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sobbingscripter · 4 months ago

Text

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋💙་༘Beastly˚˖𓍢ִ💙.ִ࿐

Tags: [aged up][mlw][mdni][drabble][a tester if you will][doggy style][spitting][clit teasing][implied creampie][low-key mutual pining][inexperienced!][missionary][slight foot fetish, but less 'i like dem toes' and more 'let me worship you'][honestly, i'm surprised i wrote this on the spot][not proofread!][biting]

Hips snap.

Flesh ripples.

Your headboard bangs against the wall in unforgiving smacks that your teammates will definitely complain about, and meaty hands dig into the flesh of your hips, leaving stinging bruises that'll leave you in a puddle of self-loathing when the sun rises.

But until then, you'll keep arching your back, pushing the fat of your ass back against carved hips, beneath fern skin that glitters like emeralds in the distant lights that peek through the slivers in your curtains.

"Uh huh— j-just like that..." He breathes out, voice broken and his body breaking out in a cold sweat at the way you're melting beneath him like he's some kind of furnace. All splayed, sweaty and pliable.

And a calloused hand presses to the small of your back, forcing your torso even closer to the sweat and slick-soaked sheets, the covers halfway off the edge of the bed and you whine, manicured nails clawing at the polyester and cotton that you threaten to split the threads.

And a low, almost animalistic groan rings out above you, before his face moves to press into your shoulders, hips stuttering so messily against yours and teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, bulging arms instead moving to wrap around your waist.

Holding you.

And hips slow to a grinding halt, only pressing the sweetest and gentlest kisses, messy with precum, against the plug of your womb.

Now, you personally don't have any beef with Garfield. But hearing him talk feels like you might actually be losing braincells because you just get so... Dumb around him. Laughing at his jokes until milk leaks from your nose, making an idiot of yourself just to watch the way his lips curve into the prettiest gleaming grin, golden eyes glittering.

You gasp when one hand snakes down between your thighs, forcing you to whine into the fluffed up and saliva soaked pillow when his fingers clumsily rub at your clit, the slick little button elusive beneath unskilled fingers but the effort is there.

And that's what makes your mind go blank, eyes fluttering shut and tears prickling at the corners as you see white, the knot in your belly bursting and electricity seems to prickle just beneath the surface of your skin.

Garfield whines at the rhythmic spasms of your gooey cunt, so warm and so tight, and his hips don't stop, they don't falter as he fucks you through your orgasm.

Teasing, abusing and absolutely punishing your swelling clit, so oversensitive and your thighs quiver beneath his weight.

That smell of ginger and musk fills your nose, a heady combination that has you turning your head towards Garfield, and he instantly meets your gaze.

Taking the time to admire a sight you probably won't be desperate enough to give him a second sight at.

Your flushed cheeks, raw bitten lips and teary eyes, eyebrows furrowed and expression twitching to remain unscrewed and the hand that's teasing your clit slows. To gentle circles that give you just enough of a break to lean towards him, your lips pressing against his in a messy, uncoordinated kiss.

He tastes like those sour candies he always shares. He tastes like ill-timed jokes and permanent smiles.

It's hypnotic and you're deepening the kiss, unsteady breaths leaving your somewhat leaky nose because Garfield might've fucked a runny nose into you.

And that's saying something.

Garfield's tongue pushes past your plump lips unceremoniously, brushing against yours with unskilled motions and the way his brows bunch makes your belly do an unconsensual flip because it would be illegal to look that good when you're absolutely demolishing someone's guts WHILE being an awful kisser.

Something you'd never be able to even get past because Garfield's flipping you on your back.

"Wanna see you..." He mumbles, his voice almost quiet enough to be mistaken for him talking to himself, the only indication that he's talking to you even, is the way his teary eyes dart up to your face.

Guiding your legs to his shoulders and he stops to press a kiss against your ankle, trailing the kisses all the way to the arch of your foot before he's brushing his tip against your swollen and sodden folds.

Nudging your clit teasingly, gasping shaky breaths whenever his leaky slit catches on the sensitive little button and Garfield spits down the cleft of your cunt, slathering your already sloppy cunt with his spit and precum.

Before slowly sliding back into you, his brows twitching into an adorable little frown, lips parting to let out a panted breath. A short gasp, accompanied by the sluttiest 'fuckkk' you've ever heard.

Muscular thighs bracket your hips, and he leans forward, his pelvic bone grinding against your clit with each slow roll of his hips, his face moving to nestle in your neck.

One hand grips your hip, 4 fingers bruising you while his thumb rubs clumsy circles over the protruding bone, while his other hand grabs the headboard for dear life.

You'd focus on the sound of cracking wood if it weren't for the way Garfield sucks marks into your neck, covering them in spittle and kisses.

"You're— fuck— you're so hot. An-and pretty. And— and— god, your pussy..."

Garfield's voice cracks, and he whimpers into your skin when he feels the way your arms wrap around his neck, fingers sinking into sweaty strands of emerald and jade.

And his hips stutter.

"I'm- 'm not close y-yet but when I am..." Garfield takes a deep breath.

"C-can I come inside...?"

His voice is so weak, a stuttering mess and he lifts his head, just enough to meet your gaze and he's so fucking pretty.

You're hearing that stupid Sailor Song that plagues your TikTok For You page. You're hearing blue by yung kai, you're hearing Use Your Heart for fuck's sake.

It's a hard day for your pride when your brain associates SWV with a man named Garfield.

"Y—yeah..." You mumble. "You can come inside..."

You can barely push out the words, and Garfield's hands move to the backs of your thighs, fingers digging into the plush flesh and he pushes them to your chest and he begins to fuck into you with abandon.

"Shit, shit, shit, you're s-s-so wet. Oh my fucking God—"

Hips pummeling, balls slapping against the curve of your ass and your toes curl as you're fucking yeeted into another mind-scrambling orgasm, this one might fucking take you to another realm. Because Garfield just brings his hand to your face, wiping away the drool that's acquired on your chin and he brings his hand to his face, dragging his tongue along his palm and he groans at the taste of his spit.

"Fuck... You're so hot when you're all f-fu-ucked out." He pants out. "You look like an— hah— angel..."

And you can feel his dick twitch against your walls, his body shivers and shudders and his blunt nails dig into the skin of your thighs.

His head dips forward, an overgrown undercut shrouding his face from view for just a moment before his head tips back, hips stuttering wildly and his bottom lip wedged between his pearly teeth, canines glinting in the low light. And he's goddamn perfect.

Leafy skin flushed and rosy, droplets of sweat dripping down in the valleys of carved muscle, sweat-dampened hair so unruly yet so fucking majestic and your nails drag down his torso.

Leaving red streaks in the skin and the way his lips part is... Sinful. And he's so fucking slutty when he leans back, hiding his face in the curve of your foot.

And it's an almost abysmal feeling when Garfield feels his whole body feel like he's been dunked in an ice bath, nipples stiff as him and that tightly coiled rope in his belly is snapped faster than he can think.

"I—I'm— coming—!"

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@allycat4458 🪻

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@titchx0 🦆

@queen-of-gotham 🦇 (you asked me for Garfield for the Valentine's day thingy, so I thought you'd want a notif)

@starski 🌃

@5lxt4u 🎻

@pariahsparadise 🏝️

@ilove-nsfw 🖇️

@milkstrawburie 🥛

@squigglewigglewoo 🪴

@hhjira 🌬️

@atanukileaf ☘️

@Calicocat-ina-tuxedo 🐱

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daydreamgoddess14 · 21 days ago

Text

Slow Burn 🔥

Bucky x f!Reader

Allll the tropes - you can never have too much cake, friends! There's only one bed, injured on a mission, friends to lovers...

I am still under the influence of a heatwave 🫣 I also now appear to be writing sex acts I've never written before. It's like an unofficial mini-series 😂

Bucky Masterlist

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: face-sitting, oral (f receiving).

Alexei was going to pay for this. You weren't sure how just yet, but you'd think of something. Some suitable punishment for accidentally giving you enough explosive to level a whole building rather than just get you in the door.

You dug through your bag until your fingers closed around what you needed. An ancient tub of moisturiser. Picked up in a gas station more than a year ago, a totally unknown brand - probably banned from sale in the US. Probably not containing even a milligram of aloe.

Luckily it still smelled cool and fresh, still looked usable. Behind you, the bathroom door opened.

“How's the shower?”

“About as good as you'd expect.” Bucky grimaced.

You spun around with a wide grin just as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Your grin disappeared, taking your bravado with it.

“There was me hoping for a huge walk-in with one of those rainfall things,” you muttered.

“Afraid not. I wouldn't even touch anything if I were you.”

Your expression must have said it all because he followed up awfully quickly, “I just mean, like, the walls, not yourse-”

His low voice petered off, the tips of his ears went pink.

“Well, yeah. Obviously,” you scoffed, filling the awkward silence.

The whole place was gross.

You hadn’t planned on a motel.

It was just a quick job - plant the charges, blow the door.

Instead, half the bunker went up in flames.

The burn on your shoulder said enough.

Bucky had dragged you clear of the fire, complaining the whole way to the motel about you not wearing your suit.

“If I’d been wearing my suit, I’d be peeling melted polyester off my skin right now,” you snapped.

He didn’t say another word.

Not until you got to the motel and found, befitting your terrible luck, one full-size bed. Not even a queen.

You passed him as you headed for the bathroom, and you could swear his eyes flicked to your shoulder, just for a second.

You closed the door firmly behind you.

You were friends. Kind of.

There was no need for this to be so… awkward.

You showered fast, following his advice and keeping your hands to yourself, and in the short time you'd been gone, he'd found the spare blanket and lay it on the floor.

“You can't sleep there,” you said before you were even fully back in the room. “It's disgusting. There's probably roaches.”

He didn’t look up. “I’ve slept on worse.”

You hesitated.

“The bed’s not that big,” you muttered. “Just don’t, like, spread out.”

He eyed the bed, then your shoulder.

“You should take that side. You’ll roll onto it otherwise.”

You arched a brow. “Since when are you the burn expert?”

“Since I carried your crispy ass out of a fire.”

You choked on a laugh. “My crispy ass? That’s what we’re calling it?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at you for a second too long, then said, “get in the bed.”

You opened your mouth to argue, then shut it.

You took the side he pointed to and climbed in first, turning onto your side. He followed a second later, back to you, a careful few inches of air between your bodies.

The silence was too quiet. Too full.

He exhaled slowly. “I didn’t mean don’t touch yourself earlier.”

You sniggered in the dark.

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

He didn’t reply.

You lay still, hyper-aware of his presence a few inches behind you. His warmth. The shift of the mattress every time he moved.

Eventually, his breathing evened out.

Yours didn’t.

You didn’t know when you drifted off. Only that when you stirred again, it was still dark - just the faintest sliver of morning pushing at the curtains.

You didn’t move, you kept your breathing steady, even as you felt the bed shift slightly behind you.

His arm reached across you, slowly and carefully, for something on the nightstand. He was trying not to wake you. A soft scrape of something plastic. A quiet lid twisting open.

Then the slow slide of your top strap down your arm.

The cream felt cool. Soothing on your angry skin. His fingers worked it into your skin, gentler than they had any right to be.

He was being careful. Methodical.

But he lingered.

His thumb dragged lightly just below the edge of the injury. Too low to be part of the job. Too light to be innocent.

You kept your eyes closed, imagining his hands moving further down. It was all you could do to keep your breath steady, let alone your hips.

And then, as if you weren't already in pieces, you felt him blow lightly over the burn. Your skin cooled and tingled and you couldn't help the sigh of relief that fell from your mouth.

Even to your own ear, it sounded like a broken moan of pleasure.

You clamped your mouth shut, eyes pinching closed with embarrassment.

His hand froze.

You could feel the way his body went still behind you.

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low. Strained.

You didn't move. “Do what?”

“Make that sound.”

You could’ve died.

He drew in a slow breath, his fingers still resting lightly on your shoulder.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.” You paused. “But then you started touching me.”

“I shouldn’t have,” he said softly.

“Shouldn't you?”

You rolled onto your back to look at him, the burn smarting against the rough bedsheets.

“I’ve thought about it,” you admitted quietly.

“Fuck. Me too.”

“So,” you said finally, but trailing off into nothing.

“So if you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m gonna kiss you.”

You snorted, “no you're not -”

He dipped down quickly and caught your mouth with his.

You gasped, surprised by his boldness, and felt him go still above you. Before he had time to doubt himself, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him down onto you.

He resisted, just a little, and pulled back.

“Your burn,” he muttered against your mouth.

“‘s fine.” You leaned up to kiss him again, but he twisted away from you.

“Not like this,” he said roughly. Then, after a breath, “c’mere.”

He shifted, rolling to his back, hands guiding your hips as he pulled you with him.

You could feel how hard he was beneath you, the restraint in every movement.

“You sure?” you whispered.

He huffed a laugh, one hand skimming your thigh.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been sure since Berlin.”

You sank into his kiss, half sprawled on top of him, your hands buried in his hair, his mouth hot and hungry against yours.

There was a quiet urgency in the way he kissed you - like he’d been holding back for months and now didn’t know how to stop.

The kiss deepened, his hands everywhere and yet careful to avoid hurting you. When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard.

He looked at you, really looked at you. His voice dropped.

“How’s is it?”

“Better than in my head,” you smirked. He rolled his eyes and gestured to your shoulder. “It’s fine. It's nothing.”

His fingers brushed down your arm gently. “I want this to be good for you. Easy.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smile widening. “Are you saying I’m lazy?”

“No,” he said, leaning in, his mouth just by your ear. “I’m saying I want you above me. Comfortable.”

He lay back slowly, still watching you.

“Sit on my face.”

It wasn’t a question.

You blinked, heat licking up your neck - and not from the burn. “Bucky, I -”

“You don’t have to move. You don’t have to do anything.” His voice dropped, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Let me make you fall apart.”

“This isn’t exactly how I pictured our first time,” you laughed nervously, trying to reach for another kiss.

“No?” he grinned, pulling out of your reach. “Because I’ve definitely pictured it. Just relax, I've got you.”

His hand trailed down your thigh to the back of your knee, pulling your leg further over him. You shifted, your knees bracketing his hips, and sat up, peeling off your thin cami.

His eyes drank you in, dark and focused, but he didn’t reach for you.

“I could just stay right here,” you teased, rolling your hips against him. “Ohh, fuck -” you sighed. “Please, Bucky.”

His hands skimmed up your thighs, slow and steady. “Then lose the rest for me, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip, wriggling out of your underwear as his grip tightened, guiding you higher up his chest.

You hesitated again, your breath shallow and heart pounding. His eyes were locked on yours - not teasing, just openly wanting.

“I’ve never…” you started, then couldn't finish.

“I know,” he said gently. “That’s why I want you to.”

He didn’t rush you. He just waited with all his quiet intensity focused entirely on you.

You moved up his chest slowly, his hands steady on your thighs, guiding. When you reached him, hovering just above his mouth, he looked up at you like you were something sacred.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.

He lay back expectantly. “Not even a little. I knew you'd look perfect up there. Come here, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

He hooked his hands around your thighs and pulled you down. You reached out to grip the thin wooden headboard to steady yourself.

As his broad tongue dragged a long, slow stripe through your pussy, your thighs clamped around his head, half in shock, half instinct.

“What if I fucking suffocate you?” You asked, horrified.

He rolled his eyes, and in them, you knew he was grinning into you.

“Do your worst, baby,” he said, muffled against you. His voice sent vibrations through your body, he held you a little tighter.

His tongue worked you open with a pressure that had you throwing your head back. By the time he swept it over your clit, your hands had given up clinging to the headboard for dear life, and were palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between your thumb and index finger.

“God, Bucky -” you rolled your hips, willing yourself to look at him.

He reached one hand up to cover yours, you swapped them so that yours covered his, kneading your soft curves.

He moaned into you, the sound enough to make you grind down against his tongue.

You reached behind and wrapped a hand around his thick cock, weeping and aching. He fucked up into your fist, each thrust in time with the flick of his tongue inside you.

When his lips closed around your swollen clit and sucked, your legs shook and your vision went white, his name tumbling from your mouth.

Your grip on his cock tightened as you writhed against his mouth.

Hot, sticky ropes of cum painted your back, your ass - he came hard in your hand, roaring into your cunt.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed, shifting back on unsteady knees.

He pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, making you tremble again.

Still catching your breath, you lifted your hand - slick with his release - and brought your fingers to your lips. Bucky groaned low in his chest, watching as you licked the taste of him from your skin with deliberate, languid strokes.

“Jesus,” he muttered, eyes blazing.

He surged up suddenly, sitting against the headboard and dragging you down with him, hands firm at your hips. You slid easily down the broad plane of his chest, letting your legs fall to either side of his thighs until you were straddling him again, skin sticking to skin.

His mouth found yours in a messy kiss, all hunger, no restraint - tasting himself on your tongue.

You rocked your hips without thinking, still pulsing around the aftershocks, still needing.

“Bucky…” you breathed against his jaw, your voice raw. “I want more.”

His hand slid up your spine and he blew lightly over the warm skin on your shoulder. “Yeah?”

You nodded, pressing your lips to his cheek. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

He stilled, grip tightening just slightly.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he asked, low in your ear. “Gonna need you to say it again.”

You smiled against his skin, grinding your hips against the hard line of him. “Please. I need you inside me. Want you to fill me up.”

A rough sound left his throat.

“God,” he muttered. “Thought you’d never ask.”

When he finally pushed inside you, you knew you’d never need to ask again.

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corroded-hellfire · 2 months ago

Note

First Mother’s Day after the twins. Eddie is so sleep deprived that he forgot. Ryan is on his senior class trip. Eliza is still too little to remember. It’s only when Luke “Scurvy” Munson comes home with flowers that the day is saved.

Eddie wouldn’t change Luke’s middle name, but I invented Luke and I petition to change his middle name officially to “Scurvy.”

I hope all of you moms out there had a wonderful Mother’s Day 💕

Words: 3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie collapses into the blue recliner tucked into the corner of the living room. A sigh rushes out of him as he lets his tense body relax against the polyester. The baby monitor is still clutched in his hand, too paranoid that if he lets it go, one of the twins will start crying again. He just got them both to fall asleep. It took songs, cuddles, and rocking back and forth, but it finally all paid off.

“Thank God,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

For the first time today, the house is quiet. The twins are asleep. Eliza is curled up on your bed with a handful of her stuffed animals, watching Mulan. Luke is out with his friends, and you’re out picking Ryan up. Your eldest son has been on a trip with school for the last couple of days, and the buses are rolling back in to drop the students off at the high school tonight.

Eddie’s eyes strain to stay open. He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep for the entire six weeks since the twins were born. Neither had you, so it amazed Eddie that you were so willing to go and pick up Ryan. The amazement wore off when he realized he was left to do two bedtimes alone.

I could just nap right now, he thinks. Only for a little while until you come home. The moment he lets his eyes flutter closed though, the front door opens.

“Oh my God,” Luke says as he steps inside the house. “It’s actually quiet in here. Am I in the right house?”

Eddie forces his eyes open, more out of curiosity for what that crinkling plastic noise is than to see his son. His brows furrow when he sees Luke holding a bouquet of flowers.

“What’re those?” Eddie asks, pointing the antenna of the baby monitor at the blooms. “Were you on a date? I thought you were out with friends.”

“Father,” Luke says with a sigh, “if I were on a date, why would I be coming home with flowers?”

“Ugh, I’m too tired, don’t quiz me.” Eddie groans and rubs a hand over his drooping eyes.

“They’re for Mother’s Day.” Luke gently bops his dad on the top of the head with the wrapped bouquet. “Sean stopped to pick some flowers up for his mom, so I figured I’d grab some too.”

“That’s nice,” Eddie says, nodding. There’s a beat of silence before it clicks in his head. “Wait, Mother’s Day?”

“Yeah,” Luke says. “It’s tomorrow.” He raises his eyebrows at his father, wondering just how sleep-deprived he is.

“Shit.”

Eddie forces himself to sit up straight, taking a deep breath as he prepares to stand.

“You forgot? Seriously?” Luke’s on the verge of laughing, but he doesn’t want to irritate an already grumpy Eddie.

“Let’s see how well you sleep when you have five kids,” Eddie mumbles.

Now Luke does laugh.

“Yeah, right. Like that’s gonna happen.”

Eddie huffs as he pushes himself to his feet, and Luke heads into the kitchen.

“Fifty bucks says you’re the first one to give me a grandkid,” Eddie grumbles under his breath, heading down the hallway towards his room.

When he opens his door, Eddie breathes a sigh of relief that Eliza is still awake. There would’ve been no way in hell he’d wake her up and deal with that mighty wrath.

Large brown eyes peer over the top of her stuffed pig to watch her father curiously. Her golden dragon acts like a pillow beneath her head as the Disney movie plays in the background.

“Wanna come to the store with me?” Eddie hopes his words reflect more enthusiasm than he feels.

Eliza’s brow furrows, and her head swings towards the closed curtains covering the windows near the bed.

“It’s dark out. Why we going out?”

Eddie grabs a t-shirt from his drawer that doesn’t have holes in it and swaps it out for the ratty one he’s wearing.

“I forgot that tomorrow is Mother’s Day,” Eddie admits, knowing full well it will end up getting back to you. He knows you’ll give him some slack with how exhausted you’ve both been, though. “We gotta get Mama a present.”

Pig stuffy falling to the side, Eliza bolts up straight and stares at her father with wide eyes.

“You forgot?!”

“Hey,” he teases, coming over to scoop her up from the bed, “you didn’t remember either.”

The little girl gives him an unimpressed look as he sets her down on the carpet.

“I’m four.”

“Well, Miss Four-Year-Old, are you coming or not?”

“Gotta get presents from the babies too!” she calls as she runs out of the room to get her shoes.

“Right.” Eddie nods as he slips his wallet into his pocket. “A gift from six-week-old babies, got it.”

He heads back towards the kitchen and finds Luke’s head buried in the fridge, the bouquet of flowers he had bought already in a vase on the counter. Eddie slaps a hand on his son’s shoulder and presses the baby monitor against his chest.

“I need you to keep an ear out for the twins, yeah? I’m gonna run to the store with Eliza.”

Luke nods, his mouth stuffed with God knows what. He takes the baby monitor from his dad and gives him a thumbs-up.

“And thanks for saving my ass,” Eddie says.

Luke chuckles, and Eddie scoops his keys off the counter. The sound of little feet pound down the stairs, and Eddie meets your daughter in the living room.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Eddie opens the front door, and the two of them slip outside.

“Think of what you might want to get her on the way there, okay?”

“Okay!”

Despite the request, your husband knows it won’t be that simple. Taking Eliza to the store to buy something can turn into a grand event. She can never make up her mind and has to hold everything in her hands to study it, like it’s an ancient scroll.

“What does she want for breakfast?” Eliza asks halfway to Target.

“Uh.” Eddie thinks as he turns right onto another street. “She loves when you make her waffles, right?”

“Yeah!” This sparks excitement in the small girl. “Can use the Mickey Mouse waffle maker!”

“Perfect,” Eddie says with a nod. “We’ll get the ingredients for that. What do you think we should get from the babies?”

Normally, he’d ask just to include Eliza in the whole process, but right now he’s genuinely hoping she has some ideas.

“Umm,” she hums, little fingers tapping at her chin. “Sweater?”

“It’s almost summer, babe,” he tells her.

“Oh yeah. Uh, shoes?”

“What about other than stuff she can wear?” Eddie knows Eliza would pick out the most sparkled and glittery heels she could find, and that would be the last thing you need now, as you’re constantly covered in vomit or worse.

“Book?”

“That’s a good one,” Eddie admits with a nod. You might not have much spare time to read now, but he knows you’ll pick it up eventually.

Eddie pulls into the parking lot and breathes a sigh of relief when there’s an empty spot right up front. He hops out of the car, Eliza following his lead, and the two of them walk hand in hand into the store.

There’s a bright red cart sitting near the entrance, so Eddie nabs it. Before she even has time to ask—because she always does—Eddie scoops Eliza up and seats her in the carriage. She grins as she makes herself comfortable, her small fingers sliding into the holes on the side of the cart.

“Alright, where do we start?” Eddie isn’t asking anyone in particular, mostly just musing aloud. But nonetheless, Eliza points towards the book section.

“That way!”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

“Two books,” Eliza instructs as Eddie rolls her down between two shelves littered with books of every size. “One from Hayden. One from Scarlett.”

“Makes sense,” he replies as he moves down towards the adult section.

“Ooh, ooh!” Eliza points at a paperback book with what looks like a White Witch on the cover. “That one.”

Eddie picks it up and scans over the summary on the back. There are witches, faeries, and romance—it meets a lot of your criteria.

“Good pick,” Eddie tells the four-year-old, handing her the book.

She nods in thanks and sets it down next to her in the cart.

“Look! There’s a dog on that book!”

“Uh…” Eddie grimaces. “I don’t think Mama will want Cujo for Mother’s Day.”

“That’s a weird name,” Eliza says, her button nose wrinkling up in distaste.

“Well, he’s a weird dog,” Eddie replies, eyes scanning over the other books.

A few books down, he sees a woman on the cover of a paperback that reminds him of you. He picks it up and takes a look at the summary.

“That looks like Mama,” Eliza says, tilting her head to get a better look at the cover.

“That’s what I thought,” Eddie says, deciding this book sounds decent enough. He tosses it to Eliza, who stacks it on top of the other one. “Where should we head now?”

Dark curls whip back and forth as Eliza looks all around her, trying to pick which way they should go.

“Cards?” she asks.

“Look at you and Luke, helping out my tired brain today. You want to make Mama a card I assume?”

“Yeah!” The look she gives him clearly says duh.

Eddie nods and heads down the craft aisle. He knows there’s probably a whole cache of art supplies at home she could use, but the last thing Eddie wants is to get home and form a search party to look for markers and glitter.

“Okay,” he says, hand reaching out towards the shelves. “We’ve got construction paper, markers—ooh wait, sparkly markers. What else?”

Eliza happily claps her hands at the exciting new markers she gets to use.

“Stickers?” she asks.

“What kind?” He rolls her down towards the end of the aisle, where the stickers are. There are far too many for Eliza to browse herself, she would take an eternity to look at each one. Instead, Eddie starts to list them off, hoping to make things quick. “We’ve got dinosaurs, butterflies, penguins, Care Bears, Transformers, kittens, turt–”

“Kitties!”

“There we go,” he says, grabbing the pack of stickers, a variety of kittens staring up at him. “Easy enough.”

The next aisle over is the beginning of the baby supplies, and Eddie figures that while he’s here, he might as well grab more diapers. God knows you’re going through them like water.

“I don’t think she needs those,” Eliza jokes with a giggle. “She’s too big!”

“These might be the thing she’s most grateful for, actually,” he mumbles under his breath. “Any idea what you want to get her?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Eddie drawls, trying to keep any annoyance out of his tone. It’s not Eliza’s fault that he’s worn out and forgot what tomorrow is. “I’ll walk down the middle aisle, and you let me know if anything jumps out at you.”

He leads the cart to the main artery of Target, then strolls slowly down the wide space, giving Eliza time to peer down each aisle and take stock of what it holds. Fortunately, Eliza quickly finds something that catches her eye. Unfortunately, her taste is a little expensive.

“Mama will love this!” Eliza coos. She gestures to the heated back massager and, honestly, Eddie can’t refute the claim. You would love it. You wouldn’t love what it costs, though.

Eddie sighs and runs a ringed hand over his stubbled jaw. The fluorescent lights hum above, as if also awaiting his answer. The debate rages back and forth in his tired brain, but ultimately, he decides to get it. Is it a bit much? Yeah. But don’t you deserve that? After already being an incredible mother, carrying twins for nine months, and now being an absolute rock for everyone in the house while being exhausted yourself? The least Eddie can do is buy you this massager to help you relax.

“You are right,” Eddie says as he picks up the large box. Eliza scoots over to make room for it next to her. She giggles when the box is taller than she is. “Next stop, waffle ingredients.”

When Eddie pulls into the driveway, your car is back. It would be almost impossible to get the bags and packages from the store past you. Thinking quick on his feet, Eddie reaches up and jabs at the remote garage opener.

“Wheee!” Eliza cheers as the car rolls out of the streetlight and into the dark concrete space.

Eddie puts the car into park, unbuckles his seatbelt, and turns around to face Eliza in her seat.

“Alright, we’re only gonna take in the stuff for you to make your card; I’ll get the rest out once Mama goes to bed. That way she won’t know what we got.”

Eliza nods. “Got it.”

Your daughter shuffles out of her car seat and loops the plastic bag containing her art supplies over her tiny wrist. Eddie closes the garage behind them, and the two head towards the house.

“Wait,” Eddie says as he comes to a halt. He jogs around to the back of the car and pulls the pack of diapers out. Tucking them under his arm, he pats them as he heads back to Eliza. “This is our excuse for going.”

“Good job, Daddy!”

She opens the door leading into the kitchen, where you’re sitting at the table with Ryan and Luke. There’s a tired smile on your face, but Eddie thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. You look up from your cup of coffee—decaf, of course—and give your husband and Eliza a smile.

“Hi, Mama!” Eliza calls. She plops the bag down on the linoleum floor and runs over to you.

“Hey, sweet pea!” You scoot your chair back far enough that you can pull her into your lap. “What were you doing at Target?”

Eliza stares up at you, her eyes widening a comical amount. You purse your lips to keep from laughing.

“How did you know?” she asks, completely mystified.

Doing your damndest to keep your smile in, you duck your head and point to the plastic bag she left near the door.

“That’s a Target bag,” you say in a stage whisper.

“Oh.” Eliza giggles and buries her face in your neck.

Eddie scoops up the bag and sets it down in front of you two girls on the table.

“There are your art supplies, Your Highness,” he says. He turns and sets the box of diapers down on the counter. “And these are for the royals upstairs. Who, I hope, are still sleeping?” Eddie turns and looks over his shoulder with a hopeful smile.

“Snoozing away,” Luke confirms.

“Perfect,” your husband says.

Eliza opens her mouth in a wide yawn, which triggers you to do the same.

“What do you say we head up to bed, kid?” you ask your daughter.

She nods as she lets out another yawn. A small hand comes up to rub her eye. Eddie makes a mental note to wake her up early so she can make her card for you.

Eliza’s small arms wrap around your neck, and you stand up, balancing her on your hip.

“Night, boys,” you say before walking over to Eddie. “Coming up to bed soon?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he agrees before giving you a kiss. Eliza offers him her cheek, and he presses one there as well. “Goodnight, my beautiful ladies.”

As you walk towards the stairs, Eliza lays her head down on your shoulder, and you hold her a little bit tighter. Eddie watches until you start up the stairs, then he sits down in the chair you vacated. He lets out a deep sigh and drops his head down on the table.

Ryan cocks an eyebrow as he observes his father.

“You good?” he asks.

Eddie lifts one arm and gives him a thumbs-up. Luke snorts a laugh and leans towards his older brother.

“He forgot what tomorrow was,” he says, quiet enough that you won’t be able to hear.

“I mean,” Ryan says with a shrug, “I’m surprised he remembers our names these days. He looks like a zombie lately.”

Eddie lifts his head and stares at his eldest child with a blank expression.

“I take it you remembered, too?”

“Sure did.” Ryan’s mouth quirks up in a smug smile as he folds his arms across his chest. “Bought her a present in the gift shop of the museum.”

“What museum again?” Eddie asks, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Chicago Museum of Art,” he reminds him. “Bought her a pack of socks that have different famous paintings on them.”

“That’s good,” Eddie says with a sleepy nod. “Her feet are always freezing. Hey, want to help a zombie out?”

“What’s up?” Ryan asks.

“Want to go get the stuff out of my car for your poor old man?” Eddie does his best to give his boys a pleading smile.

“Don’t worry, old man,” Ryan says, slapping his father on the back. He pushes his chair back and stands up. “Us youngsters got this.”

“I raise the best sons,” Eddie sighs, letting his head fall back to the table.

Luke snorts a laugh and gets up to follow his brother towards the garage.

Once the door smacks closed behind the boys, Eddie turns his head to look at the clock on the microwave.

“Look at that,” he mumbles to himself. “Solved Mother’s Day with a few hours to spare.”

Eddie tucks his arms beneath his head and waits for the boys to come back in with his purchases. He listens out for them, hearing the back of the car close. But he hears nothing after that.

The door leading in from the garage opens and Ryan steps in, arms full of bags, and holds the door open with his foot for Luke to follow in with the large box containing the massager.

“Where do you want it, Dad?” Ryan asks. “Dad?”

Luke peeks around the side of the box and rolls his eyes. He sets the package down on the counter and shakes his head in amusement.

“He’s asleep.”

“Not surprised,” Ryan says.

“Honestly,” Luke says with a sigh, “what would he do without us?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #older!eddie #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #Eddie Munson fan fic #eddie munson fan fiction #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWs #request

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tejuskumar13 · 5 months ago

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nizhspo · 1 month ago

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pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

synopsis: shibuya incodent, october 31st, 8:48 p.m.

content: smut (nsfw, 17+), angst undercurrent, canon timeline (shibuya arc), drunkenness, public sex (semi-private).

notes: i have not finished jjk i literally just hit this arc and decided i needed to write it. expect to see way more of this in the future i fucking love this show now.

shibuya’s gone strange.

october 31st was supposed to be a party—lights, laughs, costumes too thin for the chill, but now the world’s turning wrong.

under your feet, the pavement hums like it’s holding its breath. the station’s floodlights flicker overhead, caught in a haze of smoke and something heavier: something cursed, the energy thick and metallic on the back of your tongue.

the crowd’s panic is a tide, pulling and surging and collapsing in waves. people scream without direction. some run into walls. others stand still, staring at the curtain of warped space above.

the sky is like torn silk. it ripples unnaturally, pulsing with a kind of anti-light, like something holy in reverse.

and you… you’re just floating through it all.

tipsy off plum wine and the kind of fear that doesn’t feel real yet. your feet wobble in your white platform heels. your angel costume’s clinging to your skin, more vodka and sweat than polyester. a crooked halo bobs with each step, glowing faintly in the haze.

you’re laughing, for no good reason. maybe because you don’t want to cry. maybe because everyone else is crying.

and then the veil shudders, like it knows who’s coming. a beam of blue light slices the dark. cold and clean, heaven-colored and humming.

and then he steps through, and your breath stutters.

he’s tall. impossibly tall. his silhouette is straight out of a fever dream, long black coat billowing around lean legs, silver hair gleaming like a blade under moonlight. his face, at first, is obscured by the glare off his sunglasses, but then he turns his head just enough for you to see—

oh.

he doesn’t look real.

cheekbones carved like sculpture. lips that could lie or pray, depending on how he moved them. hair tousled like he’d just flown down from some war in heaven, still catching pieces of light in every strand. and his eyes, what little you catch behind tinted lenses, are bluer than the curse-choked sky above.

you forget to breathe.

he takes it all in with a lazy glance—the screaming, the sirens, the veil snapping behind him, and says, too casual, too fucking calm,

“my bad.”

your body moves before your brain does. you stumble toward him, grab onto his sleeve like he’s gravity and you’re tired of floating.

“you’re so fucking pretty,” you slur.

he pauses. cocks his head slightly, the corners of his mouth quirking up in bemusement. “huh?”

your fingers slide down the smooth line of his wrist. expensive fabric. coiled strength under it. “did you come out of heaven,” you murmur, eyes wide and dazed, “or am i just really drunk?”

his grin unfurls slow. dangerous. like he’s done this before.

“definitely drunk,” he says, tone like velvet. “but i like your taste in men.”

you laugh, hiccuping on it. “i lost my friends to that… wind thingy.” you wave vaguely behind you. “poof. like, gone. i was gonna cry but then i saw you. so i decided not to.”

his smile twitches, falters, almost just for a second. a breath passes, quiet and full of something you can’t name.

because he knows. and there’s a pit in his stomach, low, cold, leaden. it’s been there since the moment he crossed the threshold. since he felt the thickness of the curse energy in the air, tasted the iron weight of it on his tongue.

it feels like a trap. like one giant mouth waiting to close around him.

he doesn’t know how or why, not yet—but every inch of his soul is buzzing with warning. he hasn’t felt like this since suguru turned his back.

and still, he’s here.

he looks down at you, glittery eyes and messy lip gloss, drunk little smile, and thinks, maybe just for a moment, that it wouldn’t be so bad to forget.

“but if it’s the end of the world…” your voice trembles, light and lovely. “at least i’m with you.”

that’s what does it.

he glances at his watch. silver flash. eight forty-eight.

“ten minutes,” he mutters. “i can spare ten.”

“what?”

but he’s already tugging you with him, fast, smooth, practiced. like dancing. you follow blindly, heels clacking over shattered tile, past overturned chairs and cracked screens.

he slips into an empty shop with a busted door. broken mannequins, a register half-gutted. a single overhead light swings on its cord, casting warped shadows across the dusty linoleum. perfume bottles smashed underfoot. cracked glass glittering like ice on the floor. the air smells like smoke and old silk, something burnt sweet.

and then he’s kissing you.

not gently, not exactly, but like he’s trying to memorize your mouth. like he’s got ten minutes and needs you burned into him before they’re gone. your spine presses to the chipped wall behind you, the texture biting through your dress. cold plaster. warm hands.

his lips are plush and parted, tasting faintly of spearmint and something electric, like ozone before a storm. he kisses with purpose, tongue slow and steady, teeth catching your lower lip—like he knows every trick and has no shame using all of them.

you moan softly into his mouth, one hand fisting in his coat, the other sliding up his chest. beneath the fabric, he’s all hard muscle and lean strength, like a coiled spring. his heart is pounding against your palm.

he presses closer. the thick line of his thigh nudges between yours, high and firm, and you feel it, the deliberate roll of his hips as he grinds in. your dress hikes up in protest, bunched useless around your waist. the warmth of him slots perfectly against the soaked heat of your underwear.

you choke on a gasp, grinding down.

“what’s your name?” you whisper, your breath catching on his mouth.

his lips curve against yours, cocky but warm. “satoru.”

your fingers dig into his shoulders.

“satoru,” you echo, barely audible. it feels like the world might break in half, but you’re saying his name like a secret.

he makes a noise low in his throat, pleased, wrecked, and slides both hands to your ass, gripping hard enough to bruise. he lifts you slightly, pinning your hips with his, pressing harder against your core. you feel the thick press of him through his pants, hot and eager.

“you’re trouble, angel,” he mutters against your lips. “real bad trouble.”

you giggle, breathless, thighs tightening around his. “then punish me.”

his head tips back just slightly, silver hair catching the swaying light, and he actually growls. low and sharp. like he’s forgotten the entire city outside.

his zipper’s down in one practiced pull. he hisses as he frees himself, cock flushed and hard, already leaking. you can feel it, thick, heavy, pressed to your thigh. your mouth goes dry.

“fuck,” you whisper.

“mm,” he hums, a smirk in his voice. “not yet.”

you fumble in your costume’s thin folds, pull a small, crinkling square from the bodice. “i got a condom,” you pant, wide-eyed.

he snorts against your jaw. “you came to shibuya looking for god and brought a condom? now that’s optimism.”

your laugh stutters. “you don’t have one?”

“angel,” he drawls, guiding your hips as he kisses your throat, “i did not plan to be doing this tonight.”

and then he’s touching you again.

one hand sliding between your thighs, brushing aside soaked lace. he runs two fingers along you, spreading wetness before sliding them inside, curling just right. your hips buck and you cry out, biting into his shoulder.

“still drunk?”

“drunk enough not to care. sober enough to want this.”

his breath catches. that grin again, darker this time, shadowed with something sharp. he pulls his fingers out slow, watching the way your body clenches around nothing. he lets your underwear fall halfway down your thighs before turning you around, pushing you gently toward a cracked counter.

your palms hit dusty tile.

he’s behind you in a blink, his hips flush to your ass, cock grinding wet and heavy between your legs. he nudges the thick head along you, back and forth, teasing the slick mess he’s made of you.

you arch against him, gasping. “satoru…”

“shh,” he murmurs, leaning forward, towering over you, his breath hot on your neck. “almost.”

you reach back, trembling fingers wrapping around his length. he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“jesus,” he groans as you guide him to your entrance, hot, aching, and he presses in, slow.

inch by inch.

your breath leaves in a shudder. he’s thick, stretching you open, dragging along nerves you didn’t know were there. your nails scrape the counter’s surface.

he groans deep in your ear. “fuck, you’re tight.”

the first thrust is deliberate, slow and anchoring. the second’s deeper. the third is a grind that leaves you gasping. he sets a rhythm that’s both frantic and focused, hips snapping up into you with slick, perfect precision. the wet sound of skin on skin fills the air.

your thighs tremble. your breath breaks. your dress is bunched at your waist and his hands are gripping your hips like he owns them.

he licks up your throat, bites your shoulder. “shit—” he pants, lips brushing your ear. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

your legs threaten to give. your moans spill helpless, face pressed to cold tile as he ruins you from behind. each thrust sends sparks through your spine. your body arches, muscles fluttering. you can feel it, that edge curling tight.

your voice is a gasp. “satoru, i’m gonna, i’m gonna—”

he laughs, breathless, a little cocky. his hand slides from your waist to your stomach, pulling you back flush against his chest. his hips don’t stop.

“already?” he pants, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “damn, i am good.”

he nips gently at your jaw as your body locks up around him, thighs trembling, slick and clenching, walls fluttering. you cry out, one hand scrambling for something solid, the other pressed to the tile as the wave hits.

you fall apart.

back arching, mouth open, hands fisting helplessly. you clench hard around him, and he doesn’t stop. not for a second. his pace stutters, just for a moment as you squeeze around him, but his smirk doesn’t fade.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice warm, wrecked, proud. “look at you…”

his pace stays filthy, relentless, the sound of it obscene. he’s panting into your neck, whispering curses, holding you through it.

then: his thrusts start to stutter, shallower, messier. his breath hits your neck in ragged bursts.

“fuck, i’m close,” he mutters, forehead pressing to your shoulder. “you want me to pull out or…?”

your head swims. you can’t think straight, let alone speak. “w-what?”

he huffs a half-laugh, hips grinding deep, voice tightening with restraint.

“c’mon,” he groans, grinning through clenched teeth. “help a guy out here, in or out?”

you moan, broken. “in. in. please—”

he groans, something between a laugh and a snarl, and buries himself. his whole body jerks. his head drops to your shoulder, jaw slack, breath catching like it hurts.

you feel it, thick and warm and pulsing deep. he groans into your shoulder, slumped over you, both of you shaking.

for one breath, two, there’s only silence.

then he pulls out, slow and sticky, and tucks himself back in with practiced grace. checks his watch. silver flash. 8:57.

he kisses your neck, your jaw, your temple. one last kiss to your lips, softer than before, like a ribbon tied around goodbye.

“well if it really is the end,” he says, barely above a whisper, “thanks for this.”

you touch his cheek, eyes dazed and full of something soft. “if it is… i’m glad it was with you.”

he doesn’t smile. doesn’t speak. just kisses you again, slow, aching, like he’s already saying goodbye.

“wish me luck,” he says, too casual to be anything but afraid. “hope we can do this again sometime.”

and then he’s gone.

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redsrooftopprincess · 2 months ago

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Marked

Raphael x GN!Reader

WARNING: BRUISING/MARKING KINK, descriptions of bruising and scars, biting, mention of non-consensual marking

Notes:

tl;dr: non-consensual marking is NOT OKAY, please trust your instincts and reach out if you think you need help.

This is a very dangerous subject that I make look very pretty, so before we get into this, it needs to be said that ANY kind of bruising/marking MUST be consensual, and, like any other kink, should be talked bout ahead of time very thoroughly. Humans are not 6' 5" anthropomorphic reptiles that go through a mating season once a year, and can absolutely control themselves. Real life is not fiction. If you're in a situation where this kind of thing tends to happen by "accident," it may not be an accident.

If you think you might need help:

This is the website for the Domestic Abuse Hotline

Their phone number is 1-800-799-SAFE ( 1-800-799-7233)

You can text by texting "Start" to 88788

If your gut is telling you that what's happening is not okay, it probably isn't, and you aren't alone.

Okay, back to the less important, but way more fun stuff…

You wake in the grey. The pale pre-dawn light filters in through the gossamer curtains, dimming and brightening as they shift in the gentle morning breeze. A single robin, nesting in the tree outside, ruffles her feathers, before hopping to the end of the alder branch and singing a greeting to the morning.

The sheets you're tangled in whisper sweet words and promises, tempting persuasions for you to stay in bed, wrapped in soft cotton and the arms of your beloved. The soft rumbling of his contented sleep against your spine is not making things any easier, but you somehow manage to extract yourself from bed, and pad silently to the bathroom.

It's darker in here, the early morning light from the window trapped on the other side of the shower curtain. It catches in the mirror as you shift the curtain aside to turn on the tap, the room quickly returning to darkness when the thick fabric falls back into place.

You study yourself in the mirror as you wait for the water to heat up. Dull, muted light, blocked by slate-blue polyester, pours shadows, like ink, over your skin. You tilt your head to the side, regarding some of the newer, more incongruous markings, imagining their colors beyond the monochrome. Would they be purple yet, or still moving toward a darker red? Would they bleed into the other, older colors, painting rainbows inside your skin?

A smile teases the corner of your mouth. It still surprises him that you love them so much. These markings. His markings. He would never hurt you intentionally, and you would never ask him to, but sometimes just being with you can push him past his limit. It never goes far, he'd never allow it, he'll just hold too tightly, push too hard, the evidence would rarely show until the next morning, hickeys and bruises scattered across your skin, and a blissful soreness in your muscles.

The shadow of a small scar, just where your neck meets your shoulder, catches your eye and your smile softens.

Last year was his first season after you'd finally stopped pretending, and admitted to yourselves that this is always where it was headed. It was his first season with a mate, and no one knew what to expect. When he felt the fever coming on, he panicked, and told you it was probably a good idea if you spent this first season apart.

It was different last year. You were together by that point, so the fever felt different. It didn't hurt, he just... needed you. In every way imaginable.

When you were apart, it felt like he was drowning, and when together, he felt dizzy and high. It was intense, and getting stronger, fast, and, frankly, it scared the shit out of him. So he decided that it would be safer if he kept his distance until he felt like he could keep himself in check. A decision that, to his credit, he managed to stick to for about 16 hours.

What followed was the reason why this year, you're here in the country, rather than cooped up in a sewer with a bunch of hormonal, territorial reptiles, or in your apartment, surrounded by other people.

He didn't even realize he'd bitten you until he tasted blood. Raph is normally all about biting in the bedroom, but this was different. He had been doing his best to stay away, so he took patrol on the other side of town, and a new coworker had walked you home. Raph could smell him on you. He was nice. Respectful. Kept his distance. And some part of him deep, deep in his DNA had a primal need to ensure it would stay that way.

When he caught the boy's scent, there was no anger, or jealousy, there was just the knowledge of what needed to be done, and his body's instinctive response to carry it out. They are free to admire, the others, of course they are. Personally, it's one of his favorite hobbies. But he is bound to you. You are his. And your body would carry their one warning.

He was inconsolable after it happened, refusing to see you until a full two weeks after the season was over, and there were many many long talks. This was one of those not-quite-human things that the two of you had been unprepared for, but eventually you worked out a plan, and two weeks ago you arrived at the farmhouse to ride out the following few.

Your hand reaches up to brush reverently over the raised skin. The aggression of the previous year hasn't returned. He's convinced it's the solitude, but you're not so sure. In the dark hours, when his skin is against yours, he is drawn to the scar like a magnet, dragging his teeth and tongue over it, with deep murmurs of your name, and "mine..." and gooseflesh scatters across your skin, as you wonder to yourself if this might have something to do with it.

Steam begins to tumble over the shower curtain and gather at the edges of the mirror. Stepping back, you pull the curtain aside and step into spray. It glitters, silver in the white gold morning, and you look down at your body, a riot in bloom within your skin.

....

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins @sacred-holy-light @celeste-clearwater-06 @pheradream-15 @leosgirl82

#tmnt #tmnt bayverse #TMNT Raphael #turtles aged up #tmnt raphael #bayverse raphael #bayverse tmnt #raphael x reader #bayverse raphael x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles #TMNT aged up

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bitterrfruit · 10 months ago

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he wakes you up

waking up hungover after letting a cocky scottish stranger spend the night. indie sleaze!Soap x reader, no cw. 1.4k words, mdni an: never posted a part 2 to my old fic trainspotting, but i wrote a good chunk of it. sleazy brow ring johnny is still close to my heart so i thought i'd share a bit of it <3

You wake up slowly, sweatily, mouth dry and fuzzy like you had swallowed a lump of cotton – so delirious, for a moment, that you expect to hear your mother calling for you to hurry up or you’ll miss the bus.

No, instead, you hear the sparkling white noise of running water. Can’t be rain, because the sun beams brightly through your open window – directly onto your face, blinding you, sending you spinning as you tug your thin pillow and hold it over your head to shield yourself.

Groaning, your brain throbs swollen and heavy, your skull an iron vice. You force yourself to sit upright, hoping your feet on the ground will calm the swelling nausea, turbulent in the pit of your stomach. It doesn’t.

Bathroom. Bathroom.

You leap out of bed, sprinting to the door of the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that separates your and Katie’s bedrooms. Throwing it open, you tumble to the toilet, hair unfortunately coating the toilet seat as your abdomen lurches noisily – tossing a pitiful spoonful of pink, cherry-flavoured vomit into the clear water with a foul splash. Ew.

The shower is running, you realise, in the subsequent post-puke calm. You would have expected Katie to say something to your intrusion, but after a year of living together you have very few boundaries left. You wonder what time she might’ve come home during the night – suppose the bloke she went home with must have been a disappointment if she didn’t even stay till morning. No surprises there.

You hear the thud of the shower lever and the water shuts off. After a few deep breaths, you build up the strength to apologise for barging in, sitting on your knees on the tiled floor.

“Sorry – hic – couldn’t hold it in,” you burp, rubbing your forehead, tearing off a piece of loo paper to wipe your nose. “How was–”

“Mornin’, hen,” comes the low voice of a man, tired and gravelly. “How ye feelin’?”

Not fucking Katie.

You cock your head back in shock, swiping your matted hair from your face, as your eyes shoot to the polyester shower curtain being tugged open with a screech.

Hairy legs jut out from the cubicle, big feet land on the shaggy bathmat. Your eyes follow them upward, thick thighs, rippling muscle under a layer of flesh and furry skin. Until your stare hitches on the cock hanging brazenly from a fine carpet of brown curls – thick from base to tip, uncircumcised but its meaty pink head exposed, a hefty vein running down the length of it. Looks heavy even soft.

You choke on any words you might be able to utter – jumping from shock, to fear, to awe, back to confusion. Who…

“Eyes up here, bunny.” He teases you, that gruff voice barely familiar.

A response suddenly comes to you, remembering it vaguely, and your lips form the words as if it were a realisation.

“They’re just as pretty,” you croak, staring into the void of space before you finally glance at the man’s face.

The shaven head, the brow ring, the glint of that golden tooth sparkling from the cocky smile that puckers dimples into his cheeks – now, yes, you somewhat remember him.

“Ah, good. Y’do remember.”

Suddenly humiliated, realising how much of a fucking mess you must be – you look down at yourself, seeing your vastly oversized Strokes band tee that you do not remember putting on. Nor do you remember getting out of the miniscule body suit you had worn to the party, nor peeling off the fishnets that had been flossing you from front to back for the duration of the blurry evening.

There’s probably makeup smudged into racoon-like circles around your eyes, there must be smears of your pink lip-gloss in the corners of your mouth. If you weren't so ill, you'd run and hide from him.

“Did I-” you stammer aloud, attempting to connect the dots. “Were you at the party?”

He tuts, huffing disappointedly, as he reaches for the yellow floral towel hanging on the rail. Katie’s towel.

“Och, dear,” he grunts facetiously, as he rubs it vigorously over his head, patting under his chin, chest, arms. Doesn’t seem to bother asking as he uses it to dry his balls, mammoth dick flopping around shamelessly as he does so. Your cheeks burn pink.

“You weren’t?”

“If I’m honest, hen,” he remarks, as he ties the towel nonchalantly around his hips, tucks it in just above his mound. Still brandishes that happy trail, and the sharp angled creases below his abs that carve from his hips to his cock. “Ye got me feelin’ a bit guilty.”

“Why?” You swallow, doing your best to stop ogling him like a little animal. “Did we…”

He snorts. “You wish.”

You frown, suddenly failing to suppress the admonishing smirk that curls in your lips. “We didn’t do anything?”

He shrugs, rubbing the top of his buzzed head with his palm. “We had a wee bit o’fun,” he admits, a twinge of shame in his rumbling throat, “but no, nothing too regrettable.”

You find yourself weirdly disappointed. “Why not?”

And your slightly dissatisfied query seems to lift some weight from his shoulders, he returns with a grin. “You were a bit steamed, hen,” he says. “would’ve been dodgy of me to stick it in ye while y’were like that, eh?”

“Mm,” you nod, concealing your chagrin, the memory of running into him on the road suddenly flies back to you, colliding with you like a slap.

A complete stranger. Naked (mostly) in your bathroom.

“Didn’t expect you’d be such a gentleman,” you gripe, a tad facetious.

He smiles. “Disappointed, are ye?” He jibes, tilting his head. “Y’were definitely disappointed last night. Poor wee thing. Got all whiney.”

You flush hot as that memory slithers back to you, too. Cheeks aren’t the only thing that burn at the thought. You suddenly harken back to the weight of his palm on your cunt, the mocking pressure of the heel of his palm grinding against your clit. Your stomach drops at the memory.

“Did not,” you murmur.

“Uh-huh,” he chuckles at you, sauntering in your direction, he holds out a hand for you. You smile bashfully as you take it, and he lifts you to your feet so deftly you’re almost lifted into the air. “Feelin’ alright?”

You’re a little dizzy after standing so quick, you blink heavily as you swallow. “Mm. Been better,” you huff, “I probably look like shit.”

He frowns at that, tutting in disapproval as his raffish eyes linger on your lips – you lick them, worried there might be a speck of residual puke in the corner of your mouth.

“Ye’re havin’ me on,” he chides, disapproval in his tone.

“Am I?” You groan, wiping under your eyes with your fingertips in the hopes of swiping away some running makeup.

He shakes his head. “Far too pretty to be talkin’ like that, bunny.”

With a grimace, then a snicker, you glance downward at the chipped pink glitter on your toenails. “That’s nice, but–”

“Psh,” he immediately cuts you off. “Don’t y’believe me?”

Reeling in awkward embarrassment, you cross your arms, digging nails into your biceps as you look everywhere but him. Through a strained chuckle, you answer, “Not really.”

His attention is almost intimidating; an unwavering, low-lidded glare as a smirk tugs in his lips. Tucks a hooked finger under your chin, coaxing your head to lift just slightly enough to look along your nose at him.

From his throat, he rumbles,

“Need me to show ye how pretty y’are, hen?”

Your skin turns molten, glowing and pliant, eyes glossy and eager as you stare up at him through clumped lashes. He simply wears that snide little grin, proud of himself, only growing prouder as he notices how flustered he’s made you. Fuck!

Lips part to let words free but they turn sticky on your tongue, and he brushes your chin with his thumb.

“Look at’cha,” he sneers, letting go of your face; using the tip of his thick finger to sweep a rogue hair from your forehead with a gentleness that you’re earnestly surprised he’s capable of. His tenderness is fleeting, though, because he chuckles; “Too easy.”

Jaw agape, you only laugh as you cover your eyes with your palms. “God, you’re such a dickhead.”

He hums, a giggle, swaggering around you before swinging a quick smack on your ass, making you yip – casual and in passing, such a brash show of lude badinage that you can only gawk at him as he wanders into your room.

“S’why you invited me in, in’t it?”

Crossing your arms, you follow him sheepishly, squinting as you step into morning sunlight. “I don’t think I can remember why I invited you in, to be honest.”

“Mm, well,” he grumbles, “I’ll have t’remind ye, won’t I?”

#love u cocky boy #john soap mctavish x reader #cod smut #call of duty fanfic #soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish smut #soap x reader #bella-drabbles

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magpiepills · 7 months ago

Text

The Layover

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f reader x f reader’s friend x Santi Garcia

Word count: 1k

Summary: you and your friend meet a couple guys on their way back to Florida from Colombia. One thing leads to another and you end up at a motel.

Warnings: SMUT! PIV, oral f receiving, fingering, ff, kissing, facials, creampies, masturbation, unsafe sex, sex with strangers. No beta no editing no proofreading, NO PLOT JUST PORN

A word from the author: idk man. You tell me.

Here’s my masterlist

The pink-red light of the neon MOTEL sign blinked against the window, partly obscured by the glare of the bedside lamp. No one had bothered to close the curtains. Just like no one had bothered to take off the cigarette burnt polyester bedspread. You’d all bundled in, talking and laughing and kisses smacking against skin, and once you were inside Frankie, the taller and quieter of the two men had switched on the lamp and unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, leaving his belt buckle swinging beside his bulge.

Santi was busy kissing your friend, and you took off your shirt. The room was cold and your nipples were already hard, inviting Frankie to suck one sharply into his mouth, scraping it against his teeth as you slid your hand up and down the generous heft of his cock through his jeans.

“That’s enough,” he smacked your ass and followed it with a squeeze that grazed your pussy. “I want you both undressed and on the bed.”

You exchanged a look with your friend, who looked at Santi, the shorter, flirtier friend and he unzipped her skirt and gave her a playful push toward the bed.

Frankie was sitting toward the headboard of the too-firm double bed, pants off, grey tshirt tossed over the lampshade, and turgid member in his hand. He stroked himself base to tip, watching you and your beautiful, shy friend with menace in his big, dark eyes. You pulled her onto the bed with you, and on your knees before the near stranger, you kissed her. You touched each other, stroked each other's hair and necks and tits. Santi looked on, cock in hand, thumb hooked around the thick base as he cradled his balls.

“Lay down,” Frankie instructed, showing you how he wanted you, side by side, heads at the foot of the bed, knees bent.

He admired you for a moment, two naked women, last names he never bothered to ask, first names he wasn’t entirely confident he knew, totally bare and spread out, serving themselves on a platter for him. His cock throbbed. “Perfect.”

He swiped his fingers over your pussy, covering them in his slick before doing the same to your friend. He turned his attention back to you, slurping your pussy, spreading you open with two tick fingers, going straight for your clit only for a moment before stopping.

He took your hand and put it on your girlfriend’s pussy. “Can’t have her feelin’ left out.”

He went back to your cunt, licking, sucking, covering his patchy beard and the tip of his beautiful, curved nose in your arousal.

He gave you one finger, then two, pumping them as he lapped at your clit.

You slid two of your fingers into your friend and pressed your palm against her clit. It was no match for what Frankie could do, but Santi liked it.

“She going to make you come, hermosa? You going to come together? I know Fish has her close. She can’t even keep her eyes open.”

He was right. You were close, and with a few more pointed swirls over you clit you came hard.

“Got something on your face, Frank,” Santiago laughed and Frankie wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smiling proudly at how hard he was able to make you come.

He turned his attention to your friend, shuffling between her legs to kiss her, dipping his tongue into her mouth so she could taste you. He fucked her deep and slow while she pinched her eyebrows together at the stinging stretch of his cock. When she relaxed, he sped up, snapping his hips down into her as she keened and scratched at his shoulders.

Santi stroked his cock faster in the chair, edging himself while his best friend fucked the girls from the airport bar.

You leaned over and kissed your friend again, moaning into each other’s mouths while you gently rubbed your clit, mixing her wetness with yours, teetering on the edge of overstimulation, but not near ready to let the fun end.

You sucked her nipple, rubbed her clit, and encouraged her. “You look so hot taking his cock. He feels good doesn’t he? Got you nice and full.”

Frankie watched you, teeth bared, grunting as he pounded into her, watching his friend watch him.

Your friend came, legs shaking and back arching off the bed. You felt her clit twitch under your fingers.

Frankie pulled out of her, slick and creamy with her cum, and turned back to you. He sank in slow, grumbling at your tightness, glad for how wet you were to ease his way. He bottomed out and pulsed his hips against yours, making you cry out at the feeling of him so deep, so thick inside you.

Santi came to stand over you, still jerking himself, but allowing your friend to suck and lick his heavy balls as she rubbed her pussy with one hand and yours with the other.

She turned her head to kiss you, and as she licked into your mouth, you came hard on Frankie’s cock.

“Ohh fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” The sounds in the room were obscene, wet, squelching sounds, skin against skin, and the uninhibited moaning you can only get away with in a run down motel with two men you just met.

As Frankie filled you with what felt like a gallon of cum, Santi aimed his own release onto your face. His seed splattered onto your cheeks and nose and lips, but you didn’t stop kissing your friend. You tasted his cum in your mouths and licked the rest from each other's faces, sharing it in deep, passionate kisses.

Frankie and Santi panted, softening cocks hanging heavy, exposed and unashamed.

“I wanted you to come inside me,” your friend pouted to Frankie. He looked at her with exaggerated sympathy and scooped an errant glob of cum from her chin and fed it to her. “If you want my cum, you can eat it out of your girlfriend’s cunt.”

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