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sluttych4rms · 1 year

Text

all mine // ethan landry

heyy this is the first time i'm writing fanfic in a while so pls be nice :0 open to requests :]

warnings: 18+ minors dni, slightly jealous!ethan, corn with plot, degregation, light praise, not proofread word count: 2.7k

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"havin' a good time?" some blond mama's boy says to you.

"could be better," you say.

ethan dragged you to this stupid party with stupid frat boys who reek of bud light. he'd said chad was really excited about it and that he had to be there to hype him up before he tries to kiss tara for the first time. the tension between the two of them was starting to get unbearable for everyone else so of course you said you'd come, but that was before you knew your boyfriend would be spending all of his time with his boyfriend.

you're not super clingy, and you love that ethan has a friend that helps him break out of his comfort zone, but jesus christ he's barely said five words to you since you got here. they've been nose deep in beer pong since they spotted the table.

"any way i can help with that?" the blond boy says.

you look at him and contemplate for a moment. ever since you and ethan started dating you hadn't stricken up a conversation with a boy unless you needed to. not because he got jealous or anything, you just simply didn't want to. why even speak a word to anyone else when he's all you could ever ask for?

"do you know if there's a secret stash anywhere?" you tap your hand on the keg in front of you. "it's kicked."

although ethan didn't get jealous easily, he was extremely possessive. you recognized this early on in your relationship, how his grip on your hand would tighten a little if another guy started talking to you, the way he'd pull you in closer if he noticed some creep's eyes on you walking down the street. it sent a shiver straight through your spine every time. you're his, and he makes sure everybody knows it.

which is the only reason you're giving this frat bro your time. you know there's a cooler hidden in the corner of the room your boyfriend just so happens to be playing beer pong in.

blond boy leans down and says, "follow me," into your ear, at which you try not to grimace. you let him take your hand and guide you through the crowd of sweaty teenagers, the cheers from the room you're walking towards somehow still audible over the booming speakers playing trademark usa.

as soon as you enter the room your eyes scan for a mop of curly hair. sure enough, he's standing at the table with chad, giving him a high five and saying something you couldn't quite make out. blond boy tugs on your arm a little harder to pull you down to the cooler. he opens it and does a voila motion with his hands.

"take your pick," he says, watching you as he grabs one himself.

you grab a Mike's and shut the cooler, looking back at him. "thanks," you say. "i think i was starting to sober up."

he smiles at you. "no time for that."

he cracks open his drink and motions for you to do the same, so you do. you take a long drink, thankful for the fruity flavors after basically drinking hard liquor all night.

blond boy is watching you as you come back up for air, then he licks his lips and you know what's coming.

"hey wanna go chill in my room for a bit? it's quieter in there." it's so typical you almost laugh out loud. frat boys put out like rabbits.

"i think i'm gonna go find my boyfriend actually," you say, pretending not to see him roll his eyes. "thanks for the drink."

you take another sip, then make your way to the ping pong table on the opposite side of the room. when you look to ethan, his eyes are already locked on you, his party boy exterior temporarily gone before he notices you walking towards him and that pretty smile falls right back onto his face.

"hey, baby," he says, kissing your forehead and immediately pulling you into him with an arm around your shoulders.

there's no sign of malice on his face, no twitch of his lip or excessive strength in his grip.

"hey," you say back with a smile. "you winning?"

"up by two," he says, gesturing to the table.

then he's just staring at you. his eyes are fluttering from one spot on your face to another. you know you're starting to blush because goddamn his gaze is intense.

"oh shit, y/n! where you been?" chad says from next to ethan.

you lean forward across ethan's chest a bit to make eye contact with your boyfriend's roommate. "around," you say. "found another cooler."

you point to the spot you came from. blond boy seems to have found his friends, dancing with a group of boys you couldn't tell the difference between in a lineup. when you look back, ethan's eyes are locked on the corner. or rather, the blond boy in the corner.

somebody else at the table grabs his attention, it's his turn to shoot. he does, and as he turns back around to do so the arm that's around your shoulders slips down to your waist, his fingers running under your shirt and digging into your skin as he pulls you closer. it doesn't hurt by any means, in fact, it feels good enough that there's a familiar flutter in your stomach.

ethan and chad win their game with a shot your boyfriend throws, kissing you on the head and calling you his lucky charm while everyone celebrates.

"i think you're just that good, babe," you say back, patting his chest. he chuckles, then turns to chad and says something in his ear.

chad's face falls as he says, "but we're on a four-time winning streak," in response.

"i know i know i'll be back later just don't lose it," you hear ethan say. they do a bro fist bump before ethan is motioning his head towards another room saying, "follow me," in your ear.

this time, instead of trying not to grimace, you're trying not to soak through your fucking underwear.

he pulls you through multiple rooms until you're standing in a dimly lit hallway where the music isn't quite so overbearing and there aren't as many people.

as soon as he can he's cornering you into a wall, pressing his soft lips against your own almost hungrily.

"i haven't seen you all night," he says, and he's still so close you can feel his lips brush against yours with every word.

"whose fault is that?" you ask teasingly, looking up at him.

"mine," he nearly whispers, seemingly so focused on your pretty face he can barely get the words out. he brushes your hair behind your ear before his hand comes to rest on your collarbone, slowly pushing up to your throat. "all mine."

he's looking at you in that way you love. when his eyes cloud over and you can basically see your name running on a loop in his mind in the reflection of his dark orbs. he's so fucking crazy for you, and it's intoxicating you more than anything you could've drank tonight.

"all yours," you say while staring into his eyes like you know he loves.

his grip around your throat tightens as he kisses you again. you couldn't focus on anything else if you wanted to. your hearing becomes clouded from your arousal because his hand feels so good there and his teeth start tugging at your bottom lip and oh my god he's pressing a knee up your skirt.

"e," you whine against his lips, running a hand down his arm. almost immediately he's grabbing it and muttering a fuck under his breath, pulling you through the nearest open door and shutting it behind you.

it's barely a second before his lips are back on yours and he's picking you up to set you on the sink of the bathroom you wandered into. your legs are spread open on either side of his and you can feel his bulge pressing into your underwear.

you moan into his mouth, apparently prompting him to pull you even closer. the friction nearly kills you.

one thing about ethan - he understands the necessity of foreplay. the man is a god at giving you just the right amount of attention throughout the day to make you lose your fucking mind when his hands finally have free reign.

which is why with just a little friction you're bucking your hips and whining, needing more. ethan just chuckles darkly, he knows what a mess he makes you and loves watching you fall apart because of him.

"ask nicely," he taunts, looking down at you.

you roll your eyes, an action he mocks. he heaves a big sigh as he does so, cramming two fingers under your panties and into your soaking cunt.

"such a fucking brat," he growls as you open your mouth to moan. his other hand makes its swift way up to cover your mouth before any sound can escape.

a deep moan vibrates on his palm and his eyes damn near start sparkling.

you mumble something against his hand, which he then moves, giving you a quiet, "hm?"

"please," you say.

it's light work, you know he won't accept it. but god you just love when he has to drag it out of you.

"please what, bitch?"

you swear you can feel yourself clench around his fingers when he says that. a lot of the sex you guys have is pretty vanilla and lovey-dovey. ethan loves going slow and deep inside you while making you look at him as he tells you everything he loves about you. but every once in a while, usually when you're both so needy you're practically drooling, this dominance flows out of him that you eat the fuck up.

he tilts your chin up to look at him and perks his eyebrows up ever so slightly. "more, e, please," you say, wrapping a hand around his wrist and trying to get him to move.

he just laughs at you.

"so desperate," he says as he curls his fingers inside you, the bare minimum amount of movement making you writhe with need. "and yet you can't even ask for it."

he pulls his fingers out, leaving your cunt clenching around nothing. as you're opening your mouth to whine he shoves his damp fingers in, making you taste yourself as he locks eyes with you.

he slaps your clit once, twice, then his fingers are back inside you, pumping hard as he rubs back and forth on your clit with his thumb. you're moaning to no avail as his fingers stop any sound from escaping.

you can truly never get enough of him.

and he knows this. he feels the same way. which is how he knows when he pulls his fingers out of your mouth that you're gonna give him what he wants.

"please fuck me, ethan, please," you whine, giving him a pleading stare. "need your cock inside me so bad."

he pulls his other fingers out of you, making you whimper.

"need you to ruin me," you say breathlessly.

ethan pecks your lips. "was that so hard?" he asks, a smirk growing on his face as he kisses you again, this time deeply as your hands make their way to his belt that your fingers make quick work of. his pants are coming down and then one of his arms is snaking around your back as your grip finds its way around his shaft.

he lets out a breath of release as you work your wrist the way he likes it.

"i want it in my mouth," you say in his ear.

he whimpers (fucking whimpers) and looks at you, his pupils dilated so much so they may as well cover his whole iris.

"next time, baby," he says as he steps closer, lining himself up at your entrance. you're gasping just at the feeling of his tip. "need your tight little pussy right now."

god he has a filthy mouth for such an innocent-looking boy. the contrast of his sweet voice saying such lewd things is enough to make you cum all on its own.

and you swear you might as he pushes into you, tightening his grip around your back when it starts to arch slightly. he's watching you the whole time, he loves studying every little reaction you have to what he does.

It’s why he knows how to make you feel so good.

he shoves himself into you, not caring about how much noise you make now. and fuck do you make noise.

your moans are filling the bathroom because immediately he’s fucking you like he hasn’t been touched in weeks. it’s almost desperate, the speed at which his hips are moving to stretch you out.

“nobody else will ever be able to make you feel like I do, y/n,” he says, grabbing your face and forcing you to make eye contact with him.

then he stops, and suddenly he’s pulling you off the sink and turning your around to bend you over it. he grabs your hair, pulling your head up a little so he can’t taunt in your ear, “I just want you remember that next time you ask anybody but me to get you another drink.”

then he’s fucking you again, deeper this time. your legs are shaking from how badly you want him because even though he’s inside you it can just never be enough. he really does fuck you the best out of anyone you’ve met. he’s so attentive to what you like, something you’re not used to.

you’re a mess, to say the least. there’s no use in trying to keep your mouth shut or be more quiet. you never can contain yourself around him.

“pussy’s so pretty swallowing my dick, baby.”

especially when he says shit like that jesus christ.

“so fucking pretty,” he says, letting go of your hair and leaning back to slap your ass.

His hands grip your hips, helping him fuck you even harder. you look back and see ethan biting his lip, then letting it go and moaning as he watches himself slide in and out of you.

he glances up and meets your gaze, your desperate little gaze with your mouth gaping open as you moan just waiting for something to fill it up. ethan leans forward and frees a hand to grab your throat, positioning himself above you. he spits in your mouth and lightly slaps your throat, indicating for you to swallow it.

you do, and then you stick your tongue out for him to see. he groans and hits your face, muttering, “such a fucking whore.”

you look back up at him, smiling as you say, “just for you.”

something flickers in his eyes and he gives you a slight smile back.

“that’s my girl,” he says as his hand once again leaves your throat and slips into your hair, pulling you back so you’re nearly standing with him. his other hand moves to your clit where he starts rubbing back and forth.

“fuck, e,” you whine, the over stimulation tightening the knot in your stomach to nearly explode. “fuck ‘m gonna cum.”

“yes, baby, cum all over my cock like the dirty little slut you are.”

that’s all it takes to tip you over the edge. your orgasm shoots through you in waves as ethan mutters “good girl” in your ear and you feel your cunt tighten around his throbbing cock that starts leaking from the feeling not even seconds later.

then he's groaning in your ear as he shoots his load into you and oh my god you could listen to him make these slutty noises forever.

you’re both sweaty and writhing riding out your highs, pulling each other close to feel as much of each other possible. ethan starts leaving a trail of kisses on your neck as your legs begin to slow down on the shaking.

You know if you were home right now he’d be pulling you into him on a bed, wrapping his arms around you and giving you kisses everywhere he can reach while he tells you how much he loves you. you’re a sucker for aftercare and he’s become a pro at it.

for now though, in a dirty frat bathroom, he settles for turning you around to kiss you on every inch of your face, muttering a soft "i love you" between each one.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry smut #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry fanfiction #scream 2023 #scream 6 #scream vi #ethan landry x reader smut

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thepowerofswayze · 5 months

Text

Crush

originally on ao3

pairing: mike schmidt (2023) / afab reader [gender not specified]

word count: 3K

warnings & info: 18+, first time together, mostly smut, oral sex (both receive), you're abby's babysitter, reader wears a bra, compliments like "pretty"

summary: Abby can't help but tell you all of Mike's business- specifically, that Mike has a crush on you. Luckily, the feeling is mutual.

☆

You were tucking Abby into bed when you caught her staring at you, brows furrowed. “What’re you thinkin’ so hard about?” You asked, tapping her nose.

The girl scrunched her face. “You’re really pretty,” she said, burrowing herself into the blankets. “It makes sense that Mike has a crush on you.”

Not sure you heard her right, you blinked, then laughed. “Very funny,” you sighed, giving her an eye roll and a smile.

“It’s true!” She was sitting up now, undoing all the work you’d put into tucking her in nice and tight. “He’s, like, extra weird around you, like, super fidgety and staring at you. And he fixes his hair before he opens the door every time you come over. And he’s all smiley on the phone with you. He’s never smiley.”

You tried not to betray the way your heart fluttered and instead put on a face like you're deep in thought. “Hm… Well, I’m not sure you’ve convinced me. But how about we talk about it when I’m back tomorrow? Right now, you should be fast asleep, girl.”

Abby was obviously not buying that you’d be willing to talk about it later- and, in fact, you were hoping she’d forget the conversation- but she yawned and lay back down, allowing you to re-tuck the sheets. Her eyes were already dropping as she said, “I’m right, you know.”

You gave her a nod. “I’m sure. Goodnight, Abby.” With a kiss on her forehead, you stood from her bed, turned out the lights, and slipped out the door.

As the door softly closed behind you, you made your way into the kitchen and started cleaning up from dinner. Abby’s words didn’t leave your head. Sure, kids loved misreading things or teasing their siblings, but Abby was a smart kid. She didn’t usually tell you lies. You shook your head, smiling a little at how the butterflies in your stomach stirred. Getting this worked up over intel gathered from a ten year old was silly.

That didn’t mean you thought about anything else as you worked, washing dishes and straightening the living room, picking up stray clothes and tossing them in their rightful places, sweeping the floor when you were done and still restless. An hour or two later, you collapsed on the couch, TV remote in hand. The only things on were Late Night, a rerun of 90s movies, and the infomercial channel. Seth Meyers tempted you from the NBC channel, but when you saw Clueless would start playing in 10 minutes, you settled on the movie reruns. You turned the volume up, just enough to hear it from the couch, then lay your head on the arm rest, doing a terrible job of keeping your eyes open.

It was like you blinked and the room was suddenly dark. In reality, it was hours later. You heard rustling, watching the figure in front of the now switched off TV turn toward you. “Mike?” You asked, knowing already from his posture and the way his hand ran through his hair that it was him.

“Sorry,” he said, mouth quirking up as he watched you stretch and yawn. “I was gonna let you sleep.”

You shook your head sitting up and patting the spot on the couch next to you. “‘S no problem,” you managed as he sat, letting your shoulder press against his. “How was work?”

Mike made a noncommittal noise, ducking his head as you turned to look at him, eyes adjusting to the lighting. The purple under his eyes wasn’t extreme, but it was there. Along with his permanently disheveled hair and week-old scruff, he looked the way the noise sounded. The exhaustion did nothing to hide how handsome he was, though, and you felt the usual rush of adrenaline as you kept studying him. “It was work,” he replied, hands fidgeting in his lap. “How were things here? I see you and Abby cleaned.”

You snorted, and you could swear he smiled genuinely. “Yeah, me and Abby.” You were fully awake now, eyes falling on his restless hands then flitting away to the blank TV screen, still warm. In your mind, a checklist appeared and you involuntarily checked ‘fidgety’ and ‘smiley’ off. “We worked on her homework. Oh, and we ate your leftovers… Sorry...”

He was looking at you now, one eyebrow raised as you gave him a grin that definitely didn’t convey any remorse. “I’m sure you’re so sorry,” he scoffed, eyes leaving yours but scanning your face now. ‘Staring.’ Check. God, this wasn't going to leave your mind, was it? “You didn't have to clean, you know. Thank you.”

Now it was your turn to make a noncommittal noise, accompanied by a shrug as you looked away. “No biggie. Helps me think, anyway.” When he ran his hand through his hair earlier, was that normal? Or was that a ‘fixes his hair when you come over’ occurrence, right in front of you? Suddenly his shoulder touching yours was all you could feel. You couldn’t live like this. “Abby said something funny, actually.”

You watched out of the corner of your eye as he hummed. “Yeah? What’d she say?”

Well, no point in dancing around it. “She seems to think you have a crush on me.”

You could swear Mike’s breath caught. Your shoulder left his as you turned to watch him now, eyes trained on his face. He glanced over at you, then focused on his fidgety hands. No way. “Oh.” There was no way. Your eyebrows raised as he wiped his hands on his jeans. The seconds ticked by. He was too quiet. “What, uh.” Another beat. You watched as he swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “What d’you… think about that?”

Mentally, you pumped your fist, and thanked the universe that kids were so committed to spilling everyone's secrets. “I dunno,” you responded. His obvious nerves were weirdly soothing to yours. Maybe it was the near confirmation that whatever this was, it wasn’t one sided. He was looking at you now, eyes a little wide at how close you two were, faces really only inches away. You could smell his cologne and the coffee on his breath. “I don’t think it’d be all that bad.”

“Yeah?” He barely breathed the word, and it sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes dropped to your lips, and yours did the same to his. “Well.” His voice was low and thick, like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “I guess we’d probably have to do something about that.”

It was a slightly awkward, very Mike type line, but it might as well have been a Shakespearean proclamation of love the way your stomach did flips. “Probably,” you whispered back. “Definitely.”

His hand moved, pushing a lock of your hair behind your ear, and you were barely breathing now. You leaned into the touch, his hand cupping your cheek, his calluses rubbing against your skin. The look in his eyes was going straight to your head, and you leaned in, tilting as your noses brushed.

A second ticked by. He whispered your name. “Are you… you’re sure?”

“Mike,” you breathed, eyes half closed already. “Kiss me.” And he did.

His lips were a little chapped, you thought. He was kissing you gently, and the friction of his stubble against your face was actually kind of nice. His free hand was gripping your waist now, sure but gentle, and your own hands traveled from your lap to his chest, where his heart was beating so hard you vaguely thought he might have a heart attack. As one of your hands moved to the back of his head, tangling in his hair, he let out a noise and the air shifted.

It wasn’t anything crazy- a rather content sigh was all- but it went straight to your stomach. Then lower. You shifted, a hand on his face to guide him as the kiss deepened, while the other tugged at his hair. He reciprocated eagerly, and you faintly registered how sweet he tasted. Another noise escaped, not a little gasp or sigh like you’d both been letting slip, but almost a whine in the back of his throat. You weren’t gonna manage to pull yourself away at this rate.

He chased your lips as you pulled back, just a bit, for air. “Mike,” you murmured. His responding ‘Hm?’ was so eager, you almost dove back in right there, and his thumb on your hip bone just under the hem of your shirt wasn’t helping. But you wanted something else. “If you wanna… We should go to your room.”

His eyes were wide again, and he stood almost abruptly. “Yeah. Yeah, we- cmon.” He took your hand, leading you through the hall as if you weren’t at his house every weekday.

You’d been in his room before, but you’d never been on his bed. You’d never sat with your legs tucked beneath you as he kissed you, his hands now on your waist under your shirt, your hands pulling at his loose curls in ways that made that throaty whine come back. He was gonna be the end of you.

He tugged at the hem of your shirt, and you smiled into the kiss. “Okay,” you murmured, pulling back to take your shirt off. His breath was trembling as you threw the garment to the floor, immediately working on getting his shirt off, too. It joined yours, the start of a pile, and you barely had a moment before his lips were on yours again, his hands back on your waist, on the small of your back. Yours played with the top of his jeans, your thumbs hooking into his waistband. He shivered beneath your touch. “Off,” you murmured, working on his button and zipper. He helped you get them off, helped you get your own pants taken care of, so you both sat there in your underwear.

You looked at the tent in his pants, then back up to meet his gaze. He was looking at you with wide eyes, glancing from your face to your chest. Lower. He took it all in with the same awed expression. His hand traced your side, and you took his face in your hands and kissed him.

Mike’s hands loved to roam. He ran them over your hips, over your thighs, up your back to the clasp of your bra. He fumbled before it released and slid off easily. The air was cold, but his hands quickly came up to replace the fabric, thumbs brushing over your nipples gently.

He pulled back momentarily. “Can I…” The tremor in his voice was too good. It took everything in you not to interrupt him with another kiss. His voice was low, pleading. “I don’t have any condoms. But I can still eat you out.” Then, quickly, “If you want, I mean.”

‘If you want,’ he said. Was he crazy? “Yeah.” You kissed him gently- once, then again. “Yeah. I want that.”

You lay back on his pillows, which smelled overwhelmingly like him, and watched as he climbed over you. His mouth met your neck, kissing gently, trailing down to your collarbone, your breasts, your stomach. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and you lifted your hips to let him tug them off.

Mike’s face was ridiculously reverent. Heat overtook your skin at the sight of him between your legs. He dragged a finger down the slick pooling on you, and your breath quivered. A kiss to your inner thigh. Then to the other one, stubble scratching the sensitive skin. Then his mouth was on you.

The feeling of his tongue tentatively lapping a stripe up your core made you squirm, breath ragged. He did it again, making sure to linger on your clit, then again and again. “That’s good,” you huffed out, and he sped up, the praise spurring him on. One of your hands found its way to his curls, while the other came to rest over your mouth. He sucked on your clit, and you let out a cross between a gasp and a moan. “Fuck, Mike.”

He answered with a groan of his own, obscenely pleased with the reaction he was getting from you. As he continued, one of his fingers slipping inside and pumping in time with his tongue, you bit one of your own fingers in a weak attempt to muffle yourself. His mouth was hot against you as he whined like this was just as good for him. Another finger slipped in, and your head pushed back. You gripped the sheets, chest heaving. “Just like that,” you gasped. The sound of his fingers plunging in and out of you and his mouth sucking on your clit filled the room, a vulgar combination. With his own muffled moans and your gasps added on, you were sure you’d lose your mind.

Your hips rolled up, just about riding his face and fingers. He let you, his free hand moving to cup your ass, his tongue still sucking and working even as he let you choose the pace. “Shit.” You could feel it now, the familiar sensation in your stomach. “Shit, Mike, I’m-” A gasp. “‘m so close.”

“Come on,” he murmured, not even pulling away, his voice reverberating against you. “Please.”

How was he begging for you to come? You glanced down at him in disbelief, and wow. He looked good like this. His head bobbed eagerly, his hair a mess where your hands had been, where one hand still was, his face flushed. You gripped his hair and he made a noise so indecent, it had your mouth falling open as your orgasm crashed into you.

He stayed on you as you rode out your high, slowing down his ministrations, fingers slowly pulling out of you. When you released your grip on his hair and he lifted his head, you were speechless. His face from the nose down was shining from the mix of your slick and his own spit. He brought his fingers up to his mouth, licking what was left of you off, and you all but growled as you pulled him up for a kiss.

He huffed as your hand traveled to the front of his boxers, feeling the wet spot he’d left and his fully hard dick underneath. You smiled into the kiss, continuing to feel him out. He made little noises into your mouth, and you drank them in hungrily. “Fuck,” he murmured, and you stopped.

Mike whined, his eyes searching yours as you pulled away. “Don’t worry,” you reassured him, just as out of breath as he was. “C’mon. Your turn.”

He just about scrambled to comply, switching places with you so he was lying where you had just been. You climbed over him, straddling his hips and leaning down to brush your lips. You traveled down to his neck, kissing and sucking, leaving marks that had him downright whimpering under you. Then, down to his boxers. You kissed him through the fabric before pulling it off with his help. He took in a breath as the air hit him, and you wrapped your hand around him immediately.

“Shit,” he breathed. You wasted no time stroking him, slowly at first, watching him squirm. Then, just as you sped up, you put your mouth on the tip.

Now it was his turn to put his hand in your hair. He was gentle, not quite pulling to the point of pain, but you could definitely feel how much he was enjoying you bobbing your mouth down his length, anything not in your mouth clasped in your hands. If his hand hadn’t been in your hair, he was vocal enough that’d you’d still have a very good idea.

“Fuck,” he babbled, whispering your name followed by a particularly desperate moan. “Fuck, you’re so pretty. It feels so good, so-” He cut himself off with a whimper, holding his hips down so he wouldn’t buck into your mouth, afraid he might hurt you. He was close anyway, and he told you as much in between breathless grunts and groans.

You removed your mouth and he whimpered at the loss before your hand replaced it, keeping up the rhythm as he dropped his head back. He stopped holding his hips down, bucking into your hand shamelessly. “Go on,” you encouraged. “Give it to me.”

He rambled on, your name on his lips as he climaxed and released into your hand. You kept going, guiding him through it as he came down, chest heaving. God, he looked too pretty with that hazy look he was giving you. You told him as much, and he flushed with a sheepish smile, pulling you in for another kiss.

You stayed that way, kissing him as his hands squeezed your hips, until he pulled back smiling. “I should clean us up, probably,” he murmured. At your protesting whine, he shook his head and shimmied out from under you. “If we keep this up I’m going to stop caring about our lack of condoms.”

He disappeared into the connecting bathroom, leaving you with your mouth open and a new throbbing between your legs. He was right. If you two didn’t slow down, you were maybe a couple touches away from also throwing caution to the wind, which wouldn’t work out in either of your favors.

He returned with a damp washcloth, already cleaned up himself. You held out your hand and he wiped it off, then your thighs. He tossed the cloth in the hamper in the corner of the room, then rummaged through his drawers, pulling out a shirt and turning to you. “I, uh. This should be better than nothing, yeah?”

You held out your hands and he tossed it at you. “Thank you.”

He pulled on a pair of fresh boxers while you tugged on his shirt- it smelled like him, his cologne and something that just screamed ‘boy’. You watched as he made his way back to the bed and you scooted over, letting him climb in next to you, pulling the covers over you both.

“You… you are staying. Right?”

You grinned, nodding at him. “Yeah. I’m not driving home right now.” You pressed a kiss to his temple, and he all but melted. “Besides, I wanna hang around with you longer. I like you, in case I hadn’t made it clear.”

Mike huffed a laugh, his hand sliding under what was now your shirt- you were never giving it back to him. Not until it stopped smelling like him, anyway. “Good. I like you, too. A lot.” He kissed your forehead, and you hummed, nestling into him as his thumb made lazy strokes on your hip. “Goodnight,” he whispered into your hair. You drifted off to the sound of his breathing.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt #five nights at freddy's movie #fnaf movie #ao3 #my writing #mike schmidt smut #fnaf smut #mike schmidt imagine #jhutch #josh hutcherson #zee writes

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pinkkittysaw · 5 months

Text

FIVE NIGHTS AT MIKE’S

pairing: mike schmidt x plus sized! female reader

summary: you spend the night at your boyfriend’s place

word count: 5,735

content: NSFW (minors + ageless blogs DNI, you will be blocked!) post canon (but still in the year 2000), established relationship, dry humping, oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), minor pussyjob, breast/nipple play, protected sex (use of condom), intimacy kink, both reader and mike have pubes

a/n: does anyone else miss blockbuster? because i do 😔 long live physical media! also i did my due diligence and calculated prices of things to my best of my ability for the year 2000 so even if my price match isn’t EXACT, it’s close. this ended up…unexpectedly softer than i thought it would. never did i think i would be stringing sentences together like this to describe mike from FNAF but alas, here we are ^_^

dividers by @/kimjiho1 & @/saradika

"See ya, rugrat," you say to the eager girl as she hugs both you and her brother at the entrance of their front door. She huffs, only slightly, when you ruffle her brunette curls, sporting a faint pout once she pulls away from your hold. You chuckle, kneeling to her height, before attempting to fix the mess you created, smoothing out the hairs that lay atop her head the best you could.

"Call us if you need anything, okay?" Mike repeats for the nth time that night since Abby started getting ready.

"Yeah, yeah." Abby dismisses her brother completely, heading toward the car parked in the driveway after she decides that her hair looks satisfactory enough.

It was a Friday night, both you and Abby had sleepover plans, her at a friend's house and you over at Mike's. Abby was so devastated when she found out that your sleepovers fell on the same day as each other—intentional planning on both your and Mike's part—that she almost bailed on her school friends. It was only when you promised to have a special girl's night with her the next time you stayed over that she eventually yielded, going through with her original plans for the weekend.

She was initially invited by one of her school friends. After Mike had sat through one of the world's most awkward conversations with Abby's friend's mom—one he made sure to recount once they arrived home—he decided that it was probably in her best interest to let her go out and socialize like this while she was still young enough to do so, despite whatever unspoken worries he had about her going off and spending the night on her own for the first time.

"Love you!" Abby yells from the rear car door before opening it and getting inside. The seats are filled with excitable little girls and one slightly apprehensive mom who smiles at you through the windshield. Though the sound is slightly muffled, Mike repeats the same words back to his sister.

He may not be the most outwardly affectionate person, but after taking even the tiniest glimpse into their lives, it's obvious that he cares. Whether that's shown through him triple-checking her pack before she leaves for the evening, giving her friend's mom a list of her safe foods so that she doesn't go hungry, or reminding her numerous times that she can always call home if she needs to because no matter how independent she's become, it's okay to still need your older brother. Although you're sure Mike would say that he's anything but a good older brother.

Abby waves to you both as the car pulls out of the lot before she turns back to her friends again. You and Mike stand waving in the entryway as it turns off onto the street, leaving an empty spot in its wake.

"She's come a long way," you comment, turning your head towards him as he continues to stare out onto the pavement.

"Yeah."

You're unable to help the way your eyes roll at his statement, though it's lighthearted in nature. "It's thanks to you, you know." You nudge him in the side with your elbow.

"I think you had a hand in it too," he chuckles, smirking as his eyes meet yours.

"Just accept the compliment, Mike." You pat his shoulder, then turn on your heels to head back indoors, with him following suit.

"So...what should we do now?"

"I got a spare ten; wanna rent a movie?" You reach down for your wallet that's tucked in your overnight bag sprawled on his couch, pulling out the ten-dollar bill and puffing it between your fingers. "Let me treat you, baby," you coo, twirling around with the money in hand.

He scoffs a little at the display but still reaches for his keys and jacket off the rack. "Let's go."

The drive to the video rental store is a short one, as most of your time is spent lip-syncing songs to Mike that play through the static of his shitty radio.

Once you arrive, you divide and concur. Since Mike got to choose the movie last time, it was your turn, leaving him in charge of the snacks. You take your time leisurely perusing through the aisles, trying to find something that looks interesting enough before making your way to the "New Releases" section. It takes a while before anything catches your eye, but as you keep wandering, a title eventually jumps out at you.

You pick up the VHS and make your way over to check it out. Mike's waiting for you at the end of the aisle, his arms filled with popcorn, soft drinks, and candy. The two of you walk side by side over to the counter, where he drops all his snacks, and you slide over the movie. He lifts the corner of the box to look at the title before the case makes its way toward the cashier.

"American Psycho?" He asks, raising a brow.

"Yeah." You hand over the cash and your ID. "A coworker of mine said it was good, plus the trailer looked...interesting." You smile. "Why? Are you scared of a little horror film?"

"In your dreams."

"Guess we'll see about that, won't we?"

After thanking the cashier and collecting your bagged items, the two of you head back to his car.

It's not long after that the two of you arrive back at Mike's place, having changed out of your day clothes into pajamas.

After feeding the tape into the VCR, you plop back onto the sofa, sinking into the cushions, popcorn in hand, and snuggling into Mike's side.

Around six minutes into the movie, you comment in between bites of popcorn. "I know this movie is rated R, but I honestly wasn't expecting to see Christain Bale's ass."

Mike doesn't say anything in return, just side-eyeing you with a simple "Uh huh."

By the time the credits roll, both of your tummies are full of salty popped kernels and sweets, the evidence of which lies on his coffee table in the form of empty bags and wrappers.

Your bodies have shifted positions since the movie started. He's lying on his back, his body spread along the length of his couch, with you on your tummy nestled on top of him. Your cheek is squished against the space between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in while his chin rests on top of your head, his fingertips drawing slow circles on the small of your back.

The sensation makes you drowsy, both due to his warmth and the methodical motions of his fingers lulling you into an almost slumber.

"So, were you scared?" You tease, breaking through the serene atmosphere.

"Hm?" He mumbles, slow blinking himself to a higher state of alertness. It seems as if he too has been lulled into falling asleep on the couch alongside you.

"Were you scared?" you reiterate.

"Definitely not."

"Yeah... it felt more like a thriller than a 'horror' movie, I guess."

Mike hums in agreement, the two of you lying in silence before he speaks up again. "We should probably get off the couch now, hm?"

You groan a little, not wanting to move from your comfy position on top of him.

"Says who?" You fold your forearms across his sternum, settling your chin on top of your hands.

"Me." He quips, "It's getting late."

You huff, maneuvering your body so you can stretch and look at the clock on his wall. "It's only ten p.m." His eyes aren't open, but they don't need to be for him to tell that you have a pout on your face.

In your best attempt to dissuade him, you settle yourself back in the crux of his neck. "The night is still young."

"Says the one who was snoring up a storm on top of me a few minutes ago," he titters, poking your sides lightly so you'll fold in on yourself. "Using me as her personal pillow."

You don't engage anymore, choosing to stay right where you are in silence. If you don't talk, then no conversation needs to be had, and you can stay where you are.

"Fine," he grumbles, effectively giving up. "We can stay like this a little longer." His fingers change positions now, moving from their persistent prodding to dragging the tips up and down your spine underneath your shirt.

"You're warm."

"You're warm...and snuggly... and safe." You plant a kiss on the exposed skin from the opening in his shirt.

"Safe? Never heard that one before." He smirks to himself amusedly.

"Don't start all that now," you tell him, looking up from your spot nestled in his neck.

"It's true," he retorts, "not sure any of my former employers would agree with you."

"First off, your previous employer was an actual madman. Secondly, I'm not one of your employers; I'm your girlfriend, and thirdly, you should know by now that I don't give a fuck about corporate."

Mike looks off to the side, not meeting your eyes. "You're not exactly a good influence on me, you know," he jokes.

"I never claimed to be." You move to lift yourself more and stroke his stubbled cheek with your finger. You sigh, "Look, I get that you haven't always been the most pacifistic person in the past, but...I mean it when I say I feel safe with you. And I know Abby is safe with you too, alright?"

He doesn't have the words to articulate the feeling that those words dredge up inside him, so he simply nods.

"Good." You lay back down on his front, staring up at him. "Wanna know one of my favorite things about you?"

You stage the question like it was a guessing game, but since he's unable to guess any good qualities about himself, all he responds with is "What?"

"Your eyes. So pretty."

The corner of his lip turns up in a smirk. This isn't the first time you complimented his eyes, and it surely wouldn't be the last. The warm, rich browns that make up his irises are sweet in color, despite him thinking they were as plain and boring as can be.

"You want to know what your eyes are telling me?"

"What?" You smile sweetly at him.

"That you're looking up at me like you want something."

"Maybe I do want something." You shuffle further up his body, settling yourself onto his lap, plush thighs surrounding his hips as you hold onto his forearms for stability.

"And what's what?"

You lean over him, slowly descending upon him, your face hovering just above his. "A kiss?" You wiggle your eyebrows up and down as if to entice him more.

"Go ahead."

"Really?"

"Could always change my mind."

"Meanie," you pout, but you meet him the rest of the way anyway, his lips melding with yours.

Trying to describe your relationship and the intimacy that came along with it was difficult. Trying to describe Mike was difficult. The closest thing that comes to mind is a skittish cat. He wasn't standoffish in the sense that he couldn't talk to anyone, but trying to get anywhere other than skimming the surface with him was a challenge, like a game of tug of war, a delicate balance of push and pull. If you charged forward too quickly, he'd retreat into a corner, baring teeth and claws.

It wasn't his fault, not necessarily. The death of his younger brother being the major catalyst as to why he kept himself so closed off. A death that he blamed on himself for the longest time.

He stayed approachable enough to get along with others on the barest of levels to not cause any problems. for the most part, and any attempts at digging in any deeper than he was willing to allow were met with resistance. If he never gets close, then he never has to lose, even if it means leading an even lonelier life down the road.

The only long-standing relationship he had left was with Abby. His final tether to humanity was the little sister whose life he was holding together with glue sticks and string.

To be honest, it was amazing that you got as close to him as you did. After his short stint at the run-down pizzeria, he asked you out, deciding that he was done trying to flee and cling to the past. It was time to start living in the present, taking care of those who needed him now while he still could.

The kiss is slow, meticulous, and intimate. A word that never used to be in Mike's vocabulary. It's warm. He's warm (and slightly squishy). The heat builds to a simmer inside your tummy.

His hands slide from your thighs to the fat of your hips, squeezing the flesh between his fingers as he pulls you closer against his pelvis, causing a slight whimper to fall from your lips. All you want to do is melt in it, sink into the heat, and slowly let it consume you.

One of your arms wraps around the back of his neck while the other hand cradles his stubbled cheek. It was strange how a man could make you feel as if your whole heart was being consumed all at once. Sickly sweet words come to a boil on your tongue, but you swallow and exchange them for something more simple and primitive. Moans fill the air of his living room, with the more primal part of you taking over.

Your hips begin to rock gently against his, your tongue prodding at his teeth. The groan that comes out of you is a plea for entrance, one which he happily grants, parting his lips and allowing you to swallow him whole.

"That's it."

The kiss becomes a clash of teeth and tongues, nipping at each other's lips while wet muscles glide against one another.

You're not exactly sure why, but kissing Mike like this, in a way that's so raw and unrefined, makes you unbearably needy, not just in the pit of your stomach but in your heart too. You've grown to like this little life you've built here, tending to the seeds of your relationship with care. It hasn't been perfect per se, but it's been yours. You love it. You love his sister. You love him and you can't decipher whether that scares you or not. Excitement and anxiety both make your heart beat to the same erratic rhythm.

He's gentle with how he holds you. Square palms and thick fingers knead the flesh of your sides before sliding down to your rear to give that a firm squeeze as well, his hands guiding your body, rocking it back and forth on his half-hard cock.

A juxtaposition: knuckles once bloody and bruised, calloused fingers with skin split around the nails holding you, caressing your body as if it were velvet. If he were a bit more needy, drunk on love, he'd swear to the heavens that you were softer.

His hands move from your ass to breast, his fingertips delicately sliding up the curves. It's not the first time he's "discovered your body," nor is it the last, but all the times you have sex, which is not often enough, it always feels as loving as the first.

Thumbs brush against the ribs that hide beneath your shirt, soft in a way that makes your heart flutter before they reach their destination, swiping against the soft, stippling peaks of your nipples, your bra having long since been removed earlier that night when you returned to his place. Palms grasp at the fat of your bosom, kneading the flesh.

The roll of your hips increases while your lips separate from his, laying forehead to forehead as you pant lightly against him, breath cascading down his features. The grip of his fingers on your side tightens as he tries to stall your movements. "Stop...stop..." he puffs into your mouth, slight perspiration building on his brow from the heat.

You pout as your hips come to a full stop, peering down at him beneath you.

"I don't want to blow all over the couch," he explains.

"What a lovely mental image you've just given me," you snort, swinging your leg over him as you try to get up, only to be stopped by his hands once more.

"I never said I had a problem with getting my bedsheets dirty, though."

His lips clash with yours as he walks you backward down the hall toward his bedroom. You stumble through the door and crash onto his bed while he flips on his bedside lamp before collapsing on top of you. Another whine escapes you as you feel his hard-on through his PJ bottoms.

"Mike," you exhale, holding onto his shoulders for support.

"I know, I know."

He repositions himself and you, by extension, so that he's lying on top of you properly. Lips move from yours to the corner of your mandible, planting quick kisses all over your skin as if trying to consume you. His facial hair tickles as it brushes against the skin of your neck, causing you to shrink up slightly while releasing a fit of small giggles.

You cling to every part of him just as he does to you, pushing up your shirt to lay claim to every inch of you. Though it's not fully removed, the material is left to rest above the swell of your breasts as he kisses his way down your sternum. He's deliberate as he moves down your body, attempting to cover as much of you in his sweetness as he can.

He takes extra care when he reaches your tummy, fingertips limber and gentle as he caresses the skin. Your eyes stay locked with his as his lips meet the curve of your stomach. Tender kisses are placed across it, showing appreciation for all of the parts of your body, not just the ones you've deemed worthy of his attention.

Sex wasn't always this "easy" between the two of you; even after dancing around each other and finally getting into a relationship, that didn't make all the vulnerability of the act any easier.

He wasn't bad at it by any means; he was just a little misguided. Although sometimes you regret having taught him as well as you have, especially now that he knows how to push all your buttons.

His palms slide up your legs, from calves to thighs, fingers nestled into the waistband of your underwear and pajama bottoms, tugging them off in one fell swoop. A singular kiss is placed at the height of each thigh before he spreads your legs, exposing your sex to the cool air of his bedroom.

Nothing is said, but he does sit there for a moment, kneeling on the bed above you. When he finally does make his descent upon you, he presses a kiss so delicate right on the pudge of your mons. Then he moves to your left inner thigh, then the right, back and forth, back and forth, scrupulous, patient, and SLOW. The point of which is to get you as wet as possible without having directly touched you yet. It's made abundantly clear when he echoes those same thoughts back to you.

His thumb runs through your slit, dipping into your entrance, enough so that he barely breeches through, collecting some of your slick on the rough pads and dragging it up to your clit, rubbing tentative circles on the bundle of nerves.

"So wet," is all he says while continuing, circular motions with even pressure.

Lucky for him and (un)lucky for you, he can go as slow as he likes tonight, taking all the time in the world to warm you up, despite all your incessant whining.

He leans back to pull off his shirt, revealing a cute tuft of brown hair in the middle of his chest.

"You can be as loud as you want."

He lays on his stomach, right in between your legs, landing a singular kiss straight to your cunt before dragging the length of his tongue from your entrance to clit, giving that a kiss as well. He repeats the action a couple more times before settling himself right on your pussy, nose nestled in the wirey hairs of your mons. The wet muscle worms its way to your pulsing hole, digging in deep to drink down every drop that leaks from you.

It's always difficult to maintain eye contact with him like this; his almond irises are blown so wide that it's as if only his pupils remain. He licks and laps at your cunt like it's the only thing he was made to do. He worships your pussy like it's his favorite thing in the world, and has to prevent himself from humping the bed while he indulges himself in your taste. Even though he knows you find it hot as fuck whenever he cums just from eating you out, he needs to feel you stretched out on his cock.

Though unspoken between the two of you, you know that if you stare at him for too long while he makes out with your cunt, you'll cum way quicker than you mean to, and you know if you cum too quickly, he'll lay there and tongue-fuck you right through your next orgasm, because as much as he eats you out for your pleasure, he eats you out for his pleasure too.

Most of the time, you don't feel like giving him a big ego, so you tilt your head back and screw your eyes shut as his lips pucker around your clit and suckles it into his mouth. Even if you don't meet his gaze, he knows the effect he has on you just by the way your fingers rake through his curls, rooting themselves in his scalp while whimpering praises into the aether.

"Mikey."

The pet name used to make him groan and roll his eyes in frustration, but when you're spread out like this underneath him, it's his most favorite sound in the world.

Your opposite hand drifts to squeeze and knead at your breast, tugging at your nipple. His hand comes up to meet yours, warm and grounding, as he begins to work at your clit even more, sucking it more vigorously than before. Your hips begin to buck against his face, the scratch of his stubble giving your inner thighs a delicious beard burn as the heat begins to reach a boiling point in your belly. His fingers squeeze down on yours against your breast while your fists tighten in his hair.

You look down at him finally, and it's as if he can sense you're watching him because his eyes immediately snap up to meet yours. You can barely make out the slick coating his face in the low lamplight.

He works overtime now that he has your full attention, dragging his hand from your breast to your tummy, giving it a gentle squeeze before bracing his forearm across it, allowing for leverage as he sinks one, then two fingers into your cunt. He's quick but not rough with his movements inside you, curling in just the right spot to make you see stars.

Though your hips are restricted by him, you hurdle toward your impending orgasm. You reach down to meet his hand, and he happily clasps his fingers with yours, breaking eye contact with him when the coil finally snaps. Your back arches while your hand tightens around his, nails digging into the skin of his scalp, moans dribbling from your mouth with every passing second.

He eases you down from your high, kissing his way up your body before pulling off your shift completely and meeting his lips with yours, giving you a taste of yourself. You moan into the kiss, clinging onto him for dear life as you begin to wind down. He knows you're all set when your touch goes from frantic grabbing to gentle caressing.

He looks down at you; your expression is happy and a smidgen dopey, but nowhere near fucked out yet.

"Think you can handle some more?"

"Your tongue game isn't that good."

He scoffs. "Still coherent enough to give me lip, I'd say you're good."

He sits up, reaching toward his nightstand drawer, fishing out a box from inside.

"Oh, a new box of condoms..." You rise to your knees. slinging your arms around Mike from behind, your tits pressed up against his back. "Were you expecting to get laid tonight, Michael?" you tease, slowly kissing his neck.

"You say that as if it wasn't your idea to spend the night when Abby had her sleepover." He fiddles with opening the box, tearing off a single condom from the rest.

"If I recall, you weren't opposing the idea either," you goad, trailing your lips onto his freckled shoulder. "It's good that we're being responsible; now come here. I want more kisses." You take the condom from between his fingers and place it back on his nightstand along with the box as you urge him back down on top of you.

He obliges, his lips meeting yours as you trail all over each other's bodies. His hard cock lays in between your thighs, aching and throbbing with need, so you decide to grant him a little relief. You slide your hand into his boxers and slowly stroke his cock. His breath hitches slightly, bringing amusement to your face as your lips brush against his.

"So hard for me already, poor thing." You nuzzle into his face a little, sliding your nose against his as you lick into his mouth, silently asking for his tongue once again. He gives as much as he can, panting into your kiss.

After just a few minutes of lazily jerking him off, you slide his pants lower on his thighs, bracing his cock right in between your slit and slowly start to rock your hips back and forth. The kiss becomes lazy, just tongues caressing each other while moans echo throughout the room, every vein from his cock brushing up against your clit as the two of you rock together. The heat and slick making both of you quiver.

You release him on the brink of going too far, choosing to then reach over for the singular packet, the shiny foil catching in the light.

"Can you manage to put this on, or do I need to do it?" you jest.

"I got it." He sits himself on the edge of the bed, plucking the condom from your grasp. You hear the sound of the package tearing, and soon after his bottoms are gone too, both of you nude together.

"So, how you wanna do this?" he asks while rolling on the latex.

"Wanna be in your lap."

"Are you sure your legs can handle that?" he chuckles, caressing your thigh.

"My legs aren't made of jello," you retort, getting up on your knees while he scoots backward.

"Alright, but no complaining if you get tired."

You crawl over toward him, and he reaches out for you, taking hold of your hips as you swing one leg over both of his.

"Hi," you say as you're face to face with him, one arm slung lazily over his shoulder, grazing his back, the other resting against his cheek as your finger strokes his cheek.

"Hey," he chirps back.

You give him a quick kiss, moving your hand from his face to his cock, feeding him through your entrance, and sinking down on him slowly, the two of you groaning into each other's mouths. Your tummy folds in on itself as you reach the base.

You're not sure if you'll ever get used to the intimacy of it all. No matter how many times you go through this, you wonder if the feeling of overwhelming consumption will subside. If one day, it won't feel like Mike is looking right into your soul every time you have sex.

You whimper slightly as you settle, his girth stretching you out deliciously. You cup his face as your lips search for his again. His hand moves to caress you, one hand gliding down your spine and the other grabbing the fatty flesh at the bend of your hip joint. They never stay in place, though, always on the move, making sure no part of your body is left undesired.

You roll your hips for the most part, bouncing only every so often when you want to feel the stretch of being filled again, mostly wanting to enjoy the feeling of being so close together, so connected. Taking simple pleasures in the feeling of him just being inside you. The hairs that spackle the base of his cock work to add pleasure to your clit.

He kisses his way down your neck, smiling against your skin as he does it, taking in deep breaths of your scent while his hands continue their caress to your breasts, making sure to show them the attention that he neglected while he was eating you out.

His lips move toward your nipple, kissing it before letting his tongue lull out of his mouth, flicking it back and forth.

"Mmm...Mike." Your cunt clenches around him at his efforts, your fingers curling into the hair that sits at the nape of his neck.

His opposite hand slides to your front, rubbing up and down along the curves of your body til it settles on the other breast, rolling the nipple between his digits. His tongue traces around your areola before sucking the nipple into his mouth.

"Christ, Mike," you whine as he locks eyes with you, the movement of your hips quickening with every suck.

This is the only time you get so whiny, when the two of you are in a position like this, so enraptured with each other, in each other's pleasure. You become so sweet and pliant.

He detaches himself from your nipple and eases you onto your back, grabbing the fat of your thighs and pushing them toward your chest so he can fuck you like you need, like you both need. You're not sure if Mike will ever admit to this, but he needs the intimacy as much as you do.

He's deliberate when he sinks back into you, grinding when he reaches the hilt.

When he pulls out, he develops a slow rhythm, one you can both enjoy with its progression. Despite its calm nature, every thrust of his heavy cock ruts into exactly where you need it, rubbing against the spongey spot inside you that makes your toes curl, that lights a fire in your belly and makes you needy once again.

As the moment continues to build, on the precipice of climax, he speaks to you through the haze of pleasure.

"Still need me to kiss you to cum?" He taunts. He knows the answer. It's been the same ever since the two of you got together. The intimacy between the two of you gets you off more than anything else.

You pull him down til he's practically on top of you, his body weight against yours, your tummy folding up so nicely as you lay nose to nose. His scent and his skin on yours grounds you like nothing else. You don't even mind the stretch of your thighs as he holds himself against you.

"Don't act like you don't need this too." You extend your neck in an attempt to push your lips forward on his. "You enjoy intimacy more than your grumpy face lets on." Your eyes are just barely glazed over, the same dopey grin plastered on your face as you reach out to him.

"Shut it," he huffs, pressing his lips into yours for a searing kiss, fucking into you with as much vigor as he can muster. The springs of his mattress squeak wildly as he fucks you through it.

As much as he tries to deflect, he knows it's the truth too. He needs the closeness as well. The intimacy, the skin-to-skin contact, the sweat, the heat, the love

You mewl into the kiss, wrapping your arms around him tightly. Your orgasm sits just beyond the horizon, your cunt clenching down on him harder and harder with every sloppy smack of his lips against yours. The need and desperation grow as your bodies cling together, never wanting to part, edging closer and closer to ecstasy.

You glide your hand down to your clit, rubbing in tight circles as your orgasm crests, taking over your body and moaning into his mouth loudly as you pull him down even further. You're reduced to nothing but babbles and whimpers as he fucks you through your orgasm.

You feel the same words as before bubble up on your tongue. He's here, his body encapsulating yours as close as humanly possible; he's so warm, so safe. He's here, he's yours, and you love him.

You let the words escape you this time, refusing to let them fizzle out into nothingness.

"I love you, Mike," you whisper in his ear.

It's not more than a few seconds later that he's spilling into the condom, his hips still sloppily thrusting and letting out an unexpectedly loud groan while clinging to you.

The air settles, and Mike is still nestled inside you. Your fingers comb through his hair as he brushes along your side, leaving a kiss on your skin every so often, enjoying the afterglow of sex.

You're the first to break through the silence.

"Shower now or in the morning?"

"Morning," he groans, somewhat groggy after everything that went down. He pulls out, getting up to remove the condom and tie it off, tossing it in the waste basket under his nightstand, making a mental note to dispose of it properly later.

"I'm gonna go pee, then we'll snuggle up for the night," you tell him as you head toward the bathroom before he has a chance to trap you in bed with sleepy cuddles.

"Don't fall in," he smirks, feeling proud of himself, and you grin at him for being an idiot.

As you go to wash your hands after finishing up, you hear a muffled. "I love you too" through the bathroom door.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt x you #five nights at freddy’s x reader #five nights at freddy’s imagine #five nights at freddy’s smut #fnaf x reader #fnaf smut #fnaf imagine #x reader smut #chubby reader #✰ミ angel writes

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chaoticharrington · 5 months

Text

Early Morning Surprise

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x afab!reader

WARNINGS: SMUT!!!, MINORS THIS IS NOT FOR YOU PLEASE DNI(AGELESS AND BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED), spit kink, slight overstimulation, thigh job, pet names, somnophilia, bdsm themes, praise, oral (f receiving), face riding, squirting, cum play, porn without plot, needy Mike 😵‍💫(if you squint slightly subby Mike)

Summary: Mike comes home from work and surprises you while you’re sleeping

Authors Note: Enjoy folks :) <3 I have three more fics lined up so stay tuned!

Word Count: 2.3k

When Mike works nights you always try your best to stay up and wait for him to come home, especially with this new job that seems to drain him so much after a shift. Always looking slightly horrified and even more tired than he already looks.

You were doing really good in the beginning, getting Abby all snuggled in bed, doing some laundry, making some dinner for yourself and even watching some tv on the couch. Where you started to go wrong was when you decided to migrate to your shared bedroom and lay in bed and read your favorite book. Your eyes start growing heavier and heavier with each page you read until your book is tipping forward onto your chest and your eyes are mostly closed. You drift to sleep and your book falls somewhere onto the floor losing your spot as you get more cozy in your sleep. Laying comfortably on your side, dreaming of an easier life for you, Abby, and Mike.

Until you feel yourself being pulled from your sleep, feeling little pecks on your neck and shoulder. You don’t think much of it, shifting onto your back to get more comfy. You feel the blankets gently pulled from your semi sleeping body and your legs softly pulled apart. You groan at the sudden chill that coats your body leaving goosebumps in its wake. Despite the cold your body starts to adjust and you begin drifting back to sleep.

Being pulled again from sleep, chasing a feeling… a really good feeling between your legs. Stirring by letting out a soft moan, absentmindedly grinding your hips into the feeling wanting more of it. That’s when you hear a moan that’s not yours…. but one that sounds familiar. You start testing your eyes by lightly opening and closing them, trying to get your bearings of your surroundings. You look down your vision still a little fuzzy, but you can make out just enough to see Mike lapping at the bundle of nerves between your legs like his life depended on it. You let out a louder moan

“F-fuck oh shit mike” you groan turning your head into your pillow. You remember the conversation you had had earlier that week with Mike about this fantasy he wanted to try out, and truth be told it was something you wanted to try too.

“Ssshhh shh baby go back to bed, daddy just needed to taste you” he mutters into your apex making the most obscene slurping noises

You gasp as he dives into your now very wet cunt like a starved man who’s not eaten in years. Licking and sucking every single crevice of you just to get every single drop of your arousal into his mouth. You’d never seen Mike so needy before and it was turning you on more than usual, knowing how much he needed you in this moment made you feel sexier than you’d ever felt before.

“m sorry honey I couldn’t help myself… I was so bored at work… lookin… at those screens all night… kept dreaming of this sweet sweet pussy…” he gravels, emphasizing the last few words by pointing his tongue and expertly circling your entrance.

You let out an even louder moan, now fully awake chasing your release the more he devours you. Your hips start rolling harder into his face, closing your thighs around his head, just trying to chase that feeling even more. Usually you’d be too self conscious to do something like this, chasing your own pleasure without thinking about him. But you couldn’t help it, it just felt so fucking good. And your inhibitions are down because you had just woken up, needing to chase your release in almost a primal, needier way.

Mike lets out the loudest moan you think you’ve ever heard from him, echoing inside the confines of your room. It spooked you, if Abby wasn’t already fast asleep it definitely would have scared you.

Mike lifts his head slightly, his nose all the way to his chin covered in your arousal and spit, he’s pupils blown clearly very turned on.

“Baby… I-please fuck my face… If I could devour you whole I would… I just… I need you” he says while he hangs his tongue out flat, lightly incasing your folds and grinding softly against the bed.

You take in a deep breath at his dirty words… mulling it over in your head… it’s not something you’d ever done before. But with how his lips and tongue already feel, you could imagine that it would at least feel just as good.

“Fuck okay” you say with a jagged breath

“It’s okay Angel I got you” he says as he grabs your hips and starts to move them so your clit is rubbing on his tongue.

He’s eyes never leave yours, showing you in each and every way that he wants this, no… needs this. Moaning and groaning into your folds reverberating into your core only egging you on more. You start getting the hang of it, no longer being guided by his hands but instead you guiding his with your hips.

His fingers making a home at your hips, digging deeper and deeper into your skin. The slight pain it caused only increase the unimaginable euphoria Mikes tongue was already creating for you. Gasping and moaning at a slightly alarming volume. The sensations becoming too much to bare, you grab onto his curls hard for some security, forcing another moan from Mikes lips.

You are hurtling faster than you’d care to admit towards release, grinding harder against Mikes face, coating his face in your wetness. Both of your moans quietly filling up the room careful not to wake abby.

At this point Mikes tongue is out lapping up everything you give him and letting your hips do all the work. The squelching noises between your legs only pushing you on even further to the edge.

“Mike oh my god Mike I- s’fuck I think i’m gonna cum” you shriek

He doesn’t respond verbally only showing you he heard you by moaning louder into your core. And then an explosion of color happened behind your eyes, you felt as though your body was floating in the air as you came hard. Soaking Mikes face even further in your juices.

“s’fucking pretty” he said as he came up for air, and pushing your folds apart to have better access to your clit and all the cum still freely coming from your center. Not even caring that you’ve already come down from your orgasm.

You scream in response, immediately covering your mouth, praying to whatever god you believe in that abby didn’t hear that and wake up. Your legs beginning to shake as Mike continues his assault on you, and you bite your hand to force yourself to be quiet.

“Sorry baby not done yet, I need more, I wanna see you cum again, you just look too fucking perfect, be a good girl for me and take it okay?” he mutters, it’s not a question, he’s telling you he’s not going to stop until he feels like he’s had his fill. Of course unless you used your safe word that the two of you had previously discussed, but you weren’t thinking about that right now. You were already flying towards the finish line for a second time. His moving your hips for you until you regain enough control to do it yourself, forcing you further into pleasure.

You grab onto his hair with your hand again harder than before, entangling his curly locks into your fingers. Youre knuckles turning white and your hand is beginning to hurt by how hard you were trying to contain yourself.

“Harder baby… do it harder, feels so good” he says to you dreamily, clearly so lost inbetween your folds.

You obliged him and pull even harder, pulling a whimper from his lips, muffled from being in between your thighs. You can feel the skin surrounding your core becoming sore from Mikes scruff, only adding to the already intense sensations.

You look down between your thighs to see that Mike is no longer looking at you, but eyes closed entranced and now shamelessly grinding his clothed cock against the edge of the bed unable to help himself.

“Fuck Mike, feels s’good” circling your hips pointedly to make his nose hit your clit, making you gasp.

You do the motion again and again and again, rocking the bed back and forth with a combination of your thrusts and his.

Then it hits you even harder than before, stealing all the breath from your lungs, pushing every bone and muscle further into ecstasy. Your mouth contorts into a silent scream, legs clamped around Mikes head and toes curled in pleasure.

The waves or pleasure still hitting you over and over again until Mikes tongue slows and he stops your hips. He licks one long stripe up your core before leaving kisses on each thigh.

You look up at him panting, trying to catch your breath. While you watch him stand up off the bed, seeing a wet spot of precum in his jeans.

He quickly pulls his shirt and boxers off, so you can see his painfully hard erection slap against his soft tummy.

He climbs on top of you eagerly, kissing you hard against your mouth. You moan as you taste yourself on his lips and tongue, it was wet and messy and you loved every second of it. Your mouth welcomed his tongue into yours as your tongues danced. He grabs the back of your head deepening the kiss, the both of you lose yourself into this for while. Grinding against each other and grabbing every single inch of skin that the two of you could grapple at.

He then slowly leans back, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you. He grins at you lightly, clearly very happy with the outcome of your experiment.

He pushes himself off the bed and puts his hand in front of your face with an expectant look.

“Spit baby” he hints

You indulge him by gathering a bunch of saliva in your mouth and lightly spit it on to Mikes hand. He then takes that same hand and rubs your spit onto his cock. He pushes your knees together and lines himself up between your thighs.

He drives his cock inbetween your thighs and exhales a big breath. You moan at the visual he was creating above you by fucking your thighs. You were grateful for the downtime because your clit was aching from cumming twice in a row.

His thrusts are slow but hard, making the prettiest noises, his face scrunched up in pleasure.

“You’re so fucking perfect you know that?” he said breathlessly, picking up his pace slightly

You bite your lip, you love seeing how much you drove him crazy. His moans and groans are like music to your ears. You want to give him a show just as much as he was giving you one.

You grab the edges of your night shirt and slip your shirt over your head, leaving your tits now free to bounce in sync with his thrust. You grab them between your hands and push them together, pinching your nipples between your fingers. You let out a soft hiss, reawakening your abused clit.

“Fffuuuckkk me” he gasps at the sight of you.

“You like what you see?” you say as you lick your fingers to put right back on your nipples.

“Yeah f-fuck yes I do” he says shakily, you can feel his thrusts getting less controlled and his breathing becoming more shallow.

“You’re always so good for me baby, so fucking dirty too…my dirty girl” he coos

You smile shyly at his praise, and squeeze your thighs tighter together so Mike had more friction as he was reaching his climax.

Mike whimpers in response, his hips slapping erratically against your thighs, and with one final thrust he’s coming. He cries out as his cock spills his hot cum all over your thighs and stomach.

You moan in response, the bottom half of you now basically covered in his cum. You both look between your legs, iced like a cake, Mike entranced with this imagine runs his cum covered cock inbetween your folds one last time.

He takes one of his hands and runs it between your thighs and on your stomach collecting his cum on his fingers, bringing up to your mouth.

You open your mouth happily to suck and lick all the cum off his hand. You make eye contact with him and moan, making sure he knows that you’ve enjoyed it just as much as he did.

“Jesus.. christ baby… your gonna kill me one day I swear” he babbles

You chuckle with his fingers still in your mouth and then letting go with a pop. He inspects his hand for a second making sure every bit of his cum has been gathered up by your tongue

“Good girl baby, did such a good job f’me” he praises you

Your heart swoons and you pull him back down to you into an embrace. He chuckles and settles himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and his knees tucked behind yours.

You nuzzle backward into him, lazily rubbing circles against his arm that was wrapped around you.

He kisses your shoulders and neck, occasionally giving you little praises about how well you did or how beautiful you looked. You wished you could stay in this moment forever, feeling completely safe in his arms. You know tomorrow you’d have a longer discussion about the new activity you guys tried out tonight, but for now, you’d rest.

Your eyes were getting heavier and heavier, and Mikes breathing was leveling out behind you, knowing he’s close to sleep as well. You finally let your eyes drop as you both went into dreamland content and satisfied.

#mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader #fnaf movie #fnaf smut #mike schmidt fnaf #mike schmidt fic #chaoticharrington fics

458 notes · View notes

highhhfiveee · 6 months

Note

please i need some dubcon mike schmidt ..,,, like he picks up drunk reader from a party n takes her home n fucks her throat ..,,, ‘you’re so easy to control when you’re all stupid like this’ ..,,, she’s got tears streaming down her face n she’s clawing at his thighs but he just holds her head in place n strokes her hair n tells her how good she’s making him feel ,,

okay okay okay. shiver me fuckin timbers lmaoooo. this is so brothersbestfriend!mike. switched it up a little but i hope you still enjoy! [had this set to post at 12 but tumblr failed me lmao]

sangria

tags: brothersbestfriend!mike, fem!reader, intimate touching, choking, wild dick sucking, deep throating, spitplay, degradation, dubcon (reader is plastered, and while she does consent to be taken advantage of, she is still under the influence); mike is such a protector and i'm starting to think that this is megasub!reader x protector!mike in addition to bbf! [let me know if i missed anything + this has been proofread but there’s always still a chance for mistakes lmao]

link to the original fic, mimosa, here 🍹, and the first part of the finale here, tequila sunrise, here 🍸

okay, so maybeeeeeee you two didn't actually get caught that day.

you’re panting in each other’s faces as you come, clean yourselves off, and exit the shed like your brother's best friend hadn't made you squirt all over the garden tools and pool supplies.

the feeling of mike's come pooling in your bikini bottoms makes you tingly all over again, and you're squirming while you both ease your way back into the fold of cookout attendees, diverting into separate paths so no one can catch onto your attachment; clandestine and kept between the eyes, lips, and bodies of you two only.

you'd wished mike nothing but hell while you were away at school, doing anything you could to get the thought of him out of your head. even though you'd been the one to catch feelings, you never wanted him to have any part of you ever again, restricting him from you.

you'd wanted him erased from the entire galaxy then, but from the cookout forward, nothing excited you more than the thought of being mike’s plaything. you snuck around with him more than you should've; giving him handjobs in the backseat of his car, letting him eat you out in your bedroom with the door open---risky things that made your heart pound with adrenaline and need, a rush to the very end.

you could only get that feeling with mike. it made you sick to your stomach with taboo butterflies, fantasizing about all the ways he could have you thrashing, eyes rolling back, toes curled until your feet cramped.

he'd hooked you on him once again, and this time, he'd decided to go with the flow. he wasn't pursuing anything with anyone else, and feelings had begun to bloom in him. nothing like love, he'd told himself (even though your flirty smile made his heart palpitate before making his dick hard), but like...safeguarding.

you were young, unversed with life, vulnerable; mike could see people taking advantage of you, mistaking your soft, impish act for total naivete. even though he'd hurt you himself, he'd never allow anyone else to treat you that way, or put you in a situation to harm you. there was this urge in him to keep you safe, keep you protected from the mean world that ate girls like you for breakfast.

mukrrrrrrrrrrrr

molwwwwwwwwww

gahdmn i cant tYpe LoL

exhibit a.

y/n are you drunk

….

………..

…………………………….

y/n

4 F R E E dwinks

downnnnnnnnn thw hATCH

pArTyz rool xp

mike's about to ask about your location when your picture floods his screen, phone vibrating in his hand with a call. he answers it with a displeased, "where are you?

"she’s at 8203 harrington circle," someone yells over loud, bass-riddled music and scattered conversations. mike hopes it's a friend of yours, and not a complete stranger. “she was fine, but i think that fourth drink tipped her over!"

mike's been putting on clothes and grabbing for his keys and wallet since your first text message, already sulking to his car as your friend finishes her statement. "stay with her and keep her upright, i'll be there in fifteen."

he can't get rid of the deep scowl etched on his face while he drives, both hands clasped tensely on his wheel at ten and two. he wants you to have fun, of course. he isn't going to tell you not to go to parties, or not to drink---you’re your own person, and he has no right to tell you what you could and couldn't do, but something about you utterly hammered around so many people you probably don't know makes his heart pound against his ribcage with agitation.

harrington circle was a street on a state school campus, one that you'd opted not to go to all that time ago. maybe you'd known some people there, but mike was sure you didn't know your way around, where to go if something went wrong...

he pulls up to a tall, red brick house smack dab in the middle of a cul-de-sac, immediately throwing his car in park and exiting when he sees two girls walking alongside a guy carrying you out the front doorway. he has his hands hooked under your armpits, pushing your boobs together and "covertly" staring at your amplified cleavage as he leads you down the short stone path.

your head lulls back a little, and you're smiling up at the sky with your eyes closed and your cheeks flushed to death. your legs drag under you, and mike's quick to grab for your waist, removing you from that perv's grasp with haste and a grimace.

you droop into him, body leaden with alcohol, and he slides one arm under the back of your knees, bending his own to lift you into a bridal style hold.

you squeal as he turns away from the house, throwing your arms around his neck and dreamily sighing at the way his hands feel carrying you, strong and vigilant and possessive. "mikeeeeeee," you mewl, pulling yourself into him so you can nudge at the column of his throat. your words are slurred almost beyond comprehension, and he commands one of the girls to open the passenger door so he can ease you inside.

he sets you down in the seat, or at least tries to, whispering, "let me go" when you keep your arms wrapped around him. the position has him hunched over, and it hurts his back so badly, but you whimper, "nooooo, want you close" while nearly making him trip and fall across you, splaying his entire body over yours. he smells so good, all warm and musky and mike, and you don’t want to separate from him.

"y/n, please. i wanna get you home," he reaches back to wrench your arms off of him, placing them in your lap and closing the door before you can complain. he walks around the front to the driver's side, monotonously thanking the girl who'd helped you as he grumpily enters the car.

he grabs for your seat belt, stretching it across your torso as he does his own and drives away from the annoyingly illuminated house and party commotion in silence.

you're so gone, but even drunk, it's unsettling to you how quiet mike is, keeping his eyes focused on the road without a hint of a glance or a word to you. his jaw is clenched deeply, and he's stiff as a board against his seat, so opposite from his usual sullen, suave nonchalance. you frown at him, fingering with your strappy, well-tied sandals. "hey, grumpy,"

"not grumpy," you huff at his tone, sour and unwavering, and wiggle your toes as you finally free them from the entrapment of footwear. "i'm fine."

"you've gotten very, very bad at lying," you demur. your head slacks again, but this time against your headrest. you ogle mike through the film in your eyes, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. "mad at me?"

mike writhes in his seat, his jaw muscles flexing at your coy lilt. you know how to manipulate him with your words, sweetening them in just a way that would have mike bending to your will. the way you're gazing at him with your big, unfocused eyes makes him makes him press down on the gas a bit harder.

"i'm not mad," he mutters, all pseudo-nonconfrontational and collected, but you know that he's not telling the truth. something about the circumstances bothers him, and you want to know why. the car comes to a stop at a red light, mike shaking his head as he scrunches his face and rubs his eye with a knuckle. "forget about it."

"i won't. don't like me having fun without you?" he doesn't answer, staring ahead at the empty streets around the two of you. it was so late, nearly 2 am, and it only fuels the exasperation he feels burning in his stomach. he doesn’t like you out here like this, without him to keep you out of harm’s way.

"is it the drinking?" you pout, frustrated with the way he's ignoring you. "i admit, maybe four drinks was overkill, but i feel sooooo good. my body feels like..." you make a subtle buzzing noise, similar to tv static, and cut it off with a giggle, reaching over for one of mike's hands while the light turns green.

you inch it towards your lap, dragging it across the skin of your thigh that skims the end of your skirt, mini and gold and matching with the white corset top you wore. "you should feel."

"y/n..."

"c'mon mike," you pout again, dipping his hand between your opened legs. you let out an astounded moan when his cold fingertips connect with your bare clit, and now he's scowling at the fact that you’re not wearing any panties. he thinks about how many people would keep note of that, combined with your docile, inebriated state, and see it as a way in. it’s clear, with how those drinks have you begging him to ease his fingers into you, caressing your tight, warm walls so he can add another check to "car" on the list of places he's made you squirt. “don't want you to be mad at me anymore."

"i'm not mad at you, y/n," he finally says, fingers still against your skin. you're soaking his seats, the excess of your slick dripping down to the cloth, and he has to pull himself out of thinking about someone else feeling you in this way. his eyes stay low on the road as he continues, "did you know anyone at that party?"

"mhm, like one person." mike sighs, a low grumble in his throat. he pulls his hand away from you, putting all of his attention on driving so he can get home. he just wants you inside, away from the world and in his charge. he doesn't say anything for a long while, eventually taking a deep breath and mumbling, "just want you safe, y/n. i'm glad you called me to come get you. there are bad people out there, and i don’t trust them in situations like this.”

"yeah," you purr, leaning against the center console and resting your head on the side of his seat. "you're my knight in shining armor, hmm? keeping me away from all the bad bad people looking to destroy messed up princesses like me?"

mike side eyes your tone, nearly scolding you for treating it like a joke and not something that could actually happen.

"...that's one way to put it, but seriously—-“

"wanna be destroyed though," you interrupt, unbuckling your seatbelt once he cuts the car off in the driveway. he’s turning to you, dark eyes gazing towards your pouted lips. you're reaching your hand across his lap, massaging it over the press of him in his sweatpants. “especially by you. wanna be your little fucktoy. let you use my messy holes however you want because they're yours."

your filthy mouth and shameless confession have mike turned on and hard and thinking about how you've called your holes his. he's seeing you bent over the couch, stuffed to the hilt with his fingers pressed against your tongue while he smirks down on you, veins coursing with lust. he squeezes at your hand, and says,

"let's get you inside, okay? then we can talk more about my messy fucking holes."

you're dizzy, giving him a big, woozy smile and letting all the craving you feel inside pour out through your glazed over eyes when he swoops you up again, carrying you and your shoes to his front door. your arms are back around his neck, and you're placing soft kisses on his lips, jaw, and chin as he drops your shoes by the entrance and carries you all the way to the couch, settling his body into one of the corners.

you're adjusting yourself on him so your bare mound drips over his thighs, and he's got his hands around your hips again, digging his fingers into your flesh as you mindlessly grind against him. you're still kissing against his lips, so uncoordinated and sloppy, and he pulls on the wispy strands at the nape of your neck, disconnecting you from him so he can leer at you with a look that tells you he will be destroying you tonight, guaranteed. "no panties was really bold of you, baby."

"can’t have panty lines in this skirt," you frown, placing your hands on mike's shoulders for leverage to move on him a bit harsher, eventually grazing them over his back and arms as you do. "not cute."

"but it's really not cute for you to have my holes on display for anyone to have, especially not when you're like this."

"mikey, please,” you coo, hunching down to press wet, suctioned kisses on mike's bare neck and rolling your hips into the weight of him. he feels so good against you, and you're aching, the alcohol sending shocks to your clit with every second of friction. "want you in me or something. no more talking, just use—-.”

"aht, don't rush me. trying to get you to understa---" one of your hands goes from roaming his shoulderblades to placing pressure around his throat, shocking him stiff against the back of the couch.

he doesn't think anyone has ever choked him before, and while his eyes burn at you with frenzied astonishment, you're causing him to have a revelation. his dick pulses against the material of his sweatpants at the feeling of your dainty hand squeezing his throat, and he's reaching to grab your wrist and bring your hand down before he comes all quick like he’s 18 again. you stop him with your other hand, coming in close to his face.

there's such a ferocity in your stare, and he knows that you're not going to let him lecture you all night. you need him to fuck you, need him to do something with you and your drunken arousal.

"are you really gonna keep talking, or would you rather just fuck my throat?" you slide your arms down his back, lips placed by his ear as you whisper, "show me how depraved people really can be when i'm like this."

he knows it's sick, but it doesn't take much past that for mike to have you on all fours beside him on the couch, back arched into a 45 degree angle as you drool all over his lap. you're begging for it, whining about how good he feels in your mouth, and he doesn't want to miss an opportunity to give you something you want, even though you're in this state. he's glad that it's him using you in this scenario, and not someone genuinely looking to hurt you. it's his rationale for giving in to your immoral desires.

you pull away from your mess with a sharp inhale, your jaw trembling as you sit up and give mike an eager, spit-slick smile. your eyes are even more distant than before, and it's almost like you’ve checked out. mike can see all the brashness and attitude you give him on the regular is gone, currently replaced with servitude and the intent to please, nothing less.

"wanna feel you ruin my throat, mike," you rasp, grabbing his dick in your hand and stroking at the soft skin, suckling on his tip as you flash him the hunger you feel inside through a grin. "please."

he's silent, having a quarrel with himself as he takes in your blank, mindless expression. it’s so wrong of him, but you look so pretty like this, and he reaches out to hold your cheek as you pout at him again.

"pleaseeeeee," you whine, tears nearly welling in your eyes. "want you to wreck me, use me however you wanttttt. gonna be your obedient, drunk little whore, do whatever you ask."

mike loses all resolve then, and demands you to drop to your knees in between his own. you're quick to assume the position, letting him put one hand on the back of your head and feed his dick into your throat.

"shouldn't like this," mike mutters, wrapping your hair up into a ponytail with both of his hands, watching you rub his dick over your face after slipping it from your mouth to spit on it. he almost can't take you like this, spacey and pliant and all his to destroy. so drunk and willing and--- "shouldn't let me take advantage of you like this."

your face is stained with tears and spit, streaks of dried liquid overlaying your burning cheeks and swollen lips. the neckline of your top is soaked too, saliva glistening on your chest.

"maybe i wanted it," you muse, winking leisurely as you wrap both of your slim hands around his base, smirking up at him. "maybeeeeeee i went and got plastered cause i knew you’d come get me if i called," you're feeding him into your mouth again, and without warning, mike is holding your head stationary, shoving his hips up into your warm mouth while you gulp every time he hits the opening to your throat. of course you'd do something like this. your admittance makes mike feel a plethora of things, good, bad, ugly, but right now, all he's focused on is making you feel like the toy you wanted to be.

"you're a fucking slut, y/n," he hisses with gritted teeth, throwing his head back as he feels you open up for him, allowing him to raise his hips and sink further into you.

the muscles of your throat flutter around his length, and it makes his toes curl, tangling together in his socks. "only sluts go to a party to get drunk so they can be turned into pretty little fuckdolls later...like being fucking mindless for me, huh?"

"love it, mike," you whimper, laying your tongue flat so his dick can slip in and out of your mouth with less resistance. it's covered in thick spit, a droplet resting on the tip, and mike leans down to collect all of it in his own mouth with a sloppy, obscene kiss, before releasing it all over his pelvis with a groan.

it was a fucking mess, and he loved it. he knew you loved it like this too, and your enjoyment of the raunchiness is reflected in the way you patiently wait for him to plunge his dick in you, eyes twinkling with everything and nothing at the same time.

your hand is moving under your dress, fingers stroking along your sodden walls, but he doesn't care; not when your eyes are rolling back into your skull as his dick infiltrates your throat again, filling the room with a persistent gluckgluckgluck as he rhythmically slams your face into his base.

you're sure you'll have no voice after this, but fuck, will it be worth it. you're basking in every second of this, so happy you decided to go out tonight. you were unexperienced in some ways, but you knew how to get to people, or at least to mike. you could get him to do whatever you wanted under the guise of him being in control, and all it took was a bit of sweetening with your voice, a flutter of your eyelashes and a crooked, "innocent" smile for mike to be wound your finger, abusing your face in a way you shouldn’t have dreamt of. you're running out of breath, and your fingers dig into his thighs with the message, but he ignores you, gripping your hair so that your mouth gently snaps up around him every time he pulls his hips back. the sensation is godly, and mike's not sure if he deserves this really. you'd fallen so hard for him at one point, and he'd crushed your hope to be with him under his thumb, but now you're here, letting him have you like this despite those memories. he's lucky, for whatever force is keeping you in his orbit.

"letting me do this to you while you're fucked up...letting some older guy take your throat like you're just free use...you're not getting into heaven," you laugh around him, forming your mouth into a makeshift smile as he slowly slides you off of him, overstimulated by the ridges of your throat muscles clinging to him. he doesn't want to come on your face, not this time. he wants you to beg for him to come in you, for him to fill you until you're overflowing, leaking down your thighs while he gives you more and more and more and more...

"i know," you mewl, pretty face smeared with saliva and pre-come. "i'll be in hell with you. wouldn't have it any other way." mike sits up, thumbing at your bottom lip and hissing as you unhinge your jaw and suck the tip of it inside. your eyes are getting dimmer by the second, but you're still wanting everything mike can give you.

he won't stop until you say so, and he strangely finds himself buzzing with lust at the thought of you bossing him around for his pleasure and yours. how had you gotten in his head like this?

"go in my room and strip, baby. sit in the middle of the bed and don't move." you're on your feet in a flash, clumsily dashing down the short hall without a look back.

it gives him time to get some towels, a washcloth to clean your face up, some lube, and grab waters for the both of you, thinking about all the ways he's gonna contort you. he might even make you watch in the mirror, make you take in your glassy eyes and lack of autonomy, the way you're letting him, your brother's best friend, have you in such an obscene way.

he cracks the door open with all the items in hand, and scoffs when he sees you naked, but stretched out on the bed, mouth hanging open with soft snores.

he walks over to the edge, dropping the things he's holding onto the comforter and shaking your shoulder softly. "baby," you lurch awake, murmuring "huh?".

you blink the bleariness out of your eyes as he uses one of the towels he brought to wipe off his drenched groin, and he smirks at you. you two are done for the night, and that's fine with him. something about your small figure, safely sprawled against his sheets has him seeing hearts and stars and rainbows and everything else he's tried so hard to push away.

when he's dry, ditching his shirt and boxers, he leans against his headboard, cradling you in his arms and lap as he begins using the washcloth to wipe at the dried spittle on your face. "here," he announces, cracking open a water bottle and bringing it to your lips, tilting it so you're able to get some water between them without much effort.

you swallow the sips he gives softly, wrapping your arms around his neck again. you loved being skin to skin with him, and right now, you felt tranquility.

this is but a fraction of that 100% he wanted to give, you think. something has changed in him, and now he wants to show you care. he still wants you to need him, need him to keep you protected from the world outside while he corrupts you in his own. you want that, too.

"mmmmmmm, you're so boyfriend," you muse, placing pecks on his collarbones as he continues cleaning you up. he's able to maintain a pokerface towards you, wiping at your cheeks with passive strokes, but inside, he feels nothing but chaos. why does he like hearing you call him boyfriend, like having you in his arms like this? why did it all seem to fill a hole in his heart, one he always thought would stay a cavity?

"really do love you, mike," you add, staring at him full on now. you might as well be sober, with your attentive, doe-like eyes. "tried hard not to, but i do."

you've broken him down, so easily, and somehow, he's giving into you with a deep, irrevocable sigh. he has nothing else to do but finally accept the truth.

"me too, y/n. me too."

this was rough for me to write because my brain just couldn't work properly, so i hope it's not the dogshit i think it is lmao hope this satisfies you anon!

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear

#fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf fic #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #faire's mike schmidt <3 #faire is writing stuff #josh hutcherson #faire answers asks #this man is sweet and gross and that's hot tbh #like...to ruin someone so close to you....having to keep it secret #lord jesus christ

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 5 months

Text

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 25

Part 1 Part 24

“You mean blood draws this thing?” Hopper asks. He’s finally seated at the table, no longer looming over Eddie where he sits, like he’s just picked him up for possession and taken him in for questioning. Again.

“We don’t know,” Barbara says. Nancy chimes in, “it’s just a theory.” All three of them ignore Eddie’s shouted “Yes!” As if he isn’t the only one that’s seen the thing more than once.

Hopper steeples his fingers in front of his nose, looking like he’d rather be almost anywhere else. Eddie can’t blame him. He also wants Hopper to be anywhere else.

“We’ve got a plan,” Nancy says. “To test the theory.”

Hopper sighs, closing his eyes and pinching his brows, the same way he does when he catches Eddie selling pot outside of the high school. Or at the trailer park. Or at parties. “Let’s hear it then.” He doesn’t open his eyes. Nancy starts speaking anyway.

Eddie, having been mostly absent last time, tunes in for the conversation. She wants to jerry rig the house with bear traps. Like they’re in the Looney Tunes and she’s trying to catch the road runner. Hopper doesn’t seem all that impressed. Neither does Wayne.

“No,” Wayne says.

Hopper still hasn’t opened his eyes. Maybe he was so shocked by the slap dash plan that he gave up and went to sleep.

“Excuse me?” Nancy says.

Eddie bristles at her tone, but Wayne doesn’t even twitch. “You’re kids,” he says, like that’s all there is to say.

“But, Steve –”

Joyce jumps up from where she was still huddled with her sons to tower over the table in all her five foot nothing furry to shout, “this is not yours to fix!” It works to shut them all up. “It’s not you kid’s responsibility to save another kid.”

“But, Mom,” Will says.

Eddie wants to echo the sentiment. Wants to beg. Steve saved their lives, and they’d left him. She wants them to just leave him there? Again? “I know, baby. We’ll get him.”

“Anyone called the boy’s parents?” Wayne asks, but it comes out barely as a question. He already knows the answer, even before Hopper scoffs. Everyone at this table does.

“Like anyone even knows what country they’re in,” he replies while Joyce bristles, like the thought of anyone’s child being left like that leaves her seething.

“Enough of that,” she says, waving her ends in a cutting motion in front of her. “How are we going to get that boy back?”

Will stands up and storms out of the room. Eddie’s never seen the kid be anything but polite. Eddie stands to follow the tug at his sternum telling him to keep the kid in his line of sight.

“Will?” Joyce calls, trying to follow as well until Jonathan tugs her back by her arm with a quiet murmur he can’t make out.

The house isn’t large. He can hear the silence reverberating as he follows Will. The best plan they have so far is Nancy’s game of mouse trap. If it means saving Steve, Eddie’s ready to form an alliance with the devil he knows. If it means saving Steve, he’d be willing to do worse.

“I could go back to the lab,” Hopper says, voice barely carrying down the hallway.

Will’s sitting on a bed when Eddie finds him. It’s small with a blue comforter on it, covered in little cartoon planes. There’s a poster of Jaws on the wall, D & D minis on a bookcase. This might be the coolest kid alive.

Eddie takes a seat beside him, the mattress squeaking as he huddles into it.

Will’s hand is dangling between his knees, cradling a walkie talkie. He doesn’t look over at Eddie, just keeps staring at it like it’ll crackle to life at any second.

“Whatcha got there?” Eddie asks quietly as voices raise in the other room. Eddie wonders if this is what it would’ve felt if he’d had a baby brother back when voices were always raised in his house. He wants to scoop this kid up and bolt out the window.

Will barely seems to notice the noise. He’s still just staring down. When he finally drags his eyes up, it seems like it takes effort. “I want to call Mike.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Who is Mike?”

Will’s eyes shift back down. “He’s my Steve.”

Well, Eddie has no idea what that means, but he can glean some things: Mike is important, and Will wants to talk to him. “So, call him.”

Will’s shoulders curl in. He cradles the walkie talkie to his chest like it’s a baby. “He thinks I’m dead.” It comes out of his mouth bitter.

Eddie reaches out, clasps his shoulder gently. “Then, I bet he’d love to hear that you’re not.”

Slow as molasses, Will raises the walkie talkie up to his mouth, holds down a button and speaks. “Mike?” he asks. “Do you copy?”

He decompresses the button. The silence trickles back in as they both now stare at the walkie talkie, waiting for something to happen. “Maybe he didn’t hear yo–” Eddie starts to say, conjuling, when a frantic, prepubescent voice crackles through the little speaker.

“Will?!” A voice asks, overlapped by another saying , “–didn’t say over, Mike!” before the fuzzy sound stops abruptly.

Will waits a second before pushing the button again, and speaking, “I’m here, over.”

“Where are you?” presumably Mike asks. “We’ll come get you!”

Will smiles, eyes brimming. “It’s okay,” he says, voice lighter than Eddie’s ever heard it. “I’m home.”

The silence lasts longer now, until a new voice filters through. “Yeah, yeah, I’m glad you’re back, Will,” attitude dripping even over the static of the line. “Now, the bad men have got us pinned down, you gotta help us.” it says, before tacking on a quick, “over.”

“Bad men?” Eddie asks, looking over at Will, hoping this is some ill-timed inner-circle game.

But Will looks confused. Panicked. “I think we should go get Chief Hopper.” Will says.

Great. Another fucking problem. Eddie regrets ever being dragged back through that goddamn hole in the tree.

Part 26

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #my fic #first part where i was like wow that sucked to write and i hate it but im moving along so i don't get bogged down! lol

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keerysfreckles · 6 months

Text

stay here - mike schmidt

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns (no movie spoilers bc i haven't seen it yet im just obsessed with mike) fluff! fluff! fluff! like one makeout scene but thats it

enjoy!

to say babysitting michael schmidt's little sister, abby, was easy would be a lie. mike called you earlier that day, right before his shift started, and asked if you could look over abby until he got home. at the end of the call he mentioned his hours were shorter, and earlier than normal, so he wouldn't be home too late.

it was currently eleven pm. abby's supposed to be in bed by ten-thirty, and nothing was working. y/n tried calming her down with a disney movie. she even colored with her in her makeshift fort in her room. but nothing worked, she was as hyper as ever.

"abby, please! we both know you're going to be tired tomorrow and you have school," y/n pleads.

"but i'm not tired," abby groans, rolling over dramatically on the couch.

"you know what? fine. i'll just tell mike you weren't listening to me," y/n sends abby an evil smile. abby perks up, and sits up to lean on the arm of the couch to look at y/n.

"no! no no no! he said if i was good all week he'd buy me something from the store."

y/n crosses her arms and leans against the hallway wall, opposite of the couch. "looks like you're going to have to listen to me afterall."

"but i'm still not tired," abby groans again, but walks over towards y/n.

y/n looked down at the girl in front of her. she saw the small bags under her eyes, and noticed her eyes kept closing every so often.

an idea popped into y/n's head, "why don't you go lay down, and i'll be in in ten minutes, yeah?"

abby nodded, confused by the request, but still nodded nonetheless and walked down the hallway and towards her room. y/n watched for a moment before abby was fully inside her room. she knew abby was most likely to fall asleep once her head hit the pillow. now she only had to kill two hours until mike would be home.

y/n and mike have known each other for three years. y/n moved into the one story house that was unoccupied in mike's neighborhood. the town wasn't used to newcomers, so of course y/n was the talk of the town for her first two weeks there.

it wasn't until a month later when y/n was on her morning run on a saturday, and had bumped into michael. she was instantly confused when she noticed he was in his work uniform, and on the way back to his house. the two made light conversation, and ended up at y/n's that night for a movie marathon.

about a month after that, mike knocked on y/n's front door, and properly asked her if she wanted to go on a date with him. of course the girl agreed, and that was the first date of many for the couple.

which leaves y/n in the position she's in - babysitting abby.

when mike and y/n officially started dating abby interrogated the girl. asking her a bunch of questions, some more personal than others, which mike quickly interjected. abby gave mike the idea of having y/n watch over her, instead of having to pay random strangers. mike obviously agreed.

y/n settled herself on the couch and put on a random horror movie that was on tv. she couldn't even get past the opening as her eyes closed and her body went limp from tiredness.

she grabbed the blanket at the other end of the couch before fully letting sleep embrace her.

the only time y/n woke up was when she heard the doorknob rattling. she turned slightly, to look over the back of the couch, and saw her boyfriend walking through the doorway.

"shit, were you sleeping?" mike asked, taking off his jacket and throwing it by the front door.

y/n sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, "yeah, but i can go. abby's asleep so i did my job pretty well," she chuckles.

"thank you again. and you know you can stay babe, i don't mind the comapny," michael smiles.

y/n couldn't help but notice how on edge mike looked as soon as he walked inside.

"are you okay?" she asks softly, still sitting on the couch.

mike nods as he sits down beside her, "yeah, just a long night." he leans over and kisses her cheek, causing y/n's cheeks to turn pink.

"do you want to talk about it?" y/n moves her leg to rest her chin on her knee, as mike's eyes glaze over the tv screen before turning fully towards his girlfriend.

"william was just on my ass before my shift, and vanessa had so much energy tonight, i just couldn't handle it. and it felt like time was going so slow tonight," mike's voice was quiet. y/n could tell he had a rough night as he rubbed his eyes.

y/n leans forward and turns off the tv, making mike slightly confused. "is there anything i can do to cheer you up?" y/n stands in front of mike and holds her hands out. he immediately takes her hands in his as he stands with her. mike leans forward and kisses y/n's forehead.

"can you just stay here tonight?" mike's voice almost seems desperate, as if y/n's presence was the only thing keeping him going right now.

y/n nods, "i'll always stay if you ask me to," she smiles as mike closes his eyes and rests his forehead against hers.

"was abby okay tonight?" mike asked, pulling away, but still keeping their hands connected.

"she was good, until trying to get her to go to bed. but you didn't hear that from me," this caused mike to let out a small laugh.

the couple, with one of their hands linked with each other's, went down the hallway. mike stopped y/n and opened abby's bedroom door quietly. y/n stood beside mike and held onto his arm with her free hand, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

the pair were met with abby sleeping under her blanket. small snores escaped her lips. y/n leaned up and kissed mike's jaw, before whispering, "c'mon, i know you need sleep just as much as she does."

y/n pulls mike into his room, which was at this point their shared room. mike had two drawers of his dresser specifically for y/n, vice verse in y/n's room. mike stepped into the bathroom and they both got ready for the night, in the most comfortable clothes they own.

y/n was already laying down under the sheets once mike came out of the bathroom. even laying there, he thought y/n looked so effortlessly beautiful.

"why are you staring at me like that?" y/n asks as she watches mike slide into the bed next to her.

"what? i can't stare at my pretty girl?" mike leans forward and kisses y/n on the lips, as he brings his left hand to her cheek. he rolls over, so his right arm is on the mattress, as he hovers over y/n. her hands move to his waist, slowing moving to his lower back.

their lips molded with one another's, and y/n could almost sense the stress leaving mike's body.

mike barely pulled away, leaving little to no space in between the two, "i love you so much."

y/n smiled, "i love you too."

she leaned up to kiss him once more, and mike playfully rolled his eyes while moving to lay down beside the girl. mike loved falling asleep while holding onto y/n's waist, because he knew she was safe.

#michael schmidt #fnaf #fnaf movie #mike schmidt #abby schmidt #mike schmidt imagine #michael schmidt imagine #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you

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s-brant · 2 years

Text

Sweet Peach

An inside joke started by Eddie turns into torment for Steve when his girlfriend, Y/N, joins in on it. On a night out with their friends, his long-buried frustration comes to a head.

13k (18+)

Warnings: smut, thigh-riding, unprotected sex, public sex, daddy kink, exhibitionism, breeding kink if you squint, substance use, and strong language.

There are a lot of things Steve loves about his friends.

The first of which is that they are loyal. Not the standard type of loyal either, they're the die-for-each-other type of loyal. From slaying inter-dimensional monsters together to trying to pass finals, they have gotten each other through many arduous trials. Having each other's backs isn't even a question at this point.

The second thing he loves about his friends is their ability to turn any lame Tuesday afternoon into the night of their lives. It doesn't matter what they have to do in the morning, or that there isn't much to do in Hawkins in the middle of the work week, they find a way to liven the dull town and paint the greyscale world around them in technicolor.

Growing up being the infamous King Steve who ran with a group of vapid popular kids, he didn't know what true friendship was until he found Nancy, Robin, Eddie, Y/N, and the kids. His weekends used to be spent drinking at lame parties until his loneliness inevitably set in once he returned to his empty home, or meandering around with Tommy and Carol in utter boredom looking for something to occupy them. Now, every day is a new adventure. Whether that adventure is being Dustin Henderson's personal chauffeur or watching Robin and Eddie get high while he and Y/N swim in his pool, it's a better time than any he spent with his old friends.

His third favorite thing about his friends is their collective, almost hive-mind sense of humor. The layers of their inside jokes know no bounds, and while he appreciates it ninety-nine percent of the time, right now, he wishes he could wipe their memory for the sake of ending his torment.

It started over a month ago with a conversation they were having while the kids were piled up in the backseat of Steve's BMW with Robin and Eddie squirming underneath the gaggle of bony-limbed teens that were sitting on them. Somehow, Will, Max, and Dustin all managed to squeeze in on top of them. It wasn't safe by any means. The only people wearing seatbelts back there were Robin, Eddie, and Max, and the lack of safety was what sparked the new inside joke in the first place.

The younger teens dove into the backseat before Steve could yell that there weren't enough seats. He had expected Dustin alone, but when they pulled up in front of the Henderson residence, two more little nerds came running out after him.

"Hey! No, absolutely not, I'm not starting this car until you guys are wearing seatbelts," Steve said in the same stern but shrill tone often used to yell at the kids. "Will and Max, get out and trade with Robin and Eddie. You two can sit on their laps. You"—he was turned in his seat to point at Dustin—"bike to Mike's house."

Dustin scoffed.

"That's not fair. Why can't Y/N just sit on my lap?"

As he was mouthing off, Max and Will were already opening one of the doors and leaving the car as per his request, waiting for their older friends to unbuckle their seatbelts in order for them to switch. However, Dustin wasn't getting off of Eddie's lap until he made a decent effort in getting his way.

"Uh, because I'm not gonna let my girlfriend ride without a seatbelt. Duh. Precious cargo, Henderson," Steve said as if it were a fact as obvious as the sky being blue and grass being green.

The sound of Eddie and Robin yelling out an offended, "Hey!" in unison at his lack of care for their safety in comparison to hers fell on deaf ears. He was too preoccupied with scolding his favorite child to acknowledge them. All the while, Y/N watched the interaction from the passenger's seat with a soft smile and a blush creeping up her face to the tips of her ears at his "precious cargo" comment. The contact of the hand he already had placed on her thigh from across the center console could've burned a hole right through the denim fabric of her Levi's. His hands were always warm.

"But—"

Steve didn't give him the chance to continue his protests.

"No buts," he said, "Go."

The younger boy rolled his eyes and retorted, "Okay, dad," with a lethal dose of condescension laced in the second word for emphasis. Everyone else, both inside and outside of the vehicle, let out laughs at the snarky jab that snuffed out the gentle hum of Captain and Tennille playing from the radio.

Within the fumbling process of everyone getting out and rearranging their places in the car while Dustin watched from the curb in annoyance, they all began to build on his comment.

It was Will who said, "You know, you really do act like a dad. You should swap this thing out for a minivan so everyone can fit."

The smile on Y/N's face only grew as she listened to the interaction and watched Steve exaggerate an eye roll in her peripheral vision.

"I second that!" Dustin chimed in with a raised hand.

A seatbelt clicked into place behind them, and it ended up being Max, settled between Eddie and Robin who were motioning for Will to sit down with his legs stretched out across all of their laps, who spoke up next in outrage.

"No way! Are you insane? This car is way too cool to trade it for a minivan."

The hand that wasn't resting on her thigh raised to gesture back at Max as he spoke matter-of-factory to Dustin through the rolled-down window, "And that is why she's my favorite. She's funny, she listens to me when I say to switch seats, and she doesn't tell me to abandon Phoebe for an ugly minivan."

He and Y/N named his beloved BMW passed down to him from his dad Phoebe after seeing Fast Times at Ridgemont High together and mutually decided that Phoebe Cates was the hottest girl they'd ever seen. Thus, the hottest car in existence, in Steve's biased opinion, had a fitting name.

"Aren't parents not supposed to have favorite kids?" Eddie asked, then shifted to a teasing tone of voice, "That's kinda fucked up, daddy."

The chorus of giggles that erupted through the car drew a reluctant smile from him that he fought with every fiber of his being. Y/N watched his lips twitch with the urge to let it develop into a full-blown toothy grin, but he managed to remain strong and keep his amusement masked. In the end, he ended up playing into the joke and amping up the "dad act" he unknowingly donned around the kids for the sake of the budding joke.

He departed from the Henderson residence with a playful, "Wear your helmet and you might be bumped back up to favorite kid status," spoken to where Dustin stood, less grumpy now that the mood had shifted into something more jovial.

In their defense, he didn't resent the joke when it started. For a week or so, it actually made him laugh just as much as it made them laugh. He would pretend to scoff and roll his eyes, but they all saw him chuckle whenever they cracked another joke about it. Soon enough, every member of the group began calling him "Dad" instead of his name. The kids even pulled together their collective allowances together to buy him a "World's Best Dad" apron.

The problem stemmed from Eddie.

It began with him calling him daddy, and then, well, it stuck. Hearing Eddie call him that obviously didn't weird him out. It was a joke. But once Y/N caught on and began saying it, Steve was forced to confront new revelations about himself he wasn't fully comfortable with.

The first few times she joined Eddie in poking fun at him with the nickname, he shifted in place and let out a forced laugh to satisfy them. It was one particular instance that prompted this revelation, and he hasn't been able to end the torment it's caused him since.

Summer afternoons tend to be hottest in July in Hawkins. With Steve being the only one in their group to have a pool, this meant that everyone was to spend the fourth at his place, savoring the haven that was the cool water beneath the blazing sun, pigging out on grilled hot dogs, and, for the oldest few, drinking beers he swiped from the fridge in his dad's garage. Y/N hated beer, though, so he, being the whipped thoughtful boyfriend, came up with an alternative for his girl.

The apron the kids gifted him was tied around his waist as he poured a shot of vodka into the Shirley Temple he made special for her, placing extra maraschino cherries on top because she always complains that restaurants never give her enough, if any, of them. Her red bikini matched their vibrant shade when he carried it over and handed it off with a softly spoken, "Here ya go, peach."

Y/N's head jerked around from where she'd been focusing on Nancy and Robin, talking about a book they both read recently, to see him. The two other girls were sharing a lounge chair beside Eddie, who was lighting up a joint and sitting on the patio ground. At the sight of Steve standing there, she smiled, and it only grew when she caught sight of the drink being held out for her.

She knew without having to turn around that it was him. Other than the obvious indicator of the voice that she could recognize in a crowd of thousands, Steve is the only person to call her by that nickname. Neither of them remembers how it started in the first place, but other than the occasional "baby" or "sweetheart" thrown into the mix, he has referred to her as "peach" for the duration of their relationship.

With one hand, she took the glass from him. With the other, she guided him to lean down for a kiss by the collar of the apron he wore to cook the hotdogs on the grill for the kids. At that moment, the idea of them spending the rest of their lives like this was her deepest desire. She pretended if only for the short moment it took to pull him in and kiss him, that this was their house together, that they had children of their own, and he would work the grill while she watched over their brood of little Harringtons. It wasn't hard to picture with the "World's Best Dad" apron he wore either.

The hand she used to pull him in slid down the front of the apron over the ironed-on lettering that spelled out the words. She kept her palm flat on his semi-toned abdomen, looking up at him through fluttering eyelashes, and patted over the word dad once as she casually spoke the words that damned him to his suffering.

"Thanks, daddy."

Something changed in him at that moment. The tectonic plates must have shifted, Pandora's box was opened, and there was nothing he could do but stand there with his eyes glued to her sitting in front of him in surprise. Not at the new nickname Eddie had given him, he was used to that joke now that they were a week deep, but at the unexpected effect it had to hear her say it.

You see, Steve never thought he was into kinky sex. After checking out a couple of dirty movies from the secluded adult section of Family Video, the conclusion came to him after two of them that he wasn't into the bondage thing. He liked to get rough now and then, sure, but that's normal. A little hair-pulling, aggressive doggy style with his girl wasn't anything to write a letter to the Penthouse over. This, however, was notable. It clicked with him about five seconds after she said it that he might get hard.

Oh, he thought. He liked that. A lot.

The fact that she was sitting with her face in front of his crotch and looking up at him played a part, but it was being called that by her that switched on a lightbulb in his brain he never knew existed. However, she didn't mean it the way he felt it. That specific kink is something she's heard brought up in some of Eddie and Jonathan's painfully lewd conversations whenever they're too high to care, but she never thought to imagine it in the context of her and Steve. Not yet, anyway.

Whatever Steve had conjured as a response died with an inaudible whimper in the back of his throat, and he was forced to gather himself quicker than he thought was possible due to having friends sitting around them. Nancy is far too perceptive to miss it if he starts acting funny, and if Eddie or Robin picked up on the fact that he was sporting a semi because she called him that, he would never live it down. Like, seriously, he would be destined to live in shame for all eternity.

With that in mind, he cleared his throat and said, "Of course." A charming smile was flashed in her direction. And for the sake of the voice in the back of his head always screaming at him to take care of her, he brushed a strand of hair from her face and said, "Drink some water too, okay? Can't have you passing out on me. Someone needs to help me keep those little shitheads away from the beer cooler."

The "shitheads" in question meaning Max and Lucas, who spent a decent half hour trying to sneak their way over to the cooler he stashed the cans in. He ended up shooing them off and used the cooler as his seat around the lounge chairs everyone was stretched out on in order to guard it.

Though the "passing out" bit was a gross over-exaggeration on his part when the alcohol consumption was a mere shot of vodka, it brought a familiar warmth to the pit of her belly. Feeling his hand resting on her head to pet her hair, looking up to take in the sight of him—his sun-kissed cheeks, the chest hair poking out from the edge of the apron tied around his bare torso, and the doting affection evident in those big doe eyes. It may have been easier for her to hide it, but that moment turned her on as well. She couldn't put her finger on what did it, but it was there. Something about seeing him paired with the soothing touch and the gentle command in his voice when he told her what to do...

She nodded along like a puppy, glad to do whatever he said so long as he didn't stop looking at her like that.

"Okay."

Had he not been sporting a noticeable bulge underneath the green apron, he would've sat with her for another minute while waiting for the hot dogs he just put on to cook, but he was quick to leave. Any excuse to get the hell away from whatever siren song she was singing and back to the grill so he could try to ignore the revelation he had.

From then on, she kept calling him that.

She and Eddie would greet him with the nickname every time they saw him. And, much to Steve's dismay, hearing it from her had him fighting off arousal every single day. There were more times than he could count that she would come hurrying up to him whenever they met, throw her arms around his broad shoulders to plant a kiss on his cheek, and say through a smile, "Hey, daddy."

It was like an itch he couldn't scratch. Every time that damned word fell from her lips, it killed him to refrain from reacting. Although, he'd be lying if he said it didn't have at least one positive effect on his life. The impact it made on their sex life, at least for him, was immeasurable.

The kids, along with Nancy, left his Fourth of July party before dinner time, and the combination of sun-induced exhaustion and alcohol consumption led to Robin and Eddie passing out on the living room couch. In other words, he and Y/N were free to do as they pleased in the seclusion of his bedroom. The size of the house gave them more privacy than they would find at her place. As long as the bedroom door remained shut and they kept as quiet as possible, their friends would be none the wiser.

The half-dry bikini tied to her body left damp patches on his sheets where he pinned her beneath him. His deft fingers had the straps undone on her top as he rutted between the legs wrapped around hips and whined into her mouth. He heard her calling him daddy on a loop in his mind and gave himself to it. The pleasure sparked by their needy grinding lowered his inhibitions. It allowed him to fantasize without shame or judgment, and when that wall came crashing down, there was nothing he could do to rebuild it.

He came in his shorts less than a moment later. It was embarrassingly fast compared to his usual stamina with her, and he could tell by the way that she looked at him as he trembled in her arms and chanted her name under his breath that it surprised her as much as it did him.

She asked, breathless, "Did you just come?"

The apples of his cheeks burned red. He ended up burying his face in her chest to hide it in embarrassment as he gave her a muffled, "Yeah," in response. It had been years since he came in his pants like that. If he had to guess, the last time might have been making out with his first girlfriend when he was fifteen, downstairs on the very couch Eddie and Robin were knocked out on.

And in the weeks since, it has been a frenzy.

Never in their lives has either of them had that much sex before. It was even more intense than the frequency at which they had sex at the start of their relationship when the honeymoon phase prompted them to undress at the drop of a hat. Most of it was him initiating considering she was jokingly calling him daddy every time they saw each other and he couldn't help but throw himself at her, but once she caught on to the sudden uptick in his sex drive, she began initiating it too. To be wanted by Steve Harrington was an addictive thing.

The "torment" aspect of the ongoing joke has to do with the fact that during this frenzy of sex, he can't say a thing about the new discovery he's made about himself. What if she thinks he's weird? What if she thinks he's some kind of creep? He'd never want to offend her and risk ruining what they have together for the sake of a kink he didn't know he had.

How is one supposed to break it to their girlfriend with whom they have vanilla sex that they think they would like to be called daddy in bed? It's not that he doesn't love the vanilla sex, he does. He loves plain old missionary. He loves holding her face in his hands and looking into her eyes. He loves making love to her, and he would argue that there is a difference between that and normal sex, but there's a part of him that wants to explore new things as well. And that part of him has been hard to ignore.

Especially tonight.

It was Nancy's idea.

With it now being late August, it's their last chance to be together as a group before she leaves for college, and she found the perfect way to celebrate before the send-off full of tearful goodbyes inevitably commences. She and Jonathan intended on dragging the older crew to a dive bar a few towns over that (allegedly) didn't check IDs. It wasn't necessarily about getting drunk, either, it was about getting out of Hawkins for one night. Far away from the place that caused pain and pleasure to them for a few hours of reprieve, or maybe even pretending to be the people they wanted to be.

The backseat of Joyce's car is packed. Jonathan borrowed it for the night, seeing as Steve's needed an oil change and he wasn't going to risk the twenty-minute drive if Phoebe wasn't ready for it. Jonathan and Nancy are sitting up front together while he, Robin, and Eddie are in the back.

His foot taps to the beat of the song playing from the mixtape Jonathan put in as they wait for Y/N to come walking around the end of her street. The hands on his wristwatch read eight-thirty. The precise time they told her to meet them down the road from her house. Steve likes to go up to the door to get her, ever the gentleman, whenever he takes her out, but this night is different. She couldn't tell her parents she was going out of town to a dive bar, could she?

Y/N smiles at herself in the mirror, swiping one last coat of lipstick on and taking a step back to review her masterpiece. The aesthetic of the makeup and outfit blend together with a cohesion rarely found in her wardrobe. Most often, she throws on whatever pair of jeans and top left that's clean and calls it a day. But something as big as the group's last night out together called for more attention to detail.

The fabric of the skirt wrapped around her hips is soft beneath the pads of her fingers running along the outseams. It's a mini skirt Steve gifted her last Christmas—short to an offensive degree and simple in design. Classic, one could say. Especially when paired with her knee-high boots, the sheer black button-down tucked into the waistband, and his favorite shade of lipstick. In other words, there's a likely possibility that she'll put her boyfriend into an early grave with how she looks tonight. He's told her what seeing her in this skirt does to him.

She spends another minute or so fussing over the way her hair falls before realizing the time and cursing under her breath, rushing over to her bedroom window as if a fire was lit under her ass. It's left open for the night breeze to infiltrate the bedroom behind her, but she doesn't care. Her parents never notice when she sneaks out, so she'll be spending the night at Steve's place after they return from the bar.

The impact of her feet on the hard dirt beneath her window sends a splintering ache up the sides of her legs that she ignores for the sake of running across her lawn.

And, suddenly, there she is one minute late. Running up around the bend of the road, she appears from the pockets of darkness between streetlights like a ship emerging from a cloud of mist—hidden one moment and towering above the voyeur with its commanding presence the next. Her, with her mini skirt and red lips. Her, with her hair swishing with the momentum of her strides in the breezy summer night. His sweet peach.

He doesn't stand a chance.

The door swings open for her, and there he is.

His hair is done differently than it is on a day-to-day basis. In a styled mess of grown-out strands, the general gist of his usual hairdo is altered to be a bit tidier. The sides are pushed back into place with hairspray while the top flops to the side in a swoop that is somehow disheveled and put together at the same time. He's wearing one of those stupid polo shirts she loves so much, and, God, one of these days she will suffocate beneath the weight of this eternal yearning.

His eyes rake up and down the length of her body multiple times before he manages to string together a sentence in greeting.

Bless him, she thinks. It's too easy.

"You look"—his mind cycles through the options, 'Gorgeous, pretty, sexy, good enough to eat, like I want to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you so good you start calling me daddy for real this time'—"beautiful."

Robin interjects, "I mean, we all know that 'cause, duh, but please keep it in your pants, Harrington."

The way he said it, especially when paired with that blink-and-you'll-miss-it surprised expression donned by that pretty face of his, tells Y/N what she needs to know. The little black skirt will be on his bedroom floor by the end of the night. Not that she has any qualms about it. Robin's comment is ultimately disregarded.

"Right back at ya, daddy."

This earns her a laugh from Eddie, a nervous smile from Steve, and a few lackadaisical chuckles from the rest of the car. The joke is beginning to get old, but, for some reason, she can't stop calling him that. Old habits and such.

A shiver runs down Y/N's spine at the contact of the hand he rests at the southernmost point of her spine to steady her as she crawls in to sit on his lap. Once she steps in with one foot, his palm dips down to cup her ass cheek over the skirt with her backside facing away from their friends to "help" her the rest of the way in. But, she doesn't take it as him making a move.

The thing about their relationship is, they both know he already owns her. Whatever part of her, whatever piece of her soul he wants, is his, and she willingly surrenders it to him. So, touches like this are commonplace. They both know it never matters to them if he touches her ass or tits without initiating sex. Sometimes, he slips a hand up her shirt and cups one of her breasts in his hand as they fall asleep on nights they spend together.

It isn't just her either, it goes both ways.

She keeps a hand in the back pocket of his jeans most times, and she loves to play with his chest hair if it can be accessed with the clothes he's wearing. But, it must be acknowledged that it is something different in each direction. Steve's possession of her is different than hers of him, and she likes it. She likes their dynamic. She likes how he makes her feel safe and protected and held whenever they're together. She likes moments where he touches her this way simply because he can. Because he knows how much power he wields over her and refuses to do anything but good with it.

The possession she has of him is...fuck, what isn't it? It's everything. It's free falling into an unknown pit. It's wishing he could do anything to make her better when she's low. It's the urge to protect her from whatever threats come their way, a dynamic forged in the life or death environment their relationship began in when they looked after the kids together as El closed the gate. The knee-jerk reaction he had to leap in front of her into the direct path of a demodog, already raising the bat to swing for a girl he met days ago. It's being wrapped around her finger and savoring every second of it.

She settles into place on his lap and thanks him in a hushed tone as to not interrupt the conversation Robin and Eddie launched into about how egregious the couple PDA within the group can get. A pair of strong arms wrap around her waist, pulling her back with little effort so her back is flat against his chest with his body acting as a seat and seatbelt to keep her in place.

The motion of the car going forward rocks her ass back against his lap. He bites back a groan, and it ends up coming out as more of a shaky exhale that he prays she doesn't notice. As long as she doesn't call him...that...again and the car doesn't jolt around enough to move her on his lap, he'll make it through the drive unscathed.

For the first five minutes, all is well. Roadways are flat and smooth, she doesn't call him by her new favorite pet name, and he manages to ignore the nagging voice in his head reminding him of the dirty secret he's been harboring for over a month. It slips his mind as he listens to their friends' conversation with his chin propped onto the edge of her shoulder and his eyes trained on whoever is speaking.

But, right when they reach the six-minute mark, it begins.

The road doesn't become uneven and pothole-ridden out of the blue, it is she who starts to shift around on top of him of her own volition. As much as she loves cuddling, sitting on his lap with her knees pressing into the seat in front of her is getting uncomfortable, and she can't find a way to make the discomfort lessen no matter how she positions herself.

"So cramped in here," she whines under her breath and wiggles her hips in an attempt to sit without his hipbones digging into her ass.

It doesn't do anything to help. The only thing it succeeds in is arousing him. Luckily, the fleeting spark of pleasure he felt when she first got into the car was snuffed out by the distractions provided in the form of their friends, but this time...

Steve has to breathe in deeply through his nose and switch his chin to rest on her other shoulder, the one closest to the window, to keep the rest of them from noticing him shutting his eyes in concentration. It's an affirmation on repeat in his head to keep him from hearing her voice saying that cursed word to him: Do not think about it, do not think about it, do not think about it, do not—

There's movement to his left, the feeling of her head turning to look over her shoulder to him, and she asks at a volume so low, only he hears, "Are you okay?"

He curses himself for making it obvious. There's no way she wouldn't have noticed with their close proximity, but he hoped his deep breaths wouldn't attract attention. And once she turned her head to see his eyes shut, she assumed he was upset or in pain of some kind.

Well, he thinks, emotional pain. The crushing emotional anguish of not wanting to have this conversation here in front of their best friends.

"Yeah, peach, s'all good."

The reassuring words are punctuated with the soft squeeze of his arms tightening around her waist in a quick embrace, but there is an ulterior motive underneath. Perhaps if he holds her tighter and has better control, she won't be able to keep readjusting every two seconds and practically grind her ass on his soon-to-be erection. The thicker fabric of his jeans buys him more time before she notices to get it to soften, but, fuck, he needs it to hurry up and quit.

Knowing her, he should've known she wouldn't drop it. If she thinks he's not feeling well, she'll do whatever she can to reciprocate the care he shows her and try to make it better, but the last thing she's doing right now is making it better. Seeing her face and hearing her voice while feeling her pressed up against him is torture.

"Are you sure? Are you getting carsick?" Her eyes narrow and her brows pinch together as she asks it in a whisper. The soft pad of her thumb rubs the back of his hand in comfort. "You're breathing so heavy, you sound like you're gonna be sick."

She starts to squirm again in his strong embrace to turn to see him better, and the movement rubs the curve of her ass on his bulge just right. Through the thin layer of her panties, he can feel the warmth and softness of her pussy against his hardening cock. That's it. He's past the point of no return. Now that he's aware of it, he can't think of anything except how easy it would be to push her panties to the side, undo his jeans, and take her like this.

His arms unloop from her waist as casually as they can without drawing the attention of their friends, then he grips her hips with enough pressure to bruise the skin to halt her cruel movements. The feeling of his lips brushing her ear has her heart skipping a beat.

Steve says lowly, "Stop moving."

Her mouth is already opening to ask what the problem is, wondering if he's hurt in some way and she's making it worse when—

Oh.

He's hard.

It hurts her neck to crane it enough to meet eyes with him, but she considers it a necessary sacrifice to get the surprise she feels across. There's a silent pleading in his eyes. What it is he's pleading for, other than the obvious, she isn't sure until another few seconds pass and the sound of Nancy telling a story about the first time she smoked pot comes back to her. That's what he's asking her to do. Don't let them know anything is going on.

Those red lips are parted in shock, and Steve thinks he might burst out of his skin if he doesn't get his hands underneath that tiny skirt. Having to see her lips painted that color...

The reason he knows she did it on purpose is that he's told her, just like he did with the skirt, what it does to him. This one is less about his fondness for the color, although he does like it, and more so about the memory tied to it. It was Christmas of their senior year. Their fling was to remain on the down low until they knew what they wanted from it since it began shortly after they looked after the kids together amidst the chaos of the night El closed the gate. He dropped Dustin off at the Snowball where she waited for him, leaned up against the brick wall of Hawkins Middle School after walking Max over to ensure Billy didn't fuck with her.

He remembers that as the first time he knew he loved her. When he pulled up in front of the entrance to the gym and forgot about everything else in existence when he saw her there, taking the younger girl into her arms for a hug and waving goodbye. There was something about her that night that made him see her in a different light than when their relationship had been strictly a friendship with sexual perks. And when she got into the car after Dustin went in, he noticed how pretty she looked in her red lipstick.

The reason why seeing her wear it turns him on is far less wholesome, however. She gave him a blowjob for the first time that night and caught him off guard. He hadn't expected her to unbuckle her seat belt soon after they left and start undoing his pants, but she did, and red lipstick has been ruined for him ever since. It's a Pavlovian response at this point.

"Oh," she whispers, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

There's a light scoff, the loudest he's dared to be since she put two and two together, and she knows what he's going to say before he says it.

"Mhm"—the tip of nose brushes affectionately against the side of her neck—"You know exactly what you're doing."

Full honesty? She didn't realize her squirming in discomfort was causing his not-so-little problem. The lipstick and skirt were calculated blows, sure, but those were intended to get him worked up later. Not in a car full of people. And she definitely doesn't know what she's doing when it comes to the whole "daddy" thing. It's a silly nickname that stuck, that's all. She has no clue that her calling him that is the reason he can't get enough of her lately.

That's why she doesn't realize that what she's about to say is the worst possible thing for him to hear at the moment.

Her lips upturn in a teasing grin.

"Uh oh, daddy's mad."

Their voices are still low enough to not be heard over the music and chatter overwhelming the interior of the car, but that's the last fucking thing he's thinking about after what she said. That's it. He's done. He's done pretending that it doesn't affect him and feeling guilty for getting off on it. It could be the arousal clouding his judgment, but he says it before he has the good sense to stop himself.

"Quit calling me that." He mutters what comes next in a manner that is shockingly cavalier, "Unless you wanna get fucked right here in front of everyone. It's up to you."

Jonathan makes a sharp left turn onto a gravel side road that sends her shifting in Steve's lap, putting a delicious pressure on his aching cock that almost pulls a groan from his lips. The act of reaching out to stabilize herself with a hand on his thigh delays her reaction to what he said, but once the car straightens out on the new road and it clicks, her mouth runs dry.

Holy shit.

And though it was never a thought in her mind prior to this moment, it now clicks into place for her the same way it had for him on July fourth. There's a pulse of pleasure felt at the apex of her thighs at the combined sensations of having him speak to her like that, the general concept of what he meant, and the feeling of him hard beneath her. It's a wonder she manages to catch the soft moan that tries to leave her throat.

She's never seen him like this.

Their sex life isn't boring by any means, but this is different. Liking it rough and engaging in casual dirty talk is worlds apart from hearing that your boyfriend gets off on you calling him daddy and realizing you enjoy it too. And it isn't uncommon for him to guide her during sex, doting on her and letting her lay back while he takes care of her, but saying he'll fuck her in front of their friends if she doesn't stop calling him daddy is not the Steve she's familiar with. He always has control over her in bed due to their natural dynamic, but not like this. Not in this way. The way she never knew she needed.

It's an easy decision in the end. It's a movement so slow and minute, he doesn't realize she's making it at first.

Y/N shifts in his lap one last time, sliding her right leg over and letting it settle between his, and spreads them slowly to allow his muscular thigh enough space to press up against her clothed cunt. The wetness he caused has soaked through the flimsy material of her panties, and she's certain there will be a wet spot left behind on his pant leg but doesn't have it in herself to care.

The fog in his mind delays his thought process for a few seconds, so when she first spreads her legs over his thigh, it doesn't hit him until a few seconds later what she's doing. Or, more importantly, what it means.

She's into it too.

If there was any chance of him going soft, it's gone now at the realization that she finds the "daddy" thing as hot as he does. And then there's the small factor of her wanting to ride his thigh in a car full of people. The long gravel road sends them jolting up and down and side to side. It didn't take long for her to realize the opportunity it offered. She's so turned on, it aches. She needs this.

Steve doesn't say a word as he pushes his thigh up harder against her, unable to do anything but watch in equal parts awe and desire, to let her use the gentle bouncing of the car to get off on him. There's no movement necessary on her part. Her sole responsibility is to sit back and enjoy it.

He hears her mutter a soft, "Fuck," at the friction of her clit rubbing on his leg through the cotton fabric of her panties and squeezes her hip in a warning to stay quiet.

"What was that?"

The sound of Robin speaking up from her left side drops her heart into the pit of her stomach.

She looks to see every other person in the car turning their heads to where she and Robin sit, the latter of the two looking expectantly at her for a response. It's difficult to focus long enough to come up with an excuse because the stimulation never ceases. It isn't her or Steve deliberately causing it, it's the bumpy road bouncing and grinding her on him. But, regardless of whether or not they can control it, it sends an exhilarating rush through her. Nobody but them knows what they're doing as they watch it, and she didn't know how arousing it would be until now. The attention of everyone's eyes on her doesn't turn her off, it adds fuel to the fire.

"Oh, I was just saying to Steve that I forgot to close my bedroom window when I snuck out. My room's gonna be too cold by the time I get back," she says.

The strength it takes to not to let out a moan in between words is immeasurable. The only thing she can think about is how badly she wants him inside of her right now. How badly she wishes he could pull her panties aside how he imagined doing and slip right in. She's so wet, he could do it. The mental image he planted in her head about calling him daddy during sex got her soaked.

Most of the car is shrouded in darkness, so none of them take notice of the positioning of her legs or his, nor do they notice his right hand playing with the hem of her skirt. His finger teases its way underneath it to caress the side of her hip.

"You can stay at my place tonight," he offers, and it infuriates her that he can keep his cool throughout the situation that threatens to unravel her composure.

His solution to her half-truth of a problem seems to do the trick, and the rest of them resume the conversation about where Robin plans on going to college next year. Mercifully, Jonathan reaches to turn up the radio as a Bowie song takes its turn on the tape. The opening chords to Starman are a distant symphony. With the pleasure spiking every passing second spent on this road that rubs her clit on his thigh, it sounds further away—as if she's been plunged underwater and listens from the depths beneath.

And she may be enjoying this, but he's willing to bet he's enjoying it more. He can feel her pulsating against his leg with every bounce the car makes. It's visible in the little ways that she's already getting close. For one, her right hand shoots down to squeeze his where it has slipped up her skirt. It's something she does whenever she's about to come. She'll cling onto him in any way she can as if he's at the risk of disappearing without her acting as his tether to the earth, and holding his hand is the best she can do.

The feeling of his breath hitting her neck sends her deeper into the fantasy she couldn't help but imagine to aid her in getting off. This road can't stretch on forever, and the last thing she wants is to get left high and dry, so she pretends. She pretends that he did exactly what he said he would and fucked her right here. She imagines the sounds he'd make in her ear, the heavy pants that would fan over the back of her neck in hot exhales, and it's a struggle to refrain from letting his new nickname fall from her lips.

Another minute or so and the gravel road will run out, but she doesn't need any longer than that. They both know it. His cock is hard against her ass, so hard it almost hurts, and she loves knowing that she did that to him. It's exactly what she needs to be sent to the edge, teetering right there between the earth-shattering promise of pleasure and the possibility of having it ripped away should the road run out sooner than planned. All she needs is a little push.

And he knows that. He has watched her, felt her, and listened for any cues she might have given through his own haze of need. Seeing that he's made her come more times than he can count, he can tell what she wants and when, and, right now, she wants to hear his voice. Dirty talk is the quickest way to push her over the edge. It must kill her that they can't speak to one another right now.

Well, she can't because she doesn't recognize how loud or quiet she is with what she's feeling, but he thinks he'll get away with it.

Steve whispers into her ear, bouncing his thigh to give her an extra bit of contact, "That's it." The darkness of the car alongside the fact that it's already jolting conceals the deliberate bouncing of his leg, and he can hardly contain his excitement as he finally gets to bring his fantasy to life. "Such a good girl for daddy."

With those words, the tension in the pit of her belly snaps and her orgasm sweeps over her with a strength far too cruel for the setting they're in. Her hand squeezes his hand in a need to do something, anything, other than writhe and moan throughout the pulses of white-hot pleasure rippling through her. It's a shock she doesn't cut off his circulation or cause her bottom lip to bleed with how hard she bites it. Her head is turned as if she's simply looking out of the window when, in actuality, she's riding out her climax. The noises were within her control, but she knew there was nothing she could do to control her face and turned her head to the side as soon as it hit her.

Having her head turned to the side allows Steve to watch her come, and, boy, is it a pretty sight. Her lip is tugged between her teeth, her brows are furrowed, and he can just tell she's dying to cry out for him the way she knows he likes. When they first got together, she was shy about making noise. It took a lot of coaxing for her to let loose and allow herself to do what felt right, and now that she's been conditioned to make as much noise as she wants, it's hard to stifle it.

The raspy croons of Bowie's voice come back in full force with the receding high that eases off of her. After a half minute or so, she has to adjust her position so she's sitting on both of his legs instead of straddling one. Her orgasm has left her sensitive to the touch, and though the road is due to shift back to pavement in seconds, she can't handle the stimulation any longer.

It's an effort not to slump against the seat in front of her or pant as obviously as she wishes to. The music concealed any slight moans that made it past, but there's nothing to hide her panting or exhaustion. Sweat slicks her skin beneath her clothes despite the rolled-down windows that allow cool air inside. The car takes the left turn and stops jolting as it did before, and, though the sleepy bliss of the afterglow, she can't help but turn her face from the rest of them and smile.

Steve sees it, though, and his hand raises from its position at her hip to pull back the hair masking half of her face. He may still be hard, but the only thought in his head for this small span of seconds revolves around how beautiful that smile is. As if given permission to move by his touch, she leans over on the open window's frame with her armed folded beneath her chin to pant the outside air. The wind blows tender across her heated face, a lover's caress, and it counteracts the raging heat inside of her for now.

The moment of post-orgasmic serenity stretches on for another minute before reality comes knocking. Jonathan brings the car to a halt on the side of the street across from the bar Nancy picked out for them, and suddenly the feeling of Steve's erection poking at her ass beneath the skirt is something she is hyper-aware of.

Everyone else gets out of the car swiftly in excitement, but Steve lingers just long enough for it to be excused as waiting for her to get off of him and pulls her back by her hips. The strength with which he does so robs her of her breath.

"Bathroom. Five minutes."

That is all the explanation he offers as to what he plans on doing with her next before he opens the car door and ushers her out after their friends. Her legs tremble ever so slightly beneath her weight on the walk across the street. She stares at his back as he walks a step in front of her and gets lost focusing on the movement of his back muscles beneath his shirt.

She's so consumed by him, she doesn't notice Robin and Nancy approaching until they've converged from both sides. Their arms looping around her sends her jumping in fear before seeing it's them. It takes her a delayed moment of looking back and forth between them for her to realize they said something to her.

"Huh?"

A knowing smirk grows on Robin's face, her eyes deviating from hers for a second to meet Nancy's in silent communication.

"We were asking if you wanted to do karaoke. Nance's friend from the yearbook club said they have a band on Saturday nights for it. But, if you're too busy eye-fucking Steve to listen to us thennn—"

Nancy barks out a laugh, and Y/N scoffs, saying, "Fuck off, I was not eye-fucking him!"

Ahead of them, she already knows Steve is listening and gearing up to tease her over it as soon as he gets her alone in the bathroom.

"Okay, well, are you in or not? We were thinking Heart of Glass or Girls Just Wanna Have Fun," Nancy changes the subject as to not drag out her embarrassment.

She pretends to take the time to consider it as if it wasn't an immediate, "Yes," upon hearing the proposal to get back at them for the comment about eye-fucking Steve—which, honestly, she was doing. Nance and Robin both hang off of her arms, the latter of the two resting her chin on her shoulder and muttering a soft chant of, "Please, please, please, please," into her ear.

"Yes," she concedes, sending the two other women into a celebration full of high-fives and giggling, "but, only after we've had a few drinks. I don't think I have the balls to do that completely sober."

Which is code for, "I need to be in the bathroom with Steve in five minutes, so I'm going to make up some bullshit about needing to drink first so you won't notice my absence."

They accept the condition, and off they go into the bar. As promised by Nance, none of them get carded. They have to climb down a steep flight of stairs to the basement, descending into a narrow hallway dim with neon lighting to reach the seedy bar. And though it is quite gross with beer sticking the soles of her boots to the floor and a few abandoned items like unused condoms and cigarette filters, there's a strange allure to it that can't be denied. This is a place to come when you want to be yourself, no matter how messy that person may be.

Eddie and Jonathan head straight for the bar, whereas Steve says something to them that she can't hear but suspects is an excuse to slip away. She ends up following Robin and Nancy to sit at a table while the guys order drinks, but every second that passes is spent in nervous anticipation. Her leg bounces beneath the table with a force that could rattle it if they collided.

A glance at the clock tells her there's a minute left until he's expecting her back there. Time stretches on forever while she waits what feels like an inconspicuous amount of time to follow him to the bathrooms. Just before the big hand hits the top of the clock, she pushes her seat out and stands.

She says, "Be right back," and walks off in the direction of the stairs that lead down to the one-room bathroom.

It's darker the further she follows the path he took. The lights down here are no longer neon, but rather a buttery yellow that gets soaked up by the plain white surrounding her on either side. There are two hallways. A sign, which is actually a piece of paper taped to the wall with handwriting in sharpie, states that the manager's office is to the right and the bathroom is to the left.

There's a strange sensation bubbling in her stomach, and it takes longer than she'd like to admit to realize it's nervousness. The thing is, that’s a feeling she hasn't felt in ages in regard to being intimate with Steve. They broke through the awkward stage after the second time they had sex, and though the return of those nervous jitters catches her off guard, she can't say it doesn't excite her. Just thinking about what went down in the car, what she felt when she realized what he wants her to call him in bed, makes her press her thighs together to relieve the pulsing ache that has been reignited there.

Her closed fist knocks on the door a few times.

Silence.

"Steve," she says softly, then looks over her shoulder to ensure nobody is down here to see what they're up to. "It's just me."

There's a moment of pause before the door swings open and she is tugged inside by a strong hand that latches onto her wrist. It happens so fast, it's hard for her to keep track of their surroundings as the door is slammed shut, locked, and promptly used to throw her up against. The air is knocked from her body from the impact of him crashing into her, but she couldn't care less. The second his lips touch hers, she forgets any physical feeling other than those which he provides.

Steve's hands sink into her hair, cradling both sides of her head, and he uses it to direct her however he pleases. Whether he wants her to come closer or deepen the kiss, she is at the mercy of his desires. He bites down on her lower lip hard, and her mouth falls open in an inhale that he uses as an opportunity to slip his tongue inside. He kisses her as if the world depends on it. It isn't until she's on the verge of gasping for air that he gives her a break.

"God, you drive me insane," he murmurs into her mouth between little kisses that melt her heart. His hands wander anywhere she'll allow them to; her arms, back, waist, hips, ass, and tits. The warm palms of his hands explore her eager body as though he hasn't already done it a million times before. "You gonna let me fuck you, baby?"

She nods into the heated kiss, not wanting to waste a precious second of their time in here, but that isn't enough. No, he wants something from her. Something that he won't allow this to continue without hearing. With how wet she was for him in the car after he owned up to his newly found kink, he has blown past any reservations he once had for doing this with her. If anyone else were to know, he'd blush as red as a tomato, but she would never judge him. Least of all over something she finds arousing too.

His knee is pressed up between her thighs to put pressure on her overworked clit, and she cannot think straight to give him the response he wants. But she knows that's why he did it. A newer edge of muted sadism shows itself in him, not necessarily in the form of physical pain or punishment but in the form of enjoying her struggling. In giving her pleasure, he frustrates her, and it brings a smirk to his face.

He pulls his lips, now smeared with her red lipstick, out of reach, using the hands in her hair and the knee between her thighs to keep her pinned there. The lipstick is smattered along his lips and on the skin around it as well with a few marks left on his cheek and jaw. Not ideal for hiding the evidence of their secret tryst, but that's a bridge they'll cross later. As of now, he enjoys making her squirm.

She grinds forward against his knee for more as she whines, nose to nose with him, "Fuck me." Their lips manage to catch for a second before she whispers, looking up into his eyes through mascara-coated lashes, "Please, daddy."

For how shy she is trying out the new nickname in this context, she hides her insecurity well. Either that or he was too busy freaking the fuck out inside listening to her say that to care whether or not she was getting sheepish about it. Whatever the finer details are, it doesn't matter. Because that is the only thing he needed to lose what remained of his self-control.

Steve swings her around to face the sink in a matter of seconds. As she realized in the car, his strength is something she tends to overlook until moments like these. Sure, she'll always take the time to admire his biceps in his polo shirts or his thighs in a well-fitted pair of jeans, but it isn't until he starts to manhandle her like this that she remembers. In the past year he’s begun to grow into his tall frame.

A sharp breath is sucked in through her teeth as he bends her over the small, rickety sink. One hand is pressed to the middle of her back to force it to arch a little while the other makes quick work of the belt holding his jeans up. There isn't much time to spare considering their friends will expect them back in roughly six minutes, so he loses formality. It's urgent, almost primal, and they both know they're on the same page in regards to how hot they find it.

She is brought face to face with the dirty mirror and watches him undo his pants with his brows furrowed in frustration. Reading his mind isn't necessary, she already knows what's going on in there. After suffering through that car ride with her unknowingly pushing all of his buttons and getting him worked up, he's on the verge of crying, he's so sexually frustrated. Any delay in him getting inside of her pulls an annoyed little groan from the back of his throat.

The belt comes free from the buckle with an exasperated, "Finally," falling from his pretty pink lips as he yanks it out from the belt loops of his jeans and tosses it blindly across the room. It ends up hitting the metal trash can with a resounding, "Clang!" where the buckle collided with it, but they continue on in a frenzy.

Once his jeans and underwear are around his thighs, he wastes no time. He doesn't even wait to take her underwear off and stuff them into his back pocket to jerk off with later, he hooks two fingers into the crotch of her panties, pulls the wet fabric to the side, and guides his neglected cock to her. He teases her entrance for a split second. Both the release from her last orgasm and the precome collected at the tip of his cock makes for slick lubrication, and even if he wanted to, he doesn't think he could stop himself from slamming in the rest of the way once he nudges the tip inside of her.

They both cry out together at the feeling of their bodies merging so suddenly. For Steve, it's a cry of relief. He's been fantasizing about this for a month, and now that it's happening, he can't believe it's real. There's a dream-like surreality to it once it clicks with him that this is happening, that she really is bent over with her skirt around her waist for him in the bathroom of a dive bar, and it makes him twitch inside of her. More importantly, though, it makes him take a short pause to look at her.

He bends over so his chest is flush with her back—which makes her moan at the shift in angle caused by it—and brushes her hair from her face as she turns her head to the side. Her forehead is pressed up against the mirror, lips parted to take in deep breaths, and he feels her pushing her ass back against his hips and thighs in a request for him to move.

Still, he takes the time to admire her and says, kissing her cheek, "Love you."

This softens her tensed face.

She opens her mouth to parrot the words back to him but finds herself unable. Because the very moment she takes a breath to speak, he pulls out until just the tip is left inside of her and thrusts back into the hilt. Her jaw is slack with a mix of surprise and pleasure from the shift in pace, and she barely gets the chance to brace her hands on the edges of the sink for stability before he starts to pound her into it with all of his strength.

The sheer force of it jostles the sink beneath them to the cadence of his movements. It leaves her to hope it doesn't give out on them for a second before that thought disappears. It leaves her the second it appears because she has no capacity to think about anything other than what he is doing to her. And just because they have to be quick doesn't mean that he won't try to get one more orgasm out of her. Although she must admit, the idea of him using her like that elevates the gratification of it.

The intensified dominance he exhibits doesn't make it difficult to imagine. The way he keeps her trapped between his body and the sink, taking her exactly how he wants with no regard for where they are or if anybody overheard, it drives her wild. This new side to Steve is something she could get used to playing around with every now and then.

"Daddy," she whines, "I want you to use me. Fuck me like you hate me."

A breathy moan escapes him at this, and she can feel his reaction in how different the next returning thrusts. More frantic and carnal, a knee-jerk reaction to hearing her say that. Their bodies mold together perfectly. Every curve and edge of her fits to him as if they were made for each other, and she thinks they were. Whatever it is that decides, whether it be fate, a religious figure, or their DNA itself, designed them with each other in mind.

Steve curses under his breath at her, then says, panting, "You're filthy, fuck"—there's an abrupt pause in his speaking seeing that she purposely clenched around him, trying her best to give him the best fuck of his life regardless of whether she gets off again or not—"God, you feel so fucking good." His voice is breathy and hot in her ear. "Perfect little pussy."

One of his hands sneaks between her and the sink and dips into her panties to start rubbing her clit. It's already obvious to them both that he won't last long, and considering the amount of time, or lack thereof, that they have, he won't try to stave it off for long. So, he is dead set on getting her to come before him. He pulls out all the stops, tries every trick in the book, and hopes her first orgasm warmed her up enough for another.

The other hand settles on her back again, his torso lifting up off of her back so that he's standing behind her, and presses down for her to deepen the arch of her back and push her ass up closer to him. With her positioned like this, he starts hitting that sweet spot inside of her on every thrust.

She gasps a soft, "Daddy," and another hard snap of his hips sends her clawing at the sink.

The whole time, he keeps working her clit in tight circles with his fingertips and praising her through every second of it. Everything he says right now makes up for the forced silence they endured on the ride here. He tells her every thought in his head, ranging from professions of love to whatever other filthy things that come to mind, and she soaks up the attention gratefully.

It builds inside of her like a spring readying to bounce—the anticipation of her climax is nearly undoing in and of itself. It's a weightless, unending type of pleasure that rids her mind of any shame or fear of being interrupted. Though it makes her face heat up whenever she calls him daddy, she doesn't hesitate to say it now. In fact, the closer she draws to her end, the more rapidly it comes from her mouth.

It becomes apparent that they like this more than either of them bargained for, especially her. She wasn't the one who proposed it, after all. She was caught off guard by how hot she found it when he admitted to it in the car, but now? Now, she's done for. Now that they've gone through that door, there's no going back, and she's glad for it. Though Steve has always been skilled when it comes to women, this is the fasted he has made someone come before.

She's so turned on that the wet sound of his cock pumping in and out of her fills the cramped room. It feeds into the perfect storm of stimulation that pushes her to the brink of another orgasm. All of it—Steve, the sound of his voice, the taboo of what they're doing, and the physical feeling itself—fulfills every fantasy she's had since figuring out what sex was in the first place.

"Steve," she whines and reaches back to squeeze at his hip. Though hearing her call him daddy gets him going, nothing compares to when she says his name. "M'gonna come—"

And being the sweet, caring man he is while simultaneously railing her half to death over a sink, he says, "Go on. I've got you, peach. I'm not going anywhere."

Y/N comes undone with a moan. The mirror presses harder into her forehead with every rough thrust that pushes her into it, though she isn't inclined to care about the dull pain amidst her second blissful peak of the night. And not only is he left to watch her come beneath him, he feels it too. Every wave of pleasure that washes over her makes her spasm and squeeze down around his cock tightly enough to bring him to the edge of release as well.

He holds off for the time it takes her to ride out the intensity of her orgasm, rubbing her clit and fucking into her at the same brutal pace he kept before, and waits until she's hugging the sink and squirming from him in sensitivity to do anything.

Steve pulls out of her with no small amount of dissatisfaction for the seconds it takes to lift her up on unsteady legs, flip her around, and hoist her up onto the lip of the sink.

The shift in height leaves her disoriented and clinging her arms around his shoulders as to not slip off, but, deep down, she knows she doesn't need to. He wouldn't let anything happen to her, and that's part of what she loves about being with him. It plays into the new kink they're exploring and the power dynamic of it, the sense of protection and safety that occurs when surrendering herself to him.

There's a brief moment of fumbling in which he tugs her to the edge of the sink and frantically tries to line himself back up with her entrance, but once he settles between her parted thighs and sinks into her again, there's nothing awkward or fumbling about his actions. Every needy thrust is precise in depth and force, chasing the same high she came down from seconds ago.

The hand he wraps up in her hair yanks her head back for him to look into her eyes. He follows down the curve of her jaw, her neck, and to the cleavage visible beneath the see-through top covering her body. As he does this, she takes the time to survey him as well. It's hard to think straight through the aftershocks of her orgasm mixed with a sensitivity that almost makes her start to jerk away from him, but nothing will stop her admiring him.

Strands of his hair have been jostled out of place by their exertions, and the red lipstick smeared over his lips, jaw, and neck suits him better than she would've expected. Although, it's Steve, so she shouldn't count anything out when it comes to him being able to pull off a look. He makes everything look beautiful in a cool, James Dean sort of way that oozes effortlessness. (It isn't effortless at all, actually. She learned that soon after getting together with him and observing his extensive hair routine).

"You look so good fucking me, daddy," she can't help but blurt it out in a starry-eyed daze. The arms wrapped around his shoulders slide up to circle his neck, tugging him in until their mouths are brushing on the upstroke of his thrusts. "I can't believe you're mine."

The sound of her name muttered under his breath like a prayer has a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. His efforts in fucking her have doubled at this point. Rather than indulging in the pace and depth she finds most satisfying, he simply uses her to chase his orgasm. It draws small gasps and whines from her, but he doesn't slow down. He trusts her to tell him if and when to stop.

She taunts, "You like this, don't you? Using me to get off like I'm just a little fucktoy?"

Steve nods with his face pressed against hers.

"I—fuck—yeah, I love it. I love you."

His voice is caught halfway between its normal tone and a whine as he says it. It's almost hard to discern what he's saying with everything else that's happening. Between the heavy breathing, moans, and the obscene sound of their fucking that can likely be heard on the other side of the door, his voice starts to get lost within it.

The next few strokes are particularly sloppy, laced with an urgency none of the rest have had, so she can sense him coming before it hits him. His cock twitches inside of her, and he's already moving to pull out and jerk himself off onto her belly before she intervenes. He has pulled out halfway by the time she wraps her legs around his hips to push him the rest of the way back in and whispers a hurried, "Stay, stay," into the hairswidth of space between their parted lips. And he can't do anything but surge forward to kiss her as he tips over the edge.

Usually, he tends to opt on the side of pulling out even though she takes contraceptive pills. There have been countless instances of her complaining about how messy the cleanup is, and half the time neither of them wants to deal with it dripping out of her and staining their sheets. But, in the rarer event that she asks for it, he goes nuts.

Steve slams his hips forward into her a few more times before stilling inside of her with his hands balling her skirt up into fists, making little thrusts as he pumps her full of cum. For him, there is nothing like coming inside of her. It takes an average orgasm and increases the intensity tenfold, and considering that she's still crying out for him, calling him daddy as she thanks him for coming inside her, this one is unlike anything he's felt.

He stays pressed deep inside of her until his cock begins to soften, then slowly pulls out. Cum drips from her fucked-out hole onto the sink while he watches for a second, transfixed by the lewd image that'll likely be his sole source of masturbation material for the coming months before he reaches over to grab paper towels to clean her up with.

"Everything alright?" He asks. "It wasn't too much, was it?"

"No, it was perfect."

There's no sign of the domineering side of him that came out in the car. Now, he's all soft touches and insistent chivalry—that is, if wiping cum from your girlfriend's thighs in the bathroom of a bar can be considered anything close to chivalrous.

The paper towel is tossed aside into the trash can and her panties are moved back in place to keep any more of his release from spilling out. She nods, leaning up to peck his lips. Her arms are still propped over his shoulders when she pulls away to speak.

"I love you too, you know that?"

Steve gives a hum in response. His eyes are heavy-lidded from the exhaustion felt from head to toe after what they did. He always gets like this after he comes, sleepy-eyed and affectionate to the extent that he often struggles not to fall asleep cuddling with her. He's far too hung up on something she said to him earlier to want to sleep, however.

I can't believe you're mine.

There was once a time when Steve worried he'd never meet a woman who felt that way about him. For most of his life, Steve was reduced to whatever role people wanted him to fill. For Tommy and Carol, it was the popular rich kid also known as "King Steve" who led the basketball team and partied with them. For his parents, it has always been the "seen but not heard" son who went from being a promising young man to a failure or inconvenience at best. For Nancy Wheeler, he was a placeholder for the next guy. And it isn't something he holds against her. He needed to go through what happened with her to get to where he is today, but that doesn't mean it hurt any less.

All Steve Harrington wanted was to be wanted. He wanted someone, just one person, who woke up each morning with him as their first thought. He wanted someone who didn't think his love for them was bullshit. He wanted someone who'd look after their "kids" with as much care as he did. He wanted someone who loved him, someone who he didn't have to fill a role for. And, with her, he doesn't need to be anything but himself. With, her Steve can just be Steve, and that's enough. For once in his life, he's enough.

With total security in his belief of the words, he says softly, "I know."

Then, since there always is one when it comes to his girl, the other shoe drops.

"You know, for someone who likes being called daddy in the sack," she teases him as if she wasn't equally as aroused by the whole situation. "You're a bit of a perv, actually."

There it is, he thinks to himself. Knew it.

"Oh, screw you!"

She doesn't miss a beat.

"You just did."

The couple erupts into a fit of tired giggles, their limbs still entangled in a mess of sweaty skin and their appearances an utter disaster. After a moment, the laughter quiets and leaves them with nothing to do but stare into each other's eyes in the dim lighting of the bathroom. It takes him a while to work up the nerve to ask her the question he's had on his mind since the car, though it may seem self-explanatory with how she reacted in here.

"You liked it, though, right? I mean, the whole daddy thing. I know it's a lot, and I know you were joking but I'm sure it may seem a bit pervy if you don't know me, and—"

His rambling is shushed by her finger pressing into his lips.

"Of course, I liked it." She means to go on, but then becomes distracted by the lipstick that stains her finger where it presses to his lips. Her thumb is sucked into her mouth for a second and returns to his face to start rubbing off the makeup. "Thank God it's gonna be dark up there or else everyone would know what we've been—"

A banging on the door behind him makes Steve jump in her embrace, spinning around and placing himself in front of her body to shield her on instinct before his mind catches up. It's no inter-dimensional murderer like Vecna or a Demogorgon coming to finish the job, it's a cranky, drunk old dude pounding on the door who's likely two seconds from pissing his pants by the sound of it. Hearing him yell through the barrier separating them relaxes Steve's tense shoulders.

He turns back to Y/N to see her already staring at him. Her eyes have turned from bright and mischievous to a softened, sympathetic expression. She treats him so gently, down to the way she looks at him, and it's something he's never known how to accept. He's always the protector, the first to throw himself into the line of fire, the babysitter, but rarely did anyone check up on him the way he does them. Until her.

"Come on," he says, "We better get back up there before any of them realize how long we've been gone."

They may have gone nine minutes rather than six, but, with all things considered, they'll take it as a win. Plus, they realize once they ascend the stairs once more and find their places amongst their friends, nobody seems to notice. They made sure to clean the lipstick off their faces, fix their hair to the best of their abilities, and triple-check to ensure there weren't any suspicious stains on her black skirt.

In the end, Steve joins Eddie beside the old "out of service" jukebox to give Y/N some girl time with Robin and Nancy. It's not like they didn't get plenty of one on one time in the bathroom. But, right when he reaches Eddie and outstretches his hand for the beer he'd been babysitting until his return, he is thrown off by his friend's eyes flickering up and down between his face and his crotch.

The explanation comes a second later.

"Your fly's down."

He utters, "Oh shit," and turns toward the wall to zip it back up.

The following minute and a half is quiet. He took the beer from Eddie as soon as he fixed the zipper situation and turned back around to lean against the wall with his face flushed pink. Luckily for him, it's hard to tell with this lighting. Unluckily for him, it doesn't take good lighting to read body language, and he wears his heart on his sleeve whether he likes it or not. By the end of this deafening silence, he's bracing himself for it. It's palpable in the air around him and visible in the smile gradually fighting its way to fruition on Eddie's face.

He watches from the corner of his eye as Eddie observes Y/N talking to the other girls at their table not far away. Though tamed by her attempts to put herself back together, her hair is sporting a bedhead-esque appearance that is a sharp contrast to the put-together style she disappeared downstairs with. They both take a sip from their glasses, then...

"Harrington, you absolute hound dog—"

"Shut it, Munson."

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction

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stuckymonkey · 8 months

Text

Stolen

Mafia Bucky Au

Pairing - mafia!bucky x fem!reader

Summary - y/n lived an ordinary life as a surgical resident in New York. Her father left when she was young, and her mother recently passed away. Bucky was promised by her father to get his firstborn daughter, unfortunately for y/n, that fits her description perfectly. Kind of enemies to lovers.

Warnings - violence, angst, being taken against will/kidnapping, mentions of death, stitches and medical things, mentions of suicide, mild cursing

Word count - 3.5k

a/n - i was feeling some angst, let me know what you think! feedback is always appreciated!

masterlist bucky masterlist

"Clamp" Joe said from across to table to one of the scrub nurses. "Lap pads" I said. We were doing a coronary artery bypass graft on a six year old patient. Five hours in and Lena was doing really well. She had maintained stability the entire time, making recovery look good for her.

I was about to irrigate when the door to the OR burst open. Me and Joe didn't look up, too focused on finishing Lena's cabg, starting to close up her heart with delicate sutures. "Y/n Y/L/N?" a low masculine voice boomed out. My head shot up to meet Joe's eyes, silently asking what to do. Her eyes were almost as wide as mine.

That voice belonged to James Barnes, head of the Brooklyn mafia. They had access to anywhere and everywhere in Brooklyn, no questions asked.

After having a silent conversation, we both opted to go back to Lena's heart. The voice boomed again, this time louder and much closer. "Y/n, scrub out." Joe whispered. I couldn't scrub out. Not now. Not while it was just me and Joe with a few scrub nurses. She couldn't close alone. "No." I kept suturing, almost to the point where we could start to close up entirely. "What?!" her head jerked up "I said no. You can't close on your own. Lena has been my patient for six months. I know everything about her, and her family. I am finishing this surgery with you and I will be there when they see their baby girl for the first time in six hours." I clipped the last suture, ready to close up her chest. "Y/n, I think you should listen to Joe and scrub out."

I suddenly felt cold metal pressed to my temple. "Put the tools down Y/L/N. I'm not afraid to pull this trigger." I heard the click of a bullet sliding into place at the end of his threat. I was shaking with tears running down my cheeks at this point. "I'm sorry," I said to Joe, it was obvious that I was crying. Through blurry eyes, I saw a tear slide down her cheek too.

What was going to happen to Lena? And her family? What would Joe tell them? I stepped back from the table and let Mike, my favourite nurse, help me take off my gown and relieve my trembling hands from my sterile blue gloves.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn't go back to that table. By pressing a gun to my head, James had broken the sterile field. "Well done," James spoke lowly into my ear. I hadn't noticed when, but his hand was wrapped securely around my arm. He led me away from the table, out of the OR and into the hallway where he stood in front of the elevator. The entire time my sobs never ceased and neither did the grip he had on my arm.

He let go before we left the elevator. Outside, many of what were probably his men waited for us. They lined the hallways. I felt like a sheep being herded by big, powerful, scary wolves. Tears were still running down my face as I made eye contact with my Chief of Surgery and Resident Chief. I had grown close with them over the years, and now they were watching me be escorted out of the hospital.

They knew what this meant. I was taken. The mafia had me now. Tears ran down their faces, and the faces of my coworkers who I loved like family. I tried to keep my head up to let them know I would be okay, but I couldn't help the way my shoulder shook from my sobs.

James helped me into a black car. In the front seat was a blonde, with a driver who had dark skin and short hair. I didn't try to hide the fact that I wanted to be anywhere but here. I felt exhausted, more emotionally than mentally.

"Where are we going?" I asked. "Home." James said, adjusting the cuff of his dress shirt. "I hate you, James Barnes." I said, defeat laced in my tone. "Please, call me Bucky." he said. He sounded sad. That bastard. How did he have the nerve to be sad when he is the one who chose to steal me out of my OR. "What are you going to do when I kill myself?" I asked. "You won't kill yourself." the driver spoke up. "Sam-" the blonde said in a nervous and warning tone.

"She won't." he said, looking at the blonde. "You're y/n y/l/n. You're a surgeon." he said, looking at me through the rearview mirror. Everyone's attention was on him as he refocused on the road. "You saved my sister's life, Sarah Wilson. Pancreatic cancer. Four hours after being in your OR she was cancer free. We were told to start planning her funeral. I was signing paperwork to legally adopt my nephews, but you saved her life." he looked into the rearview mirror at me again. "Thank you."

We arrived at "home". During the long ride to the outskirts of Brooklyn, I learned that the blonde's name is Steve. He and Sam were Bucky's seconds in command. Steve helped with the dirty stuff like interrogations, and dealing with orders and shipments of weapons. Sam helped as well but he was also really good at chauffeuring Bucky wherever he needed to go.

There was a very very long gravel driveway leading up to Bucky's huge mansion. It was pretty, I had to admit. Nice dark brick with ivy, a beautiful garden that I bet Steve helped out with, and a peaceful fountain in the center of the drive. I noticed more fountains in the garden area. We had passed tall black iron gates on the way in, giving me an eerie feeling of what the interior of the mansion would be like. Probably dark and scary.

Boy, was I wrong. The inside was beautiful. White marble stairs, golden curtains and natural light everywhere. It felt soft and safe, while still looking professional and wealthy. I was scared to touch anything, it all looked so clean and like everything was in its place.

Bucky dismissed Sam and Steve, leading me up the stairs and to the right of the hall. We walked for quite a bit before he turned into a room. "This is yours. You are to sleep here and I will have all of your stuff here in the next two weeks." He turned to face me, "My office is down the hall to the left, first hall to your right. My room is down the hall to the right, first room on your left hand side. If you need anything, ask me, Sam or Steve. Nobody else lives here but the four of us." he sounded so calm and collected. Did he steal people often?

"I don't live here." I corrected him. The quirk in his eyebrow let me know I shouldn't have spoken. I didn't care. It couldn't get any worse than this. "You do live here. You will not leave this property until you ask me for permission and you have been assigned an escort." "I do not live here! You do not own me, and I am going home. I have to go to work, and I will not stay here." I clenched my jaw, waiting for him to say something.

"Y/n, you live here. Your father promised me his first born daughter just before your mother got pregnant. He was a horrible man, you knew that. Your mother never knew about the deal. You are mine and you will not be leaving. Are we clear?" I hated how the tone of his voice made me clench my thighs together, but I hated even more how he was speaking to me and how he thought he could just keep me here.

"No! I will not stay here! You stole me out of my OR while I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF A SURGERY! An open heart surgery. A poor young girl's life was in my hands, Bucky!!!! You could have killed her!! She was INNOCENT!! I hate you. She could have died. Her parents have been in and out of hospitals with her for six years!! Six years, Bucky! She is six years old and her whole life has been within the walls of hospitals and I had a chance to change that. You could have ruined her life and I hate you." I was so angry, tears were running down my face again. I felt warm and exhausted. The urge to just sleep and hope this was a really really bad dream came over me. "Get out." I spat through my teeth, daring him to challenge my order.

He almost looked pitiful as he left my room and closed the door behind him.

The bed was uncomfortable, and I had none of my own possessions. Bucky had come in later to apologize, which fell on deaf ears. He had thankfully given me one of his shirts and some sweatpants before he went back to his office. The sheets on the bed were scratchy, and his pants were too warm.

At around 2 a.m, after no luck at sleeping, I slipped out of my room and headed towards his office, just like he had directed. I figured he would be there, being a surgeon I know what it's like to stay up late to get work done, especially if you're stressed. Which I assume he was after kidnapping someone.

I opened the door slowly to reveal Bucky. His jacket was discarded and a few of the buttons on his shirt were undone. "What are you doing here?" He asked after looking up at me. I felt his gaze rake over my body, now only clad in his shirt and a pair of my underwear. "I need your help," I said calmly. I was desperate after only a few hours with this man. I felt pathetic.

Bucky's eyebrow quirked, encouraging me to continue. "My dog, Joe is probably watching her. I wouldn't know because you took my phone, but that's what I'm assuming." he looked intrigued, with his head tilted to the side and his hands still instead of typing. "If Joe isn't watching her, she only has enough food and water for one day, unless she drinks out of the toilet bowl, but I don't really want her to do that, not that it isn't clean! But she's a big dog and-" "y/n." His cold voice stopped me right in my tracks. Shit. This is probably where he refuses to help me get my dog.

"Please," my eyes began to water at the thought of her at home, all alone, wondering where I went, and then possibly starving to death without anyone to take care of her. "She's my best friend, and I promise she won't be any trouble, I'll pay for everything, I'll even pay a rent fee or something! I just really need my dog back." I think he could see my lip wobble because that look of pity from earlier came back.

"I used to have a dog," his voice surprised me just as much as his words. I looked up at him inquisitively, "She was a Great Dane named Nala. I get it. I'll arrange to pick her up tomorrow, and some of your things later in the week." "Thank you." I whispered before turning to leave his office.

"What's her name?" I heard just before I reached the door. "Hazel," I smiled at the memory of her. "She's an Irish wolf hound." I said sheepishly. at my confession, he smiled. "Goodnight y/n." "Goodnight Bucky."

It's been a week since we got Hazel, and Bucky has seemed kinder and kinder every day. It was probably just because Hazel was such a good dog, but a part of me hoped I helped to make him happier too. When I brought it up to Steve and Sam they had both agreed it wasn't just my dog.

Another night rolled around and I still didn't have anything else of my own. I had been sharing clothes with all three of the men, including underwear. The night was the worst time for me, always leaving me frustrated at my inability to get comfortable enough to sleep. Hazel had no problems, sleeping soundly at the foot of my bed just like she would at home. Or my old house? Was this place really my home?

At 1 a.m, when I hadn't heard any movement in a while I snuck out to Bucky's bedroom where I knew he wouldn't be. He was still in his office working, I knew because I hadn't heard him walk to his room, something he doesn't usually do until at least 3 a.m. Hazel had decided to follow me, making this a bit harder to get away with when being followed by a huge Irish wolfhound.

Slowly, I opened the door to his bedroom. It was gorgeous. He had an abundance of pillows, a soft blanket at the end of his bed and thick creamy coloured duvet. Dark wood furniture decorated the room, complemented by dark curtains and hunter green walls. The place was gorgeous and very well decorated. I moved closer to his bed and found an extra soft blanket under the duvet. I slid it out and draped it over Hazel's back so my hands could hold other stuff. I grabbed a body length grey pillow, deciding he wouldn't miss it for one night.

Before he came to his room, we scurried back to my bed as quietly as possible, Hazel not dropping the blanket once.

"That's the best she's slept in weeks, boss." I could hear voices outside of my bedroom. Steve. The curtains were closed, so it was still nice and dark in my room, then another voice spoke, "Really? She hasn't been sleeping well this whole time?". Bucky. "No, she tosses and turns all night. Honestly, I would too if I didn't have anything of my own.". Sam. "She likes your pillow though." Steve commented.

I didn't want to get up yet but I didn't want to be watched either. I slowly opened my eyes and lifted my head to see the three men in my doorway. Steve and Sam smiled before walking away with waves directed at me. I waved back before focusing my gaze on Bucky.

"I see you like my stuff." he smirked, slowly making his way towards my bed. Hazel jumped off to go find food, her bowls had been placed in the kitchen. "You know, it's wrong to steal sweetheart." Bucky was looking down at me now, his hands in the pockets of his neat dress pants. "You left me with no other choice," I said without much confidence.

"I don't have any of my things, and these sheets are god awful and scratchy." "Maybe I just like seeing you in my clothes," he hummed. A warm blush coated my cheeks as he leaned closer. "You're kinda cute sweetheart." At this point I could smell his minty breath, and feel it as well. "Give me my stuff, and you'll get yours back." I suggested before flopping down on my bed and pulling the covers over me, specifically the blanket I stole right off of his own bed.

He laughed before tugging at the blanket to reveal me clinging to his body sized pillow like a koala. I refused to meet his gaze, instead keeping my eyes closed. "I can't sleep unless I'm comfortable." I stated.

"I get that. We'll have Steve pick your stuff up, but you can keep the pillow." he winked.

That afternoon, Bucky had sat down and had lunch with me. He made eggs, bacon and fluffy toast. I helped a little, making us tea and setting the plates at the black marble island.

"So, I was thinking, you can start working remotely until they absolutely need you back at the hospital." his eyes met mine, waiting for a reaction. I was excited, but I tried not to show it too much since I really shouldn't have been taken from the hospital in the first place. "Then, once I'm sure it's safe, you can go back."

"Safe?" How did my safety play into this decision? I was confused, I was always safe at the hospital, save for the occasional confused patient. "Y/n, your father had a lot of enemies, quite a few of them are associated with other mafias, none as well built or known as my own. He promised you to me in hopes that peace could be made, but he betrayed several of his promises and upset more people than he could handle. Because they can't get to your father, they might get to you next."

"Fine. But I need to get to the hospital sooner rather than later. I have a million patients and I've missed so many rounds. For all I know, Lena could be out of the hospital by now. I haven't had contact with anyone for weeks." I sighed, to which he frowned at. "I know, and I do feel bad but I also care about your safety."

I blushed at his admittance, not used to being romantically cared for. Over the days that turned into weeks, we had grown to like each other. Maybe this arrangement would end up working after all.

"Fuck."

Bucky had given me a space to work within his office, so that's where I was when I heard a string of curses and muffled groans near midnight. The door suddenly swung open, revealing a bloody and battered Bucky.

"James?" I asked. "Hey -shit- y/n/n." He clutched his right arm to his abdomen. There was so much blood from so many different places. "It looks like you need my help," I sassed, getting up to help him settle down on the leather couch. His "yeah" was cut off by a groan. "I need to take your shirt off, okay?" Concern was surely painted on my face as I saw his blood soaked jacket.

"At least buy me dinner first," he laughed. "Ha ha. I'm glad you're in a decent mood," I said while starting to unbutton his white work shirt. I rolled up the sleeves of his black Henley that I was borrowing. He had three major wounds: one on his cheek, one on his right arm and one located on his lower abdomen.

"This is going to hurt," I warned, getting the first aid kit from across the room and preparing the peroxide. He hissed as I poured it over every wound, dabbing them after with gauze. "You're doing great," I tried to smile sympathetically while remaining focused.

"I'm going to stitch your face first, okay?" I asked, getting the supplies ready. "I don't need stitches." he countered. "Bucky, this wound is deep and it's not going to stop bleeding until I close it. You need stitches." "Doll, I'm fine, just leave it."

"Right! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I forgot that you had a medical degree." I said sarcastically. He blushed in return and stayed still while I started to stitch his cheek.

A part of me wanted to make a jab about being out of practice, due to being kidnapped from the hospital, but I held back. Bucky was a good man and we were starting to bond and get along way better than I had ever anticipated. I learned that he had a sister, Steve had been his best friend since highschool, and he had inherited the mafia from his father.

James was a man who loved dogs, and making sure the ones he loved were safe, from his best friend all the way down to Anne, the maid and housekeeper. Another hiss pulled me from my thoughts. "Sorry," I winced. "Almost done."

"Thank you" he said after I patched each site with gauze and polysporin. "Anytime." "I guess we make more sense than I thought." he said as we sipped coffee in the kitchen. "How so?" I laughed. "A surgeon and a mafia boss. I could use you doll." He smiled. I tilted my head to the side in mock offense. " 's that all I am to you? A good pair of hands to tend to your messes, Mr. Barnes?" I asked. "No no no! I just mean that we make sense, you know?" I smiled at him over my mug. "I know."

He started leaning closer to me, to the point where I could feel his breath on my lips. Bucky's eyes met mine over the small table, his flesh hand coming up to cup my cheek, the other resting its cooler touch on my neck, pulling me in. I never fought once, instantly kissing him back when I felt his lips meet mine.

I sighed into the kiss, letting him hold my face and tip it back. His tongue caressed my lower lip before bringing it into his mouth, sucking on it tenderly. My hand moved to cover his flesh one, leaning into his touch slightly. He inhaled me as he pulled back. I felt my face flush and go warm and his hungry gaze, as if I was his prey and he wanted to devour me whole. "Bucky," I panted.

He smirked devilishly. "You like that, doll?" I nodded dumbly at his question. Bucky's eyes creased at the corners when he smiled, tilting his head down to look at me. "I like you," I whispered. He leaned closer, "I like you too, printessa."

Over the weeks, I had started sharing Bucky's room with him. I had an abundance of plush blankets and soft pillows to cuddle with. He had started coming to bed earlier, and I have started back at the hospital. Joe and my other friends missed me while I was away, and I can guarantee that I missed them just as much, if not more. My Resident Chief and Chief of Surgery both cried when they saw me walk back into the hospital lobby, happy and unharmed.

Life was good again, and I finally felt peace.

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