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love-toxin · 6 months

Text

bonus night - mike schmidt

plot: jk it's just por-//SHOT

(cws: fem!reader, FNAF movie spoilers!!!, rough sex, riding, begging, a teeny tiny taste of dom mike, tit sucking, bruising, protected sex w/ a twist, post-fnaf canon, established relationship)

wc: 2k

There's absolutely no question that it's been a long fucking day. One of many, in fact, both behind him and yet to come.

Aside from his sleep schedule still being tremendously fucked from that five night ordeal, Mike's also had the stress of landing a new job and keeping it this time. He's lucky–god, he's lucky that an old friend of his just happened to have a connection–but that just puts more pressure on his ability to keep a level head and not lose this one. Plus, with his meds cut out as well as a whole host of new traumas to keep him up at night it's almost more stressful than fighting for his own life. With today being the end of orientation and the first real shift on the job, it's finally sinking in that a new chapter of life has started but his problems are still an uphill battle.

Bills, backpay, rent, Abby's therapy, pacifying their aunt who was quite aghast at waking up disheveled on their living room floor…it's been a process to say the least. His one saving grace has been you. You. His beautiful, gentle angel, with a voice like sugar and honey and skin as soft as velvet, warm like a shallow pool on a summer's day that he'd want to float in for hours. You're so precious he can't think of a single thing he's done in life that tops being your lover, or even comes close.

Well…maybe there's one thing.

“Mike,” The squeaking of the bed beneath you just barely drowns out the high, sweet whimper that your voice has melted into. “Please baby, slow down-”

A squeaky “ah!” flies from your mouth regardless of that insistent plea, your lover's hips like stone pistons as he bucks up and topples you over to land back against his chest. He loves you there; the feeling of your tits squished against his chest as he holds your ass in an iron grip. Thumbs dig into each cheek, palms splayed out to keep you spread but still in your place–stretched enough to take him but tight enough not to let him slip out. Not even now, an hour after he carried you through the door over his shoulder, when his spit and cum and sweat have coalesced into a damp sheen spilling over his lap. Fuck the mess. He'll clean it up later, if he doesn't just throw his whole bundle of sheets into the wash to scrub away the evidence.

Each thump, thump, thump of your body thrown down rings more in your ears than his, but both of you feel it equally. Your womb kissed with hard, stinging passion on every thrust, and Mike's stomach twisting and flexing as his cockhead beats that spot raw, instincts begging him to drain all he has left inside. He's got lots of pent-up energy to spare, and on the one night that his sister's gone to a sleepover you can bet he took the chance to let some of it out. He'd barely had time to grab a condom–as eager as he was, it pales in comparison to the heat between your thighs when you see him get all riled up. If he'd let you put it on for him, you'd probably have it off in a second. Now he's just at the mercy of your needy and downright addictive pussy.

“Fuck!” Your mewls shift into a spitting, hissing curse when he bites down on one of those beautiful breasts of yours. Unlike what a weaker man would do, Mike isn't averse to leaving bruises–what else could be expected? He tries to be a gentleman in public and you always tell him he is, but the desire to put hands all over those pretty tits and mark his claim on them is second nature now. And no matter how much you'll complain about them being sore afterwards, you'll still push them in his face with that devilish look that's daring him to do it all over again.

Besides, he can't resist those things swinging right in front of him. And you'll forget the sting so quickly, his tongue will make short work of those shallow wounds you feel as he latches his lips and starts to suck. Greedily.

“Mike!”

Your hands in his hair won't stop him. But they don't really want to–as always you love to tug but you never push him back, you don't try to get any more space between you because what's already there is still not close enough.

God your whiny voice is so cute. He couldn't feel more lucky to have picked you up when he did. How would he know that the girl he helped out once for an ice cream would end up being his girlfriend? He just thought you were cute, and he felt bad seeing your face fall as you counted out your change in line, so he hadn't thought twice about the dollar he put down on the counter in your stead. Such an adorable little ditz, and now he's got you riding his lap and kissing him awake nearly every morning. If he wanted to catch a break, this is it.

“M-Mike, m'gonna cum,” Your whimpers dig into his ear and tug at the strings of his heart, his head already turned to soothe you with a low, soft shush brushed by your cheek. There there. With a stroke of your hair, you're melting again.

“Mhm,” He hums again, his warmth a lull following the furious heat that's been sparked by the friction of his hips pumping at a violent pace. “Shh, sh sh. We’ll go slow, I promise.” His murmuring muddies your head, his fingers descending quickly towards their destination. Once they reach it at the crest of your soft, pudgy mound that's been brutalized by his cock, he's glad to see you finally let that tension go as you slump forward into his chest. You just need to cling to him for awhile, and he certainly won't be complaining.

The smell of your sweat, your heat, your sleek, soft tongue wetting the bruises your teeth leave in his throat, all that whining and groaning and high, girlish squealing as your hips hump his lap–these and more are all reasons he has to absolutely worship you. Your starry-eyed gaze as you look upon him in ecstasy etches itself into his very soul. He won't ever forget this…he won't ever forget you. Not the warmth of you both being cheek-to-cheek, your hand coaxing out his end as it trails reverently from his jaw down his heaving chest.

“Pleeeeease,” You whisper, so achingly sweet he could cry as easily as cum. “Please, baby?”

Please. Such a pretty word. Prettier from your mouth most of all, so pretty it hurts–nearly stings as he digs his nails in and leaves marks on each cheek, though it will moreso for you when you wince at sitting down at your desk tomorrow morning. You're shaking, trembling more like, and even if he made you wait for it you wouldn't be able to obey. The spasms wracking through you can't be controlled, nor can the grind of your hips down as you let those strong hands drag you all the way to the base. So far that it causes a twinge in your expression as the orgasm passes, your ecstasy blotting out the stretch that you're gonna feel all the way up to your hips in the morning.

But he's got to get in deep, has to make it ache, so he's got a grip so firm it's trembling up his arms and you're shaking even harder on top of him as he digs in and lets loose. There's no question he's hit your womb, it's more curious to whether he's broken through it or not…by the way you bite down on his shoulder and bear the pressure, though, he must be nearly there. Nearly squeezing through that tight, tight wall so he's draining his seed right where it's meant to be. And you paw at him all the while, lower lip quivering, tears threatening to spill, yet you won't let up on rubbing yourself back on his thighs–it just isn't enough until you've taken all he has to give, and even then he can spot that gleam in your eyes that begs for even more. The fact that the condom's split isn't even in his mind, it's floated so far away he won't think of it until it's too late to stop.

Yet all that heat hits the same end after the climax. The friction subsides, the breathing slows, and the two of you are left in content silence as you quietly come back to your senses. There's something even more intimate about losing oneself as a collective; being so hedonistic in pursuing an indulgence, yet facing the fear of baring your own heart to one you love in the process, and reaching an even more satisfying end as it all comes to a close. It's glorious. He wouldn't trade it for anything. He wouldn't trade sex for his own life now that he's had it with you. But, again, he's still coming down from the high–he’ll most certainly feel the embarrassment of losing himself so indulgently as the cool air from the AC starts setting in.

“Was that good, baby?” Your tone just drips with deliciously sinful innocence, god. You've got such a proud expression on your face as he finds the words through his post-coital haze, hands inching back down your ass to grab handfuls of it yet again. Once he's got a grip he tugs, and draws you closer to meet you in a kiss–and as wet as it still is from the exercise, the way you lean into it and giggle is just enough to send his heart burning into passionate flames yet again.

“Very. Always is.” Panting, sweaty, he'd have no trouble convincing the neighbors he was just having it out on a treadmill for the last hour. If he could afford one.

“The best you've ever had?”

“Best. Best and only. Can I get up now?”

“Mmm…” You make a show of thinking up your answer only to tap him on the nose as you lean forward over him. “...No. I like this.”

Mike claps you on the ass suddenly, the smack echoing loudly in his modest little bedroom and eliciting a squeal from you that's just as punctual. Your squirming only draws a heat up inside him again though, and he knows better than anyone that that's exactly what you want. You'd be happy if he never got out of bed again, and if he spent all day with his cock nestled nice and warm inside you.

“Up. I gotta piss. Don't make me count.”

“Fiiiiiiine.” Huffy and puffy as always, you soon relent and slip off with a bit of manoeuvring to flop into bed beside him. “Can I at least hold it?” Rather than say something equally as shameful, he just pushes his pillow over your face with reddened cheeks and ducks with laughter as you launch it back at him, already up and on his way to the bathroom to wash off–and to soon find the evidence of that broken contraception that's definitely gonna plant a seed of worry in him when he realizes. Or…maybe not. God knows how many jokes you've made about wasting his cumshots in your mouth, and how often you've jumped him with no inkling of whether he's got a rubber in reach or not.

Maybe this is just another chapter of life, one more stage he's been readying himself for unconsciously. Whatever it comes with, he's gonna be beside you either way–so in a sense, he's more prepared than he's ever been to face what lies ahead.

#mutuals if u look at me im legally required to gag u #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #spicy writing #fnaf movie #fnaf mike #ellie writes #2k

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paperwayne · 10 months

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crash.

Pairing: Spiderverse!Hobie Brown | Spider-Punk x Reader / Spiderverse!Gwen Stacy & Reader Word Count: 1,957 words Warnings: None

It is two o’clock in the morning, and you’re lying upside-down on the stony couch that’s still lopsided despite your attempts to correct it with a stack of cut-up magazines underneath the broken leg when Hobie finally comes back, grimy, sweaty, and with an equally grimy and sweaty girl in tow.

Hobie casts you a glance and raises an eyebrow, unshouldering his guitar and kicking off his shoes as you swing your legs over to sit right-side up.

“Sirens again?” he says.

You shrug. “Yeah.”

“Should be used to them by now.”

“Should be used to a totalitarian regime by now,” you say.

Hobie’s mouth curls into a smirk. He turns to the girl trailing behind him and nods. “This’s Gwen. She’s crashing here for the night.”

“Hey,” says Gwen. She gives you a small smile that screams of exhaustion. “Nice to meet you …?”

You give Gwen your name and a perfunctory once-over. It’s impossible to ignore the unusual colors of her clothes, and the softness of her face looks like it’s due to more than just her age. She almost looks like a pastel painting, and against the sharp and peeling backdrop of Hobie’s bedsit, the difference in appearance is like night and day. She’s strange. Out of place.

You grin at her as Hobie takes the air mattress out from underneath his bed and starts to inflate it.

“You eaten yet, luv?” you ask over the sound of the air pump.

She blinks. “Oh. Uh, not really. But I’m not that hungry, actually –”

On cue, her stomach growls. She blushes.

You shake your head and stand up, slinging an arm around her shoulders to guide her to the kitchen.

“Rule number two of crashing at Hobie’s,” you start, throwing the fridge door open dramatically so the bottles inside knock and clink together, “don’t act like you’re a burden. You’re family here, not a guest. Cuppa?”

“Cu – oh. Tea. Sure?” Gwen takes the leftover box of curry from your outstretched hand and lingers as you go about setting up the kettle. “What’s the first rule?”

“Third rule,” you continue, smugly catching Hobie shake his head as you do so, “is reject the establishment. Fourth rule is don’t be a sellout. Fifth rule is to clean up after yourself.” You take the food back from Gwen to dump it onto a plate from the dish rack, then gesture for her to place it into the microwave. “And the first rule …”

“Yeah?”

“… is screw the rules,” Hobie finishes from his seat on the ground, “whenever they go against what you stand for.”

“And you seem the type to stand for cleaning up after yourself, yeah?” you add.

Gwen huffs out a little chuckle, and the microwave beeps behind her. You hand her a spoon after she takes the curry out, and when she scoops up a bit to taste it, her eyes widen. She hardly swallows before taking a full and proper bite.

“Holy crap. This is amazing.”

“Brought some back from Karl’s. Good friend of ours.” You lean against the counter, gaze falling on Hobie once more when he turns off the air pump and stands up, long and lanky frame unfurling to his full height. “Speaking of, I’ll catch you up on what you missed during tonight’s rehearsal.”

“Okay,” Hobie replies.

You stare at him pensively, then nod.

While he gathers some blankets and extra pillows, you make small talk with Gwen, who clears her plate and drains her cup of tea. She’s rather cagey about where she’s from, other than the obvious fact that she’s from America. More than once, she glances furtively at Hobie, as if wondering if she should say a certain thing to you or not. Makes the gears in your head turn.

You like Gwen, though. Got a good head on her shoulders. (And she’s a drummer, too. The band needs a drummer.)

Once Hobie shows her the bathroom so she can shower, you fix your full attention onto the man as he pours himself a cup of tea beside you.

“She’s in that Spider Society you joined a few months ago,” you guess.

Hobie takes a long sip. “She’s a new recruit,” he explains afterwards. “On the run from her own universe. Bad luck, innit?”

“Gwen Stacys must have bad luck in every universe.” You cross your arms and your ankles, feeling the warmth of his body as his arm brushes yours. “Ain’t much safer for her here.”

“I know.”

“I thought you were almost ready to quit the Society.”

“I was.”

You narrow your eyes.

“Was?”

Hobie rests his elbows on the counter behind him. “Gwen ought to have somebody on her side out there,” he mutters.

“And we need you on our side right here, Hobie,” you say sharply, something sour starting to bleed into your tone. “Your ‘one hundred percent’ – your words. You don’t need to play pawn in some authoritarian establishment. Neither does Gwen. She can stay here with us, can’t she?”

“Not without a watch to keep her intact.” Hobie looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “And I ain’t tellin’ her what to do, yeah?”

“I’m not saying you should, Hobie. But I –"

You clamp your mouth shut and bite your tongue before you say something you’ll regret saying and he’ll regret hearing.

“I’m – we’re not used to you not being here all the time,” you finish lamely. Both of you are equally stubborn, and you don’t want to argue over a part of Hobie’s life that you can never fully know. “I just worry, s’all.”

Hobie contemplates your words. He tilts his head back to drink the rest of his tea, and you watch his throat as he swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

After a long moment, he sighs and scratches his jaw. “I know,” he replies plainly. “I’m quitting as soon as the opportunity arises. But Gwen should have an out too if she wants it.”

You nod your agreement, though you cross your arms more tightly, feeling the sharp pang of guilt that comes with being jealous. No reason to be, you reprimand the scared and angry little kid inside your head. This is who Hobie is. He looks after people who don’t have anyone else. Like Gwen. Like you, all those years ago.

There wasn’t a time when Hobie hadn’t been in your corner. And it wasn’t until your mid-teens that you realized he might not always be there, trusting you to be strong enough to fight and protect while he goes off to rescue people from monsters bigger than yours.

Hobie had always been the more responsible one out of the two of you.

(With great power comes great responsibility.)

It takes a moment before you realize that Hobie has moved.

“Oi.” His voice is soft, and so are his hands on your shoulders as you startle at him standing before you so suddenly. His dark gaze bores into yours. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

About you. Always about you.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. “Sleeping. Spidey blokes like you are exhausting.”

Hobie regards you carefully, because he knows you well enough to see through all your deflecting jabs. But he just chuckles and releases your shoulders to pinch your cheek gently. “Comes with the bite, treacle. Mattress is all ready. I’ll join you on it after I clean up, yeah?”

“All right.”

The door creaks open, and the two of you turn your attention onto Gwen as she shuffles back into the room. Hobie pats your cheek and heads off to shower as promised.

“Bed’s all yours for the night,” you tell Gwen, going over to sit crisscross on the air mattress while she dries her hair.

“Are you sure? I’m fine with sleeping on the mattress. Or the couch.”

“Positive.”

“Okay. Well, thank you,” Gwen replies genuinely, sitting on the bed. “Seriously. It’s”—her voice cracks almost imperceptibly—“it’s been a while since … um. Well. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Any friend of Hobie’s is a friend of mine.”

She smiles, fiddling with the towel in her lap. “You must be real close, huh?”

“I’d kill for him, honestly,” you admit. “Probably wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for Hobes.”

“For someone who says he’s not a hero, he sure does a lot of saving.”

“That’s what I tell him. Drives him batty.” You fall onto your back, arms and legs spread out. Your grin fades. You wonder if you should say it, but then you do anyway. “He’s amazing. I wish I was as strong as him, you know? Can’t keep up with him sometimes.”

The words hardly leave your mouth before you feel that Gwen’s whole body has suddenly gone very still.

“… Gwen?” You prop yourself up. “You alright?”

“Don’t compare yourself to him,” she says quietly but fiercely. “You have your own strengths.”

You blink. “Of course I do,” you reply, surprised by her abruptness, “but the fact still stands. Normal people like me tend to drag people like you and Hobie down during the action, yeah?”

“No.” Gwen leans over, and you see her face again. Her expression is tight and her eyes blaze. “I know that you’ve never been a burden to him. You’ll always be more than enough.”

“… Oh.”

Her words make you feel almost embarrassed for even having those thoughts. But it’s also touching in its own way, and impressive, and you smile at her for being so kind.

“If that’s what you truly think, Gwen Stacy, then I’ll take your word for it,” you murmur.

She bites her lip and nods, sitting back.

A few minutes later, just as Gwen finishes brushing her teeth, Hobie comes back from his shower looking like the walking dead. You roll onto your side to watch him all but drag himself over to the sink to brush his teeth as well.

Gwen studies Hobie and then looks at you, and the confusion on her face causes you to cackle.

“What you laughin’ at?” Hobie mumbles around his toothbrush, eyes half-lidded as he squints at you.

“You, bested by a hot shower.”

He grunts and spits into the sink, rinsing out his mouth.

In true Hobie-fashion, he doggedly goes through the motions of his usual nighttime routine before making his way over to the air mattress. You help him put his hair up and into his bonnet because he’s already nodding off, and only then does he collapse face first into his pillow, grumbling something about being cream-crackered.

Gwen silently turns off the bedside lamp and gets comfortable on the bed. You wrestle the blankets out from underneath Hobie and lay them over the two of you, hoping that you’re not acting as flustered as you feel.

You try to think of how he might swing his arm into your face while you sleep (he might), or how his breathing might be too loud (it isn’t). You try to think about how the blankets tend to get all twisted up when he dreams because he moves around, and how annoyed you should be when morning comes and you’re tangled up in a mass of long limbs and coiled sheets.

But right now, the blankets are perfectly in place, and underneath them, Hobie curls an arm around you and tugs you close. He mumbles something – at least, you think he does – and all you think about is how warm he is.

As Hobie’s breaths even out against your neck, slow and deep, your throat itches with words you’ll never say aloud.

So you reach up, place your hand over his, and close your eyes instead.

#hobie brown x reader #spiderpunk x reader #hobie brown #spiderpunk #spiderverse #smatsv #spider man: across the spider verse #atsv #gwen stacy & reader #fanfiction #fluff #marvel #hobie and reader see gwen and are like 'is anyone gonna adopt her' and not wait for an answer #as a spider hobie is legally required to be a Dork so here he is being totally dead after a nice hot shower no thoughts only bed and cuddle

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