oven timer dings, you pull the cakes out to let them cool.

you wrap simon's present as everything settles. special order, a favor you called into johnny. it's in a nice wooden box, and you tie a big red bow on it, and when you go back into the kitchen, you level and stack the two pieces of cake between buttercream and use a spoon to make a fancy decoration over the top of it.

the front door sounds as you're putting the finishing touches on the cake. you can hear him coming closer, and you gasp.

"no, no, no, don't come in the kitchen yet!"

"wot?"

"just--wait a little bit in the living room, okay?"

"for wot?"

"simon--" you groan. "please? for me?"

you don't hear anything after that except for the tv turning on. when you finish putting the last candles on the cake, you light them, picking up the plate and coming into the living room.

simon looks surprised. he was concentrating hard on the tv, watching the game, but his face relaxes when he sees you holding the cake. the cats perk up from where they're laid down beside him, and their ears flit as you start to sing happy birthday.

his whole face twitches. he stiffens, his palms flat on his thighs as he grips them tight. you set down the cake on the coffee table in front of him, candles glowing as you take a seat next to him. he's still staring at the cake as you finish the song.

"happy birthday, dear simon...happy birthday to you."

you smile at him, wrapping a hand around his bicep, squeezing it gently. you kiss his shoulder before motioning to the cake.

"you can blow them out now, simon," you say softly. "make a wish."

he doesn't move. he stares straight ahead, his eyes fixated on the flickering candles. you reach down and take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers and hugging his arm. you sit with him quietly, looking at the cake with him, and after a minute or so, you turn back at him.

"simon?" you whisper.

he's crying. you put a hand on the back of his head, scratching his short hair, and you cup his face gently as you wipe his tears. he's silent. the tears come, but he still doesn't move, still won't meet your eyes. you smile, going over to pick up the cake, and you hold it in front of him.

"here...make a wish, simon," you say softly. he picks up his sleeve and wipes his face, leaning over to blow out the candles. you put down the cake, standing up to go get his gift sitting on the kitchen table. when you sit down next to him again, he's still staring at the cake, still trying to pretend his face isn't wet with tears, but he stops wiping them when you place the box in his lap.

he unravels the bow. when he opens the case, he lets out a little chuckle, smoothing his hand over the foam inside.

there are an array of throwing knives laid before him. perfectly crafted, in different shapes and sizes, and when he picks one up and twirls it around between his fingers, the weight of them and the ease at which they move tells him you only picked out the finest quality. they're beautiful, and it's a thoughtful gift, and when he closes the lid on the box, he still can't meet your eyes.

"i'll cut us some cake," you say softly. you busy yourself getting plates and a cake knife from the kitchen, cutting generous slices before handing him one of the plates. he picks up the fork, and when you notice his hand shakes, you take the plate back from him gently and scoop a bite onto the fork for him. you don't say anything, just hold it up to his mouth, and once he takes a bite, you set the plate down and watch as he chews.

when he swallows, you sit again in silence. you reach over and take simon's hands in your own, squeezing them gently before bringing them up to your mouth to kiss softly. when he finally looks at you, all you do is smile.

he hadn't even remembered it was birthday. he never told you when it was, but he supposes you must have been curious enough to look for yourself. he can't remember the last time someone made him cake. he can't remember when he last received a gift, especially one like this. he doesn't know when he last thought himself happy enough to celebrate anything at all, but there is no other way he would've wanted today to go.

joy. you bring uninhibited, unfiltered, all-consuming joy. the way you're smiling at him--he can already see you in the kitchen in that apron, baking this cake, talking to no one but the cats as you carefully decorate it. the way you're looking at him--he knows you dreamed about this all week, scheduling the day so you could have the cake done as soon as he got home.

and chocolate. his favorite. decadent, sweet chocolate--it's still under his tongue, and he wants another bite already, he cannot wait to devour the slice that waits for him on the table.

"happy birthday, simon," you whisper, and when you lean in to hug him, he cradles the back of your head, tangling a hand into your hair as he presses you to his chest. "i love you."

fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck--

"love you, too, baby."

"what did you wish for?" you mumble into his shoulder. simon snorts a little, shaking his head.

"if i tell ya, it won't come true."

"oh, yeah," you giggle. "keep your secrets then."

he doesn't want more; the only thing he wishes for is more time. more time with you. as much as he can get. to live long enough that he gets to see your face for as long as possible.

that whatever he sees for the last time will be you and you only.

[frudoo]

It’s always baker!reader or butcher!Simon—which is always delicious, mind you—but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen baker!Simon (correct me if I’m wrong). Fem!Reader.

Baker!Simon who decided to take his therapist’s advice to find a relaxing hobby and taught himself to bake and decorate after retiring from the military.

Baker!Simon who runs a home bakery so he can do what he loves where he loves. Where else could he blast his favorite playlists while creating tasty treats (he’s convinced that listening to Tool truly helps make the goodies taste better)?

Baker!Simon who specializes in intricate desserts—flawless layered cakes lathered in rich buttercream, perfectly piped patterns across the surface. Soft, chewy sugar cookies with royal icing that has a satisfying snap to those who can actually bear to bite into them and ruin his beautiful designs. Smooth, vibrant macarons with a gorgeous rise and creamy ganache filling.

Baker!Simon who gets his traction on Facebook. He sells his goods on Marketplace and is a member of nearly every baking group on the site—and is quite popular amongst the older ladies in the same groups.

Baker!Simon who, as amazing as his baked goods look and taste, cannot take a flattering picture of them to save his life. Because of this, he doesn’t get as much business as he’d like. Apparently, Marketplace shoppers are picky about camera quality, as if that has anything to do with talent or flavor. Even the baking groups he’s in have given him warnings in the past to take clearer photos—the admins backed off as soon as the old ladies found out they were picking on their best boy.

Food Photographer!Reader who stumbles upon one of his groups one day, seeing the potential in his treats and knowing she could help him out with his promotion photos.

Baker!Simon who cocks an eyebrow at the ping his phone alerts him of, opening Messenger to see a pretty thing with a camera in his DMs:

Sorry to bother you, but I’ve gone through your profile and I think your work is absolutely gorgeous. If you’re interested, I’m a trained photographer and I’d like to help you out with your pictures? No charge, don’t worry. Consider it a favor between two small businesses! :)

Part 2 <3

[incorrectbatfam]

Retail steph with damian and Jon? :) i love retail steph so much

(featuring Billy Batson because he only adds chaos and I love him)

Previous: Margie | Batkids | Rogues | Justice League | Retail batkids | Retail Bruce | Young Justice | Black Friday | Valentine's Day

[grocery store]

Steph, working the bakery section: How can I help you boys today?

Jon: We're getting a cake for our friend's birthday. Chocolate with buttercream frosting, please. 

Steph: Do you want it to say anything? 

Jon: Yes. "Happy 14th B-day, Billy!"

Steph: What color?

Damian: Red. 

Steph: *starts writing on the cake*

Damian: Please also add: "Despite your shortcomings and lack of maturity, you are a valuable part of our team and as you get older, I expect you to gain greater wisdom that will aid us in our goals and prospects."

Steph: *struggling to fit it on the cake*

———————

[coffee shop]

Damian: Can we try the five-drink espresso flight?

Steph: You sure?

Billy, eyeing an unsuspecting Jon: Yes.

Steph: Alrighty.

*moments later*

Jon, after his fifth espresso: I'M KING OF THE UNIVERSE!

Jon: *shoots through the ceiling*

Damian: *grumbles and hands Billy ten bucks*

Steph, sighing: I'll get the broom.

———————

[clothing store]

Jon: *dancing in the dressing room with light-up shoes*

Damian: *T-posing in a trenchcoat*

Billy: *filming them*

Steph: What are you doing?

Billy: Making a TikTok. 

Steph: Well, you can't have cameras in the dressing rooms. I'm gonna have to ask you to stop. 

———————

[drive-thru]

Damian: One vegetarian Batburger, one regular Batburger, and one order of Night-Wings. And an extra-extra-extra large Ivy Salad.

Steph: Did you take the Batmobile again? 

Damian: No. 

Steph: Why don't you pull up to the window and prove it? 

Damian, Jon, and Billy: *ride up on Bat-Cow*

———————

[furniture store]

Jon: What's a warranty?

Damian: It's a court order to arrest someone. 

Steph: That's a warrant. A warranty covers the cost of something if it gets damaged within a certain amount of time. In our case, the store has a one-year warranty on all items. What are you looking to buy?

Billy: *enters pushing a Pinball machine*

Damian: ...It's for school.

———————

[restaurant]

Steph: What can I get you?

Damian: We'll split a pizza. 

Steph: Okay, anything else?

Billy, as Shazam: An alcohol.

Steph: "An alcohol?"

Billy: Yes, your finest alcohol. Sharing size, please.

Steph: I'll need to see some ID.

Billy, nervous: What's there to see? I'm clearly an adult. 

Steph: I need them for everyone at the table. 

Damian: *pulls out Jason's crime lord license*

Jon: *sticks on a fake mustache*

———————

[call center]

Steph, stifling a yawn: Wayne Enterprises account support, how can I help you? 

Damian: Why are you still working? It's midnight. 

Steph: Overnight shift. This is a 24-hour line. What do you need, Damian?

Damian: Nothing. We just wanted to annoy you. 

Steph: We?

Jon: Hiya!

Billy: 'Sup.

———————

[sleepover at the Manor]

Steph: Alfred told me to bring you some snacks.

Damian: Excellent. 

Steph: *leaves the room*

Steph, internally: What do kids these days even do at sleepovers? 

Steph: *presses her ear to the door*

Damian: Truth or Dare? 

Jon: Truth. 

Damian: Which one of my siblings do you like best?

Jon: Steph, all the way.

Billy: I agree, she's the coolest. Remember when she drove us to get midnight breakfast on my birthday?

Jon: And when she promised not to tell my parents when I broke the café ceiling.

Billy: Or when she took us for a walk and actually explained why we couldn't make TikToks in the store instead of going "because I said so" like other adults. 

Jon: Plus, she gave all the leftover salad to Bat-Cow and helped us set up the Pinball machine downstairs.

Billy: Ooh, and she's really good at making mocktails. 

Jon: Also, she extended our free trial of the Daily Planet for our social studies project. 

Damian: Hm... point taken.

Billy: And she's hot.

Damian: Say that again and I will smite you with your own powers.  

Steph: *smiles softly*

[saturngas]

sweet names

okay but imagine satoru calling you pet names after every dessert name he comes across with. you two are out, trying a new sweet shop he discovered in his last mission and was overly keen to take you to it. staring and analyzing the menu cutely displayed on the chalkboard, he was internally laughing at the absurdly silly names of the desserts and milkshakes, but once he looked at you, his heart and brain connected.

"im going to a mission this Friday, can you take care of the first years, banana bonanza split?" he asked you once while you were getting ready for bed. you side eyed him and his questionable pet name.

you never said anything negative about it though, you even liked them. they were so silly and so him. he had once told you that every time he looked at you and your pretty face, his train of thought loaded with memories of all the desserts he had ever tasted. you reminded him of the sweet flavor he loved so much. you filled his brain of serotonin and sweetness.

"I love you so much, coconut dream pie."

"are you sure you want this one, buttercream frosting?"

"megumi asked me to give you this, popsicles."

"don't act like a brat, snickerdoodle."

"you look so hot with that dress, dumplings."

"but pumpkin pie! I can literally die from no hugs!"

"hey hot-fudge sundae, can you take down the sex ban, please?"

"good morning, white sugar sponge cakes."

"dont ignore me, bubble wrap mousse."

"can I please go back to sleeping with you, ice cream cakes? the couch is cold."

"muffin cakes! I just told him I dont have any intentions on respecting him, I dont know why he got mad."

"it's physically impossible for me to stop calling you sweet names. anyways, which do you like more, lemon meringue pie or churro?"

your sweet boy satoru.

[zepskies]

Down to the Crust

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve set out on a very specific mission for Dean. The problem is, you now have ulterior motives for your (formerly) pure love of baking.

Request: Since reading your imagine, "Dean Gives You an Impossible Choice," I have not been able to shake it, one point specifically. I was wondering if I could request a fic where the reader is learning to bake pies for Dean. She's best friends with the boys, but she and Dean have undisclosed feelings for each other…

AN: You guys know I love baking shenanigans lol. This one is set at a particular time during season 14…

Song Inspo: “Joy” by Blackstreet

Word Count: 2.6K

Tags/Warnings: Flangst, hurt/comfort, hint of spice~

No, no, no, no, NO!

You did your best to scoop out the salt you’d just poured into the flour.

You can’t really be this dumb, you berated yourself. How could you confuse one white powdery thing for another? Salt vs. sugar—it wasn’t that hard!

You shook your head in simmering frustration. You decided to just dump the whole contents of the bowl, salty flour and all, into the garbage. You’d have to start again…for the third time now. 

Frankly, this was getting ridiculous. You could make cookies, brownies, even cupcakes (with homemade buttercream).

How hard could a pie really be?

Maybe it was the telltale tremble of nerves in your hands.

Maybe it was because you had an ulterior motive for doing this, besides your formerly pure love of baking.

Maybe because this promised dessert was for one pie-loving glutton who was set to come upstairs from the garage any minute. Or at least, whenever Dean’s stomach finally called him back to the kitchen.

Though recently, he hadn’t been all that hungry. He’d denied your friendly offer of a snack earlier (since when did he turn down taquitos?), and he’d barely touched the pizza you guys had for dinner yesterday. (One slice? The man could eat half a pizza in one sitting. To your knowledge, there wasn’t a pie he didn’t like.)

Dean hid it well, but he wasn’t on his game. You knew why, of course, but…

You sighed and measured out the last of your flour for a fresh try. If you messed this one up, you’d literally have to wash your hands of this mission. And yes, it had become mission fucking impossible, as far as you were concerned.

Once the flour was safely mixed with a cup of sugar, you cut up some chilled butter to create the pastry dough. You followed the instructions in the recipe even more carefully this time, from your open laptop on the kitchen counter. The keyboard was dusted with flour at this point, along with your hands and arms. You even felt it under your nails and in your hair, but you didn’t care.

You were going to make this damn pie if it killed you.

You’d even bought real cherries, not the canned filling. It meant more work for you in removing all the pits inside them, but this was worth the extra labor.

However, as it just occurred to you, you’d left them simmering with some sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch in a pan, around the time of your second attempt at pastry dough.

“No!” you gasped, hastening to open the lid and checking the saucepan.

Oh, thank God, you thought, seeing that the cherry filling wasn’t bubbling over. It actually looked like the proper thickened consistency and smelled delicious. You just needed to do some more stirring.

An hour or so later, you had successfully shaped the dough, chilled and poured in the filling, and covered it with the (embarrassingly uneven) lattice work on top.

“Whatever. The man still believes in the Five-Second Rule. He’ll eat this,” you muttered as you slid the pie in. You even remembered to do an egg wash on top. You admired it for a moment in its raw pastry form, then closed the lid to the oven with a nod of satisfaction.

You wore a wide smile, feeling accomplished, until you turned around and saw the disaster you’d made of the kitchen. Flour was dusted across the counters, a pile of dishes in the sink, cherry remnants in the pan and dripping across the stove, and so much more. You winced at the sight.

“What the hell is this?” came a gruff voice.

Your gaze drew to the doorway with a sharp intake of breath. Dean was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a bewildered expression on his face.

The man had a thing about people in “his kitchen.” You got ready to placate him with your hands raised as you took a step towards him, but then you gasped.

“Shit!” you yelped, slipping in some egg that had dropped on the floor. Your hand accidentally banged the oven on the way down, but your head also hit the corner of the wall.   

You ended up sprawled on your side across the dirty floor, dazed and winded. Dean hurried to your side with one of those frowns that always made you want to smooth the wrinkle between his brows.

He braced your shoulder, almost but not quite touching your hip with his free hand.

“Damn. You okay? This ain’t a slip n’ slide,” he said.

Your lips twitched at a smile, but you sighed. “I’m okay.”

“You hit your head?” he asked, beginning to help you up slowly.

“A little,” you admitted. “Nothing the old bag of frozen carrots in the freezer won’t cure.”

Dean grimaced, but after he made sure you were settled on your feet, he checked the back of your head. You tried not to blush (and revel) at the feeling of his fingers slipping into your hair, even if he was trying to feel for a knot back there.

He was close enough that you could almost feel his body heat through the black shirt he wore, for once without the outer layer of plaid. He smelled like grease and sweat; likely he’d been working on Baby.

Were you weird for kind of liking that smell?

“Well, I don’t feel any goose eggs, so you’re probably fine,” he remarked.

“Thanks, House. Is that your final prognosis?” you asked, beginning to smirk.

Dean’s gaze met yours in amusement.

“Tell you what,” he said, “If you get a headache, I give you full permission to take one of the fun little pills I’ve got in my dresser.”

You laughed. “If it’s not Vicodin, I don’t want it.”

House M.D. was one of those shows you and Dean liked to watch together, along with Game of Thrones, and even Smallville, on occasion.

Dean smiled slightly. But even that was a small feat, and something you hadn’t seen from him in weeks. Not a real smile, anyway. Before today, nothing you’d tried had been working to brighten his mood.

Not pizza Fridays. Not letting him listen to the same damn Zeppelin album without complaint for that eight-hour ride on the last hunt. Not trying to gouge his level of broodiness and offering to hang out, to be a listening ear if he needed it.

He still hadn’t taken you up on the last one. While that hurt, you also understood it. You understood how Dean dealt with things he didn’t want to think about, let alone talk about, even to his own brother.  

Dean now looked down on you knowingly, gesturing at the rest of the kitchen.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing in here?” he asked.

You crossed your arms and raised your chin, a smile playing on your lips.

“What, can’t handle somebody else in your kitchen? What’re you, Gordon Ramsey?” you teased.

Dean’s brows kicked up, his lips twitching.

“You’ve made a mess of my kitchen any number of times, but I ain’t ever smelled sweet, sweet cherry coming out of that oven,” he said. “You’re finally making me pie?”

You had to laugh. Inside, you were pleased that he now looked excited, his green eyes dancing. You clapped your hands over his arms.

“Yes, I’m making you your damn pie. Only took me fifteen tries, but it’s happening,” you said. You turned to check on it, but the second you opened the oven, black smoke billowed out.

Your eyes widened in horror and your mouth fell open on reflex, but harsh coughs tore from your throat as you waved your hand against the smoke. Dean quickly handed you the oven mitts, and you shoved them on before taking out the steaming dessert.

The entire top crust was scorched black. Cherry filling oozed out, and not in a good way. You slammed the oven shut with your hip, and you had to toss the pan onto the counter for how hot it was.

Inside that pan was a dreadful excuse for a pie.

Dean had an arm crossed under his elbow, while a hand came up to cover his mouth as he took in the state of it. He then looked over at you.

He saw the shock, settling into pursed lips and tight shoulders. You turned in slow movements.

You saw that the oven had been switched to “Broil” on the highest setting. You’d probably messed that up when you fell and hit the dial with your hand. But Christ, was that a powerful oven.

Those old white guys really didn't mess around when they built this damn bunker, you thought sourly.

Dean took another look at the steaming pie and grimaced, despite his amusement.

“Well, she won’t be entering any beauty pageants, that’s for sure,” he teased.

His playful smirk fell, however, the moment you turned around. He saw the way you were biting your lip, and the tears brimming in your eyes.

He softened, and he went to you.

“Aww, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he chuckled, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “‘S probably better than I could do.”

You rested your head against his chest and sniffled. You blinked to try to stem off your tears. 

“It’s not about the damn pie! I mean, not really. It’s just…” you trailed.

You quieted, realizing you were about to say things you’d rather not.

Dean noticed though. Because of course he did.

“Then what’s it about?” he asked.

You avoided his gaze at first, though he was too perceptive not to notice. He jostled you a little against his side.

“Huh? You wanna answer me?” he asked. His lips curved at the way you were fighting a smile yourself. Your tears won out though.

You turned under his arm and leaned up on your toes, so you could hug him. Your arms twined around his neck and you held him tight.

To say it surprised Dean would be an understatement, his eyes widening a fraction. He still held you back, almost on reflex.

“I couldn’t do anything else,” you said, through tears. “Not for you, or Sam…or for Mary.”

Dean’s confusion descended into grim understanding. A weight fell deep in his gut, clenching painfully the way it always did, when he thought about his mom.

The fact that Jack didn’t have his soul didn’t make a difference, no matter what Sam said. Not in Dean’s mind, anyway.

Jack had killed their mom.

She was gone, had been taken from them. And that second loss had torn a new chasm in Dean’s heart, deeper than the last one. He held you a bit tighter without realizing it.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing his back. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to…to do something for you.”

Slowly, Dean pulled away a little. His hands moved to your waist as he looked down on you with a heaviness in his eyes. For a moment, he just took in the contours of your face, your eyes shining with tears that clung to your lashes. You were looking up at him like all you wanted to do was fix it. And fix him.

Well, you had to know that was a lost fucking cause. But it just didn’t stop you from staying here with him and Sam, living with them, hunting with them, being one of the last friends they had, after all these years.

It didn’t stop Dean from loving you for it, either.

He let out a breath, and he couldn’t help but raise a hand to get some of the flour off your cheek. He smoothed the back of his hand against your skin, along your jaw, and finally brushed his thumb across your lower lip, where you had worried it with your teeth.

“You’re too damn much, you know that?” he murmured.

You were blushing hot at his touch, but you frowned at his words. Until you noticed the fond glint in his eyes…and for the first time, something more. Something he was finally allowing you to see.

When he bent down and claimed your lips, your thoughts stuttered to a halt. You gripped the front of his shirt instinctively. He framed your face with his hands; they were calloused and smelled like motor oil, but you didn’t give a shit. Not one iota. Because it meant something, and your heart swelled with a warmer, brighter feeling.

You gripped his shirt tighter and leaned up to meet his second kiss. His hand moved to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You grabbed onto his shoulders and let him invade your mouth with his warm tongue slipping against yours. You moaned, the sound echoing between you both and shooting right to his dick.

His brows furrowing, Dean’s fingers slipped into your hair again, but this time, to tangle in the strands. He walked you back until your ass hit the counter, where he grabbed hold of your thighs and hefted you on top of it, regardless of whatever stains covered its surface.

He moved in between your jean-clad thighs and encouraged you wordlessly to wrap them around his hips. You didn’t need much encouragement.

“Dean,” you whispered, between heated kisses, hands wandering down your body, exploring soft curves and warmth over clothing.

“Hmm?” he said, into your mouth. It was distracting, but you found the strength to slow things down, gently taking his face into your hands.

You both caught your breath for a moment. It allowed Dean to see the thread of uncertainty in your gaze, even though you caressed his stubble-covered cheeks.

“I just…do you…is this…” you tried, but your brain seemed to be on a short fuse. You blamed his sinful lips entirely.

Said lips drew into a smirk. Dean’s hands moved up your thighs and held your waist less gripping, more comforting (and claiming).

“I really do, and damn straight it is,” he said, slightly teasing. He did lean back in to press a gentler kiss to your lips.

“Trust me,” he said, as he became more serious. “If you want more from this…”

At that, your uncertainty melted into warmth. You released his face, holding onto his shoulders instead.

“Yeah, Dean,” you nodded. “More than anything, yes.”

He read your sincerity, and it warmed him too. Again, he gave into the urge to brush his thumb against your blushing cheek.

“I uh…I had a feeling it was always gonna be you,” he said.

You raised a brow at that, even though your smile threatened to unravel him further.

“Oh, yeah? How long?” you asked.

Dean pretended to think.

“Since that first batch of oatmeal cream pies,” he said, with a cheeky grin. “Pretty sure I was marked from there on out.”

And not just because he’d been imagining what you’d be like to taste, ever since.

You giggled, though you gestured with your eyes at the charred pan next to you on the counter.

“Guess I should try again on that pie. Wonder what that’ll get me,” you hedged, letting your thumb graze his neck. Dean smirked.

“All right, sure. Remind me to pick up a new fire extinguisher,” he said.

You guffawed and hit his shoulder, but he just laughed and pulled you in for another kiss.

It was sweet enough on its own.

AN: I know, I know. I'm a sap. 😂 Let me know what you thought of this pie-filled episode! 🥧 💕

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@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma

@iprobablyshipit91 @melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy

@wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons

@anticxrrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk

@midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19 @agalliasi @venicesem

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx

@candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester

@chernayawidow @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse

[izzys-focking-resignation]

I want Izzy to become violently, aggressively, militantly protective of the whole crew. Yes, even Stede. ESPECIALLY Stede.

I want Izzy asking Fang for help adjusting to his new leg, I want Izzy asking Frenchie to play a song to raise everyone's spirits, I want Izzy asking Roach to bake a cake for Archie's birthday (yes, she liked the buttercream), I want Izzy asking Jim to tell everyone the story of the wooden boy again. I want Izzy to be clumsy and make people uncomfortable with his new habit of sharing his feelings and asking how the crew is feeling, and I don't want him to ever once apologize for it because it feels good and that's nothing to be ashamed of.

I want a British officer to snicker at Izzy for hugging Stede and I want Izzy to cut his throat open wordlessly for it.

Izzy belongs to the crew now, and he feels safe with them.

I want Izzy to be Stede's new first mate, and when Ed inevitably raises a sword to Stede, I want Izzy to step in front of Stede because he would lay down his life for any member of the crew now.

[raitonsfw]

birthday sex with geto suguru

let’s be honest, geto would forget his own birthday; too wrapped up in the shitty contents of a curse to even remember to look at the date. and being the girlfriend you were, you’d mark it on every calendar you had. 

the vanilla cake you baked for him would be whipped with icing, sweeter than normal– you knew his missions, the curses that he’d swallow, and you wondered if you put enough sugar. knowing his complaints, you’d need the whole bag dumped into the mix and then some.

you’d coo a meaningful ‘happy birthday’ to him as soon as he’d walk in, dazing him from his unethical thoughts and he’d smile at you as he put the pieces together despite his tired mind. it’s not that he meant to forget his own birthday, the day had just caught up with him. and you’d feel bad, but soon the feeling would dissolve as you kiss at buttercream frosted lips.

later that night, he’d be splayed underneath you– completely in awe as you bounced sweetly on his dick. he’d be enraptured by your beauty, his eyes wandering over every surface of your body. Your breasts would bob in his big hands, his entire palm cupping one and you’d moan out as he’d squeeze them lovingly. then, his hands would trail towards your tummy. 

he’d press his fingers lightly against your abdomen, gauging if he could feel his cock bulging against it– and he could. next, his hands would end up smoothing over the plush of your hips– of your thighs and he’d almost cream inside you when you switched your position on top of him. to kiss at his chest, his neck, everywhere you could reach. 

he’d start thrusting inside you now, his strong arms helping you fuck down on him as you’d lap a hickey near his collarbone, eliciting a small groan out of him. which was extremely rare, especially when he was tired. but he just couldn’t help it, you felt so fucking good around him– and your pussy was sinful as you’d squeeze him just right. his eyes would roll back in his head, quiet pants of your name slid from his tongue and you were practically drunk off his voice. 

“you always spoil me, baby…”

“kiss me there, please– right there, need you...”

“j-just like that, keep bouncing for me– o-oh fuck…”

“shit, ‘m getting close… want me to cum inside you?”

and you’d desperately yearn for him to– against his lips that kept you sane and a needy grunt would be swallowed up by your mouth as your own release finds you in sync with his. pulling back, you’d watch with clouded eyes as his head would tilt back into the pillow, his hair curling against his shoulders and his chest rising and falling with his breathy moans. his cock would nestle in you and you’d feel the warmth seeping from him, your precious boy gasping for air as you squeeze around him one last time.

you’d lose yourself a little bit as tiny praises would spill from his mouth as he came down from his high, small ‘thank yous’ and ‘love yous’ making your bottom lip wobble slightly.

you silently made a vow to treat your king right for every birthday he had, no matter what.

© raitonsfw thirsts '24 | 18+ mdni | my own divider do not use.

[kpop-bbg]

[missmimii]

𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 ☆彡 | 𝐌 - 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

୨ৎ － 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In which Matt has one wish for his birthday

୨ৎ — 𝐂𝐖. None!

♡︎－ ℳ𝒾𝓂𝒾’𝓈 𝓃ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓈 － Happy birthday to my favourite boy in the whole entire world (short Drabble）

Matt’s nose glimmers with a soft glow of candle light, the warm hue glowing into his blue eyes as he nips at his bottom lip. Twenty one. It seemed fake, impossible that he had really grown up so damn fast. A gentle hand kneaded the back on his neck with affection, curling the hairs at the base of his neck around her finger as he let out a sigh. That also seemed fake, her.

“Make’ a wish, baby?” She spoke, Matt’s eyes flicking upward to hers. Beautiful. Hair’s framed her jaw so sweetly, a smile on her kissable lips as she tilted her head down at him with a nurturing expression. With a little shake of the head, Matt flicked his gaze back to the candle lit cake. Ice cream slowly melted off the sides, dribbling onto the cardboard underneath as he waited his wish out. “Think of something you really love, hm?” Something he really loved?

Matt slowly lifted his gaze, eyes sliding across the table, realizing all he could ever want was around him. Marylou cheesed at him from across the table, hand in hand with Matt’s father’s as the two gazed at their son with such pride. Nick had a lazy smile on his lips as he leaned back in his chair, Chris’s head resting on the eldest triplet’s shoulder, a smear of buttercream frosting on the tip of his nose from when he blew out the candles to his cake. Nick couldn’t help himself.

Then her, Matt tipped his jaw up and met eyes with her. Butterflies fluttered in his belly as she brought a hand to his cheek, cupping the right side of his jaw delicately, thumb circling the soft skin as she hummed ever so softly. “Make a wish.” She murmured, leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on his forehead before pulling away. And he did, a warm aroma of frosting and his girlfriend’s perfume engulfing his nostrils as he leaned forward.

Pursing his lips for a moment, just before Matt’s eyes lulled shut as he blew out a light stream of air. Woosh, fire flowed off into a gusts of smoke, a comforting burning smell flooding his nose as he felt his shoulders fall. Claps were shared around the table, bubbly praises as Matt felt his lips twitch. My wish. Heart heavy with warmth as he brought a hand to his chest, pressing his palm into the fabric of his T-shirt as he concealed emotions that were far too sad to show. “Good job, baby.” The girl chuckled, the sound a beautiful melody to Matt’s ears.

As Jimmy leaned an arm across the table, everyone’s voice taking over the couples ears as Matt threaded a hand through his brown locks sheepishly. He felt .. weird. Though the attention wasn’t necessarily on him, he could actually feel the warmth and presence of everyone’s love. For him. A gentle weight was placed on his shoulder as he looked up, her hand on the boy’s shoulder as she laughed, looking around and talking to his family.

The room was dark apart from a soft illumination of a tea candle that sat aside the cake, the same cake he mentioned months prior to the special day that was his. She remembered. “Hey,” snapping from his daze, the girl glimpsed at him with concern. “what’s wrong?” Baby.

Cooing lightly, a hand lifted to brush his hair back as he stood upright from his seat. “Nothing, nothing－I’m fine.” Matt breathed out, leaning into her touch as his eyes fluttered shut. The girl watched as his eyelashes fell against the skin of his cheeks, resting his head on her open hand as she got impossibly closer to the perfectly emotional triplet. He was hers. “Then why are you crying?” A lone tear trickled down from the corner of his eyes, the blue abyss’s glazed over with wetness as he allowed them to escape.

“I’m not.” He mumbles, sniffing as he brushed his knuckles across the wetness under his eye. Laughing softly, both hands cupped his cheeks in a gentle manner. “No?” The girl mused, Matt letting out a little laugh at her tone, sniffling, “M’just happy.” So fucking happy.

Humming, she pecked his nose once. “Why the tears then?” She murmured against the now pink skin, resting her forehead against his as the two gazed into each other’s eyes. Matt brought a hand to her neck, gripping the side gently as he rubbed the soft dewy skin with adoration. “Just’ feel lucky.” He uttered, seeing her eyes glitter with shyness as he leaned in, littering kisses and nips to the side of her neck. “So fuckin’ lucky.” Matt mumbled in between pecks, voice coming out hushed.

Taglist! － @fratbrochrisgf f@jetaimevous s @sturnstvr @sturniolosarethebest @stonermattsgf@imwetforyourmom @st7rnioioss @endereies @pkfferoo @mqttittude @mattsbrowser

[stvolanis]

BIRTHDAY BOY

(one shot)

PAIRINGS: Elvis Presley x wife! Reader

WARNINGS: tooth rotting fluff! Not proofread, clingy reader, no use of y/n, slight angst (Elvis thinks reader forgot his birthday), surprise party, kissing, pet names, the Memphis mafia been goofballs

NSFW WARNINGS: p in v sex, oral (m receiving), slight ball play ig?, light choking, hair pulling, daddy kink (duhh), cream pie, breeding kink, lingerie

sorry if I missed anything!! And happy birthday to the king of rock n’ roll<3

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

The entire day you and Elvis’ Memphis mafia have been planning is birthday party. His dad even started helping out.

It was going to be spectacular. You’d ordered a large 5 layered cake with buttercream frosting and strawberries, and written on top in cursive was ‘long live the king’ with a little 25 under it.

The house was decorated in head to toe with gold and white streamers, balloons, confetti, and any other kind of decor you could imagine fit for the king of rock n’ roll.

Elvis Presley had been gone for a week, taking on an acting gig in Florida, Miami. You missed him dearly, but you knew he was coming home today. Every time he called one of the house phones who would always chat your ear off on how much he wanted to see you. You’d think he had separation anxiety (he does).

The warmth of his voice on the line brought endless smiles to your face, and his amazing voice made giggles erupt from your throat. Everything about him shined, inside and out. He was beautiful, and a very charismatic man.

He had a certain feel about him. In a way where everyone would stop what they were doing just to catch a glimpse of him. He could hold an entire rooms attention and keep it, and sometimes he didn’t even realize it. People looked at him as if he were a god, and hell, maybe he was.

Elvis was a giving man. If you knew him, then you’d know that he shined so bright, he made the people around him shine, too. And to Elvis, you shined the most. He adored you. Every little thing about you was imperfectly perfect to him in just the right ways.

Elvis was a good husband, despite what people in the press have said. He takes care of you more than he takes care of himself, and he does it with a smile on his face and love in his heart that he only holds for you.

Elvis always told you that you were his angel. You were sent by the heavens to watch over him, guide him and love him for all he is after his mother died. You healed him and changed a broken, distraught man into the brightest star.

But you knew it was the other way around.

You found each other in a hopeless state, but together you overcame it and helped each other. Elvis was always kind to you, even if you two had petty little arguments, he’d always make it up to you by showering you in kisses with little ‘I’m sorrys’. How could you not forgive him when he was the sweetest man you’d ever met?

He remembered every anniversary. Every birthday. Every Valentine’s Day. He showered you in gifts, attention, dates, and never shut up about you in the press. You were sure interviews were sick and tired of him ranting on about how ‘good of a wife’ you are like a lovesick puppy, but it filled you with butterflies knowing he held you in such high regards.

Elvis was your person, and you were his. You’d known that since the day you met, and the day he popped the big question on a Thursday night in Hawaii confirmed it. It’s been bliss since you’d known him, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

But now, you sat nervously on the couch, biting down on your manicured nails nervously.

You hadn’t answered any of the 4 times Elvis has called you, and you knew he’d be worried by now. It was his birthday, and you felt bad because you didn’t want to upset him—but the surprise will be all worth it.

You wore his favorite outfit. A light blue, low cut dress that ended mid thigh, paired with black marry janes and white socks that sat a few inches below your knees. You also wore a white pearl necklace that acted as a light choker, and to top it all off, a silver chain sat secured gracefully on your neck that read ‘E.P’. A beautiful necklace your lover gifted to you for your 2nd anniversary.

But you wore a secret under your pretty little dress that Elvis would surely adore later tonight.

“Everyone, I just got word that Elvis is down the road, get in your places!” Gunner, a mutual friend of you and Elvis, shouted. You quickly took your place around the corner from the door, so you could be the first person he sees when he walks through the large entrance.

The lights were turned off and the room was silent as you heard booming footsteps come up the familiar stairs of Gracelands’ entrance.

You sucked in a breath of air as the door swung open, and you could already feel his suffocating presence in the house.

“Baby?! Where ya at?!” He yelled out, his voice laced with concern as he began to move towards the stairs, assuming you were in your shared bedroom. You giggled a little, and Elvis’ head snapped to your direction. You’d been caught.

“Surprise! Happy birthday, honey!” You yelled out, along with everyone else. Elvis let out a breath of air he’d been holding in for what felt like all day. No matter how many times he’s left home, weeks on end, you’d never gone not one day without calling him and tellin’ him all about your boring day without him around.

He drug a hand down his face with a groan, followed by a deep chuckle as your body collided with his in a tight hug. He kissed the top of your head, and finally, you’d felt his arms around you again. And it’s was as if all of his love visibly seeped into you.

“Was so worried, satin. Thought somethin’ bad happened to ya.” He huffed out with furrowed brows. You laughed as you cupped his face in your dainty hands. “Nothin’ bad happened, Elvis. Just wanted to give you a lil surprise is all.” You muttered as you brought his face down to your level, giving him the tenderest of kisses.

You tasted like vanilla on his tongue, mixed with cherry from the cherry lollipop you always had in your mouth. Elvis wasn’t sure how you hadn’t gotten a cavity from it yet. Your hair smelled like fresh rose water, and he knew it was from your annual bath-soakings full of the best rose petals money can buy and scented bath bombs.

You were warm against him, your small body molding and fitting perfectly against him. He loved you. God, did he love you. His baby. His love. His wife. The woman he plans to bear his children. He couldn’t get enough of you

“I got you a cake, Elvis.” You smiled up at him. You were the cutest thing he’d ever seen. Your smile was contagious to him, as he felt a grin spread across his face. “Yeah, lemme see it, baby.” He said.

You clapped your hands together, exited to see his reaction of the large cake, decorated to perfection. You took his large hand in yours and dragged him to where everyone else was in the dining room. On the table sat the cake, and Elvis felt his eyes widen at the mere heigh of it.

“Woah, that’s a lot of sugar, honey.” He chuckled out as he walked closer to take a good look. “Look at the top, El.” You urged. Like a good husband, he obliged and a chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“I love it, baby.” He said as he walked over and tightly hugged you, slightly lifting you off the ground in the process. “I’m glad! I hoped you would.” You said happily.

He didn’t have a chance to respond before the Memphis mafia swept him away from you. “Sharing is caring!” They yelled with loud boyish chuckles as they went to the pool room. Elvis mounted an ‘im sorry’, to which you merely giggled.

All throughout the night Elvis was occupied with his family and friends celebrating. You knew you shouldn’t, but you had to admit that you felt kind of neglected. In more ways than one.

He’d looked so unbelievably handsome all night, and you couldn’t help but become all hot and bothered as the night continued. You watched him play pool with his friends, his arms were exposed and fit. Elvis was no muscle maniac, but he had just the right amount for your mouth to start watering like a bitch in heat at the sight.

You finally built up enough courage to speak up about it as you walked over to where he stood in all his glory. His back was now facing you as you lightly gripped his arm to grab his attention, making him spin around to look at you.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asked, his accent thick. You grew shy as his friends grazed in on the interaction, being nosy. You chewed on the bottom of your lip, and Elvis understood as he slightly leaned down is you could whisper into his ear. “M horny, Elvis.” You muttered, barely just loud enough for him to hear.

Elvis lightly hummed. “S that right?” He asked, and you nodded in confirmation. “Alright, don’t worry, sugar, I’ll take care of ya.” He stated.

“I’m done for the night, fellas.” He said as he tangled his fingers with yours, pulling you away from the group of men. They whistled knowingly, followed by a few hollers, making your cheeks flush red and bury yourself in Elvis’ side. He chuckled as his arm wrapped around you, walking up the stairs to your shared room.

He opened the door for you and flicked the lamp light on. “I got another surprise for you.” You muttered, shy under his gaze. He peered down at you. “Yeah? What is it, baby?” He asked, his breathing heavy.

You began to slide your dress off of your shoulders, below your breasts and down your hips before letting it fall to the floor beneath you. Elvis’ mouth watered at the sight and he felt his pants tighten uncomfortably, his slacks suddenly becoming too tight in his crotch area.

There you stood, in a baby pink lingerie set. Floral and lacy, nipples and pussy barely covered by flimsy fabric. Your thighs covered in garters with little pink flowers embroidered onto them delicately. What made Elvis go over the edge though, is when you turned around to show him your perky ass.

In cursive, sat nice and pretty was ‘Elvis Presley’.

He felt like he could cum in his pants right then and there.

“D-do you like it?” You asked, nervous at his silence. He scoffed. “Like it? Baby, i fuckin’ love it.” He said, spinning your around to face him before sliding his hands past your waist, down to your ass, tightly squeezing both of your ass cheeks.

You bit your lip as you looked up at him. “Yeah?” You whispered as his leaned down. “Fuck yes.” He muttered before his lips crashed down onto yours in a heated kiss.

It was sloppy as your tongues tangled with each other, you fighting for some kind of dominance that you knew Elvis wouldn’t allow. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, making him groan, biting your lip in retaliation. His hands squeezing the fat of your ass tighter, gripping you impossibly closer to him.

“Let me make you feel good, Elvis.” You breathed out against his lips. He merely clicked his tongue. “Hm?” He asked again. Your legs rubbed together, slick coating both of your inner thighs.

“Please let me make you feel good, daddy.” You repeated, more desperately this time. He groaned in satisfaction. “Good girl, go ahead, baby.” He urged.

You dropped to your knees and watched as he unbuttoned his pants, letting them drop to the floor. You licked your lips at the sight of his leaking cock, standing hard and ready for you in any way you can take him. He was long and girthy, balls hung, seemingly painfully full. Your core ached to relieve him.

You licked around his tip before licking his slit that leaked slaty pre-cum, and his hiss was enough for you to suck his tip into your mouth. “Fuck!” He yelped out as you sucked harshly, before taking him deeper into your mouth.

You bobbed your head up and down, your hands reaching to fondle his aching balls. If there was one thing you knew how to do, it was giving mind blowing, other worldly head. Your little mouth drove Elvis beyond crazy, wether it be for talking shit or having his cock in it.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head as you effortlessly deep throated his cock, and you felt him throb in your mouth. You gagged around him, making him throw his head back and let out a desperate moan.

“Yess, fuck! Just like that, honey. Suckin’ your husbands cock so well. Takin’ such good care of me.” He breathed out. You knew he was about to cum as his fingers found their way in your large hair, gripping tightly. “M gonna cum, baby. Shit.” He moaned out.

Your mouth moved to suck one of his balls into your mouth and your hand moved quickly to stroke his needy cock. Your hand moved fast, your fist tight around him. It was all too much, the way your mouth sucked his balls in like a vacuum and your hand stroking his hand at a quickening pace.

His cum spurted from his cock, and your mouth shot up just in time to get it in your mouth. You sucked his tip, milking him of all the cum he had stored away in his heavy balls. “Holy fuck, you’re so fuckin’ good, soso good f’me.” He said, mouth hung agape as you released his tip with a loud ‘pop’.

You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show him the cum that rested on your tongue. He licked his lips and felt his cock harden again. “Swallow.” He said. And like the good little wife you are, you listened..

“Good girl. Now, getcha’ lil ass on the bed n’ bend over f’daddy.” He said as he helped you to your feet, slapping your ass playfully as you passed by him to the bed, making you giggle.

You bent over, legs spread enough so he could see the thin string covering your pussy that was now a darker shade of pink from your juices. “Look at you, all nice n pretty. All this for me, sweetheart?” He asked as he slipped the thin string to the side.

You nodded your head feverishly. “Yes, daddy. M’only wet f’you.” You muttered as you teased your ass into the air, pushing it towards him. He swatted your asses harshly, once, twice, before he lined himself to your entrance.

He teased his tip into you, making you groan. “Please, please, please—“ you chanted like it was a prayer. His hand snapped to your hair, leaning your head back. “You take what I give you, wife.” He muttered as he tenderly kissed your forehead.

“Yes, daddy, m’sorry.” You muttered out, gasping as you felt his cock enter you without warning. His tip kissed your cervix, and your mouth hung open, throat going dry. “Shit, so tight. Grippin’ my cock so good.” He huffed out.

“E-Elvis!” You whimpered out, the sting making your eyes water. His heart ached at the sound of you in any kind of pain. He peppered sweet kisses along your spine and on your shoulders in reassurance. “S okay, m’ gon’ take care of ya, don’t worry.” He whispered into your hair as he kissed your head.

Your stomach felt like it was doing summer salts and butterflies exploding in it all at once. You loved him more than words could ever describe and nothing in the world would ever change the way he made you feel, even 5 years deep into marriage, he still makes you fall in love with him all over again.

A wave of pleasure consumed you as you felt him re-enter you, picking up his pace at pounding into your throbbing cunt. “Elvis! Fuck! Just like that!” You moaned out.

Every time his hips slammed into yours, you released little ‘ahs’. The sound was like music to his ears. Knowing he was making you feel good, made him feel at least 20x better. If there was one thing he took pride in, it was pleasing his woman in every way he could.

“Gonna fill this lil pussy, you want that? Hm? Want me to fill you with my babies?” He asked, his hands gripped your hips. “Yes, yes, please! Need your cum in me, daddy!” You groaned.

He pulled out of you, flipping you around before re-entering you. “Wanna see you when we cum, yeah? Gon’ see ya beautiful fuckin’ face, honey.” He moaned out as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips.

He was pussy drunken and his mind was fuzzy as your walls squeezed him in a vice grip. He didn’t know how much longer he would last. “Daddy! M’gonna cum, fuck m’gonna cum!” Your voice high pitched, and your head thrown back. Elvis brought his hand up to your neck, squeezing your throat just enough to make you see stars when it was paired with his piercing cock.

“Need you.” You whimpered out, grabbing at his free hand. A thing you did that Elvis thought was the cutest thing, and adored so much, was that every time you came on his cock, you made sure to hold his hand. It comforted you and Elvis loved it as he reached his high. “I’m right here, satin. Gon’ fill this cunt.” He said, biting his lip.

“Oh!” You moaned out as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, covering Elvis’ lower abdomen in your vile juices just as he painted the inside of your walls white with his seed.

He fucked you through your orgasm, and you could feel each time his cock spurted out a new round of cum inside of you. His balls tightening as your sweet pussy milked him, and all he could think about was how nice and round you’ll be with his babies. The perfect wife.

Your hand reached up to lovingly cup his face, leaning up to press a sweet kiss to his bitten lips.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

don’t be shy, ask to be a part of the tag list and request things!!

tag list: @elvisalltheway101 @epthedream69 @claire-elvisgirl @elvisrealgf @littlehoneyposts

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I love the idea of Richie always making fun of how sweet carmy is to you but he litterally can't help it because he's so in love with you so he just blushes and tells Richie to fuck off

Lovesick puppy

He can't help it, poor guy. He just loves you and it just happens. Holding the door open for you. Always stopping to listen to what you have to say. Shrugging off his jacket to wrap it over your shoulders. Making your food even during rush hours. But then it's the way Carmen can't help but bring you into any and every conversation. "Oh, but Y/N said", and "Y/N.. we could just call her, she knows".

And Richie he clocked onto that so fast. And he's so happy that his cousin has finally found the one. He too knows that lovesick puppy look. He catches the way Carmen looks at you when you're not watching or when you speak. He's captivated as if all the world's miracles are now in front of him. As if there's nothing else around him but you.

But he's Richie so he has to... You know, a must to tease. It starts with him just pointing out every time Carmy is lost admiring you. He would come up to him, brushing a napkin onto Carmen's chin, "You're drooling, man", and Camren would snatch the napkin, flipping him off. Then it's the, "Oh, you won't say anything else? You won't mention Y/N?" when Carmen doesn't say your name in a conversation he is having with Richie or someone else. Checking Carmen's temperature when he doesn't lean to smile at his phone for longer than ten minutes, "Fuck off, Richie", Carmen growls.

But baby boy is just so in love he simply can't help it. Every part of him craves you. He feels the most himself when he's around you. So yeah, he is smiling as bright as the Christmas tree when you walk through the restaurant door later at night. And yes, he's dropping whatever he's been doing just so he could wrap you up in a hug and kiss your lips a couple of times. Enjoying the giddy, bubbly feeling in his stomach.

"Happy to report that he only mentioned you 78 times today, five times less than yesterday", Richie calls out already smirking. Carmy's grip on you tightens but you only laugh, "Dangit... Are you feeling out of love with me??", you cup Carmy's face, giggling. He shakes his head in disbelief. "I've missed you", Carmy whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. You look up at him smiling, "Missed you two, bear".

"Use protection, kids, surprise conception is a real thing", Richie shouts. "Oh, fuck off, for real", Carmen barks back, only causing Richie to laugh harder. "Ignore him, he's not getting any", Carmen shakes his head but before you can answer Richie's voice booms through the place again, "Heard that and just to be clear. You're getting too much because you're as soft as a fucking buttercream frosting, cousin".

[sinsandsweetness]

BIRTHDAY BOY

(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)

[radiance1]

Danny: Your mother!

Vlad: My mother is dead, Daniel.

Danny:

Vlad: She shoved me into a closet while saying that we were playing hiding and seek, and me, the oblivious boy I was then, obliged and was excited, not at all questioning that she knew where I was hidden.

Danny: Vlad-

Vlad: Then I watched on helplessly through a crack in the closet door as she was brutally stabbed to death right before my very eyes, terror running through my veins and fear gripping my mouth to keep it closed. I couldn't turn away, as I had a front row seat to each and every scream that they tore from her as blood slowly melted into the carpet.

Danny: Dude-

Vlad: Then I saw the life drain from her eyes and leave nothing behind but an empty husk that once was and the killer standing on top of her body. Before they left, I remember staring at her for an unknown amount of time before the police came and escorted me outside.

Vlad: Sometimes I wonder what difference it would have made if I stepped out of that closet.

Danny:

Vlad:

Danny:

Vlad: Anywho, enough about that. Would you like some cupcakes Daniel?

Danny, disturbed: Uh.... sure....?

Vlad: Great, vanilla or chocolate? Or perhaps lemon with some buttercream?

Danny: Lemon with buttercream please.

Vlad, going to his kitchen: Wonderful, wait one moment.

Danny is currently questioning how the hell a simple your mother joke forced him into a lore dump of his mother's death. On the bright side, at least he'll get some cupcakes out of it?

Dick: So, is your godfather always like this?

No matter what anyone says, Danny did NOT scream because he genuinely forgot that Dick was there, nor would he ever admit to being scared, because he wasn't scared.