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bestlittlebunny · 8 days

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Here's an idea I had:

What if a woman was pregnant and gave birth, but as the weeks go by, her belly doesn't change. She instantly becomes pregnant again. Basically, the second she gives birth, another baby immediately starts to form, and she goes through the entire process again, hut it's random how many she has. It could be one could he as many as 6 or 8 and maybe for good measure one month equals 1 week of pregnancy. A permanently pregnant surrogate with a third length of a normal pregnancy..

Fascinating! I have a bit of a wild concept for this one, it'll probably be long and necessitate multiple parts:

When Solunia was "chosen" she had no idea that this is what she was being volunteered for. Her hands gripped the edge of her dresser as she arched her back in an effort to relieve the pain. Her midwife, Astra, knelt behind her, watching as her swollen lips descended further with every centimeter the infant moved down.

"That's it, Sol, breathe through it." The soft low voice followed by the tender touch on her lower back from her husband, Rion, released something inside her. As a contraction came to a head, she allowed her body to push with every bit of strength she had. She could feel the burning as the infant's head struggled to crown.

"Oh, goddesses!" She cried, "Please, some relief!" The contraction softened, but the pain and intense pressure remained. She breathed heavily, attempting to regain a little bit of strength for the next pain.

She shifted, rocking her bare hips to try and urge the infant down her birth canal, to try to loosen the tender muscles that held it so tightly. Her stomach, bright red and perfectly round, felt hard as steel as another contraction washed over her. She felt her bare breasts hanging heavier than before, golden liquid shining on the buds of them in anticipation of feeding her little one. The only thing on her was the amulet her husband had gifted her on their wedding night. Insurance and Protection. For our future, he had said.

"Nnnghh AHHH," the focus on the cold gem around her neck faded as she screamed into the otherwise quiet room. She strained against her own body, focusing solely on the goal of meeting this child. The head finally at it's widest point, stretching her as far as it could, the contraction softened. She whimpered, almost begging another pain to come so she could release the head from its bondage.

"The head is nearly hear, my queen." Astra cooed, her hands adding pressure to the swollen lips around the head, aiding them in stretching to avoid any tears.

Solunia winced, "Please, just Sol. Solunia, even. But don't call me your queen. We've been friends since we were in diapers, ourselves." She barely finished to get out before the next contraction tightened her middle. She put all of her focus into shifting her energy down, contracting her muscles to bring her infant into the world. Or, at least it's head to start.

"Beautiful job, Sol," Astra chirped, "Just a little more... There! The head's out. Take a deep breath. Only the shoulders to go."

Momentary relief washed over Solunia as the head was freed, fluid dripping down her thighs. She panted, trying to breathe deeply. Her hand reached down to find a soft cheek under her thumb. It was here. Almost. She could no longer wait, she wanted to meet the little one that begins their legacy. To hold them in her arms and not her womb. She bared down, gritting her teeth. With little effort, the body slid out into Astra's hands, fluid gushing onto the floor. Rion took Solunia's arms and helped her upright, offering his body as support. The infant was passed between her legs and up to her chest. The umbilical cord still attached as they waited for the afterbirth, she cradled the little one near as Rion helped her waddle to the bed.

Arranged marriage or not, he was always kind to her. She felt herself falling in love with him further each day, and today was no exception as he fluffed pillows and propped her up, making sure her comfort came first. Once settled, he kissed her forehead, cupped her cheek gently, and then kissed her lips softly. His hand moved from her cheek to the baby's head.

"You did it, Sol," he whispered, choking back tears, "I'm so proud of you. I knew I chose right. I love you."

Solunia paused. He had never said those words, before. She had always thought, hoped, that he did, but to hear it... She choked back tears as she responded, "I love you, Rion. With everything I am. It's us against the universe."

Another pain hit her middle, distracting her from the glowing that had begun beneath her chin.

"It's just the afterbirth. One little push and...," Astra reminded. Solunia obeyed her childhood friend, "There. And it's in tact. You're done, Sol. The worst is over. You did beautifully." She cooed as she tied off the cord, motioning towards Rion who drew a ceremonial dagger from his boot. Cutting the cord, he proudly wept. A father, finally.

"May I?" He asked, setting the dagger on the nightstand and extending his hands to the babe. Solunia nodded, handing the little one up to him. He quickly ripped his shirt down the middle, refusing to waste time, and took the babe, taking a quick glance and holding it safe against his own chest. "A girl, Sol. She's a beautiful little girl."

The two spent the next several weeks together, sharing night shifts, enjoying the quiet moments, figuring out parenting. They wanted it that way and had put Rion's second in command in charge for the time being to allow them that peace.

After 3 weeks, Rion had to return to his throne. With war being threatened, he needed to prepare for anything and everything, which meant being gone visiting camps for at least a month. Astra would come and visit every now and again, as a friend, but Sol suddenly found she needed her as more.

"I need to talk to you..." She said in hushed tones as Astra entered the doors. "I... I think I'm with child, again."

Astra looked at her friend with confusion, as if she couldn't quite make out what was said. "You, you're what? That's impossible! You two haven't been physical since the babe was born. Have you?" Solunia shook her head frantically. "Alright, let me see." Solunia sat on the arm chair and lifted her tunic, revealing a belly nearly as large as it was the day she gave birth, allowing her friend to palpitate and examine her. "It's impossible..." she whispered, "Sol, you're at least 6 months along."

"WHAT?!" Sol shouted, pulling down her tunic and jumping off the chair.

"There's more," Astra replied sheepishly, "There's more than one. I felt at least 3." She stood from her stance, placing a comforting hand on Sol's shoulder.

Solunia's hands cupped her growing middle, shocked and shaking. When her eyes widened. She remembered something her mother had taught her when she was little, before she had gotten ill.

"It's the amulet." She said too quick for her friend to catch.

"Excuse me?"

"The amulet. It's insurance and protection for our future according to Rion. I hadn't put it together. But Mama had begun to teach me about the royal history before she got sick. She told me there was a magic that allowed the queen to continue the line, without needing to be physical. She tried to tell me more, but I didn't listen. I need to find out about this amulet. I need to get it off." She fought the clasp trying to remove it, but the clasp had sealed shut, welded together by, she supposed, magic.

"Can't you just ask Rion when he returns?" Astra tried to reason.

"I will, I just... 3 babies, Astra? Are you sure?" "What about babies?" A voice spoke from the doorway. Solunia looked up to find Rion standing there, staring at her midsection. "Are you... are we?" He couldn't find the words as he hurried to her side.

Solunia froze. She couldn't decide if she wanted to be thrilled to see her husband, again, to melt into his arms and sob out of exhaustion and fear, or to be angry at the possibility of him lying to her. She chose an in between and took his hand as she firmly replied "Astra says she can feel three infants, Rion. Three. And she says they're at least 6 months along. How can that even be possible?"

Rion looked to his wife's stomach, and back to her eyes before fingering the amulet around her neck. "I-- I'm sorry. I should have warned you. Why don't we let Astra go home and you and I will talk."

[END]

Should I continue this one?

#pregnant #breeding k1nk #goddess #preggo kink #kink writing #pregnancy #pregnant rp #preggophilia #rapid pregnancy #pregnant kink #birth kink #giving birth #multiples pregnancy

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thetriumphantpanda · 1 year

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pining & desperately waiting | javier peña

take the weight off his shoulders - chapter two

Chapter Summary | As much as he’s trying to keep his distance there is just something about you that Javier cannot stay away from. Drawn to you like a moth to a flame, so to speak. He's worried about you too, putting yourself in harms way for your work.

Chapter Warnings | Mutual pining, slow burn, sexual tension, flirting, mention of smoking and drinking alcohol, mention of drugs, drug deaths and the drug trade, explicit smut - masturbation (F)

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3.2k

Authors Note | When I tell you I love this (specific) man, I am telling you I love him. He consumes me. Thank you to @hellishjoel for letting me scream about these two with her and helping me figure this chapter out! If you like this I would love for you to join me in my ask box for screaming and please consider reblogging to support me! If you enjoyed this, you can make a donation to my Ko-Fi if you'd like to support me that way.

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

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You dream of him every night for a week after that night at the bar. They’re filthy, depraved sometimes, and you always wake up, slick pooling between your thighs, fingers working furiously before your alarm goes off to try a satiate you, or at least tide you over until you can climb back into bed that night and really take your time to imagine all the ways Javier would take you apart with his fingers, with his mouth, with his….

“Are you even listening to me?”

You want to answer honestly and say no, you were busy daydreaming about getting railed by your dad’s buddy, but when you look across the table and see your boss practically glaring at you, you realise it’s probably for the best to lie a little.

“Sorry,” You mumble, picking up your pen, “Didn’t sleep well, what were you saying?”

“The fundraiser tomorrow,” She speaks, “For Dylan’s foundation, would you be okay to cover it?”

You nod, because it makes sense for it to be you. Dylan had overdosed just over a year ago – seemingly on top of things, doing well in school and incredibly bright, found slouched over on a street corner, dead from an overdose before he’d been able to leave the small town for whatever bright lights he was destined for. He was just one of a string of drug-related deaths over the past twelve months – an ‘epidemic’ as they had coined it – the town too close to Mexico to escape the trade that Javier himself had worked so hard to quell. Dylan’s parent’s had set up a small foundation after his death, hoping to help other young kids who could be lured into this stuff to have other opportunities in their lives.

“What kinda thing are you thinking?” You ask, starting to jot down notes as she speaks.

“Just some reaction from people there, why they’ve decided to come out and support, maybe try and grab one of his parents, just the usual really, and we can run a story in the following days, might help drum up some more support for them if nothing else.”

You nod, doing your usual with your notes of underlining the important parts, making notes on the kind of questions you’ll ask when you speak to people, “How many words have I got to work with?”

“I think we can give them a page,” She says, looking to her boss who nods in agreement, “So whatever you produced for last month’s story, that should be good.”

You nod, making a note of that too, and then continue to zone out for the rest of the meeting as everyone talks amongst themselves, mind going right back to Javi and what he would feel like putting his weight on you, settling between your thighs. You really needed to get a grip.

“Oh, isn’t it so nice to see such a good turn out today?” Your mom gushes, looking around at what feels like the whole of Laredo milling about a number of stalls that are selling all sorts of different things.

“Sure is good to see,” Your dad agrees, putting his hands on your shoulders to give them a squeeze, “You want us to leave you to your reporting, pumpkin?”

The nickname makes you wince a little, a moniker from your early days, before you’d filled out into your body. It was cute, but at twenty-five years of age, you do sometimes wish he’d find something else to call you.

“I shouldn’t be too long,” You turn around and smile at him, “I can come and find you in a little while.”

You wander around, introducing yourself to a few people asking them questions and jotting down notes. You’ve just finished speaking to Martina, famous throughout town for owning her own candle business, about why she’s supporting the foundation, when you step back and feel two sturdy hands holding onto your waist. You’re about to turn around and slap whoever it is for touching you, when that deep voice hits your ears.

“Careful, querida,” Javier fucking Peña, “Almost stood on my foot.”

You whip around, mainly to put a bit of distance between the two of you, because it felt like his lips had been inches from your ear. He drops one of his hands, but keeps the other ghosting at your side, maybe to keep you steady more than anything as you wobble from the speed at which you’ve turned around.

“Maybe you shouldn’t stand too close then?” You offer, making sure it comes out more playful than anything, because actually, all you really want is for his body to press against you more often.

“Fair point,” He shrugs, “Thought I recognized you so I wanted to say hi,” He finally lets that other hand drop from your waist, “So hi.” Is... Is he nervous?

You chuckle a little, “Hi,” you respond simply with a smile, “I didn’t expect to see you here,” You say honestly, this wasn’t his kind of scene before, you can’t imagine it’s any more appealing to him now, “Didn’t think it was your kind of scene.”

He rubs a hand nervously over the back of his neck, “It’s not, I’ve been made to come,” He nods his head behind him where Chucho is talking to a group of other ranchers, “Apparently I’ve got to start showing my face more.”

“Well, it’s a nice face,” your mouth speaks before your brain can catch up with what it’s saying, you inwardly cringe when you realise what you’ve said, “I mean, I’m sure people are happy to see you around.” Is all you can think to say to try and get him to forget the weird compliment.

He seems to smile, but like it had been across the table almost two weeks ago, his smile seems forced, “Just wish I could skip the bullshit about everyone being proud of me.”

“But it’s true,” You shrug, moving away from the stall with him so other people can in front of you to look, “You did really good things out there.”

He scoffs now, shaking his head a little, “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the newspapers, querida,” He speaks, “Surely you should know that more than anyone.”

You don’t know what he’s actually trying to say, but you decide to play it light, “Are you accusing me of lying in my stories, Peña?” You say with a smirk.

“Perhaps not you,” He offers, “But I know plenty of journalists who know how to twist a story to get what they want,” He looks down at his shoes, kicking at the gravel a little, “Just don’t want you thinking I’m something I’m not.”

“Been gone a long time,” You muse, “You might have to spend some time reminding me who you are.”

It’s flirting the lines of maybe being too much you think, but you’ve not said anything that’s not true. He has been gone a long time, and if what he’s said is anything to go by, he will have to remind you of who he is or show you how he’s changed.

“Not sure you’d like who I am now very much, querida.” He says simply.

You’re about to open your mouth to respond, tell him you’re pretty sure that wouldn’t be true and that there isn’t a thing he could do on this earth that would make you think he was a bad person, but before you can, Chucho is coming up behind him, a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Ah, mija,” He smiles at you, “You here alone?”

“Hey Chucho,” You greet with a smile, “Mom and dad are around somewhere, I’m just here working on a story.” You hold up your notepad and pen.

“Let’s see if we can’t find them, huh Javi?” Chucho muses to his son, “Get you a nice cold lemonade for when you’re finished?” He motions to the blazing sun and then back to you.

“Sounds lovely, thank you,” You motion over their shoulder to where Dylan’s parents are stood, “I just need to speak to them, and I’ll come and find you.”

Javi doesn’t say goodbye, just follows closely behind Chucho as they disappear into the crowds, leaving you to wander over to Dylan’s parents. They’re not strangers to the paper, your boss had written a story with them not long after Dylan’s funeral, trying to spread awareness as to just how deep the drug problem ran in town. The Laredo Morning Times had always been supportive to them, so you didn’t feel the same anxiety you normally did when gathering information for stories, cold calling or knocking on doors trying to introduce yourself before doors are swiftly shut in your face or phones are hung up with a ‘no comment’.

They’re warm with you as you speak to them, thanking you for coming, thanking the paper for agreeing to cover the event, they even smile, which for a pair who lost their only son in such a horrible way still shocks you for some reason. Their loss hasn’t defined them, only made them stronger, made them determined to stop their pain from happening to anyone else. You make a note to write something equally as poetic in your article.

The crowds are thinning out a little as the midday sun does its worst. You can feel beads of sweat gathering behind our knees and you curse the fact you hadn’t remembered your hat. You can feel the heat prickling your skin as you spot your parents, sitting on a picnic bench with Javi and Chucho sat opposite them. When you’re close enough to the table, you can see everyone has plastic cups full of lemonade, but there’s one, put in front of the spare spot on the bench next to Javi, that is pink in colour instead of the cloudy yellow of everyone else’s.

“You get everything you need?” Your dad asks, as you try and fight your legs over the bench in the most graceful way possible.

“Yeah,” You nod, “Think it’ll make a great piece, Dylan’s parents seem really positive about it all,” You pick up the cup and take a sip, pink lemonade, your favourite, “Thanks for this.” You nod in the direction of your dad.

“Don’t thank me, Javi got these,” He smiles, “Remembered you preferred pink lemonade and everything.”

It actually makes your heart swell in your chest. He was always thoughtful, even before he left. Observant almost to a fault. But even after all these years, all of his stress, everything he’s seen, he still knows you well enough to know you prefer the sweeter pink lemonade. You turn your head to him to find him already looking at you with a little smile on his face.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, sipping through the straw.

“You’re welcome, dulzura.”

Javier Peña is doing a piss poor job of staying away from you, even by his standards. He lasted less than a week before he was waltzing over to you, hands on your waist, buying you pink lemonade because he knows you prefer it. There hasn’t been a night where he hasn’t wrapped his fist around his cock and made himself cum over the thought of you. He finds it easier to drop off to sleep once he’s done it, but his nights are still fitful, full of nightmares, tossing and turning, waking up to sweat soaked sheets and a heaving chest. He wonders briefly, when he lies awake watching the dawn arrive through his curtains, whether your body next to him would ease his nightmares? But then he thinks what if it doesn’t. What if you have to wake up, look at him with those innocent doe eyes and see him for what he really is? No, he can’t let his darkness cloud you, you don’t deserve that, you deserve someone that going to be gentle with you, someone softer, not him with all his jagged edges.

He's currently sitting in his truck, just outside of the liquor store, contemplating how badly he wants that packet of cigarettes and the bottle of whiskey he’d driven out to buy. He’d done alright so far, chewing on his Nicorette gum, but his fingers are itching for the familiarity of a cigarette between his fingers, and he’d finished the bottle of whiskey last night.

Then, almost like he’s being punished by God, which would make sense really, all things considered, you’re in his eyeline, walking down the street with a woman who is a little older than you, with your notepad and pen clutched in your hand. It’s late and he wonders where you must be going to report at such a late hour, and then he worries, because in his experience, nothing good happens after dark that worth making the newspapers. As the two of you approach him, he leans further out of his open window, holding his arm out to catch your attention.

“Hey Javi,” You smile, coming to a stop in front of his window, “What are you doing in town?”

“Just picking a few things up,” He answers simply, because this isn’t about him, he needs to know where you’re going, “Where are you going this late?”

You turn to the older woman you’re with, tell her to go on ahead and you’ll catch her up, “There’s been some kind of drugs bust a few streets over,” You explain, “Sounds like it might be quite big so we’re just going down to see what’s happening.”

“Your dad working it?” He asks, because if he is, he knows you’ll be okay.

You shake your head, “Nah, he’s not on nights right now,” You’re shifting back and forth on your feet, clearly itching to get going, “I’ll be alright though, sounds like plenty of dad’s officers are down there.”

He turns his head back to the steering wheel and then back to you, “Be careful, alright?”

You smile at him again and if he’s not careful, he really could get used to being the person who draws that from you more often, “I know what I’m doing,” You chuckle slightly, and he doesn’t doubt it, not really, “Been covering this kinda shit for a while.”

Without really thinking about it, he leans over, roots around in the glovebox and pulls out the little card he knows that’s in there. He passes it over to you, letting you take it, “It’s got my number on it,” He explains, “I’ve been in this shit and I just…” He trails off with a sigh, “Just, call me before you write something that might get you in trouble, okay?”

“Worried about me, Peña?” You smirk, and he thinks above your smile, he’d like to make you smirk more too.

“I’ve just seen too many good journalists write things that ruin their careers,” He shrugs, trying to play it off but probably doing a terrible job of it, “Don’t want you to make the same mistake.”

He watches as you turn the card over in your fingers a few times, before smiling at him one last time, “I’ll call you if need you.” And he really hopes you do.

In that moment, he gives up on trying to resist the call of the liquor store, pulling out his keys from the ignition and opening his door, climbing down onto the pavement. He stalls a little, before he puts a hand on your shoulder and gives it a squeeze, “Go and get your story, reporter.” And then motions his head for you to go.

He buys a bottle of whiskey and two packs of cigarettes, smokes two of them before he gets home. He thinks if he were a stronger man he’d have managed to quit, but he’s not, especially when it comes to you. Sure, he knew you before, but this new you? He’s known less than a month and he’s already struggling to stick to his own rules. He steps down from his truck back on the ranch, walks in and pours himself a healthy double, trying to convince himself it’ll be okay, he just needs to keep to himself, but when he’s led in bed at night, thinking of your sweet smile, he thinks this might just be another thing he fails at.

It’s late. Too late for you to be awake when you have to be at the office in the morning, but you can’t stop looking at the series of numbers, printed on the little card, underneath the words ‘Javier Peña, DEA.’ It’s out of date, clearly, the DEA nothing more than a memory to him. But it’s the principle of it that matters most. He’s worried about you, and he would only worry if he cared right?

You set it on your nightstand, switch off the little lamp and plunge yourself into darkness, right at the same time as you plunge your hand under your sleep shorts and through your folds. You’re soaked, because you always are when you think about him, it’s actually sort of pathetic. You sink two fingers into yourself, only briefly, letting out a satisfied breath, dragging your slick fingers back you to slowly circle your clit.

It's new, the way you always need to take care of yourself. The brief relationship you’d had in college with James hadn’t given you much to work with, you hadn’t really felt desperation to get yourself off like this before.

Your other hand, currently running over your peaked nipples through your tank top, is itching to reach across to your nightstand, pick up the phone and dial that number. You want to breathe down the phone at him, tell him you’re being so bad, that you need him to help, need that deep voice to guide you through it. As you press your fingers harder into your clit, speeding up your circles and bucking your hips, you wonder what he’d actually do if you did call him. Would he tell you to get lost? You don’t think he would, you think he’d do exactly as you asked, talk you through it.

You imagine his voice in your ear, telling you how good you’re being for him. You imagine his hand replacing your own, sinking his fingers into you, using his thumb to work your clit, the rough of his moustache running over the skin of your neck as he kisses you there. It’s the image of him looking down at you, smiling as he makes you cum that tips you over the edge. That flood of relief that rushes through you as you bite down on your bottom lip to keep you from whispering his name as your body shakes through your orgasm.

You wipe your slick fingers on the skin of your thigh, roll over in bed so your back is to the phone, trying to get your breathing under control. You drag the covers up under your chin, closing your eyes and trying to sleep without imagining his strong arm around your waist, his broad chest against your back. Does he snore? You wonder as you try and fall asleep. Would he keep you warm? It’s all running through your head as you sleep, conjuring up dreams that come morning have you realizing something has to give, you have to know, you have to have him. You needed Javier Peña more than the air you breathe, no matter how bad it was to admit that, no matter what it meant, no matter what it would cost, you needed him and you think to yourself as you drive to work, that he might just need you as much as you need him.

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doeeyeseddie · 4 months

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Hello Pia, my darling, as promised here's 4 prompts for you to choose from as little or as many as you want: 1 (constant physical touch to feel safe -yes I am that predictable), 17 (holding hands when sitting next to each other -again, no comment please 😂), 29 (doing something silly to cheer them up) and/or 38 (craving their company after a stressful day).

Love you, mwah 💕

manon my love, thank you!! i tried to fit all four prompts in here, i hope you enjoy it 💕 (sorry i let a hamster die in here for dramatic purposes only)

[read on ao3]

“Come home with me?” Eddie asked, brushing a hand through Buck’s hair where he was sitting slumped on the bench in the locker room.

Buck nodded under his hand, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment. “If that’s okay.”

“I asked you, Buck,” Eddie said gently. “I want you there with me.”

Buck blinked up at him, a half smile building on his face. “Okay.”

Eddie drove them home – they could get Buck’s jeep tomorrow, or maybe he’d want to stay at Eddie’s until their next shift, which would be more than fine with Eddie – and kept sneaking looks at Buck.

It had been a stressful shift, call after call with barely any downtime, and Buck had taken one of the calls hard, harder than the rest of them. They’d rescued a family from their burning home, all of them making it out with nothing worse than smoke inhalation – except for the daughter’s hamster.

Later, the mother had explained to them that he’d been old, slow, mostly blind, and probably hadn’t ever noticed that anything was wrong. But in the moment, there had only been a little girl, crying and screaming for her pet, and Buck hadn’t even hesitated to run back inside.

The look on his face when he’d come back out with the motionless rodent cradled in his hand and the little girl's cries had broken Eddie’s heart, and he knew that it had stayed on Buck’s mind for the rest of the shift.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a lot less tragic than many of the other calls they responded to on the daily, but Eddie knew that it wasn’t always that simple.

“You okay?” he asked, pulling to a stop at a red light and nudging Buck’s thigh with his knuckles. “You’re quiet.”

“I keep hearing her cry,” Buck said, a far away look in his eyes. “Maybe if I’d–”

“You did what you could,” Eddie interrupted him. “Buck. There was nothing any of us could have done. It was sad, but we saved that family, they’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Buck mumbled.

The light turned green and Eddie turned his main focus back to the road ahead of them. From the corner of his eye, he could see Buck fidgeting with his hands, pulling on a hangnail, and reached over to take his hand and pull it away. He just kept holding on, slotting their fingers together and driving one-handed. If the way Buck’s shoulders loosened and he stopped fidgeting was anything to go by, he didn’t mind.

“I guess I’m just sad,” Buck said quietly, his head leaning against the headrest but turned towards Eddie. “A– a little bit guilty, too, even though in my head I know that I didn’t do anything wrong. I just really wanted to find that hamster alive.”

“I know you did.” Eddie squeezed his hand. “One of my sister’s friends had, like, five hamsters in a row when we were kids. They never got very old. Not that that makes this okay, just– it’s not the end of the world, even for that little girl. Even if she probably felt like it today.”

Buck sighed. “Yeah. I’m just being dramatic.”

“You’re not being dramatic,” Eddie admonished him gently. “You care, you care really deeply, and I love that about you.”

Buck tightened his grip on his hand, and when Eddie glanced over at him, his eyes were big and shining. “I really love you, you know that?”

“I really love you, too,” Eddie said, trying to tamp down the undoubtedly goofy smile trying to spread across his face. It still thrilled him, hearing it, saying it, even weeks after the first time.

He pulled Buck’s hand towards him to press a kiss to his knuckles, then dropped his hand so he could pull into his street and then his driveway.

Once he’d parked, they both got out of the truck, but Buck waited for him by the hood, hand outstretched. Eddie took it and stepped close enough to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Come on, let’s go in,” he said, tugging Buck gently along with him to the front door. “Do you want to sleep immediately?”

“Soon,” Buck said, and he wasn’t letting go of Eddie’s hand, so Eddie did his best to unlock the door one-handed. “But I don’t think I’m ready to sleep yet.”

Eddie figured, because he could tell that Buck was still feeling a little down, and he knew that Buck preferred going to sleep after some distraction.

“So I don’t cry myself to sleep,” he’d told Eddie years ago, and it had been a joke, but Eddie knew that there was some truth in it.

So he was going to provide the distraction.

Buck was already in the clingy stage of tired, so it was easy to herd him into the kitchen, where Eddie made them both a cup of sleepytime tea, then turned the radio on at a low volume, all while Buck was staying close to him, their shoulders brushing with every movement.

The outro of a song he didn’t know was playing, but he immediately recognized the next song as it started, and smiled to himself.

“Hey,” he murmured, nudging Buck’s hand with his. “Dance with me?”

Buck tilted his head at him, adorably confused. “Now?”

“Yeah, why not?” Eddie asked, wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling him close.

The corner of Buck’s mouth tilted up in a small smile and he placed one hand in Eddie’s, turning Eddie’s hold into a traditional dancing pose. “Sure, I’ll dance with you.”

Eddie grinned and spun them away from the counter slowly, humming along to the song as they started swaying in the low kitchen light.

The song wasn’t a waltz but that was fine, because Eddie wasn’t even sure they could waltz if they wanted to, and he was happy enough to just hold Buck in his arms and turn in slow circles.

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea,” Elvis crooned, “Darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be.”

“You are such a sap,” Buck murmured, but his eyes were sparkling.

“Take my hand, take my whole life too,” Eddie sang along in a low voice, “for I can’t help falling in love with you.”

Buck pressed his face into Eddie’s neck and Eddie could feel his smile against the skin there, followed by a soft kiss.

They swayed until the song faded into a new one, and Buck snorted against Eddie’s neck before lifting his head. Earth, Wind & Fire asked them if they remembered the 21st night of September, and Buck and Eddie grinned at each other.

“Which station is this? Is it oldies day?”

Eddie laughed and loosened his hold so he could lead Buck into a spin. Since neither of them had any idea what they were doing, their arms tangled above Buck’s head, and Buck snorted again, letting it turn into a laugh this time.

“Wait, let’s try that again,” Eddie said, dropping his hands and holding them out for Buck to take. “How does this look so easy when other people do it?”

Buck was still giggling and took both of Eddie’s hands this time, lifting them in the air and trying to turn, with the same result as the first time.

“Oh, I give up,” he said, dropping their joined hands. “Maybe Bobby can show us.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said and tugged him closer again. Buck��s entire body had relaxed, and there was still a smile in the corner of his mouth and the crinkles by his eyes. He brushed the tip of his nose against Buck’s. “But for now – tea and then bed?”

Buck slung both of his arms around his neck and stepped close enough his toes met Eddie’s on the kitchen floor. His nose nudged back. “Don’t think I don’t know what you were doing.”

Eddie grinned and pushed one hand under Buck’s shirt at his back. “Did it work?”

“You know it did.” His lips were featherlight against Eddie’s, barely a kiss, curved up in a smile.

“Good,” Eddie said, muffled against his mouth, and pressed even closer.

They could reheat their tea later.

#buddie #911 #911 abc #buddie fic #911 fic #pia writes

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pablitogavii · 1 year

Text

Massage

I saw that Gavi didn't play today due to some back problems so there was an idea that sparked in my mind. Hope you enjoy the story more than the game :)

Pablo was in very much a bad mood after the game not even wanting to eat dinner but going straight to the hotel room with you.

Even after the virus outbreak, Pablo hasn't really felt all that well during training his back hurting him lots afterwards.

"He should have put me in!" Pablo said while laying in the bed staring at his phone and probably all the horrible comments from disappointed fans.

"He knows best amor.." you say knowing that Xavi just wanted to make sure Pablo recovers before El Classico and the beginning of the season.

"5:3! They humiliated us!" Pablo spat tossing his phone to the side and running his hands through his hair in frustration. You finished brushing your teeth and joined him in bed taking his phone and putting it on charge for tomorrow.

"I'm sorry you lost amor..and although there isn't much I can do about that, I might be able to help with your back?" you moved closer to him kissing his lips and then don his jaw and neck and he smiled nodding his head.

"Fix me doctora.." Pablo smirked and you blushed knowing how much he adored that you wanted to be a doctor in the future and always called you 'a rockstar' because of it.

"Lay on your stomach amor." you say and he moved closer kissing your lips with a little bit more force.

"Mm it's my favorite position when you're on your stomach princesa.." he whispered into your ear making your face burn in embarrassment as you slapped his shoulder and told him to stop messing around.

He finally stopped teasing you, and went to lay down after taking off his t-shirt. You grabbed some lotion and began massaging his back gently not applying to much force as to not hurt him further.

"How is this amor??" you ask after a few minutes hearing Pablo moaning in pleasure glad that he was relaxing and you could help in any way.

"Sooo good princesa..gracias" he said and you smiled leaning down and kissing the back of his neck which made goosebumps appear on the skin of his arm and that made you smirk.

"Are you cold Pablito...or am I making you feel too good??" you whisper into his ear seeing his smirk grow as he grabbed you with his strong arms flipping you over and hovering above you.

"it's not such a good idea to tease me when I'm angry preciosa.." his voice was low and so freaking sexy that you felt your mind scream at you to pull him down and kiss his lips..and you did just that.

"Or what?" you challenge seeing his eyes darken in lust as his hands gripped your thighs so tightly there will definitely be marks left in the morning.

"Or I will thank you for fixing my back by breaking yours.." he smirked kissing your neck as you moaned into his ear and snaked your legs around his torso..maybe there is another way to make your boy relax tonight.

"Are you sure you're in the mood for this right now??" And your back?" you asked after about fifteen minutes of heated make out session you shared and Pablo only smirked more.

"I'm always in the mood for you princesa.." he winked "but you're right, I should rest my back.." he said chuckling when he saw your disappointed eyes.

"So come here.." he flipped you back this time laying back and having you straddle his lap while moving his hands behind his head.

"Um.." you were shy when it came to intimacy only ever doing it with Pablo and usually being the one he dominates. But now he wanted you to take charge and that was a bit scary.

"Now you're going to be a good girl for papi..and ride him..while he rests his back" Pablo's voice was dark and your cheeks were red but you only nodded leaning in and kissing his lips again while you discarded each other's clothes piece by piece.

"J..joder amor! Keep bouncing like that!" Pablo's voice was raspy and it only turned you on more while you moved on his cock moaning when he gripped your ass making himself go even deeper.

"My good girl! My best girl! Making me feel so much better after a loss! F..fuck! I'm keeping you with me forever! Mine! All fucking mine!" he spoke nod moving his hips to match yours speeding up his pace until you both were chasing your orgasms.

"Oh..My..God..Pablo! I'm gonna cum baby..p.please" you were pleading and he loved to hear it grabbing your hair pulling it back while sucking on your neck which was enough to send you over your edge together with him.

While you were both catching your breath, you fell on top of him and he held you there as you listened to his even heartbeat. You tried to move but he wouldn't let you holding you against himself tightly.

"Let me stay inside of you amor..fuck I need this so badly!" he groaned and you blushed nodding your head and getting more comfortable leaving a few wet kisses on his hot skin.

"I love you so much Pablito!" you sigh finally calming down feeling yourself getting sleepy. Pablo kissed the top of your head holding you tightly with his strong arms.

"And I love you mi chica perfecta.." he replied before you both fell asleep as close to each other as possible enjoying the shared warmth you felt.

It was a sad loss :( Better luck next time!

#pablo gavi x you #fc barca #fc barcelona #fc barça #gavi #gavigif #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi icons #pablo gavi #pablo martín páez gavira #pablo gavira #gavira #gavi x vini #gavi x yn #gavi x you #gavi x reader #pablogavixreadersmut #pablogavixreaderfluff

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ghostlychief · 1 year

Text

Don’t Blame Me

Pairing: MW2 Ghost x f!reader

Summary: They say love makes you crazy, so can they really blame you?

Warnings: mentions of blood, knife usage (stabbing, stabbing people’s eyes, eyes being ripped out of socket); mentions of combat fighting; hints of torture and injuries from torture; typical MW2 lore

NSFW, MINORS DNI: blowjob, fingering, eating pussy; missionary; creampie; aftercare

WC: 7k+ (IK IT’S LONG)

A/N: hello hello! here is the long awaited ghost fic that’s been in development for quite awhile. Thank you so much for participating in my pole, and i hope you enjoy!!! I really let myself indulge in more of the gore this time around, so please read with caution if that kind of content bothers you.

ENJOY🫶🏻🖤

You didn’t know blood could be this thick.

But, as you cut through the swarm of your opponents, you really don’t care how much of it gets on your clothes, seeps into your crevasses, and splashes on your face. No, you really don’t give a shit. Your only objective is to get to Ghost, and quickly.

All you see is red, literally.

Before you even fully process what you’re doing, the knife in your hand has already sunk into a neck, blood spurting everywhere, drenching you further. You carry on, the one person you’re trying to reach at the forefront of your mind.

Should you have felt some remorse for the lives you ended? Probably, but it was like you brain was turned off. Actually, no, that’s incorrect. It was like your brain was wired differently, like it was wired to focus on one thing and one thing only: retrieve Ghost.

You can’t recall when you two got separated, or when he got captured in your last mission. All you remember is the pain you felt when you noticed he’d been taken.

You could blame yourself for his capture, but you decided to turn your fury towards someone else rather than yourself. You realized over the years that self-loathing wasn’t very efficient. It tends to waste time.

It was easy after all; it’s not hard to hold contempt towards the people that stole your lover away from you.

This was their doing. I’m only showing them the consequences of their actions.

It’s what you had to tell yourself. Otherwise, you didn’t see how you were going to come out of this alive. You had to redirect your rage, your frenzy. You had to channel it through your veins, making sure it heated you, and coursed through in a way that burned.

It had to be this way. It was the only way to help you be relentless against your opponents.

You were pretty proud of your knife skills; it was your favorite weapon after all. You always made sure to carry at least two with you at all times.

Today, you strapped on four and you were lucky, since you lost your first two about ten minutes ago. They were no doubt lodged into someone lying on the ground, pierced through their eye. That was your sweet spot, never failing you to effectively take down your opposition.

By this point, it felt like you had sliced your way through a hundred men and yet you still haven’t reached the door of the facility Ghost was being held in. Hope was on the horizon though because you could faintly make out the top of the door frame, which egged you on further. Your muscles worked tirelessly as your arms continued to swing at the men attacking you.

Occasionally, you would move your arms in a quick jabbing motion, repeatedly stabbing the opponent in the stomach and then you would land one last finally blow to their eye, your signature move some would say.

One of the downsides of this move was that sometimes, it took a lot of strength to pull your knife back out of the eye (hence your missing knives), which resulted in pulling their eyeball clear and out of its socket.

Not the best outcome of this tactic, but it is what it is.

Unfortunately, for your last victim, this very thing happened. You were thankful when his screams died down quickly.

You had a moment to catch your breath, hanging your head, quivering hands resting on your upper thighs. You looked up just in time to see someone charging at you, yelling, and with their own knives in their hands.

You noticed that they were the only one alive left outside.

One more. I can take care of him.

You swiftly moved to the side, but could hear the whisp of his blade cutting through the air. That was no good- he got too close.

Time to fix that.

Since you were so deft in your knife wielding ability, you also had a knack of being light on your feet and quick. Something that certainly benefited you.

While the man was no doubt taller and heavier than you, you were faster and anticipated his movements with ease. Sooner than later he too was on the ground, finished, with a sliver blade in his left eye, your red hand-grip the only thing you could see sticking out of his head.

You decided to leave it there, as a parting gift of course.

That’s where you got your nickname, Red Eye, seeing that your weapon of choice was wrapped in a blood-red grip that blended in with the blood that seeped out of your victims’ eye sockets. You thought the nickname was silly at first, but you just grew to accept it over the years. What can you say, you like the fancifulness of it every once in a while.

While you always had reputation, this name made your reputation grow into something almost bigger. While your peers and opponents knew you as the women with the red soaked blades, this name gave you a more, how should you put it?

Eerie reputation.

After stepping over your last remaining victim, you finally reach the double doors, leading into the building Ghost is being held captured in.

Before you entered though, you heard a voice through your comms. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Red Eye.”

Fuck me.

You hear Soap over the comms, “Wait for backup. We’re detecting three bodies via heat signatures”

You let out a groan, but made sure that your comms didn’t pick up on that.

“We don’t have time for that. I need to engage now.”

“You will do no such thing.” You hear Price’s voice cut through, stopping you from opening the doors.

“It’s a miracle you made it this far without any back up. Don’t test my patience.”

Ok, so you may have left without anyone knowing and got a two-hour head start before the rest of your team caught up to your location.

It��s just- they were taking, what it seemed like, forever to develop a plan to get your boyfriend out of captivity. You get it, logistics need to be air tight. But this was Ghost, Simon. Your Simon out there.

You knew he could handle what was given to him, but that didn’t ease any worry or hurt left in your heart, and it made you see red with anger.

That’s how your more or less ended up here, alone, slicing through about 30 men all by yourself. Not the smartest move you admit, but you had to get to Simon. You knew his time was running down, like a sand timer, each minute gone left him more perilous than before.

You were definitely going to get your ass kicked tomorrow at debrief.

You were just about to go in, thinking to hell with listening to orders, when you hear at least two sets of feet jogging across the gravel.

“Jesus, Red Eye. Leave any for the rest of us?”

You just roll your eyes at Soap, ignoring his comment. “C’mon guys, we need to hurry. Let’s take the last of the fuckers out and get Ghost back home.”

“Roger that.”

You go in first taking point, Soap and Kӧnig flanking you.

This time around, you have your handgun out, but your knife is safely held with your left hand, resting on the underside of the muzzle.

The hallway is dark, but it’s to your advantage. You think you see a light source coming from the hallway on the left that you’re coming up to, so you raise your left hand and point in that direction, signaling to Soap and Kӧnig.

This is where you come across the first person.

We must be close.

You let Kӧnig take him out. He comes up swiftly behind him and locks an arm around the man’s throat. First knocking him out, but then ultimately, finishing the job.

You three continue down the long corridor. They seem to go on forever. Sweat drips down your temple, and you hastily swipe it away, not wanting anything to obstruct your vision.

As you come closer to the end of the hallway, you start to hear something.

You raise your hand to signal Soap and Kӧnig to stop, and turn around so they can see you raise your pointer finger up to your lips.

You listen for the sound again, and you realize what it is this time.

Your blood runs cold, and goosebumps form on your arms, freezing you in place as you listen to the deafening sound that doesn’t seem to stop.

Ghost is screaming.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him be this loud, let alone sound so full of pain. You have to pull it together though, you’re almost to him.

You continue on, making a right this time, and Ghost’s screams become louder. It’s good and bad of course. Good because he’s near you and you’re close, bad because he hasn’t stopped screaming.

You wonder how long this has been going on for.

You feel a heavy weight float down your chest, that takes its resting place in your heart. You find it hard to breath, and it takes every fiber in your being not to go into full panic mode.

You get closer and closer to the room Ghost is in, but you don’t hear him anymore. There is no one outside guarding, so the remaining two people must be inside with him.

Your stomach churns over.

You hadn’t realized it, but you fell behind both Soap and Kӧnig, but without a beat, they took your spot at point, leading you to the door.

They bust in first and immediately go after the two men that were standing by Ghost, who is strapped to a chair. It’s your job to get Ghost free of his confines.

But when you look at him, you freeze all over again.

He’s slumped in the chair, hands and feet bound by thick ropes that are no doubt leaving crude burns in his skin.

His pants have rips and holes in them and from further examination, you realize it’s from cigarette burns and cuts from blades.

You can’t see any damage on his arms but you’re worried what his shirt is hiding on his torso. You realize he’s slumped because he’s knocked out cold, probably from a concussion. But you know he’s alive because you see the slight rise and fall of his chest. It’s ever so faint, but it’s there.

You look around the room and notice a medium size table with different kinds of weapons and tools splayed out along the length of the table. You notice some have dried blood on them, while other tools are still dripping red. Rags litter the table as well. They’re dirty and also have traces of lingering blood.

Once again, you feel the embers burning through you, and you feel like you’re about to explode into a fury of rage.

You turn towards the two men that Soap and Kӧnig took down.

The two bodies lie on the floor and before you realize what you’re doing, you crouching over the first man, and with your blade, you start stabbing both of his eyes, switching on and off between the left and right. While you do this, a blood curdling scream leaves your lips.

It’s both terrifying and heartbreaking; a fine line dances between the two.

You snarl at the now eyeless man before you crawl your way over to his counterpart and release the same anger and revenge onto him. Your screech never faltering.

You don’t realize what you’re doing until you feel strong arms come up behind you and lift you off the dead man.

You start fighting their hold and it’s then when you start crying, your scream turning into a sob. The exhaustion finally getting to you.

“We got him. He’s going to be ok; it’s going to be ok.”

That’s the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

When you wake, you notice you’re lying on something soft. When you come to, you realize you’re on a bed, under a thin layer of covers and your head rests on a firm pillow.

You squint because the lights are overly bright but when they adjust, you notice the infamous florescent glow, meaning, you’re in the medical ward of the base.

You sit up, and you notice no aches or pains outside of your regular soreness you felt after fighting for an extended period of time. Your head also hurts, but you don’t really care.

You want to know where Simon is.

You notice a nurse a few feet away and you wave her over.

“Excuse me, but why am I in here?”

She gives you a tight-lipped smile. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that she’s nervous. She fidgets with her hands before answering you.

“Well miss, you fainted on your last mission. They brought you here to be examined.”

She moves over to the end of your bed and takes out the clipboard that resided in the pocket.

“Here, let’s see.” She looks over your paper before looking back at you, still with a trace of uneasiness.

“Seems like everything is OK. Your vitals are normal, and you have no major injuries, just some light bruising on your arms and hands. You are welcome to leave when you want.”

You glance down and notice the light purple that spans across your knuckles.

Before she can scurry away, you ask, “Wait, where are they keeping Ghost?” You shake your head, “I mean, Simon Riley.”

A look of pity crosses her face before she answers, “He’s in Ward C miss; the intensive care unit.”

She leaves before you can ask her anything else.

What the fuck was her problem?

You jump out of your bed, but immediately regret that decision when your head starts to throb right above your left eye.

Now is not the time for a migraine.

You make sure you have all of your belongings before you rush over to Ward C. Right before you are about to enter through the doorway, Price comes through and stops you with a hand placed on your shoulder.

He looks down at you – you’re really getting tired of being the shortest on the team- and squeezes your shoulder gently.

“Before you go in there, guns-a-blazing, he’s doing ok, alright?”

You just stare up at him and nod. Although it was good to hear Simon was doing ok, whatever the hell that meant, you still had so much anger left in you. So much you were hoping that just the sight of Simon healing would help quell you.

You walk past Price, a determined spring in your step, ready to be reunited with Simon. It’s been so long since you’ve last seen him.

Three weeks.

Three weeks he was gone, and you thought he was never coming back.

The intensive care unit is unusually empty so it’s not hard to find which bed Simon is occupying.

You quietly walk up to the side of the bed, and you are finally by his side.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me bug, I’m awake.”

Simon’s voice startles you and your head turns towards his. You notice his left arm is in a sling but a lazy smile graces his lips.

If you weren’t in a medical facility on base, out in the open to the prying eyes of the public, you would have immediately burst out crying just at the sound of his voice.

Instead, you let out a breathy, “I thought I lost you.”

Unlike Simon, your face has no hint of happiness. Your lips are slightly turned down, quivering and your eyes start to well up with tears, but you will them not to drop.

Your hands are balled up in fists but you bring yourself back down. You are here for him after all; it’s not the other way around.

You slowly unclench your fists and then gingerly sit down on the side of Simon’s bed, right at his hip.

That’s when you bring your hand up to trace down the side of his face, feeling the familiar stubble that never fails to tickle you when he kisses you.

Your hand comes back up to rub his cheek and you say again, “I thought I lost you, Simon.”

He brings his hand up to cup yours that still rests on his face. “I know, I know. But I’m here, and I’m ok.”

“Are you though?” You can’t fight it anymore, the tears stream down your face, their streaks burning your skin.

His hand that was resting on yours comes up to rub your head. “Promise.”

After that, you and Simon laid in his hospital bed for the remainder of the day. He fell in and out of sleep, but you were just thankful he was alive and breathing next to you.

It’s been about three weeks since Simon’s been back. He’s out of his sling and most of his bruises and wounds have healed. Expect for the deeper lacerations on his thighs. He also has some scarring from the cigarette butts. But over all, you would say he’s doing pretty alright, all things considered.

You’re both currently on base, since you needed to attend multiple meetings today, and you’re eating lunch in the cafeteria.

“So, I heard you went kind of, feral, when you came to rescue me.” Simon has an innocent look on his face, but you see him trying to hid his shit eating grin.

You narrow your eyes at him, “And who did you hear that from?”

He just shrugs nonchalantly, “No one in particular.”

You scoff. Fucking Soap.

You knew he must have told someone, if not Simon himself. He was quite the gossiper.

What a fucker.

“Well, did you want me to ask them to be friends?”

Simon lets out a low laugh. “That would have been funny.” You look up at him and see his eyes are lit with amusement.

You let out a sigh, but a ghost of a smile dances across your lips. You know he’s feeling better since he’s joking around.

Another three weeks has passed and you find yourself in the typical meeting room. The one you all use before a mission. That means this will be your last debrief before you jet off to where ever the location is in a few days.

The meeting goes well up until the part where Price says “And Ghost, you will wait here at the rendezvous point.”

You interrupt him, “Wait what?”

The room goes silent as you stare down Price.

“There’s no way Simon is going on this mission. Nope. Not happening.”

“Well, y/n, you don’t really have a say in this. Do you?”

The trace of condescendence has you short circuiting but you keep your cool. You glare at Price, “If Simon’s going on this mission, then count me out.” You don’t notice the slip of his name. Usually at work you call Simon Ghost or LT, but never Simon.

You storm out of the room and head back to your desk to gather your things to leave.

You hear someone lightly jogging behind you, and you have a hunch about who it is that followed you out.

You feel a hand softly grab your elbow and you hear Simon plead, “Wait.”

You sigh and turn around. Looking up at him you confess, “Look, I need to cool off for a bit. We can talk at home, ok?”

You see Simon contemplate whether to let you go or not, but he just gives you a curt nod. He gives your arm a gentle squeeze where his hand still rests, “Ok, see you at home.” --

You basically scowl your whole way home. Listen, you know you have some slight anger issues, but you’re working on it.

You get home after the long day and quickly make way to the shower, needing to feel the hot water run down your head and back. That will calm me, you think.

Once you step out of the shower, you already feel better. You’re clean, and you smell like your favorite soap. You change and do your normal routine after a shower then head to the kitchen to make yourself a warm cup of tea.

Evening tea is one of your favorite treats and it always seems to quell your nerves. Because that’s what you are right now, nervous.

You don’t want to fight with Simon, no, not at all. But you can’t help but feel frustrated at Price, and subsequently him, for deciding that he’s ready to go back in the field. Because from your perspective he’s not. Hell, it’s barley been a month and a half, and you think he needs more time to cope with what happened to him.

Sure, he’s seeing the base’s therapist, and he’s doing everything he can to keep his physical body healthy, yet you can’t help but the ball of worry that has formed in the pit of your stomach, fester. Something keeps nagging at you, and you don’t know what it is.

You just don’t understand how Simon can bounce back so quickly.

Luckily you didn’t have to wait too long for Simon to get home. And when he does, you find yourself perking up on the couch when you hear him come through the door.

He lets out a soft “Hey,” in which you respond just as softly back.

“I’m going to go shower and wash up, but then we can talk, yeah?”

You give him a nod, but also confirm, “Sure, that sounds good.”

His shower felt like eternity, but you know you only feel this way because you’re on edge. Again, you don’t want to fight with him. You just, you love him so much, you can’t stand to lose him again. No, it can’t happen again.

You hear soft footsteps on the tile as Simon makes his way through the kitchen to the living room where you’re still seated on the couch.

You look up at him before he sits down and grant him a quiet smile, and reach out your hand to his. His large hand grasps yours in his, and his thumb traces your knuckles. He then sits down next to you, and now his fingers are tracing over yours, relaxing you just a smidge.

You can feel his warmth radiating off of you instantly, and it takes ever thing in you to not glue yourself to his side.

You both slightly turn to each other, and funnily enough you each say “So,” at the same time.

You giggle and he lets out a low chuckle that makes your insides swarm. You miss him.

“You go first, bug.” The hand that has been tracing yours pulls you closer to him, and he embraces you in a warm hug as you both sit on the couch.

Before you start, you simply just bask in Simon’s embrace, not wanting to let go just yet. You begrudgingly pull away, but still keep your fingers connected in their little dance.

“I’m sorry for storming out today at our meeting. That was unprofessional, and uncalled for, but I just don’t see why you have to go on our next mission.”

“Aren’t you still hurting from what happened to you on the last one? I guess I just don’t understand why you want to go back in the field so soon.”

There’s a pause before you add, “How do you know you’re ready to go back?”

One thing you appreciate about Simon is that he never interrupts you, and he always lets you finish your complete thought before adding his.

When he can tell you’re done, he sighs and says, “Because, y/n, that’s what we’re trained for.”

“I wouldn’t have this job if I couldn’t put the pieces back together after every mission.”

You guess that makes sense, but you’re still concerned about him.

“Listen, I get that, I really do. I guess what I want to make sure of is that you’re actually doing ok and that you’re working through whatever happened to you.”

He’s told you the gist of what happened, and he confides in you whenever he feels like he needs the extra support, but you know that there are some things he’s still hiding. Which, you’re not going to push him to tell you, but you hope at some point he does.

He gives you a slight smile, “That’s why I love you. You’re always looking out for me, and I appreciate it so much, but I’m really doing fine, ok?”

He shifts so he’s leaning in closer to you, and now it’s his turn to cup your jaw with his hand. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and you nod at his answer. “I love you too.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You grant him a smile in return and then he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss deepens and before you know it, you’re straddling his lap, one leg on either side of his thick torso. You’re a mess as you straddle him, and you wrap your arms around his neck, wanting to be closer to him, if even possible.

He wraps his arms around you and subconsciously pulls you closer to him. His large hands span across your back as he holds you close to him. Your center brushes against his you let out a moan when you feel this contact. You run your hands down his neck and shoulders, feeling the taught muscles underneath his black t-shirt. As you rock your hips against his, you hear him let out a moan, which only eggs you on further.

“Fuck, y/n. Keep doing that again.” His hands travel down to hold you hips, almost as if he’s trying to help you move against him.

Your hands move in tandem and they come to rest at the base of his t-shirt, your fingers playing with the hem. You’re itching to take it off of him, and he seems to understand what you want, because he pauses kissing you to help you take off his shirt.

Now shirtless, you bring your hands up to his shoulders and then trail them slowly down his torso, nails ever so slightly scraping against his skin. You can feel each ridge and bump from his abs before your reach the hem of his sweatpants. Your fingers graze over his happy trail before you start toying with his sweats.

You run one finger along the hem of his grey sweats, then ever so slightly, your finger enters his pants, you run your finger under his sweatpants. You’re teasing him, and you can tell he’s getting antsy by the way he shifts as your finger runs along the band of his briefs.

As you continue to tease him, you trail or lips over his chest. Your lips wrap around one of his nipples, the unpierced one, and you softly bite him before you run your tongue over his nipple, suckling.

He moans out a gentle “Fuck,” and one of his hands comes up to grasp your hair.

You move over to his other nipple, the pierced one to be exact, and you once again softly bite him then suck. You make sure to spend your time here because you know this is one of Simon’s favorite thing during foreplay. Once he’s taken care of there, you continue to trail your lips down his abdomen, and now you’re finally at his center.

You get off his lap and sit on the floor in-between his spread legs. You place your hands right above his knees, and you look up at him with your swollen lips.

“You’re going to be good for me tonight, right?” You rub your thumbs in soft circles on his legs, waiting for his answer.

You see him gulp as he looks down at you, and then his lips quirk, in a smirk.

“What do you say?” Your hands stop their ministrations and you tilt your head, understanding what he wanted.

“Please.”

His smirk deepens, “Good girl.”

At his greenlight, you come up on your knees so that you can reach him better. Your trail the hem on his sweatpants one last time before you start pulling them down off his hips, making sure that his briefs come off too. He lifts his butt to help you, and now you’ve successfully taken his pants and underwear off.

You greedily take in the size of him. His dick is hard and slightly curved as it lays against his stomach. You wrap your hand around him, he’s so thick that your hand doesn’t close around it the whole way. You pump him slowly, as you look at him. His eyes are blown out and he leans his head back against the couch. You smile at him before you lower yourself. You link one strip up his dick, making him squirm underneath you. You then you bring up your hand to start pumping him. As your hand moves up and down, your lips come up to kiss the to crown of his dick.

You look up at him again, locking eyes and then wrap your lips around him. Once your lips make contact, he lets out a low moan. You continue to sink down on him. You move your head up and down, trying to adjust to his size. The part of his dick that you can’t fit into your mouth, you cover with your hand, pumping him up and down.

Your hair falls around you, and at this, Simon carefully takes your hair into one hand, putting it into a makeshift ponytail.

“Fuck, baby that feels so good.”

You continue to suck on him, hollowing out your cheeks. You know he’s close when you see his abs start to clench and his legs start to stiffen.

The moans he lets out has your getting wetter and wetter by the minute, and you squirm, trying to ease some of the pent-up tension you’re feeling.

Your unoccupied hand comes down to play with his balls, gently squeezing them and that is what does him in. He lets out a louder groan and you feel his warm come shoot down your throat.

You keep your mouth on him, cleaning him up before you slowly take yourself off him. You wipe your lips with the back of your hand and you sit back on your heels, smiling at him.

He runs a hand through his hair, and lets out a low chuckle.

“Damn, you really did a number on me there.” You laugh yourself and you come up to the couch, sitting beside him so you can turn his head to give him a lingering kiss.

You give him a few pecks, “What can I say, I’m good at what I do.” Your eyes are bright as you look at him, and his hold the same amount of affection and adoration.

His low voice cuts through you, “Now it’s my turn to make you feel good, alright?”

You give him a brief nod, “Please.”

He pulls you back into him, and then starts to push you back so you’re lying on the couch under him. He’s kissing you frantically now, his tongue entering your mouth.

“Take your pants off for me, would you?” His hands make their way to take your shirt off, and while he does that, you slip out of your shorts, underwear gone with them.

“Thank you, baby.”

He keeps kissing you as his hand comes down to your center. He first cups you, and then brings his pointer finger to rub against your clit. As his pointer is stimulating your clit, his middle and ring finger run along your slit, gathering up all the wetness that formed over the course of the last half hour.

You see him bring his coated fingers up to you. “Taste for me,” he breathes. And without any hesitation, you suck on his fingers, tasting yourself, making sure to look at Simon while you lick his fingers. He watches you with fire in his eyes.

“Good girl.”

You’ll never get tired of hearing him call you that.

He brings his hand back down to your pussy and then enters two fingers in you, stretching you out deliciously. You whine as his fingers enter you; they feel so good inside you.

Luckily for you, your boyfriend has quite large hands, which equated to long, thick fingers, and he always knew what to do with them.

He starts picking up the pace, and the squelching sound his fingers make is deafening, and the only thing you can focus on as they move in and out of you.

You didn’t even have to ask before he’s adding in a third. You feel yourself clench around him, and you’re already losing your mind and he hasn’t even properly fucked you yet.

He’s hitting you right in your sweet spot, and your hands come up to hold him by the shoulders. He moves down ever just a hair, and you’re not sure why until he lowers his head. He spits, and then connects his lips with your clit, moving his tongue around your sensitive bud.

The addition to his lips on your clit has you seeing stars and you start to feel that familiar build up. You tumble over the edge, a bright warmness spreading through you.

Simon removes his lips and fingers from you and you’re both panting heavily. He’s bracing himself with one arm as he looks down at you.

Your hair is messily strewn across the couch behind you, and your eyes are bright. Your chest moves up and down as you try and catch your breath. You smile up at him, this time your teeth showing.

He gives you a peck on your lips. “How was that?”

You sigh, “Amazing.”

Another kiss is pressed on your lips and you can faintly taste yourself on him.

“I want to properly fuck you, and that can’t be done on the couch. Bedroom, yeah?”

You nod up at Simon acquiescing to his suggestion.

“Alright, up you go then.”

He swiftly pulls you up and off the couch into his arms. You squeal at the sudden movement but it turns into giggles as Simon carries you bridal style to the bedroom.

“Wow, my night in shining armor.” You lazily loop your hands around his neck as he leads you both to the room. He just laughs at your statement.

Once there, he gently deposits you on the bed, and wastes no time picking up where you left off.

He crawls on top of you and starts to kiss you up your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth. His kiss leaves you burning, and your hands eagerly reach for him, pulling him down further into you.

You wrap your legs around his torso, and feel his dick brush up against your center, hard once again.

He pulls away to look at you, eyes connecting. “Do you need any more prep?” He brings a hand up to brush away some of the flyway hairs that covered your face. His hand lingers, cupping your head, and his thumb brushes your cheek in a soothing back and forth motion.

Smiling you answer, “No, I’m good.”

“Ok.”

Bracing himself above you, his hand trails down to grasp his dick. He gives it a few pumps before running it along your slits, and lightly taps it on your overly sensitive clit.

He then slowly guides it into you, the stretch much bigger than what his fingers could offer. You both let out a sigh as he fully sinks into you, eyes connecting at this very moment. Once he’s fully inside, he gives you some time to adjust, his hand moving to hold your hips, thumb moving in circles.

“You okay?” He asks, looking down at you. You look up at him, “Yeah, I’m good, you can start moving.”

At your consent for him to move, he does just that. He pulls his hips back before he pushes them back into you. He starts off with a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow. You’re surprised he’s not pounding into you relentlessly like he usually does. This time his thrusts are much more calculated, calm, like he’s got all the time in the world. The slower drag of him against your walls makes you roll your eyes back, reveling in the feeling of him.

It’s only him, that’s all you can think about, all you can feel. You let go of the heaviness you’ve been feeling to focus on being with him now. It’s not hard, he makes you feel like you’re floating anyways.

Your fingers run down his face, down his shoulders, taking in as much as you can of him. Then you run your hand down his tattooed arm, mapping the intricate details of his tattoos and running over the protruding veins due to him propping himself up. Simon watches you as you run your hand across him.

He gives you a particular harsher thrust, eyes trained on you when you moan and clutch his arm a harder. He picks up the pace just a little, loving the way you look beneath him, taking his cock so well.

“Fuck. Right there, baby,” you breathe. He hits that same spot again, but this time you move up the bed a little from the force of his hips. Your breasts jiggle as you shift up the bed and Simon’s eyes are travel to your chest. He brings his hand up to up one of them, rolling his thumb over your nipple. Simon keeps this faster rhythm with his hips, slamming into your now quivering pussy, showing you no mercy as he pounds into you with force.

His thrusts are powerful that leave the breath knocked out of you.

He removes his hand from your breast to wrap it around your leg. He positions your leg so it’s resting on his shoulder, now giving him a new angle into you. This position allows you to feel him move even deeper inside you, now feeling the tip of his dick hit your cervix, which makes you whine. His thrusts continue their hard motions, but his pace starts to slow down.

Simon’s hips start to falter a little bit in their smooth rhythm, a telltale sign he’s close. At his praising, you unconsciously clench around him, making him breathe out a silent curse as his hand tightens on your leg that is propped up on his shoulder.

“Si, I’m close,” you whine. You feel so full, so consumed by all things Simon, the only thing you can focus on is him and the building orgasm that threatens to spill over.

“Me too.” Simon removes his hand that’s been propping your leg up and moves it down to your clit, and starts to rub slow circles on the bud, making you squirm. You bring your leg down from his shoulder to wrap it around his torso once again pulling him closer to you. You drag your hands down and up his back as his thumb continues to abuse your clit. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

With a few more thrusts from Simon and the quick movements of his finger on your clit, you feel the coil in you snap, and it snaps hard. Your orgasm washes over you, a blinding white light that makes you feel like you’re going to pass out, and you call out his name one last time.

Your eyes squeeze shut and you see stars, as your pussy clamps down hard on Simon’s dick. He’s a moaning mess above you as he feels your orgasm that’s traveling through your body, your walls contracting around him.

He curses out a soft “fuck baby” and then he’s following just a hair behind you, traveling over his precipice as well, emptying inside of you. You feel his come paint your walls as your pussy continues to clench around him, as you ride out your second orgasm of the night.

He collapses on top of you but is careful not to crush you completely. You’re breathing heavy as you both come down from your highs, both sweaty messes.

He lifts his head to look at you. There’s a soft smile on his face and you smile back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, bug.”

Your smile falters, “I never want you to leave me like that ever again. Got it?” Your voice is firm, but there’s an underlying trace of tenderness. Your hand comes up to push his hair back, waiting for his answer.

“Never.”

“Good.” You pull him back down to you for a kiss.

He slowly peels himself off of you and whispers out, “Wait here.”

You lay on your back, legs bent as you wait for Simon’s return. When you hear him entering the bedroom, you slightly sit up and you notice a washcloth in one of his hands.

He kneels back on the bed and gingerly pries your legs open so he can clean you up. He delicately starts wiping your center, his first few strokes making you writhe due to oversensitivity. His hand rests tenderly on your knee, thumb stroking back and forth as he wipes you clean. He must have run the washcloth under hot water because it’s wet and feels warm against your skin.

When he’s done, he pecks the inside of your knee and gets up off the bed to go throw the washcloth in the hamper. When he returns to you, he’s in his boxers, and he has a t-shirt in his hand.

“For you, my lady.” You laugh at him and take his shirt, pulling the soft material over your body.

You both clamber under the covers, and are now wrapped up in Simon’s arms.

There’s no place you’d rather be right now, and you’re so thankful the universe allowed you another chance to be with him like this.

If he didn’t make his way back to you, you don’t even know what you would have done. Probably would have gone mental, but who could really blame you?

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nexility-sims · 6 months

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𝐍𝐎. 𝟑 ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜ | NAKAWE, 2023

❧ 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 / 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 / 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

❛ Karolina Teague was hardly famous. Her name carried a certain heft among culture critics whose heyday had passed, but she liked the anonymity that came with being washed up. All of her favorite people were has-beens, after all, and she wasn’t ashamed to spend her time reminiscing about days past with them or anyone else who would listen. Today, she welcomed a whole crew of listeners into her Nakawe home—a film crew to be exact, led by a director-producer duo who had known her name well before a previous interviewee mentioned it to them. She wouldn’t be the star of their documentary, but they believed from its inception that the story wouldn’t be complete without her thoughts.

❧ honestly very proud of the scrapbooking !!!! this is basically just shameless exposition, but i am convinced i picked a creative vehicle for it :^) i watched that 90s docuseries on hulu a year ago and this specific story post was born fjdhjf anyway, canonically, no one would be writing or printing in script like that but i am simply NOT that committed to my worldbuilding sdkjfsf consider this whole thing an english language reimagining (^:

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

Karolina took them on a tour of her colorful seaside house, one concluding in a room already set up for their perusal. It was the archive, she explained. This was what they came for; her recollections were valuable, but she had so much more than her own memories. Photographs waited on the tables, and an old television screen teased some scene from exclusive VHS tapes. Karolina plopped down onto a sofa and gestured widely, saying, “Have a look. I’m ready when you are.”

The director, a woman named Ildaria, picked up a photograph.

“Can you tell us about her?”

Karolina beckoned for the photo, and Ildaria walked over to hand it to her. For a moment, she peered at it, keeping everyone in suspense. Finally, she replied, “Sure. What’s she going to do, sue me?”

“Maybe,” a cameraman elsewhere in the room snorted.

“I’ll take the risk,” Karolina laughed. “Look, I don’t know Princess Leonor, but I met her plenty of times. She was at The Den at least half the nights in 1991, for sure. Probably into 1992, but I didn’t really keep track of her comings and goings. Definitely not after 1993.”

The producer, Eilo, held up another photograph. “What’s the story here?” he asked.

Karolina reached for it. Unlike the other photo, this one was a proper candid. There were several people in the frame, but Leonor was at the center, kneeling by a table with her hand draped across Renzo’s thigh as he held her head in his palm and said something beyond the capture of still photography.

“It wasn’t anything formal,” Karolina explained. “Renzo didn’t date anyone in those days, and I don’t think she did either. They liked each other. It was mutual fascination with zero understanding, is how I saw it. They hung out—liked each other’s company. Hot and fast, burned out quick, that’s what it looked like.” She shrugged. “That was Renzo.”

“And Leonor?” Ildaria asked, having sat down nearby.

“Like I said,” Karolina began. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “I didn't know her. Seemed like a cool girl. I’m older, mind you. I think she wanted to get a little wild and try new things—this is off the record—and The Den was for her what it was for everyone. You could kick your shoes off. Scream along to your buddy’s new song, have a movie star tell you his woes while he pours your drink, get high in the dressing room and probably be fine—”

“Did she do that?” Ildaria’s eyes were wide.

Karolina cleared her throat. “No, of course not. Not everyone did! Enough, sure. We all know the quote-unquote horror stories.”

The crew listened, rapt, having stopped flipping through albums and poking around the bookcases, eager to hear something explosive. They had set out to make a documentary about a particular time and place. The Den at the turn of the century was their subject. That glorious decade solidified its place in celebrity culture, to say nothing of its place in music history. The princess was just a footnote in that story. Nonetheless, it was a tantalizing footnote. Most people below a certain age were shocked to hear that she hadn’t been a humorless, buttoned-up bureaucrat her entire life. The idea that someone whose day job involved keeping the country afloat may have once been young and reckless intrigued. That she was adjacent to the salacious stories of sex, drugs, and rock and roll they knew better nearly crossed the line into unbelievable. Yet, people in Uspana also knew their royals had been wrapped up in the glamor of celebrity for decades. Even now, they continued to rub elbows with rock stars, including the one elder princess who was herself a music star.

“She’s a different person now, clearly,” Karolina continued. She spoke tentatively still but nonetheless addressed what everyone wanted to know. “But, for a time, she was at The Den with everyone else, drinking too much and carrying around a pharmacy in whatever cute purse you had that night. You may remember there was a big Reyes death around then. It’s like—when my mother died in 2009, I lost my shit, too.”

Karolina shrugged again. “She was having fun. I was doing worse, alright, so I only feel judgmental about it insofar as she’d probably be embarrassed if you asked her about any of it today. Royals are supposed to do their sniffing in private, right, not in a bathroom Renzo forgot to hire someone to clean. She was snobby, but my sense was that she liked pretending she wasn’t—roleplay, you know, transgressing or whatever.”

Someone coughed. The rifling through materials resumed. Ildaria and Eilo shared a look.

“You haven’t talked to her since ‘92?” Ildaria asked. Eilo, meanwhile, had pulled out his cell phone and was typing with fast fingers.

Karolina shook her head. “So, she knew I’d asked Renzo to let me collect photos and bring along my Zenith. I got a weird email in 2000 inquiring about them from someone who worked for her.” She grinned, then added as an aside, “Only one recording, by the way. The Den had a strict no video policy.”

“We’d like to see them sometime,” Ildaria responded.

Karolina nodded, then shook her head and clarified, “Which—my tapes or the email?”

Eilo answered without looking up, “Both.”

He finished what he was doing after a moment of quiet, then held his phone up for Ildaria and Karolina to see. “Seems like she’s still in touch with people,” he said.

They leaned forward to view the screen while he swiped at it, then Karolina laughed. “Okay, maybe she just didn’t like me!”

While they watched, Eilo moved through a hastily thrown together slideshow of the princess with various people Karolina knew well. Some looked like event photos. Others were captured with long lenses—paparazzi shots that made money but didn’t always generate enough interest if the other person was a comparative nobody. Not everyone had evolved in the last thirty years. Plenty of people who visited the bar during the decade of Renzo’s ownership continued to have flourishing careers. They were, at the time, young and beautiful and painfully unprepared for the lifetime of celebrity ahead of them. That’s what they brought to this place more than anything: their pain, which, being creative types, they eagerly spun into something beautiful and private.

That’s what The Den gave them. These impossibly talented, dedicated stars created fleeting things for each other and no one else. Bands and dance troupes formed. An endless stream of songs and poetry and performance art kept the bar’s little stage occupied nightly for years. Offstage, people with no reason to meet in the real world bonded in this space of both contrived and undeniable intimacy. For some, the reprieve helped them endure the difficulty of becoming that invariably attended a rise in fame. It was detrimental to others. These were the ones who didn’t evolve—people who gave up their relevance to live forever in this meaningless, generative privacy or people who couldn’t make the choice and lost everything in the process.

Karolina hadn’t evolved, but she hadn’t died or wanted to die either. From her perspective, what people like the princess and even Renzo himself had done wasn’t evolution. It was more like a revelation. People don’t change, she would tell Eilo and Ildaria later, over dinner, when the conversation had moved far away from the royal footnote. She believed people just uncover deeper truths about themselves, knowingly or unknowingly, and those became harder to conceal once they were exposed.

Have you felt that way before? she asked them. Exposed, like when you break your leg so hard the bone snaps right through your skin? They had. The conversation detoured to childhood misadventures, but Karolina had a point to make. She pulled them back. Some people get comfortable with that feeling and learn how to live in it. Other people, you know, they deny and lie and call it growth. That’s my opinion. I’ve seen it—artists are the worst for it, I swear. Artists who don’t want to be artists anymore? Worse than that.

Can I say you sound bitter? Ildaria laughed.

Now, Karolina threw her hands up. She exclaimed, joyful, That’s my truth, baby! I took too many bites of the world, and I’ve been disgusted by it ever since. Some people come out of their mamas malcontent.

Later that night, Eilo was exhausted, but Ildaria’s hand hovered over the light switch with uncertainty. She heaved a big, put-upon sigh, then asked, “Is it bad that I want to give Mencia Cipac a call?”

“Give her a call?” Eilo snorted. “Sure, Mencia Cipac, whose number you totally have, definitely won’t ignore your calls because she, for sure, knows who you are and has endless free time to spare.” He sat up straighter, then added, “No more overloading on projects. You promised. Besides, you don’t wanna poke that bear.”

“Not a bear,” Ildaria retorted. “A jaguar. Roar!”

TRANSCRIPT:

KAROLINA | Have a look. I'm ready when you are.

RENZO (O.S.) | Get that thing out of here, Karolina!

ILDARIA | Can you tell us about her?

KAROLINA | Sure. What's she going to do, sue me? CAMERAMAN | Maybe.

KAROLINA | I'll take the risk.

KAROLINA | Look, I don’t know Princess Leonor, but I met her plenty of times. She was at The Den at least half the nights in 1991, for sure. Probably into 1992, but I didn’t really keep track of her comings and goings. Definitely not after 1993

EILO | What's the story here?

KAROLINA | It wasn't anything formal.

KAROLINA | Renzo didn’t date anyone in those days, and I don’t think she did either. They liked each other. It was mutual fascination with zero understanding, is how I saw it. They hung out—liked each other’s company. Hot and fast, burned out quick, that’s what it looked like. That was Renzo.

ILDARIA | And Leonor?

KAROLINA | Like I said, I didn't know her. Seemed like a cool girl. I’m older, mind you. I think she wanted to get a little wild and try new things—this is off the record—and The Den was for her what it was for everyone. You could kick your shoes off. Scream along to your buddy’s new song, have a movie star tell you his woes while he pours your drink, get high in the dressing room and probably be fine—

ILDARIA | Did she do that?

KAROLINA | No, of course not. Not everyone did! Enough, sure. We all know the quote-unquote horror stories.

KAROLINA | She's a different person now, clearly. But, for a time, she was at The Den with everyone else, drinking too much and carrying around a pharmacy in whatever cute purse you had that night. You may remember there was a big Reyes death around then. It’s like—when my mother died in 2009, I lost my shit, too.

KAROLINA | She was having fun. I was doing worse, alright, so I only feel judgmental about it insofar as she’d probably be embarrassed if you asked her about any of it today. Royals are supposed to do their sniffing in private, right, not in a bathroom Renzo forgot to hire someone to clean. She was always a snob, but I my sense was that she liked pretending she wasn’t—roleplay, you know, transgressing or whatever.

ILDARIA | You haven't talked to her since '92?

KAROLINA | So, she knew I’d asked Renzo to let me collect photos and bring along my Zenith. I got a weird email in 2000 inquiring about them from someone who worked for her. Only one recording, by the way. The Den had a strict no video policy.

ILDARIA | We'd like to see them sometime.

KAROLINA | Which—my tapes or the email?

EILO | Both.

EILO | Seems like she's still in touch with people. KAROLINA | Okay, maybe she just didn’t like me!

ILDARIA | Is it bad that I want to give Mencia Cipac a call?

EILO | Give her a call?

EILO | Sure, Mencia Cipac, whose number you totally have, definitely won’t ignore your calls because she, for sure, knows who you are and has endless free time to spare.

EILO | No more overloading on projects. You promised. Besides, you don’t wanna poke that bear.

ILDARIA | Not a bear. A jaguar. Roar!

#ts4 story #sims story #sims 4 story #royal sims #simblr #ts4 legacy #1992.story.post #1992.a1 #1992.e04

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steviewashere · 7 days

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Been Wanting 🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Rating: Explicit CW: Omegaverse (If that isn't your thing) Tags: Post-Canon, Smut, Fluff and Smut, (Versatile I Know), Alpha/Omega, Omega Steve Harrington, Alpha Eddie Munson, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Steve Harrington Has Sensitive Nipples, Eddie Munson Has a Sensitive Cock, Overstimulation, Scent Kink, Scenting, Voice Kink, Spit Kink, Nipple Play, Wet & Messy, Come Swallowing, Oral Sex, Oral Knotting, Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, Steve Harrington Has a Vagina, Eddie Munson Has a Big Dick, Sweat (Which I Feel is a Titular Character), Pillow Humping, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson This is my first omegaverse fic, be nice to me please <3

💕——————💕 His chest is just beginning to ache where he circles his fingers. Hot, sweaty skin, moist chest hair, and hard nipples that he couldn’t stop touching. Every little brush makes him jolt—makes his insides seize, makes him grind his already sloppy, wet cunt into the pillow between his legs. He buries his face farther into the mattress, feet twisting by the headboard, toes scrunching with every touch, and every scent that fills his nostrils.

Everything in his nest smelt like him and Eddie. His alpha. The mattress: firm and ripe with Eddie’s musk. A pillow between his thighs that has Eddie’s spittle soaked into the pillowcase. With his fingers working away at his nipples, elbows digging hard into the bed underneath to keep him upright—to prevent him from suffocating (though what a fate when Eddie is all that surrounds him)—he lolls his tongue from his drooling, wanton mouth, and suckles on the worn, stained, and salty bedsheet. If he closes his eyes hard enough and lets his brain drift away from the now, he swears he can taste Eddie.

Sweat, come, metallic blood from bites gone awry, bourbon and pine from cologne, and bergamot in his bar soap. His tongue savors the flavor, sucking back as far as possible, bedsheet hitting the back of his mouth before he can do anything about it. The ripple ache through his chest, zings from his succulent, hardened nipples, and the overfull burn from stretching his lips makes Steve’s eyes squint and tear-up. He pants through his nose, unable to get a full breath before he’s coming—again.

Slick soaks between his legs, the wet spot on Eddie’s pillow getting only wetter. His thighs squelch lightly when they tense and stick to each other. He hears the distant knock of the headboard slam into the wall—his foot must’ve kicked out. The bedsheet falls from his mouth when he opens wide—to scream and moan and gargle around his own hot saliva. His throat is burning, the sounds coming out of him are raspy and overused, but he doesn’t care.

All he cares about is pulling himself up enough to get some proper air. His whole body shaking and jolting—the come down—languid and blissed. He gets himself to the edge of his mattress, sat up and head swimming. Eddie still surrounds him. Chest heavy from how hard he’d been playing with himself. He doesn’t touch again, needing a break—doesn’t want his nipples to fall clean off, Eddie still needs to have his way with them. And speak of Eddie, Steve can’t handle the rest of today without him. He’s already moving to the phone downstairs.

Heady and warm, naked and sweaty, hair flat to him, thighs sticky, and cunt pulsing for a knot that isn’t here—not yet, at least. The stairs are hard on his sore legs, previously twisted and tensing around that pillow. But he manages, one thought through his head: I need my alpha. Need him, need him, need—

“Thatcher’s Tires, this is Eddie speaking. How can I help you today?”

Steve’s already whimpering through the phone before he can chance speaking. Breath shuttering through him. Chest blossoming at the sound of Eddie’s voice, a field of wildflowers tangling flush through him. Even if his alpha sounds wholly bored. He can change that, he knows he can. Can make him interested in him instead. “Mm, Eddie,” he breathes. “Need you to—Know you’re working, probably shouldn’t call, but I…mmm…started my heat early. Can’t—Fuck, I need you. I need you so bad right now.”

“Oh, baby,” Eddie coos down the line. Steve’s fingers ache from earlier, but still, he begins the slow journey to his pussy. Curling them in his pubic hair, nails just barely grazing the lips. “I’ll come over right away, do you need me to bring you anything?”

“Just you,” Steve says, maybe a little too honest—but he’s beyond the voice of reason that he’s being even the slightest of too much. Eddie said he’d come. He’d come for Steve. “Don’t shower,” he requests quietly, voice shaking as his fingers finally curl inside, “just get over here, straight over here.”

“You gonna be on the couch or in your room, sweetheart?”

He whimpers unabashedly. Squelches fill his opposite ear not pressed to the phone. Dizzy with arousal, eyes closing on their own accord, words coming slow to his brain—he has to lean against the wall so he doesn’t topple to the floor. Eddie has a way with petnames, even in the most mundane, so sweet and singular—for me, Steve knows, just me. “Don’t think I can get back up the stairs,” he admits, “and…I may have ruined the bedding a little bit.”

Eddie goes quiet for a moment. A gentle hum. “Wonder what you looked like. Splayed out…were you touching yourself like you are right now?”

A little dumbly, he shakes his head. The words finally come from his mouth, though. “How’d you know?” He forces his fingers inside himself deeper, the first knuckle and a half swallowed up. Walls clenching down. Already wet. Slick beading down to his wrist. “Nipples,” he says incoherently, “just them. Nothing…nothing else.”

“You make noises, y’know,” Eddie lightly teases, voice low, “these little…yips. They’re so cute. It’s nice to know what I do to you, baby.”

Slack-jawed and teary-eyed, Steve comes all over his hand. Palm filling with his come, pearly and thick. He moans, or at least he hopes he does. Or maybe he screams. Rasps something directly onto Eddie’s eardrum, he hopes it vibrates to his brain, hopes it rattles around Eddie’s head as he’s driving back. Wonders, even as he collects himself and whispers his love and hangs up the phone, what exactly he does to Eddie.

It’s not too long after the call that he finds out.

Eddie bursts through the front door. Already wrangling out of his coveralls, sweat stained and grease spattered on his left cheek. Boots toppling over with heavy thunks. Hair up and wild in a half-assed ponytail he, Steve assumes, most definitely did on the ride back. His rings aren’t on his fingers, either from work or getting prepared. And from where his boxers are freed from the coveralls, Steve sees the heavy, rounded bulge that signifies exactly what he needed to know.

He’s sat on the middle cushion of his couch. It’s a faux leather, black couch that was stupidly expensive. Stupidly ugly, if he were to have had a say in it. And he’s already begun to ruin it with his slick, from this time—from times before. Knows, all too well, that none of what they’re about to do is going to come up easily with a general clean. He sort of relishes in it, rubs his soft fingertips on his nipples to harden them completely up again. Legs open wide and wanting as Eddie comes tumbling into the living room, eyes already zeroed in on Steve’s throbbing, flushed pink, shiny, and wet as the ocean pussy.

“Fuck, baby,” Eddie groans, “oh, fuck.” He rushes forward, on the pursuit. And, immediately, he’s caging Steve in. Knees on either side of his hips. Hands cupping Steve’s reddened, happy face—kissing him with fervor, teeth threatening to nip and savor the plush offering. He pulls back a tad with saliva connecting them, spit that Steve knows he’ll never get tired of tasting. Eddie’s hips stutter forward, grounding down on Steve’s happy trail. “What do you need from me, sweetheart? I’ll give you anything. Anything at all.”

“Cock,” Steve answers easily, “the tip. On my nipples. Like we did last time.”

Last time. It was laying down in his nest, Eddie hovering above him. The red tip of Eddie’s cock rutting absurdly and sloppily onto his overworked nipples, making the both of them mewl and arch and whine into next Sunday. One of Steve’s hands massaging Eddie’s hanging low balls, squeezing tensely when they both came.

And now…now it’s watching Eddie clumsily spring his cock free of his boxers. The fabric already slightly damp with his pre-come. His gargantuan, thick, veiny dick in hand as he directs it onto Steve’s heaving, sweaty chest. Teasing gently, even as they both moan quietly at the first sign of contact. Eddie’s left hand, his free one, keeps cupping Steve’s face gently—lovingly, carefully. His thumb running underneath Steve’s eye, catching wayward tears, slow and warm as he gives himself away to oversensitivity.

Steve, aside himself, drops his jaw low, mouth wide open and drooling—keening high in the back of his throat, tight and pitchy, stuffed somewhere in his nostrils. He writhes against the cushion, gushing onto the sofa. Can hear the way the slick suctions between his thighs and the leather. His fingers shake and tense, roll the buds of his nipples back and forth slowly, and his pinkies run along the areoles. It tickles, this sensation, but then it also reaches deep inside of him—jolts his breath and straightens his spine, builds a ball of zinging warmth heavy in his belly. His head falls into the back of the sofa, hair stuck to the sides of his face, limp over the couch.

He blearily can see Eddie. How he digs his teeth into his lower lip, hard enough that Steve thinks he notices small beads of deep, rich blood. Wants to taste, but is melted back into the couch, slow and syrupy. Eddie’s face is bright red, eyes half-lidded and glazed, dark where he stares down at the weeping tip of his cock—the pearls of pre-come that are slowly, but surely slicking up Steve’s already matted with sweat chest hair. His scent is deep and rich, spicy with bourbon, so sticky and heavy that Steve swears he could become drunk on it. If he had his face buried deep into the side of Eddie’s neck, he’s sure he could come away intoxicated and delirious. He’d welcome it, if he could only peel his own hands away from his nipples, make himself bend completely forward and take a great inhale.

Eddie snarls and growls above him. He goes just as slack-jawed as Steve is. Humps forward into his own fist and squeezes himself in as far as he can manage. His legs are noticeably shaking, keeping himself upright. But he persists. And, something delicious to Steve’s arousal blurred vision, there’s a thick drench of drool down Eddie’s chin.

With a stuttered gasp, he finally (though hesitantly) brings one of his hands away from his chest, taps Eddie’s naked right hip. Their eyes lock. And he swears, in stare alone, that he’s fulfilled. But still, he huskily requests, “Spit…spit in my mouth, Eds. Need”—and he shutters, palm flat to his right nipple, fingers squeezing into the soft give of his pec—“need to taste you.”

Silently, yet obliging, Eddie nods once. He closes his mouth, lips pursed. And then he swishes a glob between his teeth, cranes his neck forward, dips his head down, and parts his lips just enough for the saliva to spill through. It’s almost like slow motion to Steve’s drowsy brain, the way the spit travels between them. Cascading like a spoonful of molasses—and briefly, he thinks of Eddie tasting like burnt caramel, like burn, a char so pleasant he wouldn’t even mind.

When it lands on his twitching, spongy tongue, Steve immediately swishes it around. Tasting—or at least attempting to—what Eddie is. He swears, beyond everything, that he was right. That Eddies’ mouth, his insides, are just as sweet and just as rich as gingerbread cookies. Baked late at night, waiting to cool into early morning for Christmas. Like cheer, joy, a sense of spirit that Steve has been longing for. Thinks that Eddie is love personified, sweet and drenching, overbearing, yet slow to hit him. He thinks that Eddie’s everything he’s ever desired.

He swallows, eyes closed and humming. “Thank you,” Steve murmurs, babbles, “so good. Good for me. Everything, Eds. Alpha—mmm—everything.”

Above him, Eddie babbles in his own way, “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. Underneath me. Pink and pretty and…and you smell so good—fuckin’ like a fuckin’ tree, when it rains, fresh…wanna just…wanna”—he pitches forward slightly and ruts against Steve, hard. His words lose steam, but his movements don’t. He moves his hand off of Steve’s face, instead tangling it low in his hair, scrunching dirty, sweaty locks in his fingers. Fingernails dully scratching at the base of Steve’s skull. And his cock gets sloppy, running sidelong and spilling, slick and slicker as he moans louder and louder—impossibly loud, a near scream, an echoing rasp that Steve knows will leave Eddie’s throat sore and rough even through the next few days.

But they’ll take care of each other, they always do. They’ll make tea, completely domesticated, acting as if they’re mating glands have been bonded, like a happy married couple. And, oh, how Steve wants.

His free hand drifts away from Eddie’s hip, shifting down, down, down to his drenching pussy. To the puddle of slick between his legs, wetting the back of his hand. As he buries his fingers deep inside himself, past the first knuckle, nearly past the second. Crooking them slowly, strongly. His fingers ache. There’s nothing but slick all over his hand, but he knows Eddie will clean it up for him afterwards.

“Uhhnn—Eds,” Steve breathes, choked up, yet light. “‘M gonna…gonna come, baby. Want you—You do it too? Please?”

Eddie’s head bobbles where Steve can still make it out, eyelids heavy and getting heavier. The cock on his abused nipples gives a valiant kick. A tense. “Where d’you want me, sweetheart?”

Steve just pulls his head up from the back of the couch, pushes it forward gently, and parts his lips enough for Eddie’s big, thick cock. Getting the message, Eddie inches his way inside. Tip, then the first two inches, a third, and a fourth. But that’s all that gets in before Steve gives a weak little gag and a huff of approval. Eddie’s dick is heavy on his tongue, veins protruding, salty and sweaty. He tastes like a day’s worth of work, a bit like the way car grease smells, and his own stench. It should be gross, realistically. But this taste, the weight of it, is all too divine. He gargles around it all, welcomes the aching stretch at the corners of his mouth, the bit of tears it brings to his eyes.

And with a final tug to the rest of his exposed inches, Eddie’s coming hard and fast down Steve’s throat. He gags at the load, too much too fast, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, he allows himself to bend forward, to crush the tip of his nose into the soft skin of Eddie’s dick. He swallows it all, because this is exactly what he wanted. But what he wanted especially—

Eddie’s knot is slow to lock inside Steve’s mouth. But it blooms, oh does it bloom. Swelling into any extra room in his mouth, filling the gaps between his teeth, locking them together for the next little while. And as it chokes him, makes him heady, makes him pliant to the cushion—Steve slicks a flash flood onto the sofa. The puddle growing, enough to coat his entire hand, sticky and warm and viscous. He can’t see it, but knows completely that he’s ruined the cushion he’s sitting on.

The swell goes slowly, too. As they pant and catch their breath.

And when they finally separate, Eddie brings Steve’s soaked hand up to his mouth and cleans it with his heavy tongue. Spit on the webs between his fingers. Saliva spilling down to his wrist. Slick gone in the matter of seconds as Eddie tastes and devours what he’s given. Popping away with a satisfied, small hum.

It’s the first day of Steve’s heat, so he knows that there will be more days like this.

But for now, “I’m tired,” he mumbles. “Mmm, but that was good. So good for me, Alpha.” He watches Eddie pull up and away, but then unceremoniously plop down on the cushion to Steve’s right. “Been wanting you all day.”

Eddie tucks a strand of hair behind Steve’s ear. Thumb tickling down his jaw. “Love helping you, sweetheart,” he whispers, “I’m glad it was good for you.” He leans in, slow and gentle, and leaves a small, sticky peck to Steve’s still warm face. “You wanna go cuddle in your bed for a little while?”

“About that,” Steve murmurs, “I sorta…kinda…maybe got some slick on your pillow?”

“Oh?” There’s a glint of…something that Steve can’t quite read in Eddie’s eyes. “Thought you were just laid out upstairs.”

Steve gives a weak little chuckles, eyes still heavy with exhaustion. His chest jumps from being used so harshly earlier, fingers squeezing into the meat of his thighs to calm himself down. “I missed you,” he admits quietly, “needed you around me.”

“I know, baby,” Eddie coos. “But maybe my pillow is better now. Want to go upstairs and sleep for a little while? Looks like you’ve been worked up and working yourself out all day.”

“Will you knot me later?”

“I’ll do whatever you want. Maybe even…take care of that mating bond for you.”

In quick, awake movements, Steve reaches out for one of Eddie’s hand and squeezes harshly. “Better get upstairs, then. Stay here for my heat. Make do on your promises.”

Eddie inhales sharply. Eyes wide and dark. “Forever, baby,” he lightly growls, “you have me.”

💕——————💕

#stranger things #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omegaverse #omegaverse au #steve harrington #eddie munson #smut #fluff and smut #nsft #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson

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avastrasposts · 10 months

Text

Six and a half minutes - Frankie's version

In honour of Frankie Friday, I've repurposed a short little smutty thing I wrote back in January (I think) and changed it around a bit. So some of you may already have read it, but I think it's probably new to most of you. Please enjoy Frankie interrupting you in the kitchen.

Buen provecho!

The holidays were just around the corner so you’d decided to get a head start on making your favourite Christmas cookies and pies, reserving an entire weekend for the project. You'd been at it since Friday afternoon and today, Sunday, you’d started to regret your decision to cram it all into one weekend. You're tired, warm and sweaty in your hot kitchen, shedding your sweatpants and opting for just knickers and a t-shirt under the apron. But you’re finally down to your last bake; saffron rolls. Delicious and soft, golden in colour, and filled with almond paste, butter and sugar. The smell that wafted through your kitchen was heady and rich as you pulled the first batch from the oven and slid the second tray in.

You’d placed the hot ones on a cooling rack and just gone back to the dough, when you heard the key in the front door, glancing over your shoulder. Frankie stepped over the threshold and shrugged out of his coat, pushing the door closed behind him. You saw him lift his head at the smell of saffron and butter and sniff loudly, looking into the kitchen.

“You’re looking very sexy, bebita,” he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice, “kneading that dough, cute butt on display for me.”

He stepped up behind you and his arms went around your waist, pulling you into his body, his nose grazing across the back of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“You smell very sexy too, saffron, sugar and butter, good enough to eat, hermosa” he growled, his hand coming up and cupping your breast through the apron.

“Hands off, Frankie,” you ordered, “the next batch of rolls are coming out in,” you looked over at the timer on the oven, “six and a half minutes and you’re not making me burn them.”

“Six and a half minutes?” Frankie grinned into your neck. “That sounds like a challenge.”

He sunk his mouth to the soft skin on your shoulder, kissing it and moving his tongue across as he worked his way up towards your ear.

“Seriously, Frankie, do not make me burn the rolls!” you exclaimed as you felt his teeth nip at your earlobe, sending a little jolt down to your core.

“I promise, I’ve got six and half minutes to make you scream my name, cariño,” he mumbled as his hand left your breast and grabbed your jaw, pulling your face round to his mouth. You felt his tongue, licking your lips and making you open them with a moan.

His other hand had left your waist and trailed down the back of your naked thighs, his big hand warm against your skin. You shivered as he moved it in between your legs, his rough fingertips caressing up along the smooth skin of your inner thigh and you felt a familiar heat build up inside you. Frankie’s hands and mouth always made you wet when he wanted it and he knew the effect he had on you. Now he grumbled into your mouth.

“Are you wet for me already, bebita? Want me to check?”

You moaned and moved to pull your hands out of the dough as his words made you ache to touch him, pull him closer.

“No, no,” he grinned, pulling away from your mouth. “Keep them there, I’m gonna make you come right here, no need to clean your hands, no need to touch me.” He gave you a wicked grin and pushed his open mouth on yours again.

You felt his hand cup the fabric of your pussy from behind, his fingers sitting right over your clit, it had already started to ache for more. He pressed a finger against it, soaking the fabric with the slick already building up inside.

“Hermosa…dripping wet for me already, I knew it, such a needy girl,” he breathed against your mouth as he felt the wetness stick to his fingers.

He pushed the fabric aside and his finger moved through the wet folds, edging up towards your clit and he started to circle it. Ordinarily he would tease you, just edge around the clit, moving back and let his fingers play around your entrance before he went fully to work, but now he was on the clock.

The sensation of his fingers made you gasp into his mouth, stifling a moan as he gently rubbed the calloused pad of his finger over your clit, creating friction that sent jolts of electricity into your core.

“Fuck…cariño…if I knew baking made you this wet I’d come back earlier,” Frankie mumbled, he’d pulled away from your mouth and was watching you gasp as he pushed you further toward the edge. One hand was kneading your breast, fingers pinching your nipple when the fingers on his other hand pushed down on your clit, it made your nerves scream every time. Through half open eyes you saw him watch you intently, turned on by the ecstasy visible on your face as he caressed your pussy.

“Frankie, “ you moaned, “how much longer?” You're panting out the words and he chuckles, amused by the effect of his fingers on your clit.

He glanced over at the oven, “Four minutes, hermosa, I best get to work.”

With swift hands he hooked his fingers into your knickers and pulled them down before he grabbed your hips and pulled your butt towards him. Your hands were still in the dough and when he pulled you back, you stretched out and rested your chest on the flour covered surface, back arching and opening you up for him.

Frankie’s hands left you for a few seconds and you heard him undo his trousers and push them down.

“Bebita…if only you could see what I’m seeing,” he groaned, “this dripping wet pussy of yours looks more delicious than anything you can bake,” his voice low and dark as he ran his hands over your behind, kneading the flesh before running the tip of his cock along the edge of your pussy, making you spasm and shiver, pushing up against him.

“Please, Frankie, please fuck me, the time,” you whimpered as you felt the tip of his hard cock drag over your clit.

“Are you worried about the rolls or do you just really need my cock in you?” He was chuckling but you heard the strain in his voice, the need in him to sink himself into you and feel your pussy clench around him.

“Frankie, please,” you moaned again, your pussy aching to feel him inside you, that thick cock filling you all the way up and straining your cunt wide.

With a groan, he did as you begged, and pushed himself inside, grabbing your hips and pulling you on to him, his cock sinking deep. You gasped, the force of his thrust pushing you forward, making you sink your fingers into the dough, grabbing on to it for any kind of support as the heat inside you started to build.

“Fuck, bebita, always so tight for me, like your cunt is trying to choke me,” Frankie moaned as he pulled out to the tip. You looked over your shoulder and saw him looking down between you with lust blown eyes, seeing the way his cock was coated in your juice. “So fucking wet for me, hermosa,” he groaned and with a tight grip on your hips he pushed himself in again, slamming against the back of your legs, and you felt him bottom out inside you, making you cry out as he hit every nerve ending inside, making you spasm and convulse around him.

Frankie set a fast pace, no time for gentle love making as he’s chased both your release and his own. His thick hard cock filled you up, the hard ridges and veins of it created friction deep inside you, making you moan every time he pulled out and slammed back in. He was breathing hard, his fingers sure to make bruises on your skin from how tight he was holding on to you.

He bent down, circled his arm around your waist as his hand settled between your legs, never missing a beat thrusting into you. Rough fingers started to roll over the centre of nerves between your legs and your breaths stuttered and became ragged. Moaning his name you clenched the dough and pushed hard back against his cock as it slammed into you.

“Bebita, I need you come for me, I’m not gonna last,” Frankie panted, “I need your tight little pussy to come on my cock,” he groaned, a deep rumble in his chest, “squeeze me real hard, and then I’ll fill you up with my cum.”

He slammed his cock into you, your pussy started to convulse around him as his fingers rolled across your clit. “Gonna fill you up,” he pulled out and thrust back in, “and then watch my cum drip from your pussy as you knead that dough.”

His cock bottomed out and hit new spots deep inside as his words pushed you over the edge. With a strangled cry you felt your pussy cramp around his hard cock buried deep inside and Frankie growled loudly behind you as his rhythm faltered. The climax hit you hard, making you arch your back into him, trying to push him even deeper in as you moaned his name and his fingers dug into your hips. He thrust himself onto you, collapsing over your back, his hips moving slower, milking every drop of himself into your pussy as he groaned into your hair.

You leaned your head on the kitchen table, the dough sticking to your hands, as Frankie’s hot breath flowed over your neck. From the oven you heard the timer start to beep and he chuckled.

“Right on time, cariño.”

#frankie morales #frankie friday #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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suspiciouslackofclowns · 1 year

Text

“Y’know, when I was little, I had hair down to my ass.”

Billy digs down at the bottom of the bag, inspecting the orange dust that coats his knuckles before he crunches on another chip. He knows that Steve is doing his customary nod to show that he’s listening even though he can’t even see him.

Fingers gently rake through his roots, massaging at his scalp, and Billy lolls his head against one of Steve’s thighs. Scrapes down at the bottom of the bag with his dust-caked fingers and huffs when he comes up empty-handed.

“I bet it was untamable,” Steve says fondly. Chuckles as he watches Billy suck a cluster of orange away from the pad of one of his fingers. “I wish I could’ve met you when you were a kid. If you were anything like how you are now, I bet we would’ve been inseparable.”

“You would’ve gotten sick of me in about ten minutes.”

Steve tsks, but keeps toying with Billy’s hair where it spills into his lap. Starts gathering sections to fasten it into a braid for about the tenth time since they’ve been sitting here.

Ever since Robin showed him how a few nights ago, he’s been fixated on becoming a pro for whatever reason.

Probably so he can braid his daughter’s hair someday.

The thought makes Billy’s face flush with a familiar heat. It’s not the first time he’s thought about Steve’s — their future — like that. Their furniture together. It’s not even the first time today that he’s thought about it.

“I mean, I could tolerate Tommy, so I think we’d have been fine,” Steve says. “He was a crier. Could never take hits even when he was the first to start shit, and then he’d go tell, and I’d always get the ass-whooping.”

Steve shakes his head. Sighs to himself and tucks a stray curl behind Billy’s ear.

“Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly stoic,” Billy muses.

“You get what I mean, though. We would’ve had a fucking blast together as kids.” As soon as Steve finishes the braid, he unwinds it gently from the tail up. Combs his fingers through it thereafter and brushes one of his hands over Billy’s cheek. “What made you cut it?”

Billy tilts his head back, staring upside down at Steve while another hand comes to swipe his bangs away from his face. There’s an easy smile playing on the brunet’s lips.

“My old man took me to a barber shop a little bit before my fifth birthday.”

Steve’s smile falters.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.” Billy’s eyes slip shut, and he focuses on the warm palms touching his skin. Careful enough to be handling porcelain. “Got in trouble, so he dragged me there and had it all buzzed off.”

“That’s… drastic. What did you do?”

“Dunno.”

“You don’t remember?”

Billy huffs. He kind of wants to laugh, because everything his dad has ever done is hilarious when set in the past tense. The screaming, the veins popping out in his neck, the look on his face.

But then something else wells in his chest at the thought, and it isn’t funny.

“All I remember is crying my eyes out in that chair. Probably got into my mom’s lipstick or some shit, it didn’t take much to set him off.”

“He was probably just jealous of your pretty curls,” Steve says softly. It brings a small smile to Billy’s face. “Seriously though, I’m sorry he… I’m sorry you had to experience that. You don’t cut a kid’s hair as punishment.”

Near the end, his voice gets a bit stern, and Billy feels the sun simmering under his skin. Burning through his pores and shining light up into Steve’s face like rays of sunshine through parted clouds.

You’d make a good dad.

Billy wants more than anything to say it, but his lips form around something else when he parts them.

“We would’ve been fast friends if we met as kids,” he says.

“I don’t need another friend.” Steve’s face flushes with pink realization when Billy opens his eyes, and he quickly shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have needed— I had lots of friends, so I would’ve—” Steve cuts himself off with a sigh and pinches his eyes shut for a moment. “We would have held hands, y’know? Had sleepovers up in my treehouse, just the two of us.”

Billy can’t even begin to suppress the blossoming grin on his face.

“I never considered that little Stevie was a player too.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Well, in that case, I’m glad we didn’t meet as kids. Neil would’ve just taken that from me too.”

The brunet sobers. Rubs his thumb over the apple of Billy’s cheek.

“You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do.” Billy turns his face towards his partner’s open hand, smiling as he presses a kiss to the soft skin of his palm. “Just like I know that in every universe, every hypothetical situation, Neil will be an asshole, I know that there’s no timeline where I don’t love you at first sight.”

Steve, ever the romantic, presses his lips together as a chapped red overtakes his cheeks. Billy sits up on his knees and turns around to lean into Steve’s lap at the first sign of tears.

He hugs his torso. Buries his face into Steve’s t-shirt and squeezes him when he sniffles.

“I’m glad we met when we did,” Billy adds. “When we both really needed it.”

Slender arms wrap around him, cradling him closer, and Steve’s chest echoes with a chuckle.

“When I needed another ass-kicking.”

“No— you know what I mean, you dork.”

“I do.” Steve strokes his hair, and Billy melts further into him. Feels, for a moment, like he’s five years old again and hugging his mother at the beach. “I’m just happy we met at all,” he says. “But I’m confident that it had to happen no matter what. Even if we were ninety and using walkers.”

Billy chuckles at that. Imagines, instead, the two of them growing old together. Here in this home that they’ve made for themselves, with their latest set of grandchildren running a muck.

He thinks he’d be willing to learn to like kids for that.

“As if either of us will make it to ninety,” he muses.

“Hey, shut up, we’re both living to a hundred and twenty because I said so.”

Steve tugs gently on his hair, prompting him to tilt his head back and look up. The brunet has the fondest look on his face, like he’s found spiritual enlightenment in Billy’s eyes.

Billy thinks he knows the feeling.

“Kay,” he says.

“It’s nice out right now.”

Fuck if either of them know if that’s true. All they know right now, all that exists in this moment, is each other.

“Mm, you wanna go for a walk?” Billy hums.

A huge smile blossoms over Steve’s face. He pushes his fingers through Billy’s hair one last time, cupping his cheek and letting the blond lean into his touch.

“Sure. I have to go change my shirt, though, because I’m pretty sure you got Dorito dust all over it.”

Billy snorts. Sure enough, when he raises his hand into view, his fingertips are still stained orange. Steve just smiles at him before they both get overwhelmed by giggles.

I’m glad I met you.

#harringroveweek #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #tw child abuse #this is a little rushed but I’m hoping to put out another before the week is up #ficlet #my writing

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septimusmoonlight · 6 months

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Anonymous: could you maybe do some more necro? maybe a dragon who just gets off on your pain so much that he ends up going overboard and killing you in the process?

Ooh, yes <3 I love it when something big and powerful gets off on some pathetic human's suffering~

Perhaps a big dragon with shiny black scales has a taste for human sacrifice from the nearest village, but not in the traditional sense. He doesn't want the other humans to do the work for him, no - he wants the pleasure of that process himself, the ecstasy of dominating a creature so much lower than he is and the sheer power of being able to desecrate a corpse as he pleases. He's spilled many human tears and plenty of human blood over his lifetime, and he doesn't plan to stop anytime soon.

Well, I'm just today's unlucky winner. He snatches me up in his powerful talons to return to his lair with no ceremony, and he's easily twice my height, probably closer to three. I know the stories about what he does to his sacrifices, so I'm obviously terrified, but I'm also resigned. I know there's no way out of this, not now that he has me in his grasp. Besides, something in my lower belly stirs at the notion of getting used by something as strong as he is.

Of course, my village stripped me of my clothes to prepare me for the dragon's use, so he barely has to do anything to begin. There's a pedestal in the center of the cavern he calls home, and he deposits me there face-up; bindings of enchanted iron snap into place around my arms and legs, securing me in place at the proper height for his use. It would be troublesome for him to fuck a toy that was laying on the ground, after all, and he wouldn't be able to force his way inside if his sacrifice wasn't held down somehow.

Saliva floods my mouth at the sight of his cock. Thick and slightly tapered, with a blunted cone for a head, he clearly has the equipment to back up his pride, and he clearly enjoys using it. The question remains of whether or not I'll enjoy when he uses it, but it's not one that needs answers. I'm not here to experience pleasure; I'm here for the dragon's pleasure, and his pleasure alone. The hope is that my sacrifice to the dragon's lust will keep his desires slaked for long enough that he refrains from destroying my village. Clearly, his desires are powerful.

He lays his hard-on atop my body, as though to drive home exactly how much of it just will not fit inside of me (which is all of it). Twice as thick as my thigh and easily long enough to reach up to my neck, this thing is a killer, and one that's been used time and time again on people I once knew - and now, on me. He slides the head down my body to prop it between my legs, like he's giving me one last moment to savor being alive as I know it. Then, he pushes forward.

Obviously, this thing can't just slide in with ease. Sure, I've done some stretching in my time, but that doesn't mean I can take something that will take up all available space in my torso. The dragon knows this just as well as I do, and that's the entire point - one he drives home as he increases the pressure he's using, harder, harder, harder. I can feel my cunt struggling to stretch open as wide as he needs, my pelvic bones protesting, creaking, groaning from inside of my body as the burn of skin pulled tight intensifies. Unwilling tears sting the corners of my eyes, and then-

He makes his entrance. I can't even scream. He's so large that simply the rounded tip of his cock is more than enough to make blood gush from me in an oozing river that spills over the side of the pedestal. The skin of my cunt rips up and down in symmetry, opening a wider hole for him to use, and this is of course what he wants. He growls in satisfaction as the warmth of my blood meets his erection, and shifts his hips to push further forward. Still, my voice remains elusive, and I can only make half-human, choked-out noises that barely resemble an attempt at communication. My bones themselves are forced to bend under the force of his might.

He finds my cervix within mere moments of entering me, stretching and tearing my vaginal canal open to meet it. It is, of course, no obstacle for him, and continuous pressure is more than enough to make it buckle, spreading in torturous waves around his head. Something creaks, cracks, and then folds outwards, and motion is suddenly much smoother for him; shock must be keeping the full agony away from me, but my pelvis has broken open to let him through. Tears are coursing down my face without pause now, and the air smells like copper. I can just barely sob, fighting for breath against the pain in a way that makes the dragon's cock twitch. Even just that small movement is enough to send fire racing up and down my body.

Motivated by my suffering, he pushes forward. My womb rips within moments. All of my internal organs squelch out of the way, my belly bulging as he hollows out my abdomen, and blood wells up in my mouth as he prods just a little too hard at my stomach itself. I can only draw a pitiful attempt at a last breath before another shove presses him up against my diaphragm, squeezing the air out of my lungs themselves before he flattens them outright against my ribcage. My ribs themselves dislocate away from my sternum as he lodges himself up against my beating heart, which is trying its absolute hardest to keep me alive despite just how absolutely dead I am at this point. I may still be awake, but there's no saving me now; I'm just a corpse with a pulse.

He growls in satisfaction as my body struggles to stay alive around him. Blood spills from the corner of my mouth. My ears are ringing. Despite the fact that I'm barely functioning, the remains of my pelvic muscles are still attempting to tighten around him, responding to the pleasure of being so overpowered and helpless, especially in the face of an elegant and handsome beast like him. It's as though he can tell, because my arms are abruptly freed from their restraints as he ruts shallowly into my body, just barely enough for me to feel everything sloshing around inside but not so much that he'll kill me. He's allowing me the final mercy of masturbating to my own death, but not for my pleasure - solely because he enjoys being served in such a way that his sacrifices take honor and delight in suffering beneath him.

I gladly take him up on his generous offer, managing a final, bloody orgasm as he pulverizes my insides into a horrible mulch that barely resembles the human body it once was. My final sensations are agony, ecstasy, and the taste of blood and cum spewing from my mouth as he finally destroys my heart with his cock, lodging himself right up at the base of my neck to watch his final work on me take the ultimate toll.

Then, of course, no pulse, and I'm just a warm corpse.

My obliterated body is still of great use to him, of course. He simply allows the magical restraints to latch back into place so that my limbs hold me together while he ruts into my already-messy form, taking great satisfaction in watching blood and the remains of organs spill from my mouth with the force of so much cum flooding my insides. The sight makes him cum again, further rinsing my system of anything that once allowed me to stay alive. Most of his seed spills out of my face, of course, but some remains inside, contained in my chest cavity where it mixes with everything else there.

He pulls out to survey his work. There's no way to tell what was once supposed to be a hole and what he simply turned into a hole for his use, and that's just the way he likes it. He thrusts back in, still rock-hard, and angles up slightly to study the way his cock so easily stretches the skin of my belly; then, it pops open around him, and more viscera coats him as he thrusts in and out, coating my upper body in a wet bloody mess, evidence of pleasure and pain both, something that was once thinking and feeling but that now only exists for his use and his pleasure.

Today, his tastes lie in a final act of humiliation. He cums a third time, careless as to where the result lands, and pulls out of my body; then, he slides his body up enough to bathe his balls in the remains of his sacrifice, warm blood and seed and the remains of life. He snarls deeply, his cock twitching as he rests in the abdominal cavity of a sacrifice he emptied.

He's already thinking about how he can make the next one worse. Maybe he should humiliate it before he kills it? Would that hurt more, or make it pleasure itself? That probably depends on the individual, he supposes.

Whatever makes the stupid things serve him more obediently.

#Originally posted April 6th 2023 #asks #anonymous #my writing #nsft text #patreon.com/septimusmoonlight #death tw #gore tw #n£cro #snvff #dragons #size difference #pain #torture #all the way through #blood

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ronald-to-die · 8 months

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my brain cooked another super dumb headcanon instead of studying pls don't call me crazy I know it sounds weird but hear me out:

imagine Percy getting kitnapped (again) waking up in a room next to Ares being chained to a desk and both of them are forced to - quoting Zeus - "sit it out until their annoying childish behaviour stops getting on my fucking nerves"

and bruh the room turns out to be a studio builed by Hephaestus so that - quoting Zeus (again) - "everyone on Olympus can witness how I really would love to burn these two into crispy thanksgiving turkeys but galactic embarrassment should do it."

AND NOW IMAGINE that Percy and Ares are starting a freaking podcast about the most random stuff (probably just screaming at each other) and everyone, even the monsters in Tartarus listen to that shit these two crackheads come up with:

Percy: Welcome back to "cousins-in-crime now is your time" podcast. In todays episode it's my time to demonstrate you the screams of a demigod cutting his own leg off instead of loosing his mind. Stay tuned.

Ares: That's the step in the right direction. .... did you get the joke? I don’t wanna get into it, it’s very thigh-sensitive. Damn. My leg puns are quite the feet

Percy: You should tell Achilles. This shit would keep him on his toes.

Ares: Nah I don't think he could stand any more leg jokes

Percy afterwards getting recognized in battle not as the son of Poseidon but as "that funny grumpy dude from that super aggressive 'cousins-in-crime' podcast! You both were awesome! Hey, could you sign my fangs?? Down in Tartarus, I would be THE SHIT if I tell everyone that I met you. "

Ares and Percy Podcast.

change my mind this would be so funny

(Bonus: they have guests.)

#percy pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #ares #percy jackson ares #percy jackson #headcanon

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yellowkitkieran · 1 year

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Body Shots (Kieran, Martin + reader)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: Your situationships with both Martin and Kieran boil over when both boys plot to show you how fun they can be.

Purely self indulgent, based on my favorite trope to ever exist. Beta read by my babe @cfchloe

At today's match at the Emirates, your only wish is for Kieran to be subbed on.

You've entertained a 'will they, won't they' sort of relationship with Kieran for months now. The Scotsman is reluctant to actually make a move thanks to Arteta's strict rules regarding players being forbidden to date staff.

However, that same rule hasn't stopped the other boy that's shown interest in you, none other than the captain, Martin Ødegaard. He's asked you out twice now but you've politely declined, letting him know you're not interested in anything serious in any sense of the word. Martin being Martin, once he had an explanation he accepted your word as law and backed off, maintaining a playful, flirty relationship with you that you both enjoy.

In the tunnel whilst you were fixing Kieran's jacket before he headed out, you'd given him a task: if he was subbed on, you wanted him to score. If he couldn't do that then you wanted to see him get an assist, so you could still celebrate him.

Luck shines down on you when he's on the pitch at the 65th minute, and you fear you'll nearly melt into your seat behind the bench when he glances over at you once he's in position. You're pretty sure you've become a puddle when Kieran flicks his tongue over his lips, hands on his hips while he waits for kick off, eyes locked on yours.

Kieran gives a hundred and ten percent from the moment the whistle blows. He moves like a demon, twisting past defenders and moving like a wisp on the wind. Each time he has the ball at his feet you're up off your seat, thighs tense with anticipation as you wait for him to shoot. And after a few minutes he crosses it to his right, aiming for Saka and hitting his mark perfectly.

Nine minutes after coming on, Kieran has completed your request. You aren't surprised; he's been confident lately and you knew he'd make an impact today. You scream yourself hoarse along with every single red-blooded gunner in the stadium, so loud that the ground shakes.

You don't have the words to describe how proud you are. Even if you're not official, you love knowing that Kieran takes you seriously.

Martin is the one Kieran looks towards, with a thousand watt smile that shines as brilliant as the sun. Martin's face reflects the same pride you feel in your chest as he heads for his best mate first, hugging him in congratulations and saying something that sparks Kieran's attention. You can just make out the words 'are you serious?' On Kieran's lips, and Martin responds with a nod. When Martin's eyes find you in the crowd, the look he gives you sends a delicious chill down your spine.

What do those two have up their sleeves?

**********

Three hours later you've joined half the squad at Aaron's house for an after party. A four one win that sees them keep a steady lead at the top of the table is reason enough to have everyone wanting to celebrate, although personally you're more interested in celebrating Kieran.

The two of you sit on the sofa, heads bent together to hear each other over the music. You spotted Martin when you came in twenty minutes ago but he hasn't come over to say hello yet, probably caught up in making his rounds.

You finish the drink you'd stolen from Kieran upon your arrival and wipe the back of your hand over your mouth. "Ugh- if we go out to a pub, remind me to not get whatever you have. It's terrible! Doesn't that burn your stomach? Or am I just weak?"

Kieran's laugh sets off butterflies in your stomach and brings a flush to your cheeks. "Lassie, it's only whisky! It's nae that bad! I've had worse honestly- I like the taste!" His hand lands on your thigh and he shakes his head, amused by your inability to hold your liquor. On instinct you cover his hand with your own. You glance around the room to see if anyone notices the touch, worried about being caught and Kieran potentially falling back onto the bench or worse, left out of the squad entirely as punishment for being involved with a member of Arsenal staff.

"Don't look so tense elskling!" Martin leans over the sofa and plants a kiss to the crown of your head. "Everyone here is either far too wrapped up in someone of their own to notice us, or is someone that we can all trust to not go spilling the beans. No one is gonna rat us out, so let's just enjoy ourselves!"

"Us?"

"Mmhm- that's what I said, love. Didn't you tell Kieran you wanted to celebrate him? That's what we're gonna do." Martin leans forward and fills your glass with a shot of vodka.

"Um… yes? I guess so?" You have no idea where this is going but from the look the two boys share, you know you'll enjoy it.

Kieran lightly pats your thigh and his eyes drift over your stomach, left exposed by the tied up Arsenal kit you're wearing. His tongue darts out over his lips and your thighs squeeze together involuntarily, which Kieran notices and grins.

"Be a good lassie and finish that drink for me love, will you? Martin and I came up with something while we were waiting for you to finally show up." Martin nudges your shoulder as he leans forward, his face inches from yours. He's so close that you can feel his breath on your cheek and it makes you shiver. You knock back the drink without a second thought, slamming the glass on the low table in front of you once you'd finished.

"Good girl," Martin mumbles in your ear before kissing your cheek. The entire interaction leaves you speechless. What in the world is going on? You've contemplated dating Kieran or Martin for ages, and you know they both want you, but this feels like some sort of fever dream.

Martin comes around to sit on your other side, his arm slung over your shoulder. "You know elskling, Kieran and I were thinking… you won't date either of us right? Because you don't want us to get in trouble. Which we appreciate- butttttt Arteta's rule doesn't say anything about a more casual relationship."

"I-" you struggle to form a coherent thought, let alone a full sentence. Kieran's hand slides closer to your center as he leans in to press a kiss to your jaw, grinning when you let out a deep breath.

"Dammit boys, you know I want you both! I've told you as much- could you please stop- stop torturing me… Jesus christ Kieran, that's amazing."

The dusting of stubble on Kieran’s face scratches deliciously on your neck as he kisses his way down to your collarbone. He smiles against your skin when he reaches the collar of the red Arsenal kit you wear, pulling it back between his teeth to expose more of your skin. A sharp inhale escapes you when his tongue darts over the hollow of your throat before he pulls away.

"Kieran-"

"Yes sweetheart? What can I do for you?"

"Nothing- ahh, fuck off Martin!" Martin starts on the opposite side, repeating everything Kieran has just done in the same order. You can't tell if it's the liquor or the boys that you're drunk on, but you're loving every second. By the time Martin finishes his round, your head is spinning and you're certain you need something more from them.

Martin leans across and grabs two bottles from near Kieran's feet. "Right, I'm doing tequila, mate you still want whisky yeah?"

"Yeah that's fine with me, anything that'll get me tipsy!"

Martin grins and nods to the table set up for drinking games across the room. No one is currently using it and your stomach flips at the thought of what they're up to.

"Oh that'll work. Sweetheart," Kieran turns to you with a wicked smile that could convince you to do anything, "what do you say you let Martin and I do some shots off you?"

"I- I'm sorry, what?! Are you two insane- actually yes you are!" Both boys laugh and wait for you actual answer, wanting honesty and preferring not to sway your thoughts. Ninety nine percent of you screams yes, but that nagging voice in the back of your head reminds you that you could lose your job. The boys could be benched if anyone here said a word, though they seem confident no one will. And aside from all that… you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about the two of them together, fulfilling your own dirty fantasies.

For once in your life, you decide you want to live for yourself instead of upholding the rule book. Plus you trust Martin's word and if he says you're safe, then you’ll take the risk. "Fuck it- yeah let's go!"

You fear your heart might burst out of your chest as you and your dynamic duo get settled in. You lay on the table they've cleared for you face up, knees bent, shoes sticking to the sugar-stained surface. Kieran's fingers brush your exposed stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in is wake and catching your attention.

"Can I move this up a bit love?" He gently touches the hem of your kit and you nod, eager to get on with it before you change your mind. "Thank you. Just don't wanna wreck it is all, since I know you cannae replace it. It's the one from your first day yeah?" When you nod, Kieran smiles. "Thought so. Right, pour some out for us Mar!"

Kieran tucks your shirt up to your bra, exposing your entire midriff to the cold air. Martin splays a hand on your stomach and smiles at his mate. "You want upper or lower?"

Kieran tips his head and traces a finger between your hip bones with a tenderness that makes you shiver. He's thought about this long and hard. "Right there. That's my line."

"Gonna be cold elskling, bear with me yeah?" Despite the warning, you hiss when the alcohol hits your skin, but do your best to keep still. Fuck, are your shallow breaths because you're nervous or because of how fucking hot this whole thing is?

"Mine will be right here then," Martin murmurs, dribbling a line a few inches beneath your shirt. "Same time Key?"

Same time- what?! You lift your head in time to see Kieran nod, and both boys dip their heads. "What do you-"

Under normal circumstances, you'd be embarrassed by the moan you let out when two tongues hit your stomach from opposite sides of your body. Martin and Kieran lick your skin dry, leaving it glistening when they pull away. Is this a dream? It has to be a fucking dream because you've never been turned on as much as you are now. Holy fuck was that erotic- you swear you can still feel their tongues on you even though they both are grinning at you while you lose your mind.

"You like that sweetheart? We can do it again, I wouldn't be opposed." You nod before Kieran finishes talking, and Martin pours out another round onto your stomach. This time you're slightly more prepared for the jolt of pleasure down your spine but that doesn't stop you from groaning, back arching slightly and spilling the liquid across your abdomen before they're finished.

Martin's hand lands square on your sternum and presses at the same time Kieran's finds your hip and does the same, keeping you from moving whilst they clean up the mess you created. Fucking hell, you're not sure you can take much more of this. You're already borderline overstimulated from their mouths on you and the hand Kieran inches up your side doesn't help matters.

When both boys finish, they grin at each other. Their shining mouths set the gears in your head turning and you know they must be thinking exactly the same thing.

Kieran is the one to break the silence, "Why don't we head upstairs and find a room yeah?"

Martin's grin is downright feral, curling your toes. "I thought you'd never fucking ask." Martin trails his fingers up your stomach, "and you, prinsesse? What do you say?"

"One of you carry me up right fucking now! I don't trust myself to walk."

"Now that's a request I can honor." Kieran picks you up bridal style, one arm under your knees and the other around your back, taking the steps two at a time with Martin hot on his heels. You might not be sure how this will work but one thing is for certain: you're in for a long, pleasurable night.

#martin odegaard #martin odegaard fic #martin odegaard fanfic #martin odegaard imagine #martin odegaard fantasy #kieran tierney #kieran tierney fanfiction #kieran tierney fanfic #kieran tierney fic #kieran tierney imagine #arsenal fc #jac writes #forbidden fruit #alt timeline lover

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talltalesbyjay · 1 year

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Oh My Hero! Hang on!

A Brief Battle?

Before we get into it, I hope you all enjoy this story as it's a little different for me. I originally intended for this to be a one-and-done type of story but some feedback has made me consider to continue with this story. Let me know your thoughts!

Also, please don't forget to read the background post of this story if you're not familiar with the anime!! It's the post right before this one .

thank you for reading!

--------------

Shouto, Katsuki, & Izuku all ended up working near each other after graduating UA 3 years ago. All heroes in their own right, they gained a lot of popularity for their own actions, not because of their mentors or families.

They would train together frequently as well as patrol together from time to time. Their sidekicks and other heroes in the area always took charge when the three of them met up for training or for anything really, and today was one of those days.

You could hear the grunts, moans, blasts, and occasional screams of Katsuki expel from the training facility, fans crowding the facility hoping to catch a glimpse of the three in action.

“Kacchan over here,” Izuku said as Katsuki threw a water bottle at Shouto.

“Yeah, yeah”. Katsuki threw Izuku a water before sitting down with his legs splayed out & his arms holding him up from behind.

Their two hour training session had just ended, all three exhausted with sweat covering their training shirts… making them stick to each of their muscled arms, ripped abs, and firm pecs.

Izuku tried not to look at Katsuki as his body looked much hotter covered in sweat. Izuku has had a crush on Katsuki for years now, but it wasn’t till the last year at UA that Izuku began yearning for Katsuki’s body (probably because that’s when Izuku hit puberty… late bloomer). It wasn’t helping that Katsuki was wearing mid-thigh shorts, exposing his delicious meaty thighs.

“Whatcha looking at Deku!” Katsuki said as he drank another bottle of water.

“No- Nothing Kacchan. Just dazed out for a bit”.

Katsuki huffed as he stood up and paced around the guys. He knew training was important and as much as he hated to admit it, he enjoyed his time spent with Shouto and Izuku… but he enjoyed being a hero even more. He enjoyed kicking ass and beating the villains until they started begging for mercy, it was actually what he was known for in the area.

“Want to go get some soba noodles before going back to patrol” Shouto asked the guys (mainly Izuku since he was the easiest to convince).

“Yeah that sounds…” Izuku began to get quieter, “good…”.

Katsuki lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat falling onto his eyebrows, exposing his sweaty abs & his red underwear waistband in the process.

Shouto followed Izuku’s stare and as soon as he realized where Izuku was staring, he quickly looked away. Shouto knew Izuku and Katsuki had history that went way back before he even met them, and all throughout their time at UA, he could sense some sort of magnetic tension between them. One that he wished he had with Izuku; he’s had a crush on Izuku since he met him at UA but never acted on it due to the tension he felt between the two friends.

“Izuku” Shouto quietly said as he saw Katsuki begin to lower his shirt.

“Uh… yeahsobanoodlessoundgreatwhatdoyouthinkKacchan” Izuku said, practically slurring his speech, feeling his face burning up as he knew Shouto caught him staring at Katsuki.

Shouto laughed at Izuku’s cute expression; watching him get flustered was a common occurrence, one Shouto always looked forward to… ~Why can’t he look at me that way~ Shouto thought to himself as Izuku darted his eyes from Katsuki to his shuffling feet.

“Yeah that’s fine… just as long as I can get them spicy”, Katsuki said, putting all his gear in his gym bag.

“Perfect then let’s-“

There was a loud bang. The entire gym shook from the vibration, causing all three heroes to stand up and immediately run outside.

The crowd of fans waiting for them had begun to disperse, running away from where the smoke was in the distance. The street shook, car alarms blared from all over, screams heard from the people running in front of them.

“The smoke seems like 10 miles east,” Izuku said, calculating how quickly he could get there.

“Our sidekicks are there but are overwhelmed. The villain came prepared with backup” Katsuki spoke with his team over his earpiece, trying to get real-time information before heading over.

“Seems to be in my jurisdiction,” Shouto said, his fists tightening, causing ice and fire to engulf them. “Okay, Izuku you’re the fastest here. I need you to get to a high vantage point and tell us what you see. We have people on the ground so they are our eyes and ears but I need you to see of any weakness or place to attack.”

“Yes, I’ll be quick,” Izuku said as he flashed away, leaving a trail of blue lightning behind.

“Katsuki, I need you to-“

“I know what to do. You do your thing, I'll do mine”, Katsuki said before blasting off.

Shouto spoke to his sidekick on his earpiece as he created an ice platform and shot himself forward. He could hear the screaming and the crashes from the fight in the back, his sidekick sounding out of breath as he gave Shouto information.

Izuku arrived first. Standing on top of a surrounding building, he was able to see the villain, one he’s never met before, standing in front of the art installation that was on display in the middle of the bustling town. His goons, all covered in what appeared to be glass, circled around him fighting off the sidekick and police force that arrived on scene.

“Shouto and Kacchan. He appears to have about 50 goons, overwhelming the police force and the sidekicks. He’s in front of the art installation and both he and his goons are all covered in glass or mirror shards I believe. There’s no way to sneak an attack. His goons have him surrounded”

“What about from above?” Katsuki said as he blasted through the air.

“It’s possible but too exposed Kacchan. Since we don’t have our gear, we’re already at a disadvantage”, Izuku said, remembering that Katsuki was wearing mid-thigh shorts.

They were all in such a rush none of them were able to change back into their costumes at the gym. Apart from Katsuki wearing shorts, both Izuku & Shouto were wearing joggers and all three were wearing tank tops, exposing their arms.

Katsuki blasted himself onto the roof with Izuku. As he landed, he noticed Izuku’s joggers pulled down mid ass, revealing a gold waistband with what appeared to be All Might written in the waistband, connected to blue underwear. Katsuki let out a laugh.

“Hey nerd! Pull your pants up. I don’t need to see your All Might panties before a fight”

Izuku immediately grew red, scrambling to pull his joggers up. “I- I- I didn’t know, they must’ve been pulled down by the wind as I ran over here”.

Izuku felt his dick pulse hearing Katsuki talk about his briefs. Katsuki’s laughter made him grow more flustered and embarrassed, but weirdly enough, he didn’t want Katsuki to stop.

Shouto slid onto the building, the snow platform slowly dissolving in the summer sun. Katsuki immediately stopped laughing & Izuku tried his best to hide his flushed face. Shouto looked down and saw for himself what the situation looked like.

“We need to find a way to stop this as quickly as possible to limit the amount of damage,” Shouto said, glancing down at the destroyed square.

The three of them in the quickest they could, came up with a game plan to stop this villain and after relaying the plan to their sidekicks and the police, they set it in motion.

Izuku and Shouto both jumped off the building at opposite sides to surround the area. Katsuki gave them some time to get to their positions and once they did, he jumped off the building, free-falling right on top of where the villain stood. As he got close and saw the villain look up, he blasted him. But as the blast cleared, the villain still stood, sneering at Katsuki before unleashing a blast similar to Katsuki’s, sending him flying toward a surrounding building, near where Izuku was hiding.

Shouto moved, seeing his opening as the villain looked toward Katsuki. Shouto shot an ice beam and managed to knock the villain off of the platform toward the floor. This gave Katsuki the chance to get on his feet and blast through some of the goons in the area.

The sidekicks were relieved that the heroes came, cheering at the sight of Shouto knocking down the villain. The goons were being quickly demolished by the group, with Izuku trying his best to knock out the goons without being spotted; they were saving Izuku in case the villain proved too much and a surprise attack would be the best tactic.

As Shouto ran to where the villain fell, the goons surrounded him, the mirrors they had on reflecting light towards his eyes, blinding him from seeing the villain stand up.

“Finally,” the villain said as he stood up from where he fell, shards of mirror falling off of him, and new ones appearing in their place.

“The real challenge has arrived,” he said as light reflected off of him and onto the mirrors of his goons, causing them to run out of the town square park and onto the streets where civilians were crowding.

“Everyone, we got this, you all head over and help the civilians” Shouto ordered all their sidekicks & members from their teams. They all nodded and headed out to stop the goons from hurting civilians.

“You are too complacent,” the villain said as he stood and blasted out a stronger light from his mirrors and it arose the fallen goons from the ground and they ran out to join the rest of the goons.

Katsuki blasted himself toward the goons but was flung back by a beam of light. He crashed against the wall near Izuku and as he fell to the ground, his tank top got caught on some rubble and ripped right off of him, his sweaty pecs bouncing as he hit the floor.

Izuku watched with twisted lust as Katsuki's shirt ripped off and revealed his muscular body, his red waistband peeking out of his shorts, revealing some green fabric of his underwear. He wanted to reach out to help Katsuki, an excuse to touch his sweaty torso but remembered to stay hidden and could only watch as Katsuki’s body gleamed in front of him.

“You heroes are too comfortable in your positions of power. You act like saviors when you are all still children.” The villain said as he stepped on floating shards of glass that appeared in front of him. “The old generation of heroes is over. And you are not worthy of stepping into their place. Stay in their shadows where you belong”.

“Why are you doing this if your anger is to us, not to the city nor their civilians”, Shouto said as he shot a fire blast at the villain.

He dodged the blast, his floating shard moving to where the light took it. “To show these people that you are not worthy to save them. You cannot. They need to stop relying on children and start relying on themselves”, the villain said as he released multiple mirror shards and shot them toward Shouto. He tried to dodge and burn the shards, being mostly successful. The ones he missed hit his tank top and joggers, cutting small holes into them, with one ripping the tank top strap, exposing his right pec.

“We’re not children”

Izuku wanted to stand up and fight. He hated hiding. His body surrounded itself with his green lightning but before he could do anything, Katsuki gestured for him to hide as he ran up toward the villain, allowing Izuku to see his meaty thighs bunch up the shorts fabric from behind, exposing more of Katsuki’s legs.

~It was like he was showing off working without his costume~ Izuku thought, blushing at the sight before refocusing on the matter at hand “focus. Don’t think of Kacchan” he said to himself.

Katsuki joined Shouto, beaming with anger as the villain smirked. “Why don’t you come join us and fight us face to face, prick!” Katsuki said, his hands steaming from his blast beginning to form.

“You can call me Ref” he said as he lowered himself closer to the guys, “but even up close you could never beat me”

As he got closer to Katsuki, Shouto jumped back as Katsuki released a blast exploding with a thunderous boom and shattering windows from the surrounding buildings. As the smoke cleared, Katsuki’s smile quickly vanished as Ref still stood in front of him and smiled back.

“As I said, children”, Ref said as he touched Katsuki, sending him flying back into Shouto and landing on the ground.

Izuku couldn’t wait anymore and rushed Ref, ready to release Detroit Smash before getting flung back by an explosion resembling Katsuki’s, only weaker.

“You thought I didn’t know you were there?”, Ref said laughing, “you need to understand the art of battle before engaging in it”.

Izuku hit the floor and rolled against the building, his joggers getting caught on a piece of rubble and pulled down, revealing his All Might themed briefs. Izuku didn’t realize it at first but as he sat up and felt the cold air on his thighs, he looked down and saw All Might's face smiling right back at him from his own crotch; he quickly pulled on his joggers, stretching them out a little, but he was able to cover up before anyone saw his briefs… or so he hoped. The red crotch with All Might’s face on it and the rest of the blue briefs with gold stitching was something he didn’t want his friends nor Ref to see.

As Ref threw Izuku he looked toward the opening of the park and saw the sidekicks coming back. His beams of light shot toward them and into the fallen goons, raising them up again. As the sidekicks got ambushed by the goons once more, Ref used his beams of light to push rubble against the opening and blocked it so his time with the three heroes wouldn’t be bothered.

“Who are you”, Izuku said as he tightened the waistband of his joggers, standing up from the rubble.

“Finally a question worth answering”, Ref said as he flung more shards toward Shouto and Katsuki as they attempted to get up.

“I am Ref, and I don’t consider myself a villain nor evil. I haven’t hurt anyone other than you heroes. The people that got hurt were because of their own cowardice and selfishness of safety that they don’t care for others.” Ref jumped off his shard and onto the ground as he walked toward Izuku.

“What I am here to do is to make sure that these people know that heroes are NOT and should NOT be saviors. We are in charge of our own lives and should be able to defend them when we can”, Ref said as he stood face-to-face with Izuku (well looking down at him). “And as you heroes have gotten so comfortable with your spots in the light, I want to show these people that you all are not the heroes they need. If anything you are but sad fill-ins for the ones who were before”.

Izuku managed to release his Detroit smash, but Ref stayed in place as Izuku flew backward and again crashed into the building.

“People depend too much on you so-called heroes they can’t think for themselves. Now that the ones who made them this way have all gone, these people’s idea of heroes needs to be eliminated for a self-sufficient world”. Ref stood on a shard of mirror and it pulled him up.

Shouto shot a combination ice & fire blast at Ref which he attempted to block but it seems like he was affected by the fire as it shot him into the building above Izuku.

“Okay so it seems our attacks are ineffective or do mild damage to him, with the exception of my fire,” Shouto said as Izuku and Katsuki grouped around him.

“It seems it's something to do with the mirrors he has around him. It’s like they’re absorbing the brunt of the attack”, Izuku followed up, trying not to stare at Katsuki’s torn shorts, showing off his toned thighs and confirming to Izuku that Katsuki was wearing something skimpy underneath those shorts. Wait. What was he thinking? Izuku tried to shake that image away from his head, as he felt his dick pulse in his All Might briefs.

“So I’ll distract him with Deku while you aim at him,” Katsuki said, scratching his upper thigh, moving apart his torn shorts, showing off even more thigh to Izuku, who couldn’t keep his eyes from darting to the area.

As they planned, shards of mirror shot towards them, causing Shouto to shoot up an ice shield to block most shards from hitting him, while the other two jumped to opposite sides.

Ref emerged from the building and Shouto shot an ice beam at him, but as it hit Ref, Izuku saw one mirror shard absorb the attack and another release it back to Shouto.

“It’s a reflection! His quirk reflects attacks” Izuku yelled as the ice beam hit Shouto as he attempted to dodge. It didn’t do too much damage other than freeze his joggers (since he wasn’t wearing his fire and ice-resistant costume).

Shouto looked down and saw the ice covering his joggers, the extra weight of the ice starting to pull them down, a white waistband coming into view. Ref shot another barrage of shards and as Shouto jumped, he felt the joggers crack under the ice, the fabric easily thinning under the cold. Shouto looked down and the joggers fell even more, his whole waistband was showing, along with the white fabric of the tighty whities.

“Wrong day to wear these” he muttered to himself as he tried to pull his joggers up but he heard them start cracking. Before it could get worse, Shouto attempted to melt the ice with some fire but Ref shot out more shards around him, causing Shouto to counter with an ice beam, which Ref shot back at him. Shouto jumped out of the way but felt the blast hit his right leg. The blast, combined with the sudden movement, shattered the ice-frozen joggers, breaking in pieces as it hit the floor, leaving Shouto standing in his tighty whities.

Shouto didn’t realize his pants broke off right away. He went on and kept fighting Ref, trying to think of a way to hit him again. “Katsuki, Izuku, distract him with an over and under”, Shouto said as he immediately shot out a fire blast toward Ref. Both heroes turned to nod at Shouto and as they did, they immediately had to take a second look. The white of Shouto’s tighty whities was almost as reflective as the mirrors surrounding Ref so there was no way they could’ve missed it.

After performing the over and under, Katsuki and Izuku tried not to acknowledge Shouto’s mishap as they were still in the middle of a fight with no end seeming near, but lust took over Izuku and he couldn’t help but stare in embarrassment at Shouto, never imagining that he would ever see Shouto in his underwear, let alone skimpy ones at that.

Katsuki tried, and he really did, to not look or mention anything about pantless Shouto, but as he glanced over one last time, his delight got the best of him and he started howling with laughter.

Shouto stared puzzled at the guys, confused why they were looking his way, with Katsuki laughing out of all things. Shouto turned around to see if there was anyone behind him, and when he saw nothing he looked back, catching a glimpse of Izuku mouthing the word COVER before getting hit by some more shards.

“Cover” Shouto said to himself as he created an ice shield. As he did, he felt the very slight chill of the ice engulf his legs and in confusion, he looked down and saw his crisp, clean tighty whities shining on him, his bulge in clear view for everyone watching.

“Fucking shit”. He immediately tried to cover his bulge, but soon realized that it wouldn’t be possible as Ref shot more shards at him, breaking his ice shield and as more came his way, he had to jump to avoid them, toward Katsuki, and shot a fire blast back.

“What’s with the tighty whities”, Katsuki couldn’t help but laugh as he asked, eyeing Shouto’s body,“Couldn’t grow out of them?” Katsuki kept laughing, as he slapped Shouto’s ass.

“I- uh, laundry day” Shouto said, trying to come up with an excuse as to why he was wearing some whities, even though he knew he wore them because he liked the feel of briefs on him… it was just unfortunate that he was wearing tighty whities today instead of his black briefs.

Katsuki laughed at his response, feeling a need to continue to embarrass him. Katsuki walked closer to Shouto and as he looked down at Shouto’s ass, with the briefs hugging Shouto tight, Katsuki noticed the name, Shouto Todoroki, written in black ink across the waistband above his ass.

“Y-You” Katsuki needed to brace himself from laughing so hard, “You write your name on your TIGHTY WHITIES!” Katsuki struggled to say in between his laughter, “And I thought Deku was the nerd here”. Katsuki held his stomach as he continued to laugh.

Shouto immediately turned to face Katsuki, trying to hide the waistband. -shit shit shit- Shouto thought to himself, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. “I, uh, ha- haven’t w- w- worn these si- since -”

Katsuki couldn’t help it as he saw Shouto standing so close to him, his pale face growing redder as the seconds went by, his stuttering mixed with the way his knees were buckled together, Shouto’s small bulge enticing Katsuki even more. Katsuki interrupted Shouto by pushing up to him, reaching behind, and giving Shouto a wedgie.

Shouto eyes enlarged right before letting out a moan in pain as Katuski laughed in his ear, feeling the fabric of his tighty whities bunch up his ass.

Katsuki would’ve kept going but he saw Izuku get flung to the ground by Ref so he let go of the waistband and swung his arms down to slap both of Shuoto’s exposed cheeks before pushing past him to take some hits at Ref.

Shouto stood still, in complete shock; he never felt this much humiliation in his life and he hoped to never feel this again. He quickly fished out the wedgie Katsuki gave him and adjusted his bulge. As he did, he couldn’t help but notice this feeling he felt as Katsuki slapped his ass, it was a weird feeling, one he’s never felt before, but before he could continue doting on what happened, Ref threw Katsuki off and turned to look at him.

“Seems like you’re not dressed for a battle,” Ref said, unable to hide his amusement at Shouto’s situation. “I wonder what the public would say if they saw their hero fighting in his tighty whities”, Ref dragging on the last two words, emphasizing Shouto’s situation.

“Th- They would say that I will do my job no matter the circumstances,” Shouto said, trying to sound as confident as possible, but in reality, he was drowning in humiliation and wishing to disappear. He hoped that no one else would see him in his tighty whities, no news crews, the public, and especially not his sidekicks, because that would be career suicide.

Izuku couldn’t help but stare at Shouto and that bulge of his, small, but still bouncing as he moved on the battlefield. Whenever he would turn, Izuku would catch a glimpse of Shouto’s perfect ass, wishing he could spend time just watching him. Izuku’s dick pulsed in his briefs, he could feel a wet patch form around his bulge, making him more frustrated that he couldn’t enjoy the moment.

“Snap out of it Deku” Katsuki said, a twinge of jealousy coating those words. “We need to get Shouto out of here before he shows off more”.

Izuku grew red as he started imagining Shouto losing his tighty whities too, watching Shouto’s bulge jiggle with every jump, imagining seeing it jiggle without the tighty whities to cover… Izuku’s wet bulge pressed hard against his pants, his All-might briefs feeling stretched to their capacity. “Ye- yeah”

Shouto was knocked against a building wall as he tried to evade Refs light beams. Ref took an interest in him after Shouto lost his pants, using shard blasts to keep the others back.

Shouto got up and shot a fire blast towards Ref, but Ref used a stored blast from Katsuki to deflect it. Ref countered with a light blast, but Shouto immediately used an ice platform to help him dodge the attack and move more freely around the area. Shouto caught a glimpse of Katsuki and Izuku talking, Izuku focusing his stare on Shouto, causing him to start blushing as he dodged more of Refs attacks.

As Shouto saw the two begin to close in behind Ref, he tried getting to higher ground, distracting Ref from the ground, allowing Izuku and Katsuki to execute whatever they were talking about earlier. As Shouto shot up, Ref used one of Katsuki’s stored blasts, breaking the ice platform Shouto was on and sending Shouto flying against a building. As Shouto hit the wall, he attempted to grab onto something but Ref shot another light beam Shouto’s way, pressing his body flat against the broken wall, Shouto’s head crashed onto some rubble, immediately causing him to lose consciousness.

Ref attempted to hit him again, but Izuku attacked Ref from behind, causing Ref to turn his back on Shouto and focus on Katsuki and Izuku.

As the two fought Ref, Shouto’s limp body fell from where he crashed onto the building, about the 26th floor. The guys didn’t see Shouto free falling as they were too busy fighting Ref but around the 14th floor, Shouo came to an abrupt stop as a piece of metal sticking out from one of the buildings caught Shouto’s tighty whities waistband and stretched them out in a wedgie, keeping him hanging. His red and white hair fell over his face as his body slightly swayed in the wind, Shouto fully on display for Ref and his two friends.

After dodging an attack from Ref, Katsuki searched the area for Shouto since he went radio silent. As Katsuki looked to where he saw Shouto last, he was greeted by Shouto and the hanging wedgie that held him, his small bulge looking smaller than it was as it was being squeezed tightly. Katuski couldn’t help himself and let out a thunderous laugh.

“Where’s a camera when I need one,” Katsuki said as he tried to breathe in between his laughter, his face turning red from the joy he was feeling seeing his friend in such a humiliating and compromising situation.

Izuku dodged Ref after a failed attack and when he did, he looked at where a hysterical Katsuki was pointing and his jaw dropped. Seeing Shouto hanging from a beam unconscious, in an incredulous wedgie was something he thought he’d never see. Shouto’s unconscious body slowly turned in the wind, showing off his pale ass, the reddening of his pale skin around his asscrack, and how deep the tighty whities were buried in his crack, before turning back and showing off his small bulge being squeezed flat against his body. Izuku couldn't help but stagger his breathing and unconsciously grab his bulge, feeling the pleasure of seeing his friend’s body too intense for him.

Ref noticed the two heroes looking at Shouto, one in amusement and one in lustful embarrassment, and saw his chance. He blasted Katsuki with a stored ice blast from Shouto, freezing his torn shorts, and sent him flying against the statue, breaking it into pieces as Katsuki flew through and onto the floor behind it.

As Katsuki got up, he realized all his clothes shattered with the impact and was left in his red and green Izuku-themed briefs. The waistband and stitching of the briefs were red as the rest was green, perfectly matching Izuku’s green costume. On the ass of the briefs were two black lines, mimicking the ones on Izuku’s costume, and on the crotch, Izuku’s autograph pressed on.

“Fuck” Katsuki said, not knowing what to do. His sculpted pecs and abs, slick with sweat, shimmered against the sunlight, and his defined thighs, peppered with thin blonde hair, were visible to everyone. He especially didn’t want Izuku to see him in briefs that he got specially made to mimic Deku’s costume.

Ref shot a blast toward Izuku, but Izuku was prepared after seeing Katsuki get hit and dodged swiftly, countering with his Detroit smash, sending Ref flying onto the building where Shouto hung.

The impact on the building woke Shouto up, and as he regained consciousness, he immediately felt a heavy pain in his crotch. Shouto blinked rapidly, adjusting his vision, before looking down and being stunned by what he saw. The instant humiliation his body felt, splotches of red covering his face, neck, and chest, seeing his crotch flattened against his body as a hanging wedgie exposed him to Ref, his friends and coworkers Katsuki and Izuku, and if anyone was left in these buildings surrounding, them as well. Shouto quickly created an ice platform that helped him stand to relieve the wedgie, and as he did, he quickly pulled the wedgie out and created an ice pathway to the ground, behind some rubble to adjust himself.

The briefs were stretched beyond repair, and he knew they would fall off quickly if he left them like this. He already felt naked, his bare pale chest and abs fully on display for everyone to see, and his bare legs as well, with only the remnants of the stretched brief to cover up the last two parts that haven’t been exposed, he needed to make sure to keep it that way. So he gathered the stretched fabric and made a knot to his right. It helped keep them up, but he could still feel some looseness to them. He adjusted his bulge as the crotch of the brief was slightly skewed right due to the knot, and as he saw it was the best that he could do, took a deep breath before jumping back in.

Izuku ran toward Katsuki as he saw Shouto getting out of the insanely revealing wedgie from above… he kinda wished Shouto stayed unconscious longer so he would’ve been the one to help him and see his body close up in those taut briefs. But as he got to Katsuki, that thought left his mind in a heartbeat.

“K- Ka- Kacchan! Your, uh, um, clothes” Izuku said, his face burning red, as he saw Katsuki getting up from the ice surrounding him and his briefs in full view. His bulge, easily bigger than Shouto’s, but not huge, jiggled as he stood.

“I don’t want to hear anything about it” Katsuki seethed, feeling blood rush to his face as he felt entirely exposed… to the one person he never thought he would be exposed to.

Izuku looked stunned, his briefs now entirely soaked in precum, his dick hurting pressed against his own briefs, needing to come out. “I, uh, I-“ Izuku couldn’t get a word out as he continued to stare at Katsuki’s bulge and the autograph that was on it.

“What Deku! We all wear underwear so what. Stop staring at me and get back to the battle” Kacchan blasted himself to where Ref landed.

Izuku followed and as he did, he saw Katsuki’s ass filling out the briefs. But as he kept staring he saw two black lines that resembled his costume. ~Why do Kaachan’s briefs seem so familiar~ Izuku thought to himself, a sensation boiling in his bulge as he continued staring at Kaachan’s ass.

Shouto landed next to Katsuki. “Not laughing anymore I see” Shouto looked Katsuki up and down, lingering a little too long on Katsuki’s bulge. He then looked down at his to compare the difference… a small frown appeared on his face.

“Mine are not as embarrassing as yours are. And who was the one who got wedgied, by a BUILDING in their TIGHTY WHITIES?” Kaachan snarled, his face began blushing, while blotches of red formed on his chest from the embarrassment.

“I, uh… at the end of the day, we’re all in our underwear on the battlefield so we’re all even,” Shouto said trying to take the attention off of him, he’s had more than enough today.

“Seems like you’re the lucky one huh Izuku” Shouto said, as he turned back and saw a film of lust coating Izuku’s eyes, a wet patch growing on the crotch of Izuku’s joggers.

“Ye- yeah,” Izuku said, quickly looking away at the rumbling debris in front of them.

Ref climbed the debris in front of him and as he did, you could see the damage Izuku’s attack had on him.

“You all got lucky. I got distracted by your childish mistakes that I let my guard down. But I’ll be back.” Ref said he heard the sidekicks trying to break through the blocked area.

“And don’t think I’ll forget what happened here. Two of you fighting indecently in your underwear, one hanging from a wedgie while the other letting his guard down to laugh at his fellow teammate. You are NOT the heroes you think you are.”

Both Shouto and Katsuki lunged toward Ref, Izuku tried but his mind was lost watching both of his closest friends jump in skimpy and revealing briefs, their ass muscles flexing in unison as they reached Ref.

They both grabbed Ref by his arms, their bulges both jiggling as they held a squirming Ref in place.

Ref smiled. “I’ll be back. And when I do, I’ll show the world who their heroes are, a bunch of man-babies who laugh or lust after each other's tighty whities instead of focusing on the battle”. And before anyone could do anything, there was a flash of bright light that threw Shouto and Katsuki to the sides and when the light vanished, Ref was gone.

Katsuki and Shouto got up and looked around for traces of Ref while Izuku stared at them, bending over in their briefs and watching their bulges jiggle as they walked.

“I don’t think there’s anything left. We should go check if his goons disappeared as well. If they’re still there, we'll have some lead on his whereabouts” Izuku said, turning away from his friends, he couldn’t focus while looking at them.

“Yeah you’re right,” Shouto said, as he and Katsuki started walking with Izuku toward where Ref blocked the entry with rubble.

“Uhhhhh, wou- would you g-g-guys want to try to find clothes first” Izuku stuttered, turning around to see both of their exposed briefs, Shouto’s smaller bulge jiggling to a stop while Katsuki’s slightly larger one still jiggling.

Izuku looked down at Katsuki’s briefs, swearing he’s seen that color combination before, and Katsuki looked down at Shouto’s tighty whities, stifling a laugh at the severely stretched out but tightened by the knot, quite sexy to look at if you think about it. They both grew red again and agreed as they turned back and ran into one of the damaged buildings to see if they could find some clothes to cover up… at least some pants.

As they did, Izuku was left to help the sidekicks and police enter the area, his bulge slowly shrinking, with that wet spot completely visible to whoever looked down at his joggers.

#simp4briefs #cmnm #embarrassed men #exposedguy #male humiliation #men in tighty whitey #smut #accidental exposure #gayerotica #hanging on #jays18stories

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