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forlix · 5 months

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‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways.

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it.

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him.

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige.

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter.

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.��

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds.

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—”

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.”

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year.

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen.

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia.

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt.

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds.

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds.

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds.

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through?

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills.

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.”

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten

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bit-odd-innit · 1 year

Text

They’re about 20 minutes into the movie when Steve feels the familiar dip of weight against his shoulder.

He can’t stop the pulse of fond bemusement that surges through him. After all, Eddie had insisted on picking the movie this week, insisted that it was “an unfathomable travesty” that Steve had never seen it, insisted they had to watch it despite the bruise-colored circles under his eyes, the discreet flex of his hands disguising the tremors he gets when he’s over exhausted. Steve says nothing, lets the movie run, and once Eddie conks out instead of switching to something more his speed, he keeps watching.

The movie’s not Steve’s taste, but it’s not bad. He hasn’t been big into cartoons since he was a kid. The animation is strange yet fascinating, the characters’ movements equal parts natural and off-putting. He drifts in and out of the story, though enough of Dustin and Eddie’s ramblings have sunk in that he’s able to follow along. Whenever a name or location he recognizes pops up he turns to Eddie and says, smugly, “I know what that is.” Eddie replies with a soft exhale that ends in a low hum. His breath skitters across Steve’s throat. Steve shivers.

Eddie’s got this little bank of noises he makes when he’s sleeping. When he crashes after drinking too much, he snores. When he’s asleep but not deep enough to rest, he mumbles—sometimes giggles, too, which is really unsettling if you’re not expecting it. And when he’s dreaming, good or bad, he hums.

They’ve been doing this—whatever this is—for long enough that Steve can tell when Eddie is having a good dream and when he’s having a bad dream. (It’s not weird, he counters to the tiny, horrible Robin voice that lives in his head.) The bad dream hums are low, dredged up from the base of his chest. The good dream hums are high, slipping out from behind his teeth. Steve can’t read music but he took chorus in middle school and he’s hung around Robin while she learned a new piece for band so he’s got an idea of how the note…thingy works. If Eddie’s dream sounds were a song, the good dreams would be at the top of the bar, and the bad dreams would be at the bottom.

Except now, as the movie nears its end, the song changes.

At some point Eddie’s legs had curled up beneath him, his face buried in the join between Steve’s shoulder and neck. Steve can’t hear as much as feel the noises vibrating against his skin. He feels the thrum of bad rising into good, then dipping into something in the middle and holding there. They’re stuck at the center of the stanza (Stanza! That’s what it’s called!) and Steve doesn’t know where to go from here.

“Eddie?”

The arm Eddie is leaning on has gone a little numb, so Steve uses the other to sweep aside the curtain of hair drawn across the side of Eddie’s face, his fingertips grazing his cheekbone. Eddie’s lips part. A new sound, a different sound escapes him. He pushes in close enough for those pink plush lips to press against Steve’s collarbone. Heat curves around the back of Steve’s ears.

“H~eeey.”

He doesn’t want to wake him if this is a good dream. Eddie’s an open book. Eddie’s told him he’s been sleeping like dogshit, that the night terrors have been particularly horrible this week. It’s a joke, a little. The two of them share weird hours. They create bits about how bad things are, how awful they feel about their relationships with people they love, how awful they feel about themselves. It’s fun, until it isn’t. Steve’s seen Eddie’s whole personality swallowed by the wet sand of sorrow. He’s seen him sink into himself and surface with something else, something bright and exuberant and loud and false. If Eddie feels good Steve doesn’t want to ruin it. But if Eddie feels bad—

“Hey.” Steve hooks his palm to rest beneath the ridge of Eddie’s jaw, his thumb pressed into his dimple. “Eddie. Wake up.” Eddie’s eyebrows cinch, a sigh gliding across Steve’s knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, dark and spidery, his lids hanging low over hazy eyes. He blinks, owlish, then tilts up to meet Steve’s gaze with a slow, dreamy smile. “Hi,” he whispers. “Hi,” Steve chuckles in reply.

“W…” Eddie’s mouth works like its full of sunflower seeds; deliberate, purposeful. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Why’dju stop?”

“Stop…what?” He glances to the muted blue static of the screen. “The movie’s over, bud.”

Eddie blinks again, slower. He’s so sweet like this, soft and syrupy, so when he breathes a laugh Steve can’t help but mirror it. “Oh,” Eddie exhales, then leans forward and kisses him.

The hum of Eddie’s dreams are now against Steve’s lips. Those lovely little middle sounds are now inside Steve’s mouth. He swallows them, feels them knife down his throat, wedge between his ribs, twist into the open valves of his heart. He pulls back.

Eddie giggles again. Pouts. “You stopped again.”

“Oh, honey,” The endearment wrenches out of him, involuntary. He smoothes the worry lines out of Eddie’s forehead. “You’re tired, huh?” Eddie makes a non-committal noise. “Okay.” Steve sets his feet and secures his arms behind Eddie’s back. “Okay,” he groans as he lifts him, spins him towards the stairs. “Okay. Time for bed.” Eddie’s still in a half-conscious limbo as Steve navigates him upstairs, mouthing indelicately at any piece of Steve’s skin he can find. It’s untenable, and Steve’s not proud at how he launches Eddie in the direction of his bed, sprints to the en suite to splash cold water on his face before helping him undress. “Take it,” Eddie murmurs when Steve unbuttons his jeans, and Steve needs to sit in the center of the floor for a moment before proceeding. “That’s not what this is.” “Wantchu t’aveit.” Steve shoves him into a pair of flannel pajama pants and stuffs him beneath the sheets. Eddie curves onto himself like a mollusk, and Steve sinks at his hip, brushing his bangs away from his closed eyes. Steve feels himself split down the middle: One part already downstairs; one part already nestled in the contours of Eddie’s body.

“Go back to sleep,” Steve says, and moves to stand. Eddie’s hand closes around his wrist. “Stay?” His eyes flit open, brief, earnest, pleading. “Please, stay.” And, well. They’re going to talk about it tomorrow. They’re going to talk about the movie they didn’t watch, and the moment they half-shared, and the reason its so hard to sleep apart yet so easy to sleep together. Not now. Now Steve shrugs into shorts and a t-shirt, slides in beside Eddie. Now, when Eddie’s limbs tangle around his own, he tugs him closer, lets something deep within himself settle. “Stay?” Eddie asks again. “Go to sleep, honey.”

And he does. And they do.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #my fanfic

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chaepink · 7 months

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DAY 12: OPEN YOUR MOUTH, PRETTY BOY | FINGER SUCKING & FOOT HUMPING

who knew that the nerd in your english class would be a virgin and that they would be so fun to corrupt?

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ PAIRING ⸻ zenistsu agatsuma x reader

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ WARNINGS ⸻ dom!fem!reader (but def could be read as gn), mean!reader, nerd!zenistsu, corruption kink, degradation, finger sucking, throat fucking-ish, oral fixation, college au, foot humping/grinding, porn WITH some plot, overall cringe writing my bad guys 😭 not really proofread

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ WORDS ⸻ 1.7k words

⋆ ࣪. ❤︎ NOTE ⸻ beginning sucks but it gets better at the end i swear anyways its day 12 of kinktober! hows everyone feeling

KINKTOBER EVENT

You've seen the stares he's been giving you and they're not subtle at all. Rather it seems as if he wants you to find out that he's been looking at you from the way its so obvious.

With his collared shirt so neat and ironed straight, supplies on his desk organized by size and color, and just the way he's sitting so straight and ready to learn has you rolling your eyes.

The aura that just screams 'nerd' adorning him tells you exactly the type of person he is too.

You've seen him around campus a few times, usually at club meetings or in the library studying his ass off.

You catch him looking at you again during a class you two have, making you grimace as you whisper to your friends.

"Who's he?" You nod your head to him with furrowed eyes. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him look away from you, blushing.

"Oh him?" Your friends make a show of turning around to get a good look at him before turning around to you, to which you have to hold in a sarcastic remark about subtlety. "He's such a fucking freak isn't he?" Your friends giggle.

"Heard he's a virgin too, what a fucking loser." You raise an eyebrow. Now you didn't know that. "He is? Where did you hear that?" Your friend gives you an unimpressed look as if the answer is obvious.

"Look at him, who would want to fuck him? He's probably such a pervert too."

You turn your head around slightly to glance at him and notice him quickly looking away from you, his face turning red from being caught.

The bell suddenly rings and you tell your friends to not wait for you as you make your way to a certain yellow-haired guy. You add a little sway to your hips, pretending to not notice the small peeks he's taking at you or the way his face is turning redder the closer you get to him. You walk to him still taking down notes and place your hands in front of him, catching him off guard.

You hold back from rolling your eyes when you see him not so subtly glance at your body and how your clothes tightly hug your curves. He gulps when you let out a loud cough.

"Hey, name's..." You quickly glance at the name on the folder and return to his gaze with raised eyebrows. "Zenistsu, right?"

Slowly, he nods. You lean slightly towards him, shortening the gap between you two with a smile. "I heard you have good grades, is that right?"

You notice him swallow and play with his tie nervously.

"Y-Yeah, why?"

"I was wondering if you could tutor me on some subjects? I could really use the help since I've been having trouble with some work recently."

You notice his breath hitch. "Please?"

"Um s-sure. Should we do it in the library after school?"

Without answering, you steal his pencil to write your dorm number on one of his papers. "How about you just head to my room later? I don't have a roommate anyways."

He stares at the number with widened eyes but he hesitantly nods.

Now you just have to wait.

Hours later you're laying on your coach. The sound of pencil on paper and typing is in the background as you continue scrolling. Zenistsu turns around in your chair with furrowed eyebrows.

"S-Shouldn't I be teaching you how to do this-"

You scoff and send a glare towards him. "Shut up and just do the work. It's easy for you anyways, right?"

He nods and returns back to finishing your homework. He mentally slaps himself for being so stupid for thinking that something would happen when you asked him to come to your dorm. He quickly finishes the rest of the work before turning to you. You glance up from your phone.

"What? You're already done?" He nods. "Then leave."

You see Zenistsu freeze and raise a eyebrow. "What, do you want something in return?"

He shakes his head. "I-I just thought we were gonna…" He suddenly stops talking, realizing what he was going to say but you already know what the next words are gonna be, and giggle.

"Did you think we were gonna do something afterward?" He looks away in shame but nods. You sit on the edge of the sofa, now interested. "You thought we were gonna fuck or something as a reward for you doing my homework?"

Your blunt words make Zenistsu blush and he's quick to shake his head. "N-No I-I just..." You notice a bulge in his pants and laugh.

"Oh my god don't tell me you're actually hard right now." He quickly tries to cover his bulge there's no use, you already saw it.

He's so embarrassed that he could cry. First he thought you invited him over to hang out and now he's hard in front of you.

"Honestly," you say, dragging out the word to tease him.

"If you're really that desperate, go ahead and hump my foot then." He watches you place your foot out with a teasing grin and it only takes him a couple of seconds to think about it. With shaky steps, he walks towards you before sitting on his knees before you.

"Go on."

He gives your foot a experimental grind and he has to bite down on his tongue to hold back a moan. Though a voice in his head screams at him to take it slow and save him some embarrassment, he quickly gets addicted to the feeling and quickens his pace against you. Soon, he's panting heavily against your leg and you watch with amusement.

"How about you say thank you to me for letting you hump my foot, hm? Say thank you for letting me hump my dirty cock against your foot, [name]."

He flushes red with embarrassment but frantically nods. Thank you's begin flowing out of his mouth with your name added along with it.

"Thank you for l-letting me ah! hump my d-dirty cock against your foot, [name]!"

If anything, Zenistsu only speeds up his movements even more. He wouldn't ever think that the way you're so mean to him would turn him on or that he would actually enjoy but here he is: grinding against your foot like a bitch in heat as his sinful noises fill the room. Anyone could walk past your dorm and hear just how loud he's being but other more important thoughts fill his head, like the sudden need to cum.

"Fucking freak."

"s-shit fuck me!" You laugh, making him whine. "Oh you wish. A shoe hump is all you're gonna get from me. Though I bet you do want to fuck me, hm?" You tease, watching the way he shivers. The thought has his eyes rolling back. Just imagining being able to fuck you has his mind turning cloudy, his thoughts scrambling up.

His mouth drops open with a girlish scream when his orgasm hits him and it hits him hard. Your eyes stare at his mouth and the way drool escapes from the side. The growing wet patch on his underwear steals your attention and you watch as some leaks through the material, dripping onto the floor beneath him.

"You're so pathetic, Zenistsu."

Your fingers drop to the hem of his underwear before entering them, feeling the sticky mess where his dick is. You take your time scooping some on your fingers before taking them out, watching as the liquid drips down your fingers slowly and coats them.

You let out a disappointed tsk. "Look at the mess you made."

Zenistsu watches your every move and his heart begins to race when you look at him with something in your eyes that makes his breath hitch. He sees your eyes drop down to his mouth and he subconsciously licks his lips.

You grin at him. "Open your mouth, pretty boy." You say, moving the soiled fingers closer to his face.

Almost with no hesitation, you watch as he slowly opens his mouth, his tongue sticking out like a invitation for your fingers to enter. Hot breath fans them as they move closer to him.

The whine he lets out tells you exactly what he wants. He looks at you, awaiting your next move. He glances at your fingers with something in his eyes, almost like excitement.

When two of your fingers touch his tongue, his warm mouth immediately envelops them as he wraps his tongue around your digits. He shivers from both the taste of himself on his tongue and from the feeling of your fingers in his mouth, letting out a small whine.

You don't let him get used to the feeling as you begin to push them further in his mouth, making him let out a surprised moan.

You feel your fingers hit the back of his throat, making Zenistsu gag around him. Tears appear at the corner of his eyes and you coo at him.

"Are you gonna cry, Zenistsu? Is the feeling of my fingers down your throat too much?" He gulps at your words but shakes his head.

He begins bobbing his head with your fingers, letting out a noise each time they hit the back of his throat. You feel his tongue suck on them.

The sight is so lewd that it leaves you breathless. His drool drips down your hand and his eyes roll back as he chokes on your fingers. He has a hand on your wrist but he makes no move to stop you. Instead, he pushes your fingers in more with a choked moan. He stares up at you with hooded eyes.

You shove another finger in his mouth and Zenistsu is quick to cover it in his spit.

"Shit, I wonder what everyone would think if they heard how much of a whore you actually are."

Zenistsu can only shake his head in denial, tears welling up even more. He tries to answer back but it comes out all muffled.

"Can't understand what you're saying if you got my fingers in your mouth, baby."

He whimpers around your fingers. You don't notice him beginning to grind against your foot again and he comes with a cry, dirtying his pants yet again.

You take your fingers out of his mouth and he falls against your legs, breath heavy and eyes closed. But you grab his hair and yank him back, staring straight into his eyes.

"Oh we're far from done, Zenistsu. I'm going to use you till you can't think anymore."

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momodita · 3 months

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snapshots. [—chilchuck tims]

TAGS / WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, modern au, minor pining, background marcille/falin WC: 1,000 NOTE: divorced father of 3 save me... save me divorced father of 3...

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS DNI.

“Move over.”

Chilchuck’s voice startles you. The bowl in his hands is steaming: a hearty stew made with Falin and Marcille’s collective effort—(“Senshi’s tried and true recipe!”). A thick slice of bread perches on its rim. It smells just as heavenly as it did at dinner.

“Here?” you ask, stupefied. The armchair you’ve claimed is wide; there’s easily enough space to fit a Chilchuck-sized person, but your mind jumps—unbidden—to the reason he’d been late in the first place.

“Where else?” He nudges you with his knee. “As if I’m gonna sit near that love-fest over there.”

“You’re not welcome anyways,” Marcille tuts, midway through dipping the maraschino cherry from her sundae into Falin’s mouth.

“This is my apartment!”

You concede with a laugh: it’s just your bruised heart working overtime. The moment his body settles, shoulders touching, you stop being able to taste the ice cream Laios had scooped into your bowl. Existence narrowing to that point of contact with a familiar little rush.

It’s Laios’ turn to choose tonight’s movie, much to Marcille’s dismay—(“A documentary classifies! This is a really interesting one!”)—and he scrolls to find it as Chilchuck digs into his food.

Midway through, you engage him in a thrilling mock-battle of fencing spoons. Falin dozes, lulled from the careful stroke of Marcille’s fingers through her hair. By the time the credits roll, they’re folded onto each other, soft snores drowned out by music.

“They fell asleep again,” Chilchuck drawls, chin cushioned against his hand.

“Must be crashing after all that sugar,” Laios suggests, drapes a blanket over them.

“They were pretty high energy tonight. Eager to hear about how Chilchuck’s date went, I guess,” you tease, taking up the mantle with Marcille fast asleep. “You didn’t even tell us her name.” Keeping the tone casual despite the haunting little pit in your stomach.

(It’d been a shock to hear about it: for as long as you’ve known him, Chilchuck has been eager to keep his life private—even from long-time friends. And there’d been no signs of anyone—except you and your little group—coveting his time and attention; no extra, unexplained toothbrushes, no brands you don’t recognize in his pantry, no missed get-togethers.)

“Huh?” He gives you a look, confusion twisted in his features. The TV’s light illuminates a silver hair. “I wasn’t with any girl.”

Your brow furrows. “…His name? Their name?”

Chilchuck stares. This close—where the minuscule twitches in his expression are noticeable—it’s strangely evaluating.

“You know Marcille was joking when she said it was a date, right?” Heat sears along your cheekbones; embarrassment flushing hot under his gaze—the realization of your mistake.

“Of course I knew,” you say stupidly. Chilchuck’s eyebrow quirks. “Shut up. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, then if it wasn’t a date, who were you with?”

“Senshi,” he says. “He was—we, uh,” his eyes slide off to the side, “I asked him for a favor.”

“Oh?” you hum, relief and mirth creating a warm hum behind your ribs. “Looking to get a side hustle as a cook?”

“Not even close,” he grunts, looking away.

“Should we start calling you our little master chef?” You nudge him with a grin.

“Chilchuck is already quite good at cooking,” Laios pipes up without taking his eyes off the screen. “Maybe he’ll learn to make something else after mastering ramen.”

“Hey—”

“Ramen?” you ask, head tilting. “Like, the instant kind?”

Chilchuck splutters. “No!”

“From scratch!” Laios beams. “Senshi’s said he’s been making really good progress since his first day.”

“Oh?” you grin. “Our little master chef is gonna open a ramen shop?”

“Shut up. No way. Not ever,” Chilchuck grumbles, the high curve of his ear a soft pink.

“I hope you’ll make it for us one day—I love ramen,” you say. “Very tedious, though, so I’ve never done it myself.”

His face scrunches, mouth pursing together like he wants to speak, but doesn’t. His cheeks puff with air, releasing as a long, quiet sigh.

“Oh, hey, so after ramen”—you lean a hand on the chair��s opposite arm, boxing him in with a cheeky little smile—“you should look into French onion soup. It’s probably easier than ramen but caramelizing the onions takes so long—”

“You—!” he leans back, shoulders tense and eyes wide. “Don’t go making requests before I’ve even cooked anything decent.”

“Why not? I bet it’ll be great! You’re good with your hands, so soup is probably a piece of cake for you.” You watch—with no small amount of pleasure—as Chilchuck’s face flushes with vivid color.

“Get away from me,” he mumbles, but his tone is so insincere all you do is laugh. He knocks a loose fist against the inside of your elbow. A surprised noise jumps out; you retreat back against the chair, rubbing the spot.

“Mmh?” Marcille rouses with a sleepy hum. “What’re you requestin’?”

“Chilchuck is making us ramen,” you joke, relishing the way he knocks an admonishing leg against yours. “He’s our little master chef.”

“Oh, yeah. Did Laios end up spilling the beans?” Marcille yawns. Falin stirs, eyes fluttering. “Congratulations, you two.”

Chilchuck goes stiff beside you. “What do you mean?” you ask.

Marcille pauses, head tilting with a drowsy look of confusion. “Huh? Didn’t you ask why he’s learning to make it?” she asks. Falin tugs her sleeve.

You blink. “No. Should I have?” Marcille doesn’t respond right away, head bent to put an ear by Falin’s mouth, expression pinched as they whisper. Then, with a sigh, she reaches up to stretch.

“No. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Laios is quick to grab her attention.

“Hey, so are you actually opening a ramen shop?” you whisper to Chilchuck.

“You’re such an airhead,” he grunts against his palm.

“I’m great,” you reply. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze. When next he speaks, his voice is soft—acquiescing easily to your jest.

“Guess you are.”

#chilchuck tims x reader #chilchuck x reader #dungeon meshi fic #dungeon meshi x reader #snapshot fic #reader insert #food as a love language from me wow how new and exciting #momodita fic

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sameschmidtdiffname · 3 months

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What's One More?

Mike Schmidt x AFAB! Reader

Summery: The house is all to you and Mike, which is a strange feeling to Mike as he begins to realize how things are changing. But change isn't always a bad thing, is it?

Tags: Porn with plot barely, no use of Y/N, Reader has female pronouns, set after the events of the FNaF movie, pre-established relationship, breeding kink, dirty talk/talking through it, oral sex (fem recieving), face fucking, vaginal fingering, pet names, possessive sex/actions, marking, hair pulling, mentions of drinking, multiple rounds, aftercare, multiple orgasms, teasing, dumbification, overstimulation, this is possibly filthier than Princess imma be fr.

Notes: Yes I'm working on requests. Yes I'm working on part II for 'Easy Money.' Yes I'm working on 50 million different projects + writers block that's preventing me from posting as much as I'd like. But in the meantime, *rattles can* COME GET Y'ALLS DICK.

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The front door opened at the same time it does everyday, Mike slipping in quickly to evade the cold, bitter Febuary air that has turned his cheeks red while he called out his usual 'hello' to the house. His easy smile instantly appeared as soon as our eyes met, me standing at the stove giving the large pot of chilli its final stir just in time for his arrival home.

"Hey!" I said cheerfully, looking up from the boiling pot briefly before setting the lid back down, crossing the floor quickly to come collect his coat.

"Hey," he returned, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to my cheek as I undo his buttons, his hands coming to rest on my silk covered hips. "Never seen you in this before," he mumbled, pulling away slightly to get a better look.

"You like?" I ask, pushing the jacket off of his shoulders and folding it over my arms. "I've had this since freshman year. Found it in one of my boxes from the move." The robe is simple, thrifted but It'd been new when I'd gotten it. Emerald green and made from silk, if not silk like material- I'm no expert on fabrics, -reaching down to my ankles and showing off my curves, drawn tight around my waist to accent my figure. Simple floral patterns sewn into the collar decorate the robe, slightly darker than the rest of the fabric. His eyes wandered over my body, taking in the sight as he slowly removed his items from his pockets.

"You look nice," he said, almost sounding as if he was in a trance.

"Just nice?" I tease.

"The word 'motherly' comes to mind," he said. "Not- not in a weird way," he quickly added, blushing slightly. "Just- you cooking, dressed in that. Just kinda...." He's flustered, scratching at the back of his head as he tried to clarify what I already understand.

I smile at him, leaning closer. "Well, it's fitting," I teased.

It had been about a year since I moved in. Mike and I had met during a night out, our friends recognizing each other. Initially I thought the blonde he had been with- Vanessa, I would later learn, -had been a bit more than a friend. But after spending the night round a table, laughing and getting up one by one for drunken karaoke, Mike and I had made eye contact enough times to warrant my request for his number after I confirmed she wasn't.

"Seriously?" He asked when I'd passed him the notepad specifically meant for numbers that I kept in my purse.

"Yeah," I'd laughed, slightly- okay, maybe more than slightly -drunk. "You're hot."

I was three beers and one shot of straight tequila into the night when I'd asked, everyone beginning to debate who would call a taxi and who would ride with who. I felt rather confident.

His eyes narrowed, his cheeks red most likely from alcohol. Although he'd only had the one beer.

"Oh shit," I giggled stupidly. "Did I read things wrong? Because I thought-"

"No! You didn't," he quickly said, cutting me off. He scribbled his number down quickly, scratchy enough that I could barely read it, and he could sense that.

"You want me to write it again?" He asked sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"Maybe," I giggled. "Or I can have my friend ask Vanessa if I get it wrong."

I got it wrong. Twice. But that was my fault since I called as soon as I'd gotten home, bleary eyed and claiming to just be checking to see if he got home alright, which wasn't a total lie. Then he asked if I wanted to get Chinese the next day. And how am I supposed to say no to an offer like that?

When he first brought up his sister I think he expected me to run for the hills. God, no. Not a man committed to caring for his baby sister. Please.

When I'd met the girl she was sly, simply saying "Oh, you're who he won't talk about." Mike seemed ready to throttle her, and I was ready to step in and help take care of her however much they needed me to. Who could say no to a kid like that?

Three years in and Mike had been nervous asking for me to move in. We'd both had the idea, but we both were terrified that the other would immediately shoot it down. But it was almost ridiculous to worry about such a thing. Mike had visited me all the time with Abby in tow, I visited Mike. Eventually we were at the point that I was at his house more often than I was at my own apartment. And with Abby getting older and beginning to have a life of her own, one that I could tell Mike was anxious about her having, it was about time a serious talk be had about the future of our relationship.

"You know, married couples have better taxes," I said casually one day while huddled around the kitchen table, papers strewn all over the place and some even on the floor while I punched numbers into a calculator. I think that nearly killed Mike, who shot out air through his nose hard enough all of his coffee covered his face and hair.

Then a week later he'd flipped through channels lazily, commenting on how awful the channels were before landing on the one of the marketers selling jewelry for prices that could make you shit.

"That's a nice ring," he commented. "Don't you think?"

I looked up from my book, narrowing my eyes to focus my vision. "Ooh, it is," I agreed.

"What kind of rings do you like? Like, what's your favorite?" He asked.

"Subtle," I deadpanned, smiling. "I'm coming with you to pick it out."

We picked up a new set of housekeys first.

"Get a room," Abby groaned, wandering in to flop onto the couch.

"Don't flop, you'll hit your head," Mike and I both scolded, smiles growing as we heard the other. Abby simply groaned louder, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, that's punishment enough," I muttered, giggling slightly. I moved to the coat closet, hanging up Mike's jacket. "How was work?" I asked him.

Mike shrugged, leaning against the wall. "It was good. Long. Shop gets cold this time of year," he said.

"Well, dinner will help. It's done, by the way. Timed it just right," I said with a wide smile. Mike returned it, stepping closer to wrap his arms around me once more and say a soft 'thank you' before pressing his lips to mine.

"Seriously, a room," Abby groaned.

"There's one right there with a table that needs set. Go on," I said to her, gesturing towards the adjacent room. She rolled her eyes once more, getting up off the couch and grumbling as she made her way to the cabinets.

"Wow," Mike chuckled. "She's got attitude."

"She's fourteen, we should be lucky she hasn't killed us in her sleep," I said into his ear, laughing.

"Don't you mean ours?"

"No."

The dinner is nice. A scene right out of a book, all of us gathered around the table eating the warm food as we discuss our days, Mike and I shooting each other glances here or there when we think Abby, who's in the middle of some long story neither of us are truly able to give our attention towards, won't notice. Eventually his hand found mine under the table, grasping it gently and squeezing as I hold his gaze, smiling in the same idiotic manner he always brings out of me.

"It's tonight. I know it's short notice but all of my friends are going and her parents will be there," Abby said quickly, inturrupting our mental conversation with her pleading eyes.

"Wait a minute, back up. What's happening?" Mike said, blinking and refocusing.

"The sleepover," Abby said emphatically. "I didn't find out about it until today and my friends invited me. Can I go?"

Mike opened his mouth to respond, his eyes worried and glancing over to me.

"Who is this?" He asked.

"Lisa."

"Lisa?"

"Lisa Browning," I reminded him.

"Oh. And this is at her house?" He asked.

"Yes," Abby moaned in frustration, clearly impatient for her answer.

Mike and I glanced at each other. His eyes are unsure, looking to me for my thoughts.

"She visits them all the time, I don't see why not," I said. I turn to Abby. "Is her mom picking you up?"

"She can," Abby said quickly.

Mike is still unconvinced, I can tell by his grasp on my hand.

"You have that phone we bought you for Christmas?" I asked her. She nodded. Since recieving the cheap, purple Motorola she hadn't let it out of her grasp. "If you go, will you call us when you get there, when you guys are going to sleep? Any location change you'll run by us first?" I asked. Abby nodded again, her eyes shifting to Mike once more, wide with teenage desperation.

It was hard for Mike watching her get older. It would scare any parent, but take a man who'd watched his brother be kidnapped and his parents wilt away leaving him to step up? There were days Mike would wake hyperventilating, terrified something would happen to her if he didn't do something. It took convincing, but over time I had convinced him to relax, told him she was smart. Once I'd told him all the trouble I'd survived, he finally learned to catch his breath before jumping into several questions about how I was still alive with a new panic.

With a squeeze of my hand, he nodded.

"Check in. If you don't, I'll call her mom."

"Unnecessary, I'll call," Abby said, leaping from her seat and already dialing a number.

"Wash your plate!" Mike tried to tell her, but she was already gone.

"I'll get her plate, let her go," I chuckled. Mike sighs beside me, wiping his face with his hand.

"You think she'll be okay?" He asked me.

"I think fourteen year olds spend their days watching scary movies and MTV, nothing she won't do here," I said, taking a spoonful of chilli into my mouth. After I swallow I add, "Besides, it gives us the chance for some alone time."

That solidified the decision in his mind.

Much to Abby's embarrassment, Mike reminded Mrs. Browning to have Abby call us to check in, and with her reassurement he finally relaxed, walking back into the house once they're out of sight.

As I finish drying the dishes, I feel his hands settle on my hips, warm and large as he sinks his head into the crook of my neck.

"Where did the time go?" He mused, moreso to himself than to me.

"Feeling old?" I teased.

"Yes."

"Hot."

"Shut up," he groaned, laughing into my neck.

"'Oh my God, get a room,'" I groan in a fake voice, my laughter joining in.

"Are we gross?" He asked, wrinkling his nose.

"A little," I concede. "I mean, imagine how you're gonna feel when she brings home a boyfriend."

At that his eyes widen and he groans. "I don't wanna deal with teenage boys," he moaned, pulling away to lean against the counter in front of me.

"Oh, they're coming. Just you wait. I was this age when I got my first boyfriend," I warned him.

"Teenage boys are idiots," he said.

"Teenage girls are terrifying," I add. At that he nods, eyebrows raised in agreement. "Oh, she could bring home a girl instead!"

"You know what, I'd prefer that. Less trouble actually," he decided.

"You'll survive," I tell him, shaking my head as I set the dish inside the cabinet with a small clatter. He sighed, smiling to himself in thought.

"I remember when she was a baby. So tiny," he said softly. "You should've seen her. So cute. Smelled good, too."

"You've been smiling at babies a lot, you know," I teased, shutting the cabinet and putting away the dishcloth. "Something on your mind?"

Mike blushed, waving his hand. "Nah." He paused. "...kinda," he admitted. I chuckled. Every time we'd passed a couple our age walking through the store with a baby in tow, Mike was instantly softened. His usual automatic glare giving way to a little smile as he'd wave at the tiny human, maybe even making a face to make them laugh. It'd been entertaining when ones mother once caught him with his cheeks puffed out and eyes crossed, the baby letting out a huge shriek of laughter at the sight. He hid in the soup aisle for awhile after that while I tried not to cry from laughter.

"We still have plenty of Abby's old baby stuff in the garage, you know," I said. It wasn't a new conversation, we had both agreed it was something we wanted when the time came. "Spare room, stable jobs, great sex."

Mike's wide eyes watched me as I slowly trailed closer. "Good genetics," he mumbled.

"I don't see any reason we couldn't put any use to those things," I mused, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and leaning into him.

"I can't tell if you're serious," he said, his eyes narrowing.

"Even Abby would like it. Said we're taking forever as is," I said cooly. He laughed at that.

"No she didn't," he said.

"She did!"

"Abby, the one who can't even see us in the same room without threatening suicide?"

"Listen, babies are different," I laughed, shrugging. He eyed me carefully, looking me up and down before saying anything.

"You'd like that?" He asked finally, wrapping his arm around my waist.

"I'm living in your house, wearing a ring and making dinner for you and your little sister that I've been helping you raise for four years. What is one more commitment?" I asked.

"It's a human being," he pointed out.

"Oh, fuck that then. None of those shits are gonna live in my house," I deadpanned. He laughed, leaning in to catch my lips in a kiss.

"Be our human being," he said softly.

"That means it'll be funny," I said just as soft.

"It could have your eyes."

"Could have your nose."

"Yours is better."

"You're right."

He smacks my ass gently, chuckling as his eyes darken pleasantly. "Should we give it a try?" He asked, his voice low and rough in my ear.

"I'd say it's about time you asked."

Mike hiked me onto his shoulder, carrying me through the house and pushing open the door to our room as I giggled wildly, feeling the bed underneath of me as he flung me down, fingers searching for the ties of my robe.

"You're sure about this?" He asked, eyes watching me carefully. "This isn't just some sex thing?"

I laughed, feeling him struggle with the knot.

"Not a sex thing," I clarify. "Although admittedly hot. Do you need help?"

"The fuck did you do to this thing?" He asked, laughing but brows furrowed in frustration. I reached to pull on the string and give it one simple tug, making it come undone to reveal my simple underwear underneath.

"I like coming home to this," he said, his voice deep and husky. "You look so comfortable here. So perfect. House is so much brighter with you in it. Just so perfect."

His lips wander on my chest, first working on the valley between my breasts, his teeth nipping at the band of my bra. He tugged it upwards, snapping it against my skin harshly. A soft moan escapes me, and I allow my legs to fall open to offer him better access. He takes the opportunity, settling his body perfectly against mine as his lips begin to trail upwards to my throat.

"I love waking up next to you in the morning. I sleep so much easier with you here, feeling your breath against me as soon as I wake up. You've got creative methods to keep me up too when I don't want to be," he teased. His hands find my hips, squeezing them as he thrust our clothed hips together, making us both groan. "Are you already wet?" He asked me, nipping at my throat.

"Gotta have something to think about while I cook," I teased. He chuckled. His lips find purchase and begin sucking on my skin, creating a dark mark on the front of my throat that will only be properly covered by a sweater. I moaned slightly louder, rocking my hips slowly against his. His lips moved slightly higher, creating another, then repeating until a dotted line of dark hickies lay upon my throat, marking me all the way to just under my chin. As he sucked on the edge of my jawline, I let out a high pitched whine, digging my hands into my own hair as I tried to not rush through this.

"You sound so pretty like this," Mike said against my skin, his breath warm. "Only thing prettier is how you look." His warm hand cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking my cheekbone softly.

"Talk to me," he said softly, staying still aside from the gentle stroke of his thumb. His eyes are soft, black in the dim lighting from his blown out pupils. He looks so sweet, so ready to please. If I said the word he'd do anything so long as it made me happy.

I cup his face with my hands, pulling him towards me to capture his lips in a soft kiss. His lips are warm against mine, wet from his own spit from creating the dark marks against me. He moaned softly, his tongue swiping at my lower lip to ask permission for access. I grant it, parting my lips slightly and gasping as his tongue quickly slides in, deep in my mouth and dominating the kiss as his grasp on me tightened. It felt as though he was desperate, like a dying man trying to experience his last contact with another human being ever in his life. I tried to return the kiss with as much frenzy, but his hands on either side of my face, his grasp firm yet careful, his hips pinning me to the mattress made my mind begin to slip into a world of pleasure, not able to focus on anything except how good it felt to not be in control.

I could feel his breathing through his nose, still kissing me and exploring my mouth. It lasted a minute, two, three. When he finally pulled away, several gossamer threads of spit still connected us, disappearing into thin air as he looked down at me, his hand carefully stroking my forehead.

"I'm going to ask one more time," he said carefully. "This is your last chance. After this I'm not checking," he stressed. His breath is hot and heavy against me, and my hips roll against his in an attempt for friction. "Are you one hundred percent positive?" He asked, his eyes wide and eager as he placed carefully kisses along my cheeks. I nod quickly, desperate for more. Mike shook his head, pulling away slightly.

"Say it," he said. "Be clear."

I blushed, suddenly feeling shy for no real reason. "I'm completely sure," I said gently. "I want this."

"This as in sex or a kid?" He asked.

"Both," I answered.

"You're completely sure? Because if you want to back out that's completely-"

"Michael, I swear to fucking God if you don't hurry up and fuck me I'm gonna get you pregnant, see how you like-"

Mike scrambled off the bed, grabbing my ankles and pulling me roughly to the edge. I let out an involuntary yelp, giggling as he spread my legs wide and high, his lips and teeth pressing against my left ankle before quickly trailing downwards, biting and sucking quickly as he moaned wantingly.

"Eager?" I asked him lightly. He shoots me a look, biting down particularly hard on a spot almost under my knee before beginning his work on the inside of my thigh. His hand trailed up and down my right thigh, grazing his nails against my skin to make me shiver while he focused his mouth on the other.

"You taste delicious," he moaned, teeth sinking into my thigh as his nails dug in harshly, raking down until his hand came near my hips before raking back up to my knee. "Whatever soap you're using, keep using it."

I blush, moaning gently. My hips rolled towards his head, making him chuckle.

"Be patient," he chided.

"I am patient," I said defensively.

"Since when?" He asked, biting down on a new spot. I moan again, squirming against him as I felt a surge of warmth shoot from my head straight to my cunt. "Anytime I so much as look at you, you beg me to fuck you."

"That's not true," I said. His hand slaps my thigh, grabbing it roughly as he bit down once more, lower.

"Made me fuck you on the table last night just because you couldn't focus on your book," he tisked. "Now you're making me fuck you because you want a baby."

"You want one too," I reminded him.

"I want anything with you," he moaned against my skin. "Especially anything that makes you mine."

My hands stretch above my head, my fingers woven together. Mike's eyes caught on something, staring at my hand as his mouth drew closer to where I wanted it.

"Your ring looks so pretty," he moaned. "Love seeing you wear it. So glad I bought it. Love seeing people notice it on you."

"Yeah?" I asked. I tried to squeeze his head with my thighs, but his hands keep me open, even spreading my legs wider after my attempt.

"Remember that kid at the bar?" He asked, chuckling. The 'kid' in question had been in college, clearly drunk as he leaned against the bar next to me while I'd waited for Mike, who'd watched the interaction curiously from the window outside, asking if it hurt when I fell from heaven. A simple flash of my ring and the response of having someone catch me before I hit the ground sent him stumbling away to disappear once more into the crowd. "Poor fucker looked so disappointed," Mike said, sucking a dark spot into my thigh, making me squirm and throw my head back in pleasure.

"You like being possessive," I teased him. His hand smacked my thigh once more.

"I'm not the one who came and shoved her tongue down my throat when the bartender got a little too flirty for her taste," he said. His eyes sparkled, fingers massaging the spot tinged red from the abrasion.

"I did not shove my tongue down your throat," I said defensively.

"You pulled my hair like I was a bitch," he laughed. His hot air blew against my clothed cunt, making me gasp from stimulation. He picked up on this, blowing cold air against me before saying "She was just trying to get tipped."

"I know," I moaned. "I'd had a couple."

Mike licked at my covered pussy, flattening his tongue wide against me as he licked a long, hot stripe from bottom to top, sucking at my clit through the wet cotton once he reached it. I moaned into the pillow beside me, muffling my cries. His hand reached up and snatched it from me, throwing it off the bed as he repeatedly licked, gaining speed as his dark eyes watched me.

"Okay, maybe we're both possessive," I conceded, bucking my hips against his face. He hummed happily, his large hands cupping my asscheeks and lifting my hips higher off the bed as he squeezed the cool flesh.

"I like it," he said. "Like that I won't even have to do anything to show you're mine now after this."

I feel my stomach flutter at his words, a blush dusting my cheeks.

"It may take a couple tries," I tell him.

"We've got all night," he said breathily.

"Until Abby calls," I reminded him. He groaned at that. "She's not gonna call, we both know that," I laughed.

"Not my problem right now," he said. His fingers hooked around the band of my underwear, pulling them away from me harshly. "You are."

"A problem?" I said in mock offense. "Well, I guess if that's what I am, I'll take my goods elsewhere." I huffed haughtily, twisting away from him and turning onto my stomach. The motion helped Mike bring my underwear to my ankles as I began to crawl away. He tugged them off fully, then grabbed my ankles once more to return me to the edge of the bed. I yelped once more, grabbing at the sheets and dragging them down with me. Mike spread me open once more and immediately shoved his tongue as deep inside of me as he could, holding my hips up and legs open as he tongue fucked me in earnest. I cried out, grinding my hips against his face. I clutched a pillow to my face, crying and even screaming into it when his lips wrapped around my clit, sucking harshly at just the right spot to make me cum with barely a warning. Mike had been pleased as punch when he figured out just the right angle the very first time. It was his favorite, throwing me into orgasm without any preparation to strike me dumb and overstimulated. There were times he'd focus on my clit for what felt like hours, tugging and licking to figure out what made me cum the fastest, the hardest, sometimes even managing to make me paint his face, and once his hair. He grinned so wide I almost thought his face would split open when he accomplished that.

He pulled away from my cunt for just a moment, his voice deep and commanding. "Let me hear you," he said. He buried himself in my cunt once more. I could feel his jaw moving, his bottom lip moving against my clit as his tongue slipped in and out, creating lewd, nasty noises that filled the air. I moaned into my pillow, hardly able to think. His hand smacked my ass hard before he pulled away once more. "Don't make me ask again, woman."

I raised my head to say something, but the words escaped me as I felt his tongue dive in once more, curling to scoop my slick into his mouth. He moaned at the taste, his hand roughly grabbing at my ass. All that spilled from my mouth were long, broken moans as I fucked his face, gutturally pleading for more. He flipped me onto my back roughly before spreading the lips of my soaked pussy apart, attaching his lips quickly and sucking at that perfect spot. I screamed, shrill and high as though I'd been stabbed while he giggled in excitement against me. The vibrations of his voice against my clit sent me higher, my head digging against the sheets as my back arched high away from the bed. My hands slapped against the bed, my legs trembling as I rode his face. Lost to the world, Mike is the only thing that grounds me, his fingers gently tracing patterns against the insides of my thighs while he watched me come undone with nothing but love and pride in his eyes.

He didn't relent, releasing my clit to lap up my glistening cum eagerly before returning to the bundle of nerves, flicking his tongue against it before sucking it once more, bringing me back to the same edge as I begged for mercy.

"Gonna scream, gonna scream, gonna-" my harsh whispers turned into a scream once more as I cum again, my hands finding his dark curls to force him to stay against me, my hips grinding harshly to fuck my clit into his mouth properly. His eyes relaxed, looking completely lovesick as I muttered rapid praises to him, tugging on his hair hard enough to make his eyes water. He moaned seemingly with no control against me, face red as he obeyed with no complaint.

"So good," I tell him. "Taking me so well. Letting me fuck your face like I own you. Fuck my face."

I felt his fingers find my entrance, slipping two inside of me with no hesitation as cum dribbled out of me. I clenched around his digits, my voice breaking as he massaged my top wall, searching inside of me to help me find a new peak. He moaned against my clit, eyes wide and begging for more as he watched me carefully. When his fingers brushed against that perfect spot, the one that makes me fall silent, he knows he's struck gold. His fingers begin slamming into my g-spot, curling and fucking me until I screamed out one more time, my body going limp as my eyes rolled to the back of my head. It's like I speak in tongues, the only language I'll probably ever be able to speak again after what he's done to me. I shake terribly as he sucks a few more smaller orgasms out of me, milking me for all I'm worth before pulling away, standing tall and chuckling as he slipped his middle and ring finger into his mouth, cleaning them with his tongue. His face and chest are covered with me, the shine of his gold ring dulled from the dried cum. He pulled his soaked shirt off of himself, flinging it into a corner before walking around to the side of the bed, gently sitting down next to my head to stroke my forehead.

"You okay?" He asked gently, smiling proudly. I moan in response.

"Need some water?" He asked, leaning closer to press a kiss to my cheek. I can smell myself on him, thick and heady. I moan again, trying to nod but unable to. "Maybe a snack?"

At that I grab at him, pulling him closer to press his lips against mine. He allowed it, humming happily against me as he gives me a gentle kiss, loving and careful as though I could break easily. I probably could.

I whined when he pulled away, but I'm instantly sated as he scooped me into his arms, pulling me against his chest to rest us properly against the headboard of our bed. He leaned over to open a drawer on his nightstand, pulling out one of the water bottles we kept in there. Carefully he moved me into a better sitting position, then opened the bottle and held it against my lips.

"Drink," he said softly. I accept it, gulping the cold liquid as my senses begin to return to me one by one. "Good girl."

Once I finished he placed it on top of the nightstand, then held me to his chest once more to lay against the bed.

"Good warm-up?" He asked me.

"Not entirely sure that didn't do the trick right there," I said. My voice is rough, threatening to break with each word. Mike laughed loudly, his chest rumbling against my ear.

"That good?" He asked, smiling widely.

"I'm ruined for anyone else," I told him. His fingers grazed my jaw, tilting my face to meet his eyes.

"Good."

His lips are gentle as they guide me back into a kiss. It's me who deepens it, grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck, silently pleading for him to continue. He takes the hint, one hand holding the back of my neck to keep my mouth close, the other trailing down my chest, fingers making quick work of the clasp on the front of my bra. He pushes the item away, cupping my right breast gently as his thumb gently strokes across my nipple, making it harden underneath his calloused touch, making me gasp.

"So sensitive," he remarked, smirking. "Could do anything to these and you'd be my willing bitch. Such a pretty girl."

I moaned eagerly into his mouth, tugging at his hair and pressing my chest against his touch. He adjusts my body, guiding me to straddle his lap properly as he guided the robe off of my shoulders, letting the material fall to my elbows. He pulled away from the kiss, admiring the hickies adorning the column of my throat.

"So pretty," he mused. His finger trailed from under my chin to the valley of my breasts, then back up again. "Do you know how pretty you are?"

"You tell me every day," I laughed softly, blushing. He hummed, his arms moving to support my upper body as he leaned me back.

"Doesn't mean you know," he said. He sucked new dark spots onto my chest, continuing his trail until it ends at the bottom of my ribcage. "Dressed so pretty for me, wearing nothing under your pretty robe. Keeping yourself easily accessible like the pretty girl you are."

It was easily his favorite nickname for me, calling me 'pretty girl' more often than my own name. Sometimes I think he only calls me by my name just to remind me he does know it, although I won't lie that I'm disappointed when he does it. The first time he called me by his favorite name was the first time we had sex. He was balls deep and panting, desperate for air as he pumped in and out of me. I think it had slipped out by mistake, based on the way his eyes widened after he said it. He was so shy in the beginning, his inexperience obvious but not damning. It was cute.

His lips trailed from the bottom of my ribcage until he found the bottom of my left breast, accenting it with little marks wherever his mouth landed.

"You want my cock?" He asked me, breath fanning over my breast. I nodded eagerly. "Use your words," he reminded me.

"Yes please," I said quietly. He laughed against my skin, nipping close to my nipple.

"Aw, she has manners," he said sweetly. I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Don't be a brat." He chided at my response. I smiled at him.

"Or what?" I asked innocently.

"Or I'll find something else to do," he said.

"Like?" I pressed.

"Like fuck myself until there's nothing left for you to take," he said smugly.

"You're no fun."

"I'm very fun, that's why you're going to behave."

"It's more fun if I don't."

At that he latches onto my hard nipple, biting and lavving his tongue over it while moaning greedily, watching me through his dark lashes as I leaned back, pressing my chest against him as much as I could, rocking my hips against his as I lost all other thought.

"There she is," he said, his voice low and gravely. "There's my girl."

He layed me down gently, spreading my legs wide open for him. He undid his jeans, taking out his cock and stroking it while he admired me from above.

"Tempted to just watch you," he said, his hand slowly trailing up and down his throbbing length. "You look so perfect, all red and dazed."

I whined, reaching for him and wrapping my own hand around his cock, stroking him at a slightly faster pace.

"There you go," he crooned. "Get it ready."

I pumped with more vigor, watching his face as I felt him twitch under my grasp. Deciding he was satisfied he gently grabbed my wrist and pinned it above my head, then guided himself to my entrance.

"How do you want me, sweet girl?" He asked softly, smiling above me.

"I don't wanna remember my own name," I said quickly. "If I can walk across this room by the end of it, you need to try again."

He raised his eyebrows, smiling down at me. "Eager?" He teased.

My response is a sudden moan, my cunt clenching around his thick cock as he sinks into me, burying himself to the hilt and making me feel as though he'll split me in two.

"You're tight," he groaned in my ear. "You want it fast?"

"Yes."

He grabbed the back of my knees, pressing them to my shoulders as he pistoned in and out of me rapidly, moaning at the feeling of my cunt swallowing him eagerly, clenching at every vein, every inch, slick and desperate for his seed.

"It'll take better like this," he moaned. His jaw is slack, panting as his balls slap against my ass, heavy and making me clench with each thrust. "Been thinking about this so long.'

I tried to respond, but all that escapes me are the tongues from earlier, moaning gibberish as all I can focus on is him fucking me into stupidity.

"You'd look so pretty with a baby on your hip. My baby," he groaned. His tip finds my g-spot, making me cry out loudly.

"Right there," I chanted quickly, eyes rolling to the back of my head.

"Yeah? That the spot?" He asked. "Can you hold this knee for me, baby?"

My body automatically obeyed, quickly holding one of my knees right against my body as he moved his hand to settle on my lower stomach, pressing down as he fucked me hard enough to make a small bulge whenever he slammed his dick fully into me.

"So cute," he praised. "Such a pretty fuckin' pussy. You know that?" I moan, my vision and thought completely fucked.

"I keep telling you to use." Thrust. "Your." Thrust. "Words." His third pointed thrust tears a scream from my throat, making him smile. "Does this sound like a suggestion? Because I promise you that it's not."

"I have a pretty pussy," I moaned without second thought. My voice is soft and frail as I chant the phrase over and over, not stopping even as he cooed sweet praises in my ear.

"Gonna look so pretty with my baby," he said. The smacking of our skin is loud, echoing through the room with each new thrust. "Maybe I'll give you another." His balls stick to my skin, tacky from my cum that drips out of me onto the newly washed sheets. "Just keep giving you my kids until I can't anymore. God, I hope this fucking takes."

I'm still chanting the phrase, stupid and willing to do anything so long as it means I will be rewarded with his cock. He smiled down at me, his eyes fluttering shut as my pussy swallows him whole again and again.

"Need you to cum baby," he said, his voice strained. "It'll take better if you do."

"I'm close, Mikey," I whined. It was a nickname I only used in times like these, too stupid to say his name properly.

His hand shifts lower on my belly, thumb snaking down to rub tight circles onto my hard, pulsing clit.

"Gonna make you mine. Gonna make you a mother." He is completely lost to the world, eyes shut in bliss as his thrusts grow deep and shallow, making me begin to grow quiet as I focus on my orgasm. "Jesus Christ, I love you."

A loud cry escapes me as my muscles contract around him one final time, hard enough I can tell it almost pushes him out of me completely. At the feeling of such a strong grasp Mike comes undone too, painting the inside of my cunt a pretty, pearlescent white as he unloads right next to my cervix, burying himself as deep as he can before resuming his pace with newfound vigor, moaning with every new thrust.

"Again," he moaned. His chest presses against mine, our bodies intertwined into such a tight mating press it's hard to tell where I end and he begins. "Wanna make sure it takes. Wanna make sure it takes."

I can't help but laugh in pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of my head as I nodded happily, taking as much as he was willing to give me.

"I'm not gonna last long," I said, the overstimulation already turning my face red as I felt the knot in my stomach begin to tighten once more.

"Good," he growled. "I'm not gonna stop until I fucking break you."

His words send me over the edge again, my voice louder this time as I begged him to break me, to fill me, to-

Much to our immediate frustration, it turns out Abby did remember to call, making Mike yell into the bed in frustration before he slipped out of me to race to the living room, making quick work of the conversation before almost slamming the phone down in excitement, rushing down the hall once more to return to the immediate task at hand.

"Where was I?" He asked me, mischief sparkling in his eyes as he quickly climbed back on top of me.

"You were telling me you want like six kids right before damning the one we're already raising," I teased, smiling.

"Well, maybe not six," he admitted. He glanced down to my aching cunt, admiring the sight of our mixed cum leaking out before sliding his dick back inside to plug the hole. "But what's one more?"

¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

This was fucking filthy. I have no apologies. Take your problems up with God, he's the one who put me on this earth.

Taglist:

@jhutchissupercool @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support! <3

Masterlist ▪︎ Read the spinoff!

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fnaf #jhutch #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader smut #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x you #mike schimdt x reader #mike schimdt smut #mike schimdt x you #mike fnaf #josh hutcherson x you #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson fnaf

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simphornies · 3 months

Note

AAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE YOUR VOX CONTENT SHDKSJSJSJ- The skrunkly TV man is fr my latest obsession hahahaha! If you don't mind, I'd like to request a Vox x fem!reader where reader just loves messing with Vox(leaving sticky notes all over his things just saying the cutest stuff, lipstick marks all over his monitor and not saying anything until everyone but him notices, teasing him at work, etc.)

- 🖥️ Anon

A/N: I love writing stories where the reader teases and messes with Vox. Please do send more when requests open back up!

Word count: 1.3k (1,311)

Warnings: suggestive behavior and ending

Distraction - Vox x F!Reader

Vox squinted at everyone that looked at him funny today. Which was everyone. He didn’t understand why he kept getting looks from his employees. It wasn’t until Velvette took a selfie with him before running off that he realized he’d been walking around all day with his screen covered in kiss marks. And he knew exactly where the culprit was.

You lazily sat in Vox’s office chair, aimlessly scrolling through your phone. You looked up and saw blue electricity making its way towards you. You leaned over his desk, head resting on your palm with a sneaky smirk on your face. “Hey Vox!”

“Y/N! You know I love you but why the fuck would you send me off for the day with my screen like this?” He screamed before leaning close to your face. You giggled in response, giving him another kiss that left a mark.

“You didn’t ask.” You grinned, winking at him, “And how else am I supposed to let other people know that you’re mine?”

Your words made his face turn red, “Th-that’s—” He cleared his throat after it cracked, “That’s nonsense! You don’t have to prove anything, you know I’m yours and you’re mine. Any sinner stupid enough to test their boundaries will learn.”

You hummed as you wiped his face clean of lipstick marks, “Not good enough for me.” After his face was nice and clean, you got off his chair and gestured for him to sit.

He sat down and you immediately climbed on his lap. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He sighs, kissing the back of your neck softly.

“So dramatic.” You giggled.

Vox wasn’t too busy the next day so he mainly stayed in his office, lazing around. It didn’t take long for you to happily waltz into his office. He was drinking his coffee when he looked up at you and immediately spat it out. “What are you wearing?” He coughed, “You didn’t walk around my building like that, did you?”

You laughed, “Heavens no! I came straight from my room to you. Do you like it?” You gave him a twirl, showing off your outfit with a wink. The outfit in question? A keyhole turtleneck with your laced bra peeking through. A laced bra he knew too well. It was your lingerie. You paired it with a skirt not too revealing but definitely hugged your curves perfectly with a small detail at the bottom that read ‘Vox’ with a heart.

He just stared at you after he recovered from his near death experience via coffee. “It’s…I like it.” He stuttered out. You walked around his desk and bent down to him.

“From how your eyes lingered, I’m going to safely assume you recognize something, huh?” You tease, “The powerful overlord wrapped around my finger all from a simple detail, how cute!”

“Pff! You’re the one wrapped around my finger.” He confidently says, his claw tracing his name on your skirt, “I’m free for a couple hours if you’re down for—”

Before he could continue flirting with you, you put a finger up to his lips. “I have a meeting to attend with Velvette, sorry babe.” You gave him a quick kiss on the lips before running out of his office.

He blinked, taking a little bit to process that you were indeed going out like that. He ran after you but you were long gone, already with Velvette. He groaned in frustration, jealous that other sinners will see you like that.

You sat by his feet in his security room, on your phone once again and bored out of your mind. You looked up at Vox, admiring how focused he was when he was working. “Vox?” You softly spoke.

He reaches down and rubs the top of your head, petting you. “Hold on, baby. I’m working.” He muttered, attention still on his screens.

You huffed in response, wanting attention from him. He’d been so busy all week that he’s been ignoring your…needs…as of late. Your eyes wandered from his face down to his pants. You grin mischievously and slowly drag your hand up his thigh, feeling him tense up underneath your palms.

“Y/N? What are you doing?” He looked at you.

“Hm? Oh nothing. Don’t mind me.” You looked at him with innocent eyes. “Nevermind that. What’re you looking at?” You get up and sit on his lap, purposely positioning yourself to tease him.

“I’m…” His hands held your waist, “I’m looking at how the stats are from this show compared to that one. I need to see which one’s losing revenue so I can switch it up.” He explained, his focus faltering.

You nodded in response and pushed up on him, “Ah. I see. How about you take this show off? Not a lot of sinners talk about it online and I haven’t seen any recent reviews on it.” You shifted to turn your body so you can look at him, your movement creating friction where he wanted it the most.

“Uh. Sorry what? Can you repeat that?” His grip on your waist tightened. You caught his attention.

“Hm?” You smirk at his reaction, getting up and relishing in the disappointment in his face, “Oh. This show. No more of this show. I think I’m…distracting you. So I’ll be taking my leave. Love you, honey.” You leave him with a kiss. You were already out the door before he could protest, leaving him with a different kind of distraction.

“Um. Sir—” A sinner spoke up behind him. He turned around, irritated.

“What is it?” He asks, his impatience clear in his voice making his employee nervous.

“Um! You have…you have sticky notes…on your face.” He nervously stated before running away at the sight of his reaction.

Vox zapped to the nearest mirror and saw the multitude of notes on his face.

“Property of Y/N” clearly written on one of them. The others were little doodles of the two of you along with little hearts. He blinked, confused and wondering when you had the chance to do this. Then it clicked.

You were very touchy earlier that day, constantly caressing his screen while he was deep in his work and peppering him with kisses all over. You didn’t wear lipstick so he didn’t think that you’d left anything on his face. How foolish of him to think you weren’t up to something.

“Y/N!” He screamed loudly down the hallway. You quickly get up, “Val! Don’t tell him I’m here!” You said as you hid in his gun closet.

Vox swung the door open, looking around the room. “Val. Where is she?”

Valentino squinted at him. He leaned closer to make sure the little blobs of yellow on his screen was exactly what he thought it was. When he realized they were indeed sticky notes he burst out into laughter, further flustering Vox.

“Quit fucking laughing and tell me where she is! I know she’s in here!” He yelled, screen a bright red.

Valentino took a picture of him and sent it to Velvette. “You look so fuckin’ hilarious.” He wheezed out as he gestured to your hiding spot.

Vox stomped over to his gun closet, swinging it open. You looked up at him, a nervous laugh escaping out of you. “Haha…Hey Vox!” You smiled.

He picked you up bridal style, walking to his room to punish you for being a little brat as of lately. Before he could make it to his room, an employee ran up and began to walk beside him.

“S-sir? You have meetings later tod—”

“Can’t you see I’m busy? Clear my schedule for the rest of the day.” He snapped at him and slammed his door.

Safe to say you got the attention you’d been begging for all week. And you definitely needed help to walk the day after.

#hazbin hotel #vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vees #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel oneshots

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bibuddie · 1 month

Text

@canonbibuck hey. remember i said if we see tommy pick buck up and kiss him at the door i WILL explode btw? and you said i think my heart will stop? i couldn't get it out of my head. i hope you live near an AED.

"hey evan, you ready to go?" tommy says, his mouth creasing at the corner where he smiles and buck wants. wants to press his lips to the corner of tommy's mouth, wants to learn every curve and crease. he finds himself wanting to be pressed into a counter or a wall or even his fucking front door and thoroughly kissed. he wants to be held and he wants it to be tommy doing the kissing and that's a heady feeling he can't quite wrap his head around.

"evan?" tommy says, snapping him out of his head.

"sorry!" he breathes, tucking his phone into his back pocket. "got a tendency to get in my own head a bit."

tommy chuckles, an amused thing that sends sparks flying down to buck's toes. "so i've noticed." he rakes his eyes over buck then, his smile turning more smirk at the corners. "you look great."

"so do you!" buck rushes out, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. and it's true. tommy's dressed in a loose-fitting olive green shirt that makes him look massive and a pair of dark blue skinny jeans which cling to his thighs sinfully, and now that buck's properly seeing all of this, it's...well—

it's honestly driving him insane.

tommy's eyes crinkle, and he thinks about telling maddie he wasn't going to act like a 14 year old girl anymore but he has to physically fight down the urge to giggle. the older man steps into his space, his hand coming up and his thumb gently tugging buck's bottom lip from between his teeth.

"wha—"

tommy cuts him off with a kiss. it blows his mind how good this is — to just kiss with zero intention behind it. just kissing for the sake of kissing is something he hasn't really done a lot of, and he's still new to the whole kissing a man thing, but the way tommy kisses is unlike anything else he's experienced. buck actually feels smaller in tommy's grasp, and it's not overwhelming like he expected. it doesn't feel wrong or bad or anything any of the websites he's spent the past couple of days looking at warned him about. it—

it actually feels really nice.

tommy kisses buck with a slow, soft drag of his lips, his stubble scratching lightly against buck's chin. buck's hands eventually take up residence on tommy's chest, the steady thump thump of his heart a grounding presence before he floats off onto some other plane of existence.

they part eventually, their foreheads resting against one another as buck's eyes flutter open. "what was that for?"

tommy's smile is wide and unashamed as he shrugs, stealing a quick peck from buck. "just because."

he steps back then, taking buck's hand in his, and the slide of their calloused palms together sends another tingle down buck's spine that he chases after. he never wants to stop chasing it, actually. this feeling? the full exhales he's been able to take since tommy flipped his world on its head? the sheer wanting and feeling wanted?

buck's hand tightens around tommy's as they step towards the door. he's not letting any of it slip from his grasp. not anymore.

#evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #911 spoilers #911 speculation #rebecca writes #sorry i think i just blacked out

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swampstew · 13 days

Text

Tulips

Summary: sex pollen trope is infesting my brain.

Warnings: Eustass Kid X Female Reader, consent is implied, dom/sub dynamics, exhibitionism because its outside sex but no one actually witnesses it, vaginal penetration, etc etc.

Minor Do Not Interact

"Oi, Y/N. Where are you going?" the brash voice of your Captain stopped you in your tracks.

"Explore a little since we're still here. Is that not ok?" the carefree smile on your face creased with worry.

You had been growing closer with Eustass Kid day by day since you had joined the crew. In retrospect it wasn't that long ago he found you on your island and invited you to join him on his adventures. You did what you could to stay on his good side, and every opportunity you spent with him seemed to drag slowly as you learned more about each other; you wouldn't have it any other way.

He lit up every corner of your mind even when he wasn't in your presence. Infiltrating every region of your brain with his sexy, brooding demeanor. That only seemed to perk up when you kept him company. At least, you hoped that's what you saw and felt, and not something you imagined.

"How many times do I gotta tell ya - don't leave the ship without telling one of the higher ups! Don't wanna lose you, dummy."

"Well there's nobody else here so I thought it was no big deal!" you stuck your tongue out at him, "I'll try to remember next time."

Kid's face broke out with an amused look, "If you fall down into some ancient, underground dwelling and no one hears you, what then? Or if you come across a carnivorous plant that tries to eat you, you think you'd regret not telling someone you'd left the ship?"

"Oh my gods stop with your whataboutisms, I get it, I'm sorry! If you're so worried about me, come along then," you resumed your walk to the gangplank.

"Let's go on a side quest," you beamed up at him. Hoping your smile would win him over so you could greedily hog his attention.

Not that he was never not willing to give it to you. He seemed to enjoy making you beg for it lately, so you were trying a new approach that didn't feel quite so...pathetic for your own sake.

Kid studied you with a piercing gaze, the grin on his face never leaving. Only growing wider.

"Just us hmm? Sure, I guess I can spare the newest, and weakest, member some one-on-one time so they can feel safe. It's a big, scary world out there."

"Byyyeeeeee," you waved as you descended the ship, leaving him with a gaping mouth.

"Hey wait up!"

---

The weather was just right, not blazing hot and just enough cover from the foliage to create an intimate atmosphere. You could talk to him about anything and everything it felt like.

Coming up on a small field of flowers, the sudden burst of color made you hover over them in appreciation. Kid was standing behind as you smelled them. Admiring the way your curves and body rounded you out so perfectly that it made his eyes glaze over.

You let out a sneeze, straightened your posture and continued your walk. Kid watched you silently before moving, falling in step with you before you ever noticed he was gone. Soon you met a fork in the path.

“Which way?” you asked him.

“I dunno,” he smirked. Pulling a handful of flowers from behind his back, he handed them to you, not looking at you but at the two routes. “Pull the petals or something.”

Stunned, you took them, “Oh! But these are so pretty, I don’t think I can.”

With a snort, he plucked a stem from your fingers and began, “Left, right, left, right…”

You fidgeted as you waited, a sudden warmth taking over you, making you clench the stems in your hand hard enough to make them wilt.

“Left, right, aaaaaand left,” he shook the remains of the pollen in the air as he tossed the last petal. With a cool touch of his metal hand on your hip, he gently pushed you on, “C’mon, the flower decided.”

A blush touched your cheeks as you wordlessly let him lead. Kid’s touch lingered for a few yards before he let go, suddenly walking ahead a little faster.

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah, just scouting for a place to rest.”

You picked up your pace, yet you were no match against his long strides. He almost escaped your sight as he halted and let out a sigh of relief.

“This is a good spot. Hang out here, I need to take a leak.”

Without waiting for you, he jogged between the trees.

Perplexed, you reached a natural spring and some large, flat rocks stacked upon each other towering over the stream. You chose that spot to wait, enjoying the babble of water and low trill of insects in the breeze. Checking your watch every few minutes, you soon became impatient and rocked subtly against the stone, subconsciously seeking relief for a wispy ache.

After 15 minutes, you decided to look for your Captain. Maybe one of his wild warnings came true and he was impaled in a hole somewhere. Or he got lost. Neither option made you feel good. Thinking of his hulking, muscular body dirty and bloody, you bit your lip, gnawing on the idea of nursing him back to health in the wilderness all by yourself.

You heard frustrated curses and followed them to the source.

Eustass Kid, slamming through tree barks. The wood splintered from the impact, his mechanical arm not bothered by the strike moved on to the next tree. Grabbing the trunk with both arms—

--and rutting manically against it.

“Fuck fuck fuck!!! Go away!!!!” he bent his head down and seemingly screamed at himself.

“C-captain?” you stood a few feet from him, unsure if you should have called his attention or quietly run away while you had the chance. He seemed pissed.

Kid’s scowl should have sent your soul to the grave with how fierce it was, but the only thing you felt was your blood boiling and the ache in your body growing severely. You couldn’t help the way your body naturally shifted, thighs tightening and rubbing faintly.

He saw. His golden amber eyes never missed anything.

“Y/N,” his gravelly voice was lower than normal. Slowly, he stood to his full height and turned to you. A raging boner straining against his pants. “I-I think I’m having an allergic reaction or some shit,” he tried to explain.

Your eyes went from his face to his erection, to the flowers still in your hand. Cautiously you walked up to him, closing the distance he could feel your body heat despite not really being in contact with you. You dropped all but one to the ground, cradling the bulb in your palm as you put it in front of your faces.

And crushed it.

Puffs of pollen escaped between your fingers. Your body felt like it was a slow burning candle, and the fire was not where you yearned it to be. Kid’s pupils dilated they hardly left slivers of the color you love so much.

Your bodies crashed into each other with needy, hungry fervor. Kid’s lips devoured yours, metal hand clutching your body and pinning you to a nearby tree. You wrapped your hand around his covered cock and he let out a deep groan. He thrusted into your hand, hard enough that his body trapped yours against the tree, bucking with reckless abandon. It wasn’t long before you abandoned your grip and pulled yourself up and wrapped your legs around his waist.

He eagerly accepted the change of pace, using his flesh hand to grab at your ass to stabilize his grinding directly between your legs. A lovely melody spilled from your lips as he kept up his ministrations, unwilling to let go now after hearing the beautiful sounds you made for him. When he wasn’t even inside you yet.

It was for that reason he took his time walking back to the spring while groping and making out with you. Slamming you against every other tree so he could pleasure you both, drawing out the anticipation with agonizing edging and teasing.

“K-Ki—” you couldn’t speak, desperation robbing your brain cells as tears streamed from your eyes. “Please!”

“I’ll take care of you,” he bit your lower lip. Quick to shed both your clothes, he laid you against the smooth rock, caressing your shoulder and hip as you felt his hardened length pressing against your core.

You let out a needy whimper, Kid kissed you as he pushed in. Feeling your mewling cries against his lips, his tongue slipped into your mouth and freed your voice.

It rose higher and higher with each thrust of his cock. His own wanton moans joining yours in chorus as you climbed your peaks together.

“Fuuuck, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he groaned, panting heavily over you. “U-under different c-circ—”

You hushed him with a scrape of your nails against his back, “Me-me too! Don’t stop, don’t—”

Kid shifted and grabbed your legs to sit higher on his hips, slamming into you deeply. The edges of your being felt hazy as your core tightened. Your walls fluttered around him as he rolled his hips, your moans coming out near breathless as your orgasm washed over you.

You clamped on his cock with a strangled shriek, head hitting the stone and nails digging into his arms as you came. A veil of white flooded your vision as you rode the wave, feeling your body moving with his in synchrony. Sweet moans spilled from your lips with every slap of his balls against your sopping cheeks.

Kid’s hips stuttered, letting out a choked cry as his hips pistoned faster. You felt his cock twitch before it left your gummy walls. He jerked his hand on his cock and when that wasn’t enough he pressed his length against your quivering lips, tip of the head nestled over your clit, and rut his hips until he came.

You could feel the hot spurts land on your belly, smearing and spreading between your bodies as he kept going. Pushing you both to the point of overstimulation.

“I can’t I can’t fuck I don’t want to stop!!” he roared, burrowing his fingers deep into your skin to leave bruises.

You answered with your own grinding, hungry for so much more. With each slide of his cock, your stomach coiled, wounding tightly quickly.

When you came, it was pain, pleasure, euphoria, hysteria, and tingling numbness all at once as your body tensed and pulsed. You felt the wave crest and then wetness on you. Then hotter, heavier droplets as Kid followed you with his own bliss.

A pool of fluids mixed between your bodies as you stayed locked in position, both of you catching your breaths, hearts beating wildly against each other.

“I meant it,” he finally muttered. Raising his head to look at you, rubbing his fingers on your jaw, “I did and still do. Meant to wine and dine you first.”

You smiled tenderly, half-lidded eyes drinking him in, “You still can. I’ve been wanting that very much.”

“Yeah?” he leaned to kiss your cheek, his slight movements triggered his arousal as he swelled against you. “What else have you been wanting from me?”

“A few things,” you let out a shy giggle, “Want to try some of them out while we’re here?”

Kid grinned widely, “You can have me for as long as you’d like.”

Unbeknownst to either of you, the aphrodisiacal effects of the flowers you inhaled will last for several, several hours.

#eustass kid #eustass kid x you #swampstew bedtime stories #eustasscaptainkid #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid x y/n #eustass kid smut #cw bd/sm #pollen trope #slight exhibitionism if you squint #swampstew stories

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heartfullofleeches · 16 days

Note

makariy and sleephead darling for liffeeeeee :3

Makariy and Sleepyhead Bat Reader because grumpy sleep deprived cat + sleepy bat sounds cute plus bats are nocturnal. Picturing Bat Reader "renting" the attic to Makariy's new home and him only learning of his roommate when they're climbing up on the support beams to comfort. Maybe they're in an amateur rock band which he discovers after seeing their guitar tucked away in the corner of the room one of the rare occasions Reader is able to wrestle him down for a nap with him. He has an even bigger reason to want them gone because if they find out who he was that could be another whole shit storm.

Bat Reader genuinely doesn't care about his old life and just enjoys having a warm body to sleep next to because most of their band mates are busy during the day too-

"You were in a group too, Makariy?"

He knew he should've burned everything from that time period. A poster of the feline's grinning, youthful face tucked away in the recesses of his nightstand - staring back at him from your hands. Suddenly, Makariy feels like a stranger in his own bed. You lazily trace his a finger along the curve of his tail before folding the poster along its visible crises.

"That's so cool.... Hey, can I have more of the blanket? You're kinda hogging it all."

Makariy's arm stiffens beneath your head. "That's it?"

Fighting the spell of sleep, you raise your head from his chest as you mumble. "Yeah.. I think that's all I need right now. Your fur is softer than this pillows anyway."

"No, that's not what I....you don't have any questions?"

With a small shake of your head, you return to your previous position - siphoning the warmth from him since he's yet to give you what you asked for. "No....Not really. If you wanted to talk about it you'd have posters hanging up everywhere or something. It's nice we have that in common, but if I'm being honest I like you more as a body pillow than as an idol."

Makariy stares up at the ceiling, drawing circles by your shoulder blades right above where your wings sit nestled against your back. You've long since fallen asleep by the time his eyes meet your figured curled up to his chest. He takes a glance at the poster forgotten by you in favor of the real thing.

"....I think I like me more this way too."

#Makariy my oc #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere hybrid

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abyssal808 · 9 months

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S1 Soulmate Au prompt inspired by @subbaculture 's prompt wherein "Eddie learns Tengwar just to be special and so Steve's been kicking around with "What's Kickin', Sexy?" on his body

What Tommy Hagan hadn’t been blessed with in terms of intelligence. God - in his allegedly infinite wisdom - had seen fit to redistribute into shoulder width.

Tommy, in turn, swanned around Hawkin’s High shoulder-checking every freak, geek and nerd into nearby lockers; with the kind of wingspan better suited to weirdly proportioned monkeys.

Hellfire members were no stranger to it. Two weeks ago Hagan had run into Gareth hard enough to leave a bruise. A “bump” with enough force behind it that he’d bounced off the lockers and landed on the floor.

Which, fine, two could play at that game. Even if Hagan could barely get his hand off Carol’s tits to realize there were counter-moves to be made at all.

A grade A dick move, even if it was also incredibly boring and pedestrian. The kind of thing jocks who barely had two braincells to rub together saw as peak comedy. Giggling like a cross between a group of cavemen and a flock of pre-school girls whenever their ring-leader du jour started herding freaks like a neurotic border collie.

“Watch it, freak.” Hagan hissed, skirting around Eddie without bothering to shove him at all. Giving a wide berth to whatever zone of contagious freak cooties being Eddie Munson brought to the table.

Behind him, Gareth - blocked from the rest of the hall by Eddie’s leather jacket, in a way only freshies were short enough to pull off - buried a laugh in a cough, muffled into the heel of his hand. Not missing the way that even Hagan - the most infamous asshole of them all - looked ready to bolt as soon as Eddie waved him off in a jaunty salute.

Victory tasted sweet and electric. Fizzing under his skin the way Wayne’s Miller Lites would bubble in the back of his throat, whenever Eddie stole a sip from the half open cans in the back of their fridge. It made him stupid in a way those brief tastes of beer hadn’t managed to yet.

Being The Freak came with perks. An untouchable radius that left Eddie drunk with power. Riding the high of knowing that maybe Highschool didn’t have to suck all the time. That he could play at being a rabid guard dog for the lost little sheep of the world, rail against dickheads like Hagan and win.

Maybe he could use it to plead temporary insanity for what he did next. Riding the high into a really, spectacularly stupid idea.

Everyone had their words.

Eddie’s were tucked away, hidden along the curve of his rib. A curly chicken scratch that mixed print and cursive into a barely legible mess.

‘Is that like, yiddish?’

A weird-ass question, until Eddie had pulled an all nighter on a now infamous school night, falling in love with Middle earth. Head filled with nothing but the dark halls of Khazad-dûm, the sweeping boughs of Lothlórien.

Speak friend and enter.

Pedo mellon a minno.

He’d traced the words over and over. Thrilled by the lilt, the cadence, the beautiful rise and fall of consonants no one else would understand.

Setting his heart there and then on the dorkiest greeting anyone could have come up with. But hey, it was original, which was half the battle people went through when picking soulmate greetings.

He’d gone through several variations. Always in Sindarin, because why the hell not.

People usually saved them, tucked them far away from casual conversation. Bizarre phrases, always non-sequitour, brought out only for special occasions. That lightning strike of instant attraction. People you could see yourself connecting with. Hoping they would be a part of you as much as you were theirs.

He couldn’t see himself connecting with Tommy Hagan in a million years. Not even if they waited in that hallway until the heat death of the universe.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t terrorize him with the possibility.

“What’s Kickin’ Sexy?”

He yelled after Hagan’s retreating back, with its fuck-off wide shoulders; elvish mangled, but passable. Enjoying the rictus of horror on his face, going from anger to fear and back again.

He shifted on his heel, pushing Gareth further behind him in case things got ugly. Herding him back towards Jeff with little bumps, as both of them tried to muscle down their cackling. Nerdy enough to piece together the gist of what Eddie had been hollering about. Even if Jeff was better at Quenya, because he was a weirdo and a purist about that kind of shit.

All in all, a job well done, assuming Hagan didn’t flip his shit and start throwing punches to assert dominance.

Or at least, it felt like it, until Harrington - trailing behind Hagan - sucked all the air out of the room. Hands on his hips, a furrow on his brow, blurting it out without even thinking about it.

“Is that like, Yiddish?”

You could have heard a pin drop.

Panic clamped around Eddie’s throat like a vice. The same way Gareth’s hand, tiny and tense - he had yet to hit his growth spurt - wrapped around the edge of Eddie’s leather jacket. Pushing past the waistband of his jeans to claw at skin.

The side that mattered, one they both knew had those words that wrapped around Eddie’s chest. Curving towards the sternum.

Whatever face he was making gave it away instantly.

Harrington’s face shuttered and fell. A whole host of micro expressions that passed through in a second before he scrubbed them away. A pair of shaking hands that rubbed at his eyes and dragged down his face. Peeking at Eddie through a gap in his fingers.

“Jesus Christ it’s you; isn’t it?”

Behind Eddie, Gareth tugged him half a step back, nails digging into his hip. Little half-moon crescents he barely felt now, but would find later.

“Steve?” The waver in Hagan’s voice would have been funny if it wasn’t nauseating.

Terrifying, when Steve waved him off and stepped towards Eddie. Jerky and halting, like a puppet with half it’s strings cut.

“I can’t fucking believe this Munson. You gotta tell me if it is.” Steve bit out, with a wobble that sounded too trembling and confused to be anger. Even if it would come later.

It was probably coming later.

Anger always got there in the end, with boys like Harrington. Sharp comebacks and sharper right hook always winning out, spurred on by that bone-deep, animal fear of losing your place in the social food chain.

King Steve didn’t seem worried it yet though. Adding to the bizarre hilarity of the situation as he undid his belt and untucked his shirt to the concerned shouts of everyone left in the hall, witnesses to this trainwreck.

If Eddie hadn’t been convinced he’d died and gone to purgatory a minute earlier. He would have been convinced there and then.

As Steve Harrington turned around, bunched his striped polo up high and his khaki’s down low. Stripping down to show the athletic curve of a hip. The dip of a waist that looked small next to his swimmer’s shoulders - almost wide enough to rival Hagan’s - a scattering of moles that dusted across his lower back, framing his mark.

There, on King Steve’s back, bracketed by dimples, low enough to count as a truly slutty tramp stamp sat Eddie’s words. The swooping curves of Tengwar branded into his skin.

“What’s kickin’, Sexy?”

#just a silly little s1 au bc i could not get the stupid baby versions of them having to deal with this out of my head lmao #txt.wav #steddie #i havent written anything in a million years hallelujah #maybe i can start again now that i broke the ice :000

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angstysebfan · 10 months

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Was It A Mistake - Part 1

Pairing: Bucky x Fem Reader Chapter Summary: You and Bucky broke up but still remained friends. When you go on a shopping trip with your best friend, you learn a devastating thing. Warnings: Angst (duh its me lol), Arguments

Series Masterlist

You punch the punching bag in a series of combinations. Sweat dripping from your head and y/h/c hair. You’re the only one in the gym right now, but you knew that would change. You had a standing sparing appointment with your favorite super soldier.

Everyone in the tower thought it was weird that you and Bucky remained such good friends. You both dated for 3 years, and were hot and heavy. You realized the last six months, of your relationship, Bucky was pulling away from you. It broke your heart; so you decided distance yourself also, in preparation of him breaking up with you. You couldn't take the stress of waiting for him to break it off, so you begrudgingly did it. It completely killed you, but he didn't seem ultimately ruined, and you both decided to continue just being friends.

You were nervous that it would be awkward, but it wasn’t. You were just happy he was still in your life. You know you still loved him, but sometimes that's not enough. You were obviously not enough. That thought runs through your mind as you punch. You shake your thoughts from your head as you heard the gym doors close behind you.

“Tiring yourself out before I even get a chance to beat you fairly, doll?”

You turned around and see Bucky walking over the the bench to place his water and towel down. He's wearing navy blue basketball shorts that hung perfectly low on his hips, and as usual, no shirt. You couldn’t help admire the beautiful specimen in front of you.

“Ha, just warming up Buck. Don’t worry, I still have enough energy to kick your ass!” You yell, while pulling the tape off your hands.

You grab your towel and water and walk over to him, drinking and wiping your sweat.

He laughed, “Whatever you say. Shall we?” He asked walking toward the sparring mats.

After 30 minutes, and Bucky taking you out for the 5th time, you gave up. He offered his hand to help you get up. “One day… I’ll get you down… mark my words.” You say through your panted breath.

Bucky laughed. “Can’t wait.”

You both walk over the bench to grab a drink. You wipe your face with your towel when you hear the doors to the gym. Nat walks over to you both. “Hey guys!” She says smiling.

“Hey Nat, you still up for shopping later?” you ask.

“Absolutely! Meet me in the common room at 1?” She asks.

You nod as you take a drink. You start walking out of the gym when you notice Nat and Bucky give each other knowing smirk and whispering to each other. It makes you feel uneasy, but ignore it as you head out to shower.

–

Later that day, you and Nat are shopping at the local mall. You sit outside the changing room as Nat tries on a new red dress. She comes out and looks in the mirror, turning at different angles to admire herself. You can’t help but notice how gorgeous she is. The dress fits her curves perfectly.

“Oh Nat, you definitely need to get that!” You say with a smile.

“Yeah, I think I will. It will be absolutely perfect.” She said as she turns and looks over the shoulder to see how it looks.

“Perfect for what?” You ask.

Nat looks at you through the mirror. You can see she looks… nervous? She turns toward you and gives you a small smile. “Bucky asked me out on a date. We've been hanging out a lot lately, and we wanted to finally give dating a try.”

Your jaw and stomach dropped. You can already feel the tears forming, but you internally yell at yourself to keep it together. You knew you weren't good enough. You would never be enough! You take a deep breath and close your eyes for a moment, willing the tears to disappear. When you open you see Nat still looking at you, waiting for your reaction.

“U-uh, wow! I, um, I-I didn’t know you guys… were…were talking.”

You cringe at your shaking voice. Nat looks at you with minimal sympathy in her eyes, which pisses you off. You didn't understand how this happened. Nat knew what happened between you and Bucky, as she was your best friend. You confided in her about everything, including that you are still in love with him. And now you learn she has been moving in on him and they are going on a date?!

“It wasn’t a planned thing. I swear, and I'm sorry I didn’t tell you. I know should've, but I’m…” She trails off, looking down at her hands. You have never seen her look so nervous.

“You’re what, Natalia?” You say slowly standing, getting angrier.

She looks at you. “I’m falling for him, hard. And he told me that he's falling for me too.”

She might as well had slapped you in the face. You grab your bags without saying another word and left. You ignore her calls for you. You finally let the tears come down your face as you head out to grab a cab to head back to the tower.

You try to control yourself as you ride the elevator up to the residential floors of the tower. As soon as you walk out, you see him with a concerned look on his face. You figured Nat called him and told him what happened, but you couldn’t deal with him right now. Just looking at him caused the tears to come down. You quickly turn and head to your room.

“Y/N, please. Don’t run away from me,” You hear him call.

You try and outrun him, but he was so much faster. Before you even got a chance to close the door, he pushed his way into your room.

“Get out!” You scream.

He looks devastated. You've never yelled at him, even when you guys fought when you were together. “Y/N, please. Talk to me,” he begs.

He was so confused by your reaction. You're the one who broke his heart. He was ready to marry you and then was told that you wanted to end things with him. It crushed him, so he distanced himself, hoping to ease the pain. You eventually did end it, and asked to be friends. He didn’t fight it because he was hoping you would change your mind. He has been miserable for months, pretending to be friends with you, when all he wanted is to be with you.

Nat helped him by being there and listening to him whine about how much he missed you. He opened up to her about feeling like he wasn't enough, and she showed him that he was enough for her. He couldn’t help but start developing feelings. Nat was the only one who knew how he felt about you, but is still willing to try with him. Willing to help him move on from you.

“Please….” he whispered, on the verge of tears.

A sob escapes your lips. “Buck… why? Why Nat? Why my best friend?”

You knew it didn’t matter who he was dating, but you needed to know why her. He shook his head, sniffing.

“When you broke up with me, I-I was miserable. I didn’t know what to do. Nat was there, and she let me confide my feelings to her. As time went on, I started to develop feelings. I…. I didn’t think you would care! You didn’t want to be with me! You were the one who wanted to be friends! I’m sorry, but I didn't think you'd care," he said the last part in a whisper as he silently cried.

You were confused as you took in what he said. He was miserable? I broke his heart? He didn't want to break up? He confided in Nat, while you also confided in Nat? You look at him in shock. He was confused by your reaction.

“I… I don’t understand. You became distant, which is why I broke up with you. I thought you didn’t want me anymore; that I wasn't enough for you. I thought us being friends was better than losing you all together.” You said. Bucky stares at you confused. “Nat… Nat talked to you about us?” You asked, and Bucky silently nodded.

Betrayed. That was the word that went through your mind. Your so-called best friend knew that both you and Bucky still loved each other, but kept it quiet so she could take him. You couldn’t believe it! Bucky obviously didn’t realize what was happening either.

“I…. I need to think.” Bucky said, leaving you alone in your room.

You couldn’t move. All you kept thinking was that there was miscommunication somewhere between you and Bucky, and neither of you actually wanted to break up. Nat knew this, but kept it quiet and made a move on Bucky. But why did Bucky become distant in the first place? There are so many questions in your head that you can barely think straight. You had to get to the bottom of this, somehow.

One thing you already know is, Nat back stabbed you. You will never forgive her for this.

Part 2

What do we think? No matter what it's messed up to go after your besties ex. Feedback is appreciated.

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