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beefrobeefcal · 2 months

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the BEEF | #1: Joel Miller

Summary: no-outbreak AU, Joel has a headache and that headache wants his attention. [based on a prompt THOT up in collaboration with @strang3lov3]

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 3,833

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, angry fools who want to play hide the sausage, angry joel, shovel violence against a truck, monster cock, age gap (joel is in his 50's, reader is younger), p in the v (unwrapped), rough dresser sex,

Author's Notes: welcome to the BEEF. Each P-boy has a thorn in their side that has to be dealt with. Thank you to @covetyou for inspiring the idea, and thank you @neverwheremoonchild, @strang3lov3, @rebel-held & @bitchesuntitled for their brains and eyes.

and thank you to every friendo in the Bistro - it's all for you, babies.

Joel Miller was your street’s cranky asshole. No one dared throw a party or hold a garage sale without letting him know first. No one dared let their grass get over a certain length and the whole neighbourhood breathed a sigh of relief when he would go out of a town and not see the kids scribble with chalk on the sidewalks in the summer. He never called the cops; no, instead he showed up and berated whoever was hosting an event or engaging in an activity he found offensive. And he was intimidating. He wasn’t the tallest, but he was built like a brick shithouse. You’d lived on the block for almost nine years, and in that time, Joel had gone from being a broad, sturdy single father to a single, empty nester who lived off HungryMan frozen meals. He was a big man with linebacker shoulders and a meaty chest stacked on top of a boulderous belly. His plaid button up shirts always looked like they were holding on for dear life to avoid his temper.

And you were utterly in love with him.

Before the most recent snowfall, you’d been in your room on your bed with the window open a crack to let in some fresh air. Right below your window was Joel’s front porch, and as soon as you heard his door fly open, you grabbed your vibrator and listened.

“Get off my lawn!”, you heard him bellow at who ever had dared to approach his house.

You smiled to yourself and turned on your purple silicon friend and shoved it in your underwear.

As Joel berated the hapless victim of his temper, you nudged yourself closer to the edge. As you did, you cared less about the volume of your cries and let your noises out at top volume. By the time you came, Joel was standing on his porch with his mouth agape, staring at your bedroom window and the offending party walked away with a look of disgust.

*****

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

You watched as your snow shovel slipped out of your hands and hit your Joel’s truck. The one with the vanity plate ‘SM 9000’ that you had no clue what it meant. You could only sit back and watch as it fell and gouged in the paint job on Joel’s 1989 Dodge Ram pickup, your panties grew damp as you heard his front door open and slam against his house.

You turned around, raising your hands, trying to look like you were de-escalating the situation. “Joel, I-“

“The fuck’re you think you’re doin’?!”, he bellowed, stomping towards you.

As he yelled and flew into a tantrum over your shovel’s sins, you couldn’t help the stupid, lovesick half grin blooming on your face.

“… and you ain’t got no respect for no one’s property and…”, he stopped, took a breath, and looked you over, face twisting in a confused rage as he tried to figure out why you were looking at him as if he were a can of tuna and you were a cat watching him being pulled open ever so gently.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!”, he yelled, stepping forward, trying to scare you to no avail. He huffed and stomped his foot, trying to snap you out of whatever trance you were in.

You sighed and tilted your head, loving the attention he was finally bestowing on you, not caring that your reaction was essentially dumping gasoline on a house fire.

“Fuckin’ disrespectful shit…”, he snarled as he grabbed your arm and dragged you towards his house.

“Joel? What’re you doing? Where we going?”, you asked with a big dumb grin on your face then wincing at the harsh grip he had on your elbow. Your boots slipped and skidded on the icy walkway and you tripped heading up the stairs.

“Fuckin’ clumsy dumbass…”, he grumbled, shoving you through his front door and slamming it behind you both.

You looked around his entry way, noting the ugly wallpaper and the stale cigarette smell lingering. You crinkled your nose, and he turned around, his frown deepening into a scowl.

“Boots off!”, he barked, harshly motioning to your feet.

You didn’t miss a beat and toed them off quickly, kicking them into the wall. His jaw clenched as he watched the dirty snow clumps slide slowly down, leaving wet patches on his yellow-turned-brown floral wallpaper.

His eyes snapped up to yours, expecting an apologetic look. Instead, he was met with…

“Why the fuck you lookin’ at me like a love sick puppy?”

Joel was enraged. You didn’t run away or beg for forgiveness. No. You stood in his entry way, kicking your boots and making a mess, looking like he was David Cassidy or Patrick Swayze. You smiled back softly and that was the last straw for him.

“WHAT IN THE FRESH HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

You could have cum right there. Joel Miller was yelling right in your face. You’d gotten off by listening to him lose his shit at anyone trying to fundraiser or collect donations who had dared knock on his door but having a front row seat to a live performance was better than you could have ever imagined.

Joel watched your lips part and your brows twitch as they furrowed and your head tilt back slightly. He heard your breath hitch between his furious growling breaths, and his eyes slid down your parka-clad frame and he swore he saw your thighs clench.

His eyes went wide as he realized the effect he was having on you.

“You fuckin’ dirty little shit…”

The whimper he received in response made his cock twitch in his WalMart Levi’s. He sucked in a harsh breath and swallowed hard. He hadn’t had a woman look at him like that since he went to the strip club with his brother for his bachelor party, and he knew she was looking for a hefty tip. But you – the only thing he could think of is that you were trying to find a way to get out of paying for the damage your shovel caused. There was no waythat you were actually interested in him in that way. No. No woman had wanted to fuck him since before his daughter, Sarah, had been in junior high. He was a fat old asshole and you… you weren’t.

“Joel…”

Your soft voice pulled him back and the frown he carried all but left his face, being replaced with eyebrows to his hairline and his mouth open in confusion and shock.

“Joel, I… I’m sorry about your truck.”

You grabbed the zipper to your parka and pulled down, opening it to reveal your great aunt’s knitted sweater with a loon on it. Joel’s widened eyes swept over you and his brows furrowed.

“The hell you up to?”, he croaked, trying to sound intimidating.

“It’s warm in here”, you respond, tossing your parka on to, but missing completely, the stair banister.

His mind was racing. You actually seemed to be coming on to him as you stepped closer in your mismatched socks. You looked up at him through your lashes while your hands slowly slid up your legging-clad thighs and up to the hem of your sweater. He watched as you pulled it over your head slowly, getting it stuck for a moment, revealing a worn out white t-shirt with a faded image of a marshmallow peep and the slogan ‘Holla At My Peeps!’. He took another step back and you tossed your sweater at him, and he stumbled back, falling onto his recliner.

“Jesus, woman!”, he hollered, ripping your sweater off his head just in time to see you standing above him.

“You know how hot you are?”, you asked, leaning forward over him.

He froze. He must be dead. Or asleep. Or maybe he slipped when he stormed out the door to yell at you and hit his head. Or maybe he was drunk. Maybe he took a NyQuil tablet instead of the Omega 3-6-9 fish oil pills.

“The hell is wrong with you?”, he sputtered out, looking at you wide-eyed.

You didn’t answer. You only leaned forward, nudging your nose against his and letting out a breathy giggle. He tried to speak again, but his words got lost in the high pitch grunt he let out when your knee came up and nestled in between his thighs, pushing against the considerable bulge that had developed.

His hand involuntarily gripped your wrist that was supported on his arm rest, and he sucked in a deep breath.

“I know exactly what you need, Joel Miller.”, you cooed, tongue jutting out and licking your teeth, trying to sound seductive. “You need a good fuck.”

His mouth hung open in shock. You grinned wildly and kissed the tip of his nose before nipping at his bottom lip and tugging it between your teeth.

Joel let out a groan and closed his eyes, the hand on your wrist moving to your t-shirt’s hem and slipped underneath it. You nudged your knee against his crotch again and kissed him, tasting no-name waffles and burnt coffee.

The kiss seemed to break something in Joel. This wasn’t a dream, or an antihistamine induced hallucination or a concussion - this was real. You, his hot, young, stupid neighbour was crawling onto his lap and shoving your tongue down his throat.

He grunted lowly and pushed you back, looking up at you with dark eyes. You tried moving forward again, but his hand held you back.

A whine emanated from your throat, and he shook his head. “I’m not fucking you-“

You scoffed and he shushed you.

“Oh, hush and lemme finish, you loony shit!”, he huffed. “I was sayin’ that I'm not gonna fuck you in this chair; it barely holds my weight and if you’re gonna be bouncin’ on me, this fuckin’ thing’ll screw the pooch.”

You shrugged your shoulders, irritated. “Okay, fine. Then where?”

“My bed, you nimrod!”, he snapped with a scowl, then grinned. “Got a nice mattress with good lumbar support.”

*****

You had followed Joel to his room and were pleasantly… let down. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the beige walls and the picture of a horse above his non-exciting bed were not what you had thought he would have. What surprised you was the essential oil diffuser plugged in on his bedside table, giving the air a fresh lavender smell.

The fact that the rest of his house looked like a rejected concept for an early nineties sitcom and his bedroom looked like a bed and breakfast that had no theme, for some reason, made you want him more. This man and his lack of consistency. You needed him in you now.

Grabbing his arm and turning him around, you pulled him into a desperate kiss; teeth and tongues, fighting for real estate in each other’s mouths.

“Get naked, sugar.”, he grunted as he broke the kiss with a lopsided grin. He unsnapped his shirt, revealing a grey, stained undershirt, its ribbing pulled tight and stretched over his belly while his mouth and surrounding patchy facial hair glistened with your saliva.

While he wasn’t being that polite, he wasn’t being mean. That was a problem. Even with how mundane he’d revealed himself to be, it wasn’t enough. The residual dampness that made your panties stick to your core was a result of him yelling at you out front, and that goodwill your pussy had shown was slowly drying up.

Joel’s hands began to make quick work of his belt and stretch denim jeans, but he noticed you not moving to do the same.

His hand flapped at you in an urging motion, “Make with the no clothes. Can’t fuck you with them on.”

His eyes narrowed as he noted your lack of movement, and he paused. You began to see signs that Joel was getting mad, and your mind flipped through every situation you’d witnessed him lose his shit in. What was it that would set him off quick? You weren’t about to throw a block party in his room, nor were you a religious group knocking at his door early on a Saturday. Then it clicked.

A devious grin broke out slowly on your face as you sat on his Temperpedic mattress and crossed your arms.

“Make me.”

“You indignant little shit…”, he growled, clenching his fist.

A flutter in your lower belly. More.

“Come on. Make me.”

“You fuckin’ tease… Fuck you!” His eyes were filling with fire.

An almost painful need bloomed in your core. More!

“Fuck me yourself, coward.”

He sputtered and guffawed, eyes wide in rage.

“You fuckin’ shit! Bangin’ up my truck and actin’ like a needy Jezabel just to fuckin’ tease me like this!”

You could have cum right there, between the iron grip on your wrist and his loud belittling.

You couldn’t stop the giggle that erupted, and he snarled. He grabbed your hand and yanked you up off the bed. You truly thought his back was bad enough that the effort of getting you up alone would be too much, but he shoved you against his dresser, then slamming his weight into your back. You whined, feeling your pussy clenching on nothing.

“You’re such a shit!”, he grunted, grabbing your elasticized waistband, and yanking your leggings and panties down on one side while your hand went to the other; the two of you awkwardly working towards removing your barrier.

When they were low enough on your legs to step out of, you clumsily did so, then tried to turn around to help Joel. He wasn’t fast enough, swearing under his breath as your hands lifted his belly to access his strained button fly. His mouth was on your neck, sucking and biting like a dog on a window while a steak was being grilled just on the other side.

You pushed his jeans down around his hips and they pooled around his ankles. He kicked them off and bit down on the crux of your neck and shoulder as your hand cupped and felt up his hard cock.

Jesus. Oh fuck.

Joel was hung. Like unreasonably so. You’d had your fair share of men slamming their pork steeples into your wet cunt, but none of them could even hold a candle to the monstrosity that sat heavy and covered in satin in your hand. You planted your hand on his chest and pushed him back, needing to get a peek at what Joel was packing. You immediately looked down, seeing the Wile E. Coyote faux-satin boxers protruding out in an impressive, and frankly intimidating, bulge.

“Oh shit...”, you breathed out, contemplating on whether you truly needed to do any serious sitting for the next week, or if you could maybe just get away with laying down at work.

His hand snapped to your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eye, and he gave you a dark smile, “Showed up to a gun fight with a knife, sugar?”

You didn’t have time to respond because Joel shoved his hand between your legs and harshly began rubbing your clit.

Your eyes fluttered and rolled back. Joel watched, an approving sneer on his face.

“’S fucked up … you like this?”

“uh…. Uh-huh…”

“You’re a lunatic…”

You smiled lazily. “You’re fingering a lunatic… w-what’s that say about you?”

He paused then huffed out, “That I’m fingering a lunatic, you moron.”

You let out a throaty laugh that bleeds into a moan as Joel shoves two thick fingers into your hole, slowly dragging them out before plunging them back in.

“You’re a sick little shit… you seducin’ and teasin’ an old man, an’gettin’ me all wound up… Neighbourhood headache… that’s you. Fuckin’ shit up and walkin’ away with a smile on her dumb face.”

“’M close… don’t…. don’t stop…”

His fingers kept the slow languid pace going as he leaned in and harshly whispered, “Unlike you, sugar, I don’t like to leave people disappointed.”

His eyes never left you, watching your every move. Every involuntary twitch and shudder, every flutter of your eyelids and breath leave your parted lips. He could feel it around his fingers and see it on your face that you were feeling everything intensely and now that he had you like this, he wasn’t going to let you go without making sure you weren’t going to pull this shit again.

Joel was many things, but a man who could let things go was not one of them. He was tired of hearing you cream and cry on whatever silicon thing you were shoving into yourself through your bedroom window as he lost his shit on someone; tired of seeing you make eyes at him while you sat in your front yard as he grumbled at a neighbour for the state of their lawn. He was still furious at you for once letting your hand - your soft, sweet, tender hand - linger on his when handing him his mail that was accidentally delivered to your home, forcing him to sit in his shitty recliner and try to finish with his calloused, rough, and hard hand. He never came.

You were going to pay for that. He’d promised himself that for almost five years and now here you were, on your way to being a muppet with how his hand played in your pussy. Joel’s time had come.

You came, moaning, on his hand as he watched, his fingers still moving in and out of you, and his thumb took up the task of tending to your twitching clit. Your face twisted and you cried out, trying to push his hand away.

Your tongue felt thick in your mouth and a moan seeped out. As you rode the wave, he yanked his hand out and grabbed your arm, throwing you onto the bed.

“Goddammit, you’re such a pretty shit.”, he grumbled, reaching for your ankle, and tugging your ass to the edge of the bed. You tried sitting up on your elbows, but he shoved you back down with his body weight.

His weight. Good god, he felt heavier and better than you ever thought he could as he pressed you down into the mattress.

But he got up off you, trying to wrangle your ankles and pull your exposed pussy to just the right spot to save his back from being strained. You tried sitting up again, wanting to have some sort of control over the situation, but Joel growled and grabbed your hips, and, in an impressive feat, flipped you onto your front all while grumbling about what a pain in the ass you were.

“Can’t even fuckin’ be considerate enough to stay put…”

You heard him spit then grunt, figuring he was priming that fucking meat wagon between his legs, and you let out an impatient huff.

“Knock that shit off!”, he snapped, flicking you on your ass cheek. “You just came, nimrod. You can fuckin’ wait!”

“Yeah… but I wanna cum again!”, you whined out with a smile, trying to not laugh at how irritated he was with you.

“I bet you do… but you’re on my time, and I am a patient man, sugar.”, he crooned lowly, snaking his hand up your back and to your hip. You squirmed a bit, but his hold kept you planted in place, and his other hand held his cock as he nudged it against your opening.

The smile on your face dropped as his huge member pushed in; your mouth opened, and out came a gasp followed by a choked moan.

“That’s it… Jesus Murphy… not even fuckin’ your throat and I got you to shut your mouth…”

Yes, you knew Joel was huge. But it was just an abstract concept up until that moment. Now that he was shoving his massive dick into you, you felt like the universe’s mysteries were now clearly laid out. You knew what religion was right, who shot JFK, how they made the moon landing look real…

Nothing in life would ever surprise you again because you were being split open by this grumpy, fat man. You were being ruined by Joel Miller.

He grunted as he pulled back and then slammed into you.

“Tight little snatch, sugar… takin’ me like a champ.”

You couldn’t respond. Your brain had melted and left your skull empty, and you were unable to do anything but breathe loudly and moan, “S’too big… too big…”

Joel snickered and grunted, snapping his hips and shoving himself deep. You wriggled and squirmed, simultaneously needing him stop and to fuck you harder. Your head began to feel faint, and your core squeezed him, forcing a groan out of him.

He began to snap his hips faster, panting and grunting like the fat kid in gym class being forced to run a mile. You whined and squirmed, trying to get your knees under your body to be able to push back against him, to get him deeper, but he grabbed your calf and bit your leg right above your sock with a growl then groaned, “Stay… stay put… don’t move… jus’lemme… lemme finish…”

You let out a yelp than melted into a moan, throwing yourself into another orgasm. Joel’s thrusts became hurried and more erratic. The high-pitched whine that ripped out of Joel sounded like a dog begging for table scraps as he shot his load into you.

He collapsed onto your back, both of you panting. After what felt like hours but in reality, was only about 30 seconds, Joel had gone quiet. You nudged him, hoping to god he didn’t die from a pussy-induced heart attack. He grunted and struggled to push himself up off you, then flopped on the bed next to you. You rolled over onto your back and looked at him. His cheeks were flushed, and his brows furrowed; his wispy salt and pepper hair stuck to his forehead and his eyes were closed. He was still breathing heavily through his mouth. You smiled, feeling a fulfillment you hadn’t since you’d convinced your parents that it was your sister who broke the CD-ROM drive in the family computer even though it was really you. Cuddling into his, your fingers drew heart shapes in his sweat coated chest hair.

Now that he’d fucked you, you wanted to clear the air as it were, and make sure he wasn’t going to make you pay for any damage to his truck. “So…”

Joel grunted in response, one eye opening and looking at you.

“I was just wondering… what’s your licence plate mean?”

He sighed and closed his eye again. He said the meaning quietly and at first you weren’t sure you heard him right.

“What?”

His cheeks flushed a little harder and he rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a huff.

“ShagMaster 9000.”

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highhhfiveee · 6 months

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safety net (pornstar!mike schmidt x reader)

tags: fluff? angst? just exposition really. no mentions of porn or sex here! just mike being a hero and reader appreciating him errors in here as usual!

part two: 💸

you didn't really do dating.

you'd tried so many times before to no avail. things would start nicely, people making your laugh float into the air and your heart flutter, but it never got past that. anytime you start to think about these things seriously, the other party pulls away. you're always left in the dust, responsible for picking up the pieces of your heart, gluing them back together, and trying again.

it's exhausting and after your last failure, you're not sure you want to try again.

one chance encounter on a dating app changes your mind. you think it's so foolish how easily you fall into it, giggling and kicking your feet at yet another potential partner, but when your first date is coordinated successfully and the second and the third, you begin to feel safe enough to indulge.

for your fourth date, you've arrived at this fancy restaurant in the middle of the city. you're super done up, wearing a dress that you love but have to return in the morning and your tallest pair of heels. your hair is swept up just the way simon, your date, likes it. you never liked it this way, but he calls you "so beautiful" when he sees you like this, and it makes your blood rush in your ears so you wear it up any time you're around him.

simon was nice, but you didn't have much in common; he was a straight-edge tech guy. he went to bed at 10 every night and woke up at 6 every morning, planning his days out in five-minute increments (he'd excitedly showed you his planner and you had to pretend that you were very very interested 💔).

you, on the other hand, woke up at noon on days you didn't have to work, going to bed at 4 am the night before. you never knew what to do and your apartment was covered in sticky notes donning different tasks: "read book". "wash dishes". "mail off package".

you two managed nice, small talk-ish conversation and he made you feel pretty. the only thing you two had in common was your love for coffee.

you're seated at your table and all goes well up until you receive the check, although you're a little bored. you're picking at your dessert and wondering if the art on the walls is real as simon opens the billbook and slides a card in there.

"i have to go to the bathroom. be right back," he stands, craning his head down to place a kiss on your cheek, and then you're alone, finally tuning into the din of the restaurant. it's busier than you realized.

your waitress takes your bill and leaves to tender you out. simon is still using the bathroom, and at first, it's not worrying. you wouldn't be surprised if he got lost on the way there, but after ten minutes, you start to worry.

the waitress returns to your table and you think you're fine to leave, but she sets the billbook on the table, stating, "did you have another form of payment? it said this card was expired."

you shake your head, anxiously blinking your eyes. "expired?" you open the book to see the $400 total at the bottom of your receipt and simon's card tucked behind the plastic pouch. you take it out and inspect the expiration date. three years gone.

"i--i, uh," you begin to panic. you had no idea what to do. you didn't have $400 in your bank account, $405.72 less than that actually. you didn't have anyone to call to spot you; what normal person had a casual $400 to throw at a friend for dinner? if you called your mom, she would laugh over the receiver the whole time, hanging up on you.

the waitress is staring at you, expectantly, but you can't even meet her gaze. in your alarm, you scanned your eyes around the restaurant and caught simon, in his very noticeable purple suit jacket, speed-walking towards the entrance of the restaurant.

you shoot to your feet, taking off your heels, wrangling up your other belongings and dashing after him.

you hear the waitress shout, "ma'am!" behind you but there's no stopping you. what are you gonna do, pay for the meal?

you're pushing yourself in between other patrons, forgetting your manners. you're hyperfocused on simon, keeping track of his head bobbing through the throng of people.

he's made it outside just a little before you, using a brisk pace to walk down the sidewalk.

"simon!" you yell, watching him speed up a bit until he's a phantom around the corner. "simon!!!"

there are some stragglers outside, just a few eyes on the frantic girl holding her heels and screaming. you're sure they think you're drunk, but you don't care.

you scream simon's name one more time. it's shrill and blood-curdling and something you'd never expect to come out of you. you didn't get upset like this, and you know you're truly upset when you feel a tear hit your arm.

you rarely cried, but here you were, breaking down on the sidewalk outside one of the most expensive restaurants in the state. you take a despondent seat on a bench, trying to catch your breath and stop crying. you take your hair down childishly, and the thought of simon liking it sends you back into tears.

you're a blubbering, snot-covered mess when mike sees you. he's exiting the restaurant, asking for his car from valet when he notices you on the bench, staring blankly into the air.

you're beautiful, and he's unsure as to why you're sitting here in tears. no one else decides to check on you. he takes the initiative.

his hand reaches out to your shoulder and it makes you jump, shouting at him to back away from you. he holds up his hands, muttering, "hey, hey. i'm sorry, i don't want to hurt you. i just wanted to ask if you were okay."

you don't expect the voice that comes out of him. its suburban, syrupy tone doesn't quite match his look; his hair is freshly cut and it feels like there's not a single wrinkle in any of his clothes. they look quality, and expensive. the rings adorning most of his fingers give off the same vibe.

great. one of these guys.

"i'm fine," you snap, wiping at your congested nose with the back of your hand. "i don't need saving, especially not from a nice guy like you."

mike laughs, and you're embarrassed to admit to yourself that you like how it sounds.

"who said i was a nice guy? i just asked if you were okay." you shrink away, avoiding his eyes.

"it's not my fault that you give that off. sounds like a you problem."

mike doesn't stop talking to you, which is surprising. even with all the disrespect, he sits beside you and rummages along the inside of his jacket for something to give you.

you don't admit it, but you're thankful for the small plastic package of tissues. "everyone has problems. there seems to be one plaguing you right now," he leans into your shoulder, eyeing you intently. "wanna tell me what it is?"

you're still cleaning yourself up, taking another tissue out to wipe at your ruined makeup when the waitress marches out of the restaurant with two burly security guards behind her. she points to you with zeal, announcing, "that's her."

the security guards make their way over to you, disregarding mike as he asks, "woah, woah, what's going on?"

"this young lady tried to skip out on her bill." you shake your head irritably, standing to your feet. you're not even half the height of these dudes.

"i didn't, my date did. he put an expired card down to pay and then used the bathroom excuse to get out of it." mike shakes his head. in what world would someone try to escape a date with you?

"makes sense, but you still have to pay for the meal."

"how the fuck am i supposed to do that?" you screech, crossing your arms over your chest. "i don't have any money. i have to return this stupid fucking dress in the morning just so i can pay my rent."

the dress is nice. it's a black satin maxi dress with thin straps and a slit up the side. it's fairly simple, but mike can't deny how well it fits you, and how good you look in it.

"i don't know what you're going to do, but you better do something or we're going to have to call the police."

"fucking call them! i don't care," you retort, and so begins your back and forth with the security personnel.

"you don't care?"

"no."

"are you an idiot? you just don't care?"

"okay, one, i'm not an idiot and two, i really don't. this whole situation is fucking stupid. i can't pay the bill, okay? i don't know what to tell you."

"my mom always said that as a female, you should never be broke. maybe it's time for you to stand on that corner right there in that pretty dress and sell your---" the man is cut off by a sharp "hey, watch yourself. i'll fucking kill you." from mike. he steps to the security guards, who retreat a little when they realize he's not joking.

you don't know this man, not even his name, but he asked you if you were okay then and now, he's standing up for you, even after you accused him of being a nice guy. you make a mental note to apologize to him after all of this.

"i'll pay the fucking bill. how much is it?"

"it's $400, mr. schmidt," the waitress says, her face awash with red. Last name basis? How often did he come to this expensive ass restaurant?

mike looks at you and then back to the waitress, saying, "charge it to my tab. tip the bill." The waitress nods excitedly, echoing, "thank you, thank you, thank you" as she scurries back inside with the security guards. They give mike dirty looks the entire way back, giving up just before disappearing into oblivion.

mike faces you. He's a little disheveled in the eyes, the irritation he holds inside written all over his face. somehow, even his scowl is attractive.

you rub your hands over your goosebumped arms, the chill in the air wildly apparent. mike is instantly shrugging his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders, giving you a friendly smile. it's warm inside, and smells like the expensive department store colognes you snuck samples of as a kid. for some reason, you feel at ease.

"i'm sorry about your date. he sounds like a dickhead."

"yeah," you agree, biting at your cracked bottom lip. "i guess it's my fault. i really shouldn't have trusted a guy who planned his day by fives."

"hours?"

"minutes."

mike sucks air between his teeth, cringing at your words. "he sounds like a psychopath."

"maybe he was," you hum, using the lapels of mike's coat to pull it tighter around you. "dodged bullet."

"dodged bullet," he repeats, smirking down at you. his hazel eyes sparkle. you don't know why you feel so... positively unnerved yet tranquil in his presence. who was this man?

"mr. schmidt?" a valet worker in all white exits an expensive-looking, deep gray sports car. the interior looks like a spaceship, and you can't help but crane your neck a little further to get a better look.

you're not paying attention as the worker drops the keys into mike's hand and mike hands him a hundred-dollar bill he fished from his pocket. you're just focused on the car, wondering a million things. how much was it? how was its gas mileage? did it take premium gas or something more?

"do you need a ride home?" mike holds the keys up, jangling them in front of your face. you connect the dots and let out a loud belly laugh, completely blindsided.

"this is your car?"

"i...think so?" he teases, watching the happiness fall from your face. a ride home. why would you want to go home to be alone, once again collecting the jagged pieces of your broken heart from the floor?

mike instantly stiffens. "that was a joke," he clarifies, but you dismiss it with a raise of your hand.

"no no, it was fine, funny even. i just...i don't want to go home right now."

"do you want to come back to mine?" mike doesn't know if it's too forward, but it doesn't hurt to try. you needed company, and nothing would ever compel him to leave you here after everything. he catches the way your face twitches and raises his hands in defense again. "no funny business, i promise. just so you're safe, and not alone tonight."

you don't think over it very long. you'd been to plenty of strangers' houses, and this was only one night. you were sure you could trust this man. after your date from hell and nearly going to jail, what was the harm?

"okay, i'll come. thank you," you muse as mike leads you to the passenger side of his car. he opens the door for you, and you crane your head to him before you sit down. you're so close you can see the flecks in his hazel eyes, the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose, every single individual hair that peppers his jaw and mouth. it makes you forget your name.

"i'm y/n, by the way." he nods and smiles at you, wide and bright. suddenly, your legs feel like noodles.

"nice to meet you, y/n. i'm mike."

"mike," you repeat as you lower yourself into his car. "mike."

who knew where this would lead you?

been up all night writing this ayyeeeee, i write SO MUCH! going to work on writing blurbs, i promiseeeeeee. also this is very cute. i'm excited to delve into their story because it will be mostly pwp (for ficlets and blurbs) but definitely more structured for longer fics. can't wait to see where it goes!

#fnaf #fnaf movie #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf fic #mike schmidt angst #mike stands up for you & you're like ?????#you can't believe it #you'll fall in love with him instantly #i did #faire is writing stuff #faire’s mike schmidt <3 #faire's (pornstar) mike schmidt <3

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zelphin124 · 5 months

Text

Killer x Y/N short story

One of the few short stories I will be writing. Requested by the wonderful @itsxroxannex as her honorable mention prize.

I do write commissions and short stories! Do you want a story? I can work with a small price (:

I'm using an image from Bing Image Creator to help the readers visualize where they are at and who they are talking to. It's for visual purposes only, and I do not claim it.

Enjoy the story!

~o0o~

The light from the sun bouncing off the rock hallways started to fade as the moon rose. The dripping from the ceiling had stopped, and monsters and humans started filling the tavern. It was supposed to be very busy tonight.

The tavern was underground, just below the surface life. Dartboards hung across the walls on various barrels. Small candles were lit beside them, either hanging from the ceiling or resting on uniquely carved tables. Carpets were strung across the floor, filled with old designs and symbols that the humans didn't understand, and the monsters refused to explain.

The bar itself looked like any other bar, but the counters were carved into the rocks and the drinks were stored within the earth. The tables were made from woven branches, and the chairs were also made from scattered parts of trees that were no longer needed elsewhere.

You weren't much for drinking. You had only come to the bar to talk with your friend, Shiro. Shiro ran the place during slow hours. Now that the night rush was coming, his co-workers came in to help him run the shift. He wouldn't have much time to talk anymore.

You started to pack your computer, flinging your bag over your shoulder. Shiro had told you of the many tales and tragedies that happen during the night rush, and you didn't want to stick around to become one of them.

"Leaving so soon?" Shiro asked as he wiped the table where you just sat. His baggy white hair fell over his face, and he smiled softly.

"You know how I am with crowds," you responded, hoping he would get the hint.

He didn't. "Well, surely it shouldn't be that busy tonight-"

He was cut off as three skeletons walked down the entrance stairs. It was apparent that they were some sort of gang, as they all wore the same-colored jacket, pants, and shoes. Each of them stood proudly as everyone went silent.

The tallest one had a large hole in his head, and his left eye was huge. It glowed red and barely made any movement when he looked around. He hunched over and had a large ax on his back. He never stopped smiling, which left an unhinged feeling in everyone who saw it.

The shortest one wore a hood over his head. His eyes glowed red, and one of them had a purple and blue tint to it. Unlike his tall counterpart, he never smiled. He glared at everyone who even dared to look at him. Monster ash covered his clothes, sparking fear in all who noticed.

The third one seemed the most normal of the group. His smile was contagious, and his extroverted personality always drew attention to him. Big black stripes dripped from his void eyes down to his neck. His coat was fluffier than the rest, and his soul wasn't hidden. It hung in front of his chest like a big red target. He twirled a knife in his hand before resting it by his side.

The Murder Time Trio, you recalled. You recognized each of their faces from wanted posters across the town. Working under Nightmare, they worked to harvest negativity.

The Star Sanses - rulers of this AU amongst many others - wanted to bring them to justice, but with all of the Sanses abilities to travel alternate universes, they were hard to track down.

You couldn't buy into the fact there were other worlds than your own. The only reason you believed it was the evidence before you; multiple versions of the same person taking different paths.

Shiro glanced over as the tavern filled with noise and music again. He rolled his eyes, grabbing a notepad and pen before walking over to the table they sat at.

The dart games began. Multiple people threw darts across the room to the targets. According to Shiro, this was how all the drama started. Someone would think a shot was unfair, and a fight would break out.

Deciding it wasn't the best idea to stay any longer, you weave through the crowd of monsters and humans trying to get to the bar to drink. You glanced at the table where the trio sat as they talked with Shiro. You pray they don't do anything to your friend.

As you stood between the dart targets, waiting for the round to be over, you eavesdrop on Shiro's conversation. He seemed bored, surprisingly.

"I'll have a margarita," the striped face one said.

"A big beer, please," Horror lowered his head.

"Think you can handle one of those again, Horror?" The striped face asked.

Horror didn't answer him. He waved his hand in dismissal to Shiro as he looked at the menu.

"I see," Shiro scribbled down the orders on his paper. "And for you, Dust?"

"Nothing," the hooded skeleton replied. "Someone has to be sober when Killer isn't."

"Hey, I would do just fine," Killer smirked. "I don't see you..."

The conversation faded out of hearing as shouts echoed across the tavern. Glancing behind you, you see a human and a monster arguing about who hit the target first as they shot their darts at the same time. The shouts almost frightened you, and you didn't think before stepping forward. Your goal was to get away from the chaos before more violence broke out. Maybe you shouldn't have come here, maybe it was a bad idea after all.

A dart flew towards your face.

You didn't have time to react before you were pulled off your feet, resting in the mercy of someone's arms as he caught the dart. "Woah darling, careful there," he sighed, his head turning toward the people who threw it.

You realize the man, or the skeleton that saved your head was Killer. His grip was firm around your waist from when he had pulled you away from the weapon. He dropped the dart and continued to glare at the monster that had thrown it.

The people playing the particular dart game went dead silent, all pointing to the person who threw the dart. He didn't seem to care. "Oh, come on, she walked in front of it! It's not my fault!"

"Pay attention to your surroundings more, mm?" Killer smirked, tilting his head. He turned towards you before the others could reply. "You too, cutie," he smirked, poking your nose. "Gotta be careful in places like these~"

His grip on your waist loosened as you backed up. A blush painted your face as you stared up at him. As your blush increased, so did his smile, making you blush more. The blood rushed to your face as you tried to cover your cheeks with your favorite-colored scarf.

"Do you seriously have to flirt with everyone you see, Killer?" Dust snapped, opening a deck of cards and flushing them across the table.

"Look at them, they're pretty!" Killer replied. "I didn't want them to get scratched by a silly dart!"

"Then they shouldn't be in a place like this," Horror rolled his eyes, glancing at the deck of cards Dust had started dealing.

Instant guilt washed over you. You didn't mean to cause any trouble, and Shiro was nowhere in sight to defend you. You gesture to Killer, thanking him for saving you before telling him you'll leave to not cause any more trouble.

Killer looked you up and down, smiling as his eyes made their way back to your face. "What's your name, Hun?" He smirks slyly.

You tell him your name, scratching your head in the process. One of the most wanted men in the multiverse was talking to you. In fact, he smiled when he looked at you. How could this be?

"Y/N, what a beautiful name," Killer takes a step closer to you, extending his hand. "You plan to get on out of here? I can make sure you get home safely."

You open your mouth to accept the offer but hesitate. He, along with his friends, were mass killers. It was obvious by the dust and blood across their clothes. Was he going to kill you? You had no idea.

If he was, then why would he go out of his way to pull you away from an incoming dart?

"Killer, you play or not?" Horror asked, interrupting your thoughts.

"Not now," Killer didn't take his eyes off you. "I wish to walk this lovely human home."

"Oh, can I come?" Horror smirked, his hand reaching for his ax.

Dust slapped his hand. "Not that kind of walk home," Dust rolled his eyes. "Look at him! His soul his turning into a heart! Pathetic, really."

Dust wasn't lying. Killer's soul had taken the form of an upside-down heart momentarily. You tilt your head in curiosity, surely that was a good sign.

"Hey!" The monster that had thrown the dart earlier shouted. "You broke my dart with your disgusting fingers!"

Killer raised his eyebrows as he shrugged. "Oops."

"That dart cost me hundreds of G!" He growled. "You're gonna pay for that!"

You felt Killer's hands run along your shoulders. "Time to go~" he whispered behind you.

As the monster tumbled near, he suddenly faded from sight. Everything vaporized into stripes as the underground tavern disappeared and was quickly replaced with the cool breeze of the surface.

The moon glimmered in the sky next to the stars as it shined down on the slightly paved street. There were no streetlights, but you could see the village in the distance. Fireflies glittered the sky along with the stars. There were a few trees and a river to cross, and the bridge over the river linked the road.

"Whew, that was close," Killer chuckled, letting go of you. He walked over to your side and smirked down at you. "Don't worry, he won't catch us now."

"Thank you," you sighed with a smile before walking toward the village.

Killer started to follow you. "Hey, I know we like, just met, right? This is a little crazy," he glanced down at the ground as he caught up to you. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and he couldn't stop smiling. "But can I get your number?"

You widened your eyes, surprised. He really wanted your number after two minutes. Surely that couldn't be... This couldn't be happening, right? Wasn't that a red flag of some sort, and you, out of all people? You didn't see why someone as famous and as brave as him would pay attention-

You snapped back into reality, realizing that you had given him your phone, and he was already punching in his own number.

"Thanks, doll," Killer smiled to himself. "I didn't expect you to actually say yes. I'll fulfill my promise; let's get you home safely."

How the- you paused, unable to comprehend what just happened.

Despite the darkness and eerie noises surrounding you, you felt at peace. You couldn't help but wonder if that was because a skilled killer was by your side, ready to defend you if anything came your way. He made that clear with his actions at the tavern.

It didn't take long for Killer to start a conversation. He asked many questions and answered any questions you had. He often would laugh, smile, and tease you in such a way that made the butterflies in your stomach squirm. He was very charming, flirtatious, and unique. You couldn't recall if you met anyone like him.

And you liked that.

He was so different from everyone else that you had met, treated you well, and it was so easy to be yourself around him. He brought out a side of you that you thought died a long time ago. That side that made you feel... wild and free.

"Look look look," Killer begged, running off the path toward a lake. He picked up a rock and threw it across the water's surface. It must have skipped a hundred times before it plunged into the depths below. He picked up another one and did the same thing. "It's perfect water to skip the rocks on!"

You join his side and sit on a boulder nearby, watching him skip rocks as he continues to tell you about the first time won a card game, which you learned wasn't very often due to Dust having a special connection with cards.

"The look on his face when I won, hah! Priceless! Should've known better to have challenged me!"

You asked him if he had won the next two games after that.

"Uh, no, but that's not the point silly!" He smiled, heaving a great sigh as he looked up at the stars. He closed his eyes, letting the wind blow across his face as the ripples on the lake settled. The moon complimented his face and made him seem so peaceful and innocent. It highlighted his chest and showed the two small eyes that he had hidden within his skull.

You commented how he looks great in the moonlight. When he asked you how so, you got up and pointed out the various places the moonlight shined on him, and how it made him look so handsome.

"Tch, you're sweet," Killer snickered, brushing the hair out of your face. "But the moonlight on me is better on you."

Before you could recover from the sudden blush, he continued. "Have you ever skipped a stone across the water?"

As you shook your head, Killer frowned. He turned you around to face the lake and picked a stone up from the ground, admiring it in the moonlight. "Here, I'll teach you darling." He placed the stone in your hand and gestured that you try.

You tossed the rock into the water, it sunk in front of you.

"Heh, not like that." Killer came up from behind you and grabbed your wrists gently. "Here, let me guide you."

For the next thirty minutes, Killer moved your wrists in the correct motion. He gave tips on what to do with your fingers when you release the rock. You would have gotten it much sooner if you weren't so distracted by his sweet breath brushing against your cheek.

As you threw your hundredth stone, it skipped across the water more times than you can count. Joy filled your face, and your smile only increased when you heard Killer congratulate you.

"That was awesome!" He gleamed, running his hand along his skull. He quickly picked up a stone and skipped it across the water to catch up with yours. "Fast learner, eh?"

Before you could reply, Killer came up to you and embraced you. His hug was so snug, you felt safe in his arms. You wrap your arms around his back as the tension in your body flees. He was so warm, and he held you so tight... you didn't want to leave his arms.

Alas, it didn't last for long. Killer smiled and took your hand, guiding you up back to the path. "Alright, it's best I get you home, cutie," he smiled slyly. "The boys are probably wondering where I am."

You were closer to your home than you thought, to your dismay. Killer stood close to you, putting his hood over his skull to hide his face from the town as they turned down the street to your house. You almost had forgotten that he was a wanted killer with how enjoyable your time was with him. Surely, he wasn't all everyone said he was... he was so nice to you.

"Lovely house you have, I'll have to visit you sometime," Killer commented, smiling his usual charming smile as you approached the door. "Y/N, it was fun getting to know you, I'll call ya, alright? You're too pretty to say goodbye to, anyway."

You invited him to stay and watch a movie, but he declined.

"Nah, I'm sure Dust and Horror would be suspicious... besides, I cannot stay in the town for long unless I want Nightmare mad..." He took a few steps toward you until he was inches away from your face. He continued to smile as he took your hand. "However," he paused. He lifted your hand up to his face and kissed it gently. Once he met your eyes again, he smirked softly again. "I'm sure I could make an exception for you another night."

You didn't know how much more of his teasing you could take as your face turned red. You held your hand as if it was made of diamonds.

"Heh, you're so cute," Killer backed up into the street. "See ya later, Y/N."

You barely waved in time before he vanished from sight.

You couldn't stop thinking about him for the rest of the night. He treated you kindly, and his jokes were so funny... you longed for his company, despite his reputation. How long had it been since the tavern? A couple of hours? Were all monsters like this? Maybe there was a special thing about monsters where you grew attached quicker than another human. As if they understood the value of another living being and had a way to make another feel at ease around them. You tried to figure it out as you winded down for the night.

Maybe they were masters at this feeling that you felt: love.

Or maybe Killer was just special like that.

#undertale au #utmv #sans au #undertale #killer sans #killer sans x reader #Killer sans x Y/N #sans x reader #creative dumpster idea #oneshot #short story #au sans #killer!sans #yn

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zwhoreo · 6 months

Note

Why be sad when you can be horny instead? Luffy cheering you up by eating you out #TeamSmut

I’M POSTING AGAIN!! now with my THIRD story about luffy eating you out on the deck of the ship

cheering you up - luffy x f!reader

smut

summary: while you’re lethargic and sad from being on sea for so long, luffy offers oral sex to cheer you up one night

contains: oral (f receiving)

words: 1.9k

_______________________________

You’re sad, not by any particular event but just by the way monotony permeates. The sea is large. It takes a long time to sail between islands, exciting adventures that take a few days are framed by weeks and weeks at sea with nothing other than your friends, your boyfriend, yourself. That last part doesn’t sound so bad, right? Your friends, your boyfriend.

Luffy rests his chin on your shoulder and begs for attention. He’s sprawled all limp and tangled and he’s been whining for the last hour about how bored he is, how much he wants to go exploring and do something fun and even this fancy ship gets boring after awhile, he doesn’t want to look at the fish or play on the deck anymore. You love him but he’s just been so bratty recently, uninterested in anything. You aren’t sure how to entertain him and he just always, always wants to be with you and it’s getting exhausting, you’re so, so tired. So you rest in bed and pet his hair as he complains about wanting to go on adventure and be somewhere else.

Everyone else is irritable and tired, especially because of how hot it’s been recently and nobody likes to rot in the sun in the middle of the ocean. You know what happens with your best friends, where you see them so much that there isn’t much new to talk about? So you’re mostly quiet when you’re sketching with Nami, or reading with Robin, or fishing with Usopp. Or napping with Luffy.

It’s late in the evening but you’re taking a nap anyways, you’re feeling sort of depressed and lethargic and it’s all catching up to you at around 6 PM. You ask for Luffy to come cuddle you even though this is his time to beg Sanji for more food after dinner, the only time of the day he’s really been at his full energy. But he won’t turn you down so he squeezes your hand and pulls you into bed with him.

You lay down. You get under the blankets and take Luffy and tuck him against your chest like a stuffed animal. You can move him around however you want, he won’t mind. He huffs contentedly and quickly goes to sleep with his head between your breasts, clutching you around the waist, snoring loudly.

And even though your eyes hurt and your body’s sore and all you want is to let the rest of the evening slip by in dreams you can’t somehow. You just stay awake with this sweaty boy in your arms, squeezed too tight, and he isn’t a quiet sleeper even when you try to still him so he just squirms and murmurs against you and there’s nothing you can do.

You turn your attention to caring for him, just trying for some sort of comfort. You kiss his greasy hair and whisper little compliments, you massage his back, he loves your touch so much, smiling against you in his dreams. This makes you happy but you still feel sick in your heart, uncomfortable and tired and lonely. The room suddenly feels too hot, oppressive, you need to leave and go get some fresh air.

So, because you don’t want to wake him, you eventually ease a pillow into Luffy’s arms in the absence of your embrace. You slip out of bed, you need fresh air.

There’s a spot you’ve found, a support platform halfway up the tallest mast. You go here when you want to be alone. You’re rocked and the world tilts as the waves crash beneath you, climbing higher, higher. Your feet are bare against the rope ladder, thick knots digging into the soles of your feet. But now on this platform you can breathe. You can see every single star and galaxy from here, black purple blue, a glimmering ballroom of constellations that mirror the wine-dark sea. You are the world’s meridian.

Your body turns off, mind drifting away because you’ve always loved outer space. If you were floating a million light years away then everything would just disappear which sounds nice right now. You close your eyes. You are the universe.

But your body is shaken by the sudden rocking of the mast, you have to scurry to keep from falling as the wood creaks. The loud snap of elastic, a body slams next to you with a clumsy bounce and there he sits, legs spread, looking at you with huge, curious eyes.

“Hey Luffy,” you move close to him. You don’t want to be in the stars if you can’t take him with you.

“Whatcha doin’?” He's quiet, wistful. He looks a little hurt to have been left alone, he doesn’t understand.

“Just needed some air. It’s ok, you can stay,” you say even though he would’ve stayed anyway.

He takes your hand, tracing your fingers, off in his own little world. You feel sad and lonely again. This is your boyfriend, why can’t you talk to him? Tell him how you feel. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t understand, really, he’ll just be there for you. But don’t make him worry, don’t make him upset. But no, tell him, you have to talk to him or you’ll cry right now. Right now.

“I’ve been sad,” you whisper to the ocean below.

“Hm?” Luffy’s arms wrap around you slowly. He presses his cheek to yours, searching your face, so confused. “How come?”

“I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. Sometimes I just get kinda depressed being on this ship for so long between islands, you know? Especially when everyone else is bored and tired, and when the weather’s bad. And we’re low on food, I’m sick of fish. I’m just getting frustrated all the time and I hate it.” Once you start to let it out you can’t stop. You wipe your face with your hands, sniffing.

He listens, not speaking, not moving except for those hands rubbing yours. And when you’re done he puts his chin on your shoulder. “Yeah, me too. I get what ya mean.” But soon his face is against yours again, so tender now. “Can I help make you feel better, though?”

You smile. You’re so glad you told him, he’s so sweet and good to you. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Hey, this’ll make ya happier! Nami told me we’re close to an island, the tide’s changing or somethin’!”

“Really? How long?” He’s right, you do feel happier.

“Mm, I dunno that part.” His chin’s back on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shoulda asked.”

“That’s ok.” You sigh, but you’re still smiling. “It’s enough to know we’re close.”

“Yeah, but you’re still not feelin’ well. An island in the future is no good if you’re feeling bad tonight, huh?”

“My body hurts… I’ve been sitting and resting too much, I think.” It’s true, your legs are sore and heavy. Bones have turned to stone in their hibernation.

“Yeah? Let’s take care of that.” His hands go to you, rubbing your thighs beneath the silk of your night dress, your waist, your shoulders. “Mm, hey, you wanna play? Would that make you happier and make yer body not hurt so much?” He’s murmuring into your ear, smiling with his teeth.

“What kinda play?”

“Sex? You wanna have sex? It’s been awhile.” Luffy licks his lips, mind racing. “I could… eat ya? Y’know, that thing we do sometimes? Where I-”

“Please,” you say so quickly. Maybe this is therapy you crave. Release all this time before you start anew, release it for him to devour.

He laughs loudly, sitting back against the mast. “Heh, ok, lie down and lemme hold you. I got you, love.” His eyes twinkle.

You face him, you get on your back on the wood, head turned away toward the endless stretch of night and sea. And Luffy wraps his arms around your thighs, propping your legs up, spread for him, you feel him nuzzle your thigh and huff against you as he returns to this scent he loves.

You both breathe as one in a long, deep rhythm as his nose presses against you there, right there. Soft moist warmth for Luffy, damp lacy fabric perfect to chew and taste. Teeth gnaw on you through your panties, dull but hungry. You pulse there with every swallow against nothing, nerves lighting you up down to your toes.

“You’re teasing me…” you whine, reminding him of where he is.

“Heh, sorry.” But he’s lost in you, he’s not in any hurry. Until, of course, his tongue catches the arousal that drips out of you and that’s where he needs to go, he decides.

So he casually rips away your panties and smiles at what’s his. You’re at the center of his world and this is how he’ll feast on the meridian.

He quickly bites your clit, not hard but enough to make your whole body twitch. He’s so good at doing what you’ve taught him. And god he does look stunning from here, he pushes his hat back and shiny, jet-black hair tickles your inner thighs. You run your hand through it and tug, curling your body up to stroke his cheek and now you’ve got his attention, you just wanted to see those big, chocolate eyes.

It’s with care that he dips his tongue lower, slowly lapping at you as you get wetter for him, he’s getting loud now as he usually does and the vibrations from his moaning makes you tremble in his arms. And when you tremble, he squeezes you tighter. Warm arms, so different from the sky.

Closer, closer, it’s almost painful it’s so deep and perfect. Your hips move on instinct, riding his tongue, pulling you into this vortex, deep and deeper it comes in waves. The ship rocks and you sway together.

He buzzes against you with a shiver and a sound of joy when your orgasm hits deep. You moan and reach for him immediately and he looks up at you, mouth soaked, he asks, “ya done? Feel better?” smile unbroken.

“Mhm, a lot better.” And he’s in your arms now. You cuddle on that little wooden platform beneath the moon. The heartache and soreness and exhaustion is all new and perfect now. So much better.

“Hey thanks for cheering me up. You felt so good, Lu.” Your voice is a quiet whisper on the wind as you stroke his hair, his muscles twitch around you with the remnants of that powerful joy.

“Heh, tasted good. Glad you’re ok. This mean you’ll come back and sleep with me now?” He’s tilting his head like a little puppy, your scent warm on his breath.

“Yeah. But I wanna watch the stars for a little longer.” You lay against him. You’re sitting, now, interlocked and inseparable. You drip down there from him, so warm against the wood, nerves still on fire. And those stars up there are all suns, you know. They’re all on fire too. You’re amazed at how alight the night is. And this wind from the east, I guess this is what it means to be close to land. Those clouds, maybe that’s what they mean too, shot with colors from no direction, full and aimless.

Luffy is content with you. He’s ok with you watching the sky. All he says is, “that’s alright. Long as I can stay here and hold ya.”

#luffy x reader #one piece #luffy #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #one piece smut #luffy x reader smut #luffy smut #luffy x f!reader

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fatesundress · 1 year

Text

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this.

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same.

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it.

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction?

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet.

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner.

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party.

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten.

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again."

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him.

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins.

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks.

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them.

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did."

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.”

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything — is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting.

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers.

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient.

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still.

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in.

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him.

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #NO LONGER!#but it is only a two-parter sorry. this is it #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

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sadgurls-blog · 3 months

Text

Rindou Haitani x reader

MDNI

On top of the tallest building in Roppongi was a rooftop bar. One of the most prestigious and known ones in japan. Also notorious for being Bonten's favorite meetup spot.

Prostitutes sat on couches next to High-level Criminals, their hair messed up and lips touching the person who paid them. Strippers danced on the elevated dance floors with poles and both men and women watched them, occasionally whistling and throwing money at their feet. They swayed their hips seductively and the people looking at them roared in excitement throwing even more cash onto the floor.

You sat on the couch far away from the rest, but near enough to see what was happening. Your legs crossed and red blazer hanging from one of your shoulders. A Bubblegum haired man sat down next to you and blew the cigarette he was holding, the smoke flowing into your nostrils; your face scrunching up at the toxin. Here was Sanzu Haruchiyo and he was unsurprisingly high on drugs again.

''Drive for me'' He commanded and threw his car keys on your lap before passing out pitch black on the couch. You took out your phone and took a picture of him, hoping that you could use it as blackmail in the future.

Someone then tugged your arm and you looked up to see who it was, smirking in delight when you recognize his purple mullet with dark blue streaks.

''Missed me?'' You hung your arms around his neck and kissed his lips when the two of you stepped inside the elevator.

'Very much so'' He leaned down willingly returning the kiss back, his hands wandered down your skirt and he rubbed his fingers against your underwear; realising that you were already wet.

''Take it off'' He removed his lips away from yours, a string of saliva connecting it for a brief moment.

''Not here'' You whispered into his ears and loosened his tie a bit, tugging on it when the elevator door opened. You pulled him to your car and opened the backseat, the two of you going inside in a hurry.

He kissed you and pushed his tongue inside your mouth and you sucked it when he removed your blazer. He then pulled away from you and you put your arms up when he started pulling up your top, trying to remove it. You pushed him against the car seat when he was done and your left hand started fiddling with the buttons of his waistcoat, struggling to remove the last one. He helped you and held your head, pushing it downwards, eager to taste your lips again.

His kisses then went down from your mouth to your neck, not bothering to be careful of leaving marks. You pushed your head back when he reached your collarbones, finding the way he sucked your skin hurtful in a good way. You then looked down and helped him sit up a bit so that he can remove his long sleeved top. His tattoo fully seen when it was finally removed.

''Did I ever tell you that you look hot with that tattoo?'' You tell him playfully and traced it with your fingers. His body jolting at the sudden touch when you did so.

''Everyday'' He answered and smirked. You straddled him with your hips, sitting on top of him now. You then leaned down kissing his lips and then his neck until you finally reached the hem of his pants.

''Unbutton it'' He told you.

''You'll have to wait a bit more'' You told him and leaned down towards his face, your lips barely touching his; teasing him a bit. He looked down at your lips, hypnotized by how warm your breath felt and your pink lips.

Wine.

You smelled like wine. The same wine he drank earlier. Seeing him distracted your arms reached downwards and held the gun on the floor. You held it up to his forehead and put your finger on the trigger.

''That's hot'' He blurted out accidentally.

And you bursted out in a fit of laughter still holding him at gunpoint.

#tokyo revengers x reader #rindou smut #rindou x reader #rindou haitani #bonten x reader

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melovelydove · 11 months

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Stuck in the Middle

Taiju Shiba x Reader x South Terano

A/N: I love both of these men, even tho I know I'm not to, but what can I say, I love me some big strong men (and big strong women but that is beside the pont)

Purple=Both

South=Green

Taiju=Blue

Pink=You

Warning: Smut, Threesome, Fluff, Arguing/Fighting(the guys do), Blood, Cuddles, Daddy kink, Pet names(princess, kitten, etc.), and Cursing

Living with 2 men who were really tall and strong was a bit difficult. South being 7 ft and Tajiu being 6,5 was kinda difficult and them being in different gangs made it a bit more of a problem because it was hard for them to get along half of the time.

You had meant South on the day you were doing a bit of grocery shopping with your mom and spotted him staring at a shelf of (Your favorite snack) and you were to scared to ask him to move because of his terrifying hight so you waited. When South finally moved out the way you smiled and immediately went to the shelf and tried to reach for them but unfortunately they were on the top shelf so you tried to stand on the bottom shelf to grab them and as you grabbed them, you slipped and was falling. You closed your eyes waiting for the impact of the ground only to feel a par of arms under you. You opened your eyes and see South staring down at you. You had immediately got up from him and bowed. "T-thank you!" , He continued to stare at you before smiling a bit, "no problem, I'm South or Minami Terano..", you were shocked a bit before blushing from the way he stood over you. You smiled back, "(Y-Y/N) (L/N)".

Now when you met Taiju it wasn't at all this peaceful. You were literally just minding your business and you turn the corner to see a group of guys on the ground and one getting the SHIT beat out of him by Taiju. You had froze up at the scene in front of you. "U-um...". He looks over and drops the guy he was holding. "Shit...Tch.". You look up at the man and he began to walk towards you and once he was near you, he stood over you. "What.", "N-nothing..", He continued to stare down at you before grabbing out his phone and handing it to you. "Huh?!", "Your number, give it to me", before typing your number into his phone, "I'm Taiju. You?", You bite your lip a bit not knowing if you should give him your name, "I'm (Y/n).."

Ever since those days they have just been following you around like 2 huge angry looking dogs protecting their toy, although half of the time they dont get along.

Today was odd, you woke up as usual to do your daily routine:

Get up

Shower and brush you teeth

Get dessed

Eat breakfast

Watch tv

Then wait a while till you had to go to work

But to was different, it was... Quite?

By now your show would have interrupted by the sound of 2 loud voices and banging on the door at the same time every day but it's wasn't. Which you were grateful for till seconds later, there it was, the sounds of yelling from 2 of the tallest men you ever met. As you got up and opened the door you were greeted by Taiju pushing South and South pulling Taiju's hair. "Oh my god! Can the 2 of you please try and get along!", You go inside leaving the door open. "Oh princess I'm sorry, this BASTURD just won't fuck off". "YOU PIECE OF SH-", "AHHHHH Shut up!! Is there any way you can actually get along?", they look at each other, "Tch." They look away from each other. "Hell no." South walks to the couch and sits down, legs open wide, man strading with his arms swing behind the sofa, as Taiju leans on the wall.

"Is there anything you both like that you can use to help you get along?"

That was the line that got you into this mess.

Sandwich between the 2 men on the couch with only your underwear on and them in only their boxers.

Taiju under you, laying on his back with you and South between his legs and his mouth pressed up against your breast with your nipple being played with by his tongue.

South right behide you grinding his dick against your ass with his hands on your hips.

"A-Ahh South! Taiju! H-hold on wait a min- Ahh! Stop i-it!~" You moaned out as Taiju grinded his fingers against your clothed clit with a smirk plastered on his face.

"Just relax" Taiju spoke before placing a large hand again your breast, "I can promise you it's gonna feel nice and good, we will try our best not to hurt you" He chuckles before kissing you and South begins kissing your shoulder.

"We're gonna take good care of you" South spoke up.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers south #tokyo revengers taiju #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers taiju shiba #taiju shiba #south terano x reader #south terano #taiju shiba x reader #tokyo rev smut #terano south x reader #terano south x reader x taiju shiba

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dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling · 1 year

Note

Hii :^ can you do Zim and the Tallests x reader (platonic for both) where the reader is an alien, but like- an octoling from Splatoon 2? How would they react to their abilities and all? Basically headcannons T-T, i suck at explaining, but I'll do my best at listing what inks and octos can do in Splatoon, they have no bones and sharp teef, their body is mostly ink and skin membranes and can change ink/tentacle color at will, and what color their ink is, shows on their fingertips and the inside of their mouth also matches thier ink color, underwater bubbly assorted gibberish language, da small octopus swim form and the ability to just disappear in ink, and water also melts them, not burn but melt, and can travel through ink lol(you can pick the readers ink color and looks or leave it up to us to imagine) and as a bonus (optional) if the reader changes their ink color to match their eyes? Just to match them :> or funny moments when their explaining stuff from their planet, would they even understand them or learn how to? Or just listen to their gibberish and just be confused on what their saying? (Also i wonder if you can use an inklings face as a stress ball since they have no bone- just SQUEESH THEIR FACES) My name's 🕸️/Web

I already did something like this for Zim so I just left a link at the end ! ☆～（ゝ。∂）

Tallest Purple, Tallest Red and Zim x Octoling-alien!reader

Tallest Purple

★ First of all, he loves it when you change color. Do purple and he would be left swooning! And yes, he does get jealous (and pouty) when you change to red.

★ He actually likes turf wars and watches any that you participate in. Even goes as far as commissioning irks finest engineers to develop a custom weapon for you to use on the field. Does not participate in them though.

★ Tells you to not don't bite him! Don't know why he felt the need to tell you, but those teeth look like they can do some serious damage. Plus he'd be beyond embarrassed (by Red) if he had to get medical treatment for it...

Tallest Red

★ He's seen lots of different aliens in his time ruling Irk so this isn't very surprising to him. He isn't used to your gibberish sounding language so he keeps his universal translator on to communicate.

★ Turf wars? Yea he doesn't like them at first and doesn't get why you like them. He thinks they are way too messy and seem kinda dumb. The only part he really likes is the history behind them.

★ Considering that your body is mostly ink, disappearing into it kinda freezes him out. How dose it work? Why don't you disappear into ink forever?? Can you do this for other liquids???

Zim:

#🕸️ anon #🦑 anon #invader zim #invader zim tallest #almighty tallest purple #almighty tallest red #tallest purple #tallest Red #almighty tallest #tallest Purple x reader #tallest red x reader #tallest x reader #invader zim x reader

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lovdlydaz · 4 months

Text

❝ MAKE YOU FEEL MY LOVE, OH… ❞

dom!hyunjin x sub!bangchan x switch!blackafab!reader

your boyfriends had just came home to your shared luxury house. they had been teasing each other the whole time though, and you were the victim taking the punishment.

warnings: porn with very very little plot, p in v, cum on each other, degradation, sub-dom dynamics, threesome, established safe words and kinks (the safe words are never used however cuz duh), very very very smutty just enjoy

a/n: so sorry for my sudden disappearance guys! a lot has been happening, and while i will still be posting anime fanfics, i have been getting more into kpop and will probably start posting those more for now on. :)

it had been almost two weeks since you had even texted your boyfriends. they were always out doing shows or not able to be on their phones for extended periods of time due to them practicing. you missed them dearly, but you finally got a text from the group chat you three shared and they were finally coming home! you were ecstatic, and they were going to stay over for the new year. you couldn’t have been happier, so you started to get yourself ready for their appearance.

“c’mon chan, let’s get in the car,” hyunjin spoke, but bangchan was not having it. he was sporting a prominent boner in grey sweatpants and a black tank top. his face was dusted with pink and all the fourth oldest did was smirk. he had absolutely no reaction to the older man’s reactions, so he held the door open for him and motioned for him to get inside. “c’mon chan, she’s getting all needy for us to get home… she’s blowing up my phone right now,” the tallest spoke with weary, making the smaller get into the car. bangchan held his hand over his crotch the whole time as he was getting in however, since the group were also meeting family and saying their goodbyes to the rest of them.

hyunjin got into the car soon after his leader did, licking his lips and smirking as he stared at him. “what’s wrong babe? goyang-iga hyeoleul gajyeossnayo? (cat got your tongue?)” the brunette sneered, giggling to himself as he said it. chan couldn’t even speak, he felt so flustered and it was making him close up a bit more due to it. but, rest assured that as soon as they finished with y/n hyunjin was getting the scolding of his life.

back at home with you, you had started to clean off the counter and the sink in the kitchen. you were making sure the home was spic and span for the two men. you were in your best dress and put on your prettiest makeup, just because you wanted to. you wanted to look beautiful for your boys, and they would more than appreciate the gesture. you couldn’t wait to see them and their reactions to your beautiful ass—at least, you thought you were beautiful.

so, as soon as you heard those familiar to-a-beat knocks definitely coming from hyunjin you jumped up from the couch, running to the door but then calming yourself down. you breathed for a second before adjusting yourself, opening the door to your handsome and cute boyfriends. you smiled brightly, feeling small tears come into your eyes from the pure shock and happiness from physically seeing your favorite people in the world after literally almost 3 months.

you jumped into hyunjin’s arms, giggling and shoving your face into his chest while smiling and laughing. he was doing the same, but chan was hiding behind him trying to make his boner go down. yes, during the whole 3 hour ride the tallest of the three of you teased the oldest of you three. he was flushed red at this point, breathing heavy but still wanting to see your pretty face. so, once you pulled your face away from your first boyfriend’s chest, you were quick to put it right into the second’s much more prominent chest. you were so happy to see them both, you couldn’t contain yourself.

bangchan however couldn’t comprehend the fact that your purple dress hugged your curves so perfectly. you weren’t the skinniest girl in the world, but you definitely had some very prominent grooves that your boys obsessed over. during times alone in their shared dorm they would jerk off together while just scrolling through your instagram and snapchat pictures you sent them. they literally loved your body, and your personality as well. you were the sweetest and most caring woman they had met in a while and, to be frank, you didn’t even know they were idols until they told you. so that was also an added bonus.

going back to the present, you were hugging chan’s strong arms when you felt his hands go somewhere else. they were on your ass, and you giggled to yourself before pulling away from him. “can’t wait already? how much was jyp working you guys?” you teased in a sweet tone, making hyunjin smirk to himself and chan was trying to come up with an answer. “it—it was a lot really. but i’m okay babe, i’m alright.” he hastily replied, making you nod your head and beckon them inside.

as they walked in you closed the door behind them, locking the door as they flopped onto the couch with their bags in hand. you were just so happy, sitting between them and looking up at both of them. see, you were only like 2 inches shorter than chan, but quite a bit shorter than hyunjin. but, you loved your big boys regardless, because they loved you the same. you just cheesed like a dumb teenage girl in love, and you felt like it.

however, you weren’t oblivious to the looks both of the men were giving each other, and how chan was getting redder and redder from hyunjin’s looks. you were a little confused, but quickly caught on and smirked softly. you earlier acted like you couldn’t feel the smaller male’s large boner poking through his sweatpants, but you knew he was still hard due to the copious amounts of twitching that was seen through his pants. you and hyunjin looked at each other, and chan quickly got an idea of what was about to happen.

now, you three were on the bed and quickly making out. you were sitting on chan’s lap while hyunjin was behind you, kissing your neck and just smelling your sweet perfume that you dosed on your body just for this same moment. you ground your wetting heat against the leader’s leaking hard on, the dancer’s getting even worse the more you two went on.

“c’mon princess, take this sweet dress off,” your taller boyfriend almost begged, your whiny boyfriend seconding his words. you giggled and got off chan’s lap, sitting on your knees on the bed and slowly yet seductively pulling your dress off. you looked at them both, feeling their eyes all over your body and you loved it. everything they did was making you wetter, your panties were already on the ground. you pulled the dress off with success and now your boobs were pressed into your bra, about to basically pop out.

chan reached his hand out to pull it off for you, but you were quick to gently grab his hand and put it on your thigh. “ah ah channie, slow down boy. i know how much you want to see them,” you smiled, you had both of the boys at your will right now, and it made you feel amazing. hyunjin’s hand came next, and you were quick to grab his and put it around your v-line. “you too, jinnie. you boys have been waiting so long for this, but i want to make sure you two remember this night for the rest of your lives.” you told them, making both of their boners and hands twitch with pleasure.

you shuffled your boobs in your bra with your hands, almost letting them pop out due to how large your breasts were and how small your bra was. you could see how animalistic hyunjin looked, but chan just looked so desperate for you, and you lived for it. after a few minutes of this horrendous teasing you finally popped your breasts out of your bra, letting the tight sucker fall to the floor. you could feel both of the hands move up, but you only let chan’s reach their destination while moving hyunjin’s down to where you wanted them most.

right on your soaking and dripping heat.

at that point, he couldn’t take it. the dancer was quick to rip his clothes off, along with chan’s who he pinned to the bed and ripped his off for him. you watched with pleased eyes, seeing hyunjin go crazy like that made you the wettest you think you’ve ever been in a while. you looked up at him as he grabbed your arm with gentle force, pulling you to chan’s chest and pressing your chest against his. “i want you to ride chan while i get him prepped back here. got it sweet girl?” he asked, kissing your back while you replied with a verbal “yes jinnie”. he smirked, stopping the kissing of your back while he went to go get the lube from your drawers.

meanwhile, you connected your lips with chan as he pleaded you with big eyes to just sit on his cock already. you snickered at his desperate look, but god did he do things to you. “please baby, please sit on me— make me feel good, please—“ his words were cut off from the sudden feeling of your tight and wet walls engulfing his cock whole. chan’s cock was thicker than hyunjin’s, but hyunjin’s had length to his that made you cum uncontrollably. not like chan’s didn’t either, but you mostly made yourself cum unless he didn’t feel like just watching you pleasure yourself.

once you sank down completely your taller boyfriend was in the room with the lube, and he dosed it all over his fingers and loomed over you to stare down at chan. “you don’t need that much prep though… i see someone couldn’t wait any longer.” he smirked, quickly ripping out a butt plug that chan just had inside him. he never remembered ever putting it there, but to tell you he was embarrassed was an understatement. however, that embarrassment was quick to fade when your walls squeezed around him and made him let out a whiny moan.

hyunjin’s long and lanky fingers were quick to sheath themselves inside their rightful owner, immediately moving to the sweet spot inside the leader. chan’s voice increased in volume, making you clench around him more as he whimpered for more. “jinnie— y-y/n— ah! p-please!” he cried out, making you kiss his neck while hyunjin looked down at him. “please what channie? speak up for me baby,” he cooed, making chan’s glossy eyes water. “please— p— ah! y/n! please— puh— ngh!” words couldn’t form in his mouth, he was very close to cumming and you could feel it by how hard his cock was twitching inside of you.

“jinnie, i think he’s close… shouldn’t you put it inside him already?” you asked with a snarky tone, hyunjin quickly pulling his fingers out of chan and slathering his cock in lube. “you know what princess, i think you’re right. time to show our lovely leader how much we love him, yeah?” you both grinned mischievously down at the smallest male, making him gulp a little.

hyunjin’s long length pushed deep inside chan, making the male gasp and throw his head back letting out the most pornographic moan you’d ever heard. when i tell you it made you wet, you were drenching chan’s cock in your fluids. he just looked so hot… no wonder why he was ranked number 8 in top 100 handsome men. he just looked so beautiful every time he did just anything. you were blessed with this man, literally.

hyunjin meanwhile was doing everything in his power to not bust right then and there, rolling his eyes back as he bit his plump lips. he waited a second before moving inside chan, making you start back up your rhythm since you had stopped so you didn’t cum as well. chan was once again overstimulated to the max, hands flying everywhere but his hips thrusting up into you while pushing himself back onto hyunjin. he just wanted to cum, that was all.

the room was filled with noises, you and chan’s moans mixing along with hyunjin’s. “ah- ah! ahhh y/nnn! j—jinnn!” “channie— jinnie— fuckk! s’big inside of me—“ “fuck your ass feels amazing chan… can’t get enough of this.” that’s what it sounded like the whole time. you felt your orgasm coming on, so your speed increased to make yourself hit that spot that made you see stars. chan recognized and moved his hand underneath your clit, letting it rub against his hand when you moved down. hyunjin’s neck wrapped around your neck while he kept chan’s hips down, forcing the man to take everything he was giving him.

“fuck… you both look so beautiful, can’t get enough,” he purred, his speed increasing even though he wasn’t no where close to orgasm. however, chan was on his 3rd orgasm. he was just so sensitive, you knew every spot to abuse and you most definitely abused the spots. tears were running down both of your faces from the sheer pleasure, chan’s was especially drenched. you kissed him the whole time as your orgasm washed over you, forcing your eyes to roll back and the feeling in your legs to go numb.

your orgasm was all chan needed to cum yet again, busting another fat load inside of your overflowing cunt. hyunjin felt him clamp down on his cock, forcing hyunjin to pant like a dog to try and not cum. however, you had an idea.

you turned your body around, still sitting on your lovely boyfriend’s sensitive cock to press your lips against hyunjin’s plump lips. your braids felt over your shoulders as you reached towards him, starting to move on chan’s lap yet again. he whined in protest, but you knew he wanted more. his balls felt so heavy, and he had a lot more left in the tank. you definitely did too, making him take everything you had to offer.

your hand wrapped around hyunjin’s neck, your hand not nearly being as big as his but it did the job. in less than a few minutes hyunjin was busting his fat load inside of chan’s ass, making the smaller of your three moan out in pleasure as his cock twitched out the smallest bits of cum inside you. you moaned, not really feeling an orgasm but it felt nice inside you. then, the bigger load came along, and that pushed you over the edge as well. you moaned against hyunjin’s lips, squeezing your pussy around chan and milking him of all he was worth. hyunjin kept pushing out cum until he could feel his cock soften, pulling out of chan and panting.

you pulled off of chan’s lap, making him whine a little at the loss on both ends but he was satisfied. he looked up at the both of you, letting his legs fall since they were held up from hyunjin holding them up. you fell on the sheets, the tallest quick to follow. your pussy leaked of chan’s cum, but luckily you were on birth control. you let your two boys cuddle you in their arms, the smaller boy already dozing off while the tallest held you while breathing into your chest.

“i love you, y/n.” hyunjin whispered into your chest. “i love you too jinnie,” you smiled into his hair, looking back at chan and seeing he was already asleep. you grinned, pressing a soft kiss to his sweaty forehead. “and you too channie. goodnight boys.” and the night went silent.

#bottom character #top character #switch reader #female reader #stray kids #stray kids smut #skz smut #skz fanfic #skz channie #skz hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #bangchan x reader #hyunjin x female reader #bangchan x female reader #hyunjin smut #bangchan smut

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hotheadedhero · 27 days

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In Unrequited Love - Part 2

AN: When I say that writing this part had me feral, I don't mean it lightly. This part ended up being over 2000 words, blimmin heck. It had me losing sleep, losing sanity, and my grasp on reality and going insane. All in good ways of course! It got angstier than I originally intended but, man, I'm a sucker for it. I think you guys are too ;)

Part 1 for those of you new here

Warning: angst for reader's lacking self-preservation, silly dummy, but Donnie is also a dumb-dumb, so you're as bad as each other really.

Donatello x Reader

Every explanation you can come up with to try and disregard your feelings for the tallest of the turtle brothers has only been met with more anguish. First, you theorised it to be some kind of miscommunication with your emotions, that you had merely misread a deep level of friendship as a new crush. Then, you tried to reason with yourself that it was a rebound - a re-focussing of such feelings onto someone else who likes spending time with you. Neither holds enough weight to get out of this funk, however. You’re chain-bound.

Then begged the question: what are you to do about it? Realistically, what can you do about it? Not once have you had the courage to even try and say something to Casey, so what makes you think this is any different? If anything, it’s worse. Not only because Donatello is so helplessly in love with April, but because you are so much more hopelessly in love with him. Even the way you used to feel about Jones wasn’t this overwhelming.

You hate it. You hate it so damn much and, yet, you can’t stop yourself from spending most of your free time in that forsaken laboratory. There’s a saying that keeps coming to mind whenever you find yourself aiding him with inventions and experiments: fool me once, shame on you - fool me twice, shame on me. You certainly feel the fool and more so after a particular incident. A word used candidly but it felt like an incident at the time. The details are foggy but you believe it had something to do with the daughter of The Foot - Karai - and a new robotic toy of hers. Donnie had come in and saved the day, earning a kiss on the cheek from his crush by the end of it. To say that it stung is an understatement.

Nothing appeared to change after that day other than the joy your new infatuation must have been riding on since. You hadn’t even taken note of how it’s affected you. You don’t take notice of it at all. Yes, you still regularly visit the lab but less so to help out. As of late, it is you who is being helped. A habit which has become the norm where the purple-clad turtle finds himself patching you up. Almost every time you see him, there’s a new bump, bruise, or scratch that needs tending to and every time he does what he can to make it better.

Today is no different. If anything, it has to be the worst of your afflictions that he’s seen to date. The first few times were viewed in mild hilarity but he’s not finding these frequenting successions of being your first aider funny anymore. He currently has you sat in his desk chair, knelt down and worriedly looking over your ankle. The pigment of your skin is only slightly discoloured but it’s clear from the way you hobbled in a few moments ago that it can’t handle much weight right now. Carefully, he holds a cold compress against the affected area, earning a jolted hiss from your person. He winces himself and mutters a quiet apology. Some silence follows until he decides he needs to know exactly what you did to warrant such a bad injury.

“What happened this time?” he asks as he continues to inspect the contusion, making sure nothing is broken beneath.

“I just slipped whilst I was coming down the ladder,” you admit casually. “Think there’s been some rain recently, so it’s my own fault for not wearing grippier shoes.”

Your answer is marginally concerning for two reasons: it hasn’t rained for at least a few days now and he’s seen the way you work - how careful you are when you’re helping him with mechanics or measuring various chemicals. This isn’t like you. Retrospectively, he hasn’t known you long but he likes to think you’ve hung out enough for him to discern that you aren’t typically this clumsy. He’s even detected a drop in your mood. You don’t crack out as many jokes with him, nor have you spoken much about Casey. The band of his mask creases over his furrowing brows and he slowly looks up at you.

“Is everything okay?” he inquires carefully, mindful of the potentially sensitive question. “You seem… out of sorts lately. If it’s something to do with Casey-”

“It’s not Casey,” you interrupt, rather abruptly he notices. Sighing, you quickly attempt to correct yourself and slump into the seat. “I dunno. It might be. I think I’m just done with all the love stuff at this point.”

You end on a bitter cadence, one that has Donatello sinking. His heart breaks knowing that yours has been taken away and trampled on by this mess. It well and truly hurts him to see you this way, to hear that you’re energy has been depleted because of this. Then, like a jab to the gut, it all comes to fruition. The ugly canvas decorated with the hard, cold facts paints this horrifying image before his mind: your physical pain is a manifestation of that from within. Whether it’s intentional or not, it’s still an alarming prospect. Swallowing past the nausea permeating and rising into his throat, he takes a moment to reflect on how best to help you. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell you that you should keep pursuing that ragged hockey puck-lover but he also doesn’t want to see you in such disarray. He can’t bear the thought that you might get hurt worse than this.

With a steadying breath, he takes your hands in his own and smiles up at you sympathetically. “Don’t say that. You never know. There’s still time for things to change in your favour.”

If only he knew how much that gaze of his torments you; how his hands make yours burn cold. You silently beg of him to not look at you with such warmhearted affection, that the very thing he believes to have ruptured your heart is not Casey but is him. Part of you wishes that you could get angry and blame this on him for being so sweet, funny, and an overall joy to be around but that wouldn’t be fair. The reality is that you can’t blame anyone, not even yourself. Feelings can’t be forced nor can they be changed. Your eyes drop to the two sets of hands that rest on your lap, knowing you can’t stand to stare into those puppy-dog maroons much longer.

Unenthused, you hum, “Guess so. Seems like you’re a little more on the hopeful side after that kiss on the cheek, huh?”

He glances away with an awkward smile. Everyone may assume that his head must have exploded when that happened and it would have done were it not for a certain change of circumstance. April kissing his cheek was ironically what led to him realising he loves you. At first, he was entirely confused. Why didn’t he get that round of butterflies? The heart palpitations? There wasn’t even a wild glee that he would have expected with something that monumental happening. Maybe there wasn’t supposed to be. He would have to look into it, he thought, and test it to figure out what was going on. An experiment that didn’t even make it to the drawing board.

No more than an hour later, Donnie’s tending to a burn on your arm after you spilt boiling coffee on yourself; the first domino to fall in this onset of injuries he would serve medical attention to. Seeing you hurt struck something fierce within him. He had this sudden urgency to protect you, care for you, and look after you. Then, followed a quick daydream of holding you in his arms, close to his body and safe from any and all extraneous variables that could threaten you. It flashed before his eyes with such volatile ammunition he almost stumbled over the dressing work he had been so carefully wrapping around your forearm. That’s when he realised and, boy, he couldn’t look you straight in the eye for the remainder of that day.

Perhaps, in a way then, your words ring true. He likes to believe he’s more hopeful. He likes to think he stands a better chance with you with how often you hang out and how well you get along. That’s why he doesn’t want you to give up on love. Regardless of where your sights are set, if you’re done with love, that’s his chance gone completely. He wants to keep that hope alive in you as well. Even if it’s for someone else, he doesn’t want you to be devoid of that sensation. It can hurt but it’s still a beautiful experience in his eyes.

Realising your smaller fingers are still overlapped in his, he blushes - a blush you assume to be the result of your conversation. He finally withdraws his grasp lest he risks you experiencing the backlash of his suddenly clammy palms. It’s about time that he secures your ankle in a bandage, anyway.

Ignoring your question altogether, he laughs nervously and clears his throat. “Well, the good news is that nothing is broken. Most of the fall was taken by your ligaments, though, so you won’t be able to walk properly for a few days. My recommendation is you rest at home in the meantime.”

You toss your head back into the chair and groan out lethargically, “If only I could replace it with a robotic one, hm?” Along with your overly attached, love-sick heart. “Would make things easier.”

“As long as you know to come here for repairs. Robotic limbs need just as much care and attention as organic ones.”

Glancing away, your lips turn up at the sides bashfully. There’s a smile. A genuine smile. He’s been waiting all day - a few days - to see one of those. What a dork. You can only hope your ankle does a fast job of getting better. At least that means no school for a few days but it’s still a bother. Simultaneously, that means no visits to the lair until you’re healed up. The thought is upsetting but you can’t help thinking it might do you some good; a bit of distance to calm the erratic, painful ache of the suffering muscle that sits behind your ribcage. Distance and distraction. On the topic of distractions, a particular object of interest has caught your eye from across the room: a small, rectangular mound hidden beneath a thin layer of cloth.

“Hey, what’ve you got under this?”

You don’t even wait for an answer, opting to propel yourself over to his desk with your good foot. The office chair glides along the floor and, before he can stop you, you’re already pulling the tarp from this mystery item. For someone who’s just injured their ankle, you’re annoyingly quick to feed curiosity’s temptation. Your snoopiness would reveal a narrow box, that which you open too, further revealing a slim sliver of chain with a charm sitting comfortably in the centre of it. Said charm is a purple turtle and you don’t have to think hard to figure out that this is a gift for a certain red-head. It’s magnificently crafted if not a little corny but you can commend his boldness.

“I’m sure April will like it,” you say sweetly enough that it masks the disdain bubbling in your throat. With a quiet sigh, you return the necklace to its resting place, fingertips brushing over the top of the box. “If she doesn’t, though, I… think it’s beautiful.”

Truthfully, that’s the only appraisal he’s looking for, especially seeing as he’s made it for you. He should take the opportunity whilst he’s riding on that high. You like it. He should just say that it’s for you. Get it out there and proclaim his feelings if not at least allude to them but the melancholy behind your eyes chokes him out of trying. It’s not the right time. Your heart is fragile - far too fragile to be here any longer, you’ve decided.

“Thanks again for helping out,” you mumble, swallowing past a lump whilst you attempt to stand. “Better make a start on resting, huh?”

Quickly, he holds an arm out in case you need to grab onto it, face scrunched and brows raised from the middle. “H-Hey, wait! Can I at least walk you back home? That manhole cover is gonna be a struggle let alone the ladder to get to it.”

Cursing the kindness of this tall terrapin would be cruel but he just makes it so darn difficult to not fall more victim to your feelings. You would love nothing more than to take his offer. Wholehandedly, you would within a quarter of a second. There’s just one teeny tiny problem, however.

“I appreciate the offer, Donnie, but it’s still daytime,” you remind him.

In his overzealousness, he had missed that fact. A seemingly obvious detail that he wouldn’t typically forget were he not so worried about you. He is not letting you go back to the surface alone in your current condition - both the physical and mental. Wishing to be human isn’t a naturally occurring thought but it’s currently a prevalent desire. How is he meant to ensure a safe trip home if he can’t go topside? Just as begins formulating a plan, a certain dark-apparelled miscreant passes the lab. Donnie can’t believe he’s actually going to do this but it seems like the only option.

“Casey.” He raises a hand dilatorily to catch the teenager’s attention. “Any chance you could escort (Y/n) home?”

Casey takes one look at your wrapped ankle and throws out two finger guns with a wink. “Jones is on the case.”

He understood the assignment quickly enough at least. Hooray for him. Donatello is prompt to smile when you cast him an estranged glance. You reckon he’s trying to wingman you, which is almost hilarious. If only he knew. Your “escort” temporarily donates you his hockey stick as a makeshift crutch and places a hand between your shoulder blades as extra leverage whilst walking you out. Donnie may have been lying to himself before. He doesn’t want you to be devoid of love but he doesn’t want your love to be directed elsewhere like he had initially tried to come to terms with. It should be him. He wants it so badly to be him. Pitifully, he watches you leave, hearing Casey remark something along the lines of “you’re in safe hands” before the two of you are out of earshot. Such friendly, flirtatious comments from your prior crush would have had you in a tizzy but, weirdly, you find comfort in them. It’s a short moment of silence for your incessant pining.

Now, all there is to do is hope that your forced rest isn’t met with bedridden wallowing for the oncoming days.

I know the first kiss on the cheek moment doesn't really fit with how it goes in the show but that's the point of fanfiction, is it not? :P Hope you enjoyed! I'm gonna lie down now, holy jeebus

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 #donatello #donnie #2012 donnie #tmnt x reader #x reader #donatello x reader #angst #part 2 #casey jones #april o'neil

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babyhatesreality · 1 year

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Can please write a night time routine with daddy stucky please? You writing make me feel small

Absolutely darling. I love that you feel small when you read these stories, and I hope that you find warmth, comfort, and peace in that. May your bedtime stories always give you lovely dreams <3

Where You Still Remember Dreaming

Pairing: Daddy!Stucky x little f!reader

Warnings: DDLG (SSC), f! reader, nicknames, reader is named but name scarcely used, bath time, bed time, fluffity fluff fluff fluff.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. THIS STORY IS SFW- THE REST OF MY BLOG IS NOT NECESSARILY SO. MINORS DNI. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE STOLEN, COPIED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY OTHER SITE BUT MY OWN. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated.

Bucky wandered into your playroom, leaning against the doorframe and smiling down at you. "Whatcha up to, munchkin?" he asked as he took in your lego creation.

You bounced excitedly on the balls of your feet. "Lookit, Daddy! I'm making 'Punzel's tower from Tangled!"

"Wow," he said, pursing his lips in amusement. "That's really something, bunny." He grinned as you mashed another couple blocks together. You weren't so much focusing on structure as you were simply trying to make the tallest...thing you could by using every lego you had and making it all not fall over. "Well, I think it's time for tower builders to take a bath."

"Don't need a bath, please, okay? Gotta build," you said determinedly, focused on your masterpiece.

"Tower builders gotta make sure they're clean and rested so they can keep building tomorrow," Bucky said playfully, sauntering in to the room and walking up next to you. You turned to him, your best Bambi eyes on while your hands were full of blocks.

"Please, Daddy? Please can I keep playing?" you asked, adding your best cutesy voice in the mix. You raised your arm and took a tentative sniff, then looked back at him hopefully. "I don't smell bad!"

Bucky's laugh burst out of him and he reached for you, picking you up and setting you on his hip. He took a theatrical sniff of you as well, then made an exaggerated grossed out face. "UGH, don't know what you mean. You smell terrible." He grinned impishly at you, letting you know that he was teasing. You giggled and wiggled in his arms.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes-huh!"

"Daddy, you silly!"

"I may be silly, but you need a bath just in case it's not my nose being silly."

"But...what about da tower?"

"You and I can work on it tomorrow morning after breakfast. How 'bout that?"

"OKAY!" you cheered, tossing the remaining bricks in your hand into the massive pile still on the floor. Bucky kept his sigh in- the playroom was allowed to stay in various states of disarray, that was the deal. But he still shut the door tightly on his way out so he didn't have to look at it.

He took you to the bathroom, bouncing you on the way and singing a little nonsense song about giving baby bunnies a bath, making you giggle and wrinkle your nose like a bunny.

"What would you like tonight, hm? Bubbles or bath bomb?" Daddy asked as you crossed the threshold to the bathroom. He set you down on the ground while you thought. It was a very tough decision and it had been a long day of building that tower.

"Ummm...bubbles please," you finally decided, pointing to the purple bottle that smelled like lavender. "Can I has the purple bubbles please?"

"Yes, you can. Good manners, baby," Bucky praised, leaning down to give you a kiss on the top of your head before starting the bath and pouring in your favorite "purple" bubbles. Just then, Steve stopped by the doorway, having just heard Bucky's last sentence.

"Someone's got good manners?" he said, grinning at you. "You wouldn't happen to know who that someone was, would you angel?"

"ME! It was ME," you said delightfully, wiggling happily. "PLEASE," you added smugly, with pride. Steve laughed.

"Yeah, those are some good manners, alright," Papa said. "Do you wanna pick out jammies tonight?"

Exhausted at the idea of having to make another decision so soon after the whole bubbles/bath bomb choice, you shook your head, putting your fingers in your mouth. "You pick please," you said, your words a bit garbled by your digits. Bucky gently pulled your fingers out of your mouth.

"No fingers baby," he reminded you. "You need a paci?"

You shook your head stubbornly as the smell of the lavender bubbles was already starting to make you sleepy and you weren’t ready to give in yet. "No, no need paci, 'm a big girl, Daddy," you stated, blinking heavily twice. Daddy and Papa exchanged a quick grin before focusing back on you.

"Okay, big girl," Daddy said patiently with a smile. "You go potty while Papa and I pick out jammies, okay?" They left you alone to take care of your business while Steve went to go get your pajamas, and Bucky went on the hunt for the nearest paci. He slipped it into his pocket- just in case. You were finished by the time he came back.

"Alright, Trouble, arms up," Bucky said. You did as he asked and he gently pulled your teeshirt over your head, going slower as the fabric neared your eyes. “Boo!” he said suddenly, whipping the shirt off so you could see. You squealed and giggled- you loved it when he did that. He grinned and helped you shimmy out of your soft blue leggings. After quickly testing the water once more, he turned off the spout and helped you in.

“Can we play dinoswrawrs together, Daddy?” you asked excitedly, splashing around a bit in your exuberance. You had recently developed a love of dinosaurs after going to the museum with your daddies.

“As soon as we’re done washing, we can,” he said, quickly squirting some of your favorite baby wash onto a soft cloth. He handed you a couple of your plastic dino tub toys with his free hand, which kept you happily occupied while he cleaned you all over. You were very good, tilting your chin up when he told you, although you did bring your dinos up to eye level and pretend they were flying while he scrubbed under your chin and behind your ears.

“Ready for the waterfall?” Daddy asked, reaching over and filling a big plastic cup with fresh warm water.

“YEAH!” you cheered, tilting your head back and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Here it comes!” Bucky carefully poured the warm water over your hair, making sure that he was avoiding your face and eyes. You never noticed how nervous he was to wash your hair- he was so afraid of getting soap in your eyes- because he turned it into a game about a waterfall that you absolutely loved. He would joke that the shampoo was the bubbles from the waterfall and that he had to pop them all, and you would giggle the entire time and hold perfectly still because you wanted your Daddy to win at popping all the bubbles. Then one more waterfall to rinse your hair and you were both home free.

You took some time to play dinosaurs together, or dinoswrawrs as you called them in little space, screeching with laughter every time Bucky made a dino pop up out of the water or dive off the side of the tub. After a couple minutes of delightful play, he moved to pick you up out of the tub.

“Alright, Dino Baby, time to get out,” he said, helping you out of the warm water. He quickly wrapped your dinosaur hooded towel around you, chuckling as he pulled the hood over your wet hair and you gave your best triumphant dino roar in response. He rubbed you all over, drying you off, then stood you in front of him in the mirror while he carefully dried and combed out your wet hair. You practiced your dino faces and roaring in the mirror while he did it- it was fantastic.

Finally Bucky turned you around and picked you up, plopping you down on the counter. “Alright, show me those dino teeth,” he said. You happily obliged, and he brushed your teeth meticulously, laughing again when you roared triumphantly when it was all over.

Steve was standing outside the bathroom for the final part of the brushing, trying unsuccessfully to look unamused. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping her calm down, not winding her up?” he asked his husband, one eyebrow arched playfully.

Bucky shrugged and grinned. “Hey, the Dinosaur wants what the Dinosaur wants,” he said, swooping you off the counter while you giggled madly. “Alright Dino Baby, you ready for your dino scales?” he said to you, meaning of course your pajamas. You roared in answer as he snorted a laugh and handed you off to Steve.

“Okay, Baby Dinosaur, no more roaring tonight,” Papa said gently as he took you into his and Daddy’s room while Bucky stayed behind to clean up the bathroom.

“I a GOOD dinoswrawr, Papa,” you explained.

“You are a very good dinosaur, but we don’t want to wake up the other dinosaurs that might be asleep, right?”

“Right!”

“So no more roaring tonight?”

“No more tonight, Papa!”

“That’s my good Baby Dinosaur,” he praised with a grin. He laid you down carefully on the bed and pulled out your sleepytime lotion. He only uncovered the parts of you he was working on so you wouldn’t get cold. He was tempted to tickle you, but he knew that would only get you worked back up, so he refrained.

“Do you know what stories you want tonight, Princess?” he asked as he finished off your toes.

“Ummmm...dump trucks please?” you asked. “And I in here wif you and Daddy please?”

“You wanna sleep with me and Daddy tonight?”

“Yes, please!”

“Okay, Princess, you can sleep with us tonight. And what story do you want Daddy to read?”

“Um...Princess and Frog please!”

“Good choices and good manners!” Papa praised enthusiastically. “Okay upsie-daisy,” he said, helping you to sit up so he could rub lotion on your back. Since he had to move the towel away to reach you, he worked quickly, afraid that you were going to get too cold. “Arms up, buttercup,” he said, ready to pull your top over your head. You did as he said, and he followed up with the bottoms and a pair of warm socks. He always insisted on you wearing warm socks to bed, even though you usually lost them in the night with your wiggling.

As soon as you were dressed, you hopped off the edge of the bed. Steve immediately intercepted you, pulling you back up into his arms. He knew your tricks all too well.

“Papa!” you whined and wiggled. “Gotta get Jellybean!”

“Daddy will get her, baby, it’s time to get into bed,” he said patiently, walking around to his side of the bed. You clung to his neck tightly.

“Ummm...need water!” you said, eyeballing the bed as if it was your worst enemy.

“Would you look at that,” Bucky said, suddenly strolling into the room with a face-splitting grin, a sippy cup in one hand and Jellybean in the other. “Got you water already, Dino baby.”

Before you could protest that no, you needed OTHER water and that one was no good, Papa gently plopped down on the bed, you snuggled firmly in one arm so you landed in the middle with him on your right. He laid back, pulling you with him so you were laying down. You wiggled and gave a soft whimper of protest even though the bed was so soft and felt so nice...

Daddy tucked Jellybean into your left arm while Papa gently rubbed circles on your tummy. Despite your best efforts to keep it in, you let out a big yawn that you immediately tried to cover up by declaring yourself ‘not tired’. They both ignored that, too used to your antics.

“Which books?” Daddy asked quietly.

“Goodnight, Construction Site, and Princess and the Frog,” Papa responded, never missing a beat as he continued to rub soothing circles. You gave a half hearted wiggle as you tried to escape, but it just felt so lovely...Your eyes closed, but only for a second.

Bucky found the books in the basket they kept in their room for you and handed them to Steve. Steve opened up Goodnight Construction Site and began reading. You found yourself turning into him and snuggling as he read. You weren’t really all that interested in trucks, but you liked the cool names of all of them and you liked the way Papa said good night to each of them. He had the best good night voice ever. You didn’t even notice Daddy getting ready for bed in their big closet until he slipped into bed next to you, sandwiching you in between them, towards the end of the book. You rubbed your nose with the back of your hand, trying to disguise another yawn, before wiggling around to get even more comfortable.

Just as Papa finished his book, Daddy started his. They had learned the hard way that it took more than one story to get you down. You sighed, giving up and snuggling into Bucky’s right side, moving Jellybean around so she could hear the story too, as Steve quickly and quietly got ready for bed himself, snuggling back in as soon as he was done. You were lured away on the bayou by talking frogs and magic spells. Daddy did the best voices for stories. You wiggled and snuggled into the blankets as you felt the veil of slumber drifting over you, trying to find the perfect position. You didn’t notice Papa using the remote to turn almost all the lights off and gently tucking the blankets around you so you’d stay warm. You didn’t notice the way Daddy subtly shifted so you were safely snuggled in the crook of his arm, or the fact that he had the last bit of the book memorized so he could run his fingers through your hair after turning off his bedside light.

You were able to murmur a soft “love you daddies” before you went under. You drifted off into the land of dreams, snuggled warm and safe between the two people in the world that you loved most, and who loved you the most too.

#daddy!stucky x little reader #daddy!Stucky #daddy stucky #daddy stucky x little reader #Daddy Steve #daddy!Steve #daddy!steve x little!reader #daddy steve x little reader #daddy!bucky #daddy!bucky x little!reader #daddy bucky #daddy bucky x little reader #daddy!steve rogers #daddy!steve rogers x little

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