schmidtsbimbo - Tumblr blog

[schmidtsbimbo]

hes traumatized miserable older and sexy i’ve GOT to fuck him

[schmidtsbimbo]

REAL I WAS THERE I HEARD THE WHOLE THING 🗣️‼️

MIKE LIKES TORTA GIRLIES BTW HE TOLD ME 🗣️

[schmidtsbimbo]

whiplash smile

where billy surprises you with a clean house, flowers, and a… meal.

pairing: billy (burn, 2019) x gn!reader

word count: 1.6k

contains: (request) smoking, established relationship, fluff, reader is having a rough week, billy tries to cook…

a/n: first time writing for billy <3 thank you for the request anon!! >ᴗ< ive been so obsessed with billy aaa. title inspired by billy idol’s album idk i feel like billy would listen to him lol.

You were having a tough week due to some family issues, Billy picked up the way your mood dropped and decided to do something nice for you while you were away for a few hours.

After dealing with your family for nearly three whole hours you return home completely exhausted, wanting nothing more but to be in your boyfriend's presence. You barely stick the key into the door when the door swings open, the man you so desperately craved standing on the other side.

“Hey, beautiful,” Billy greets with a grin, cigarette between his lips moving up and down at his muffled words. He opens the door enough for you to slip inside your shared home.

The house is clean which is a bit of a surprise. Before you left there was a mess: clothing pieces scattered in different areas of the house, several beer bottles and caps on the table along with other things. You weren’t usually untidy, you liked to keep the house well maintained but your issues with your family just brought you to a low.

“You cleaned the house?” You ask, taking off your coat and hanging it on the rack, slipping off your shoes next and setting them besides Billy’s boots. You were a little surprised honestly, Billy wasn’t the best at picking up, but you were impressed with his word and grateful for his effort.

“Yeah.” Billy replies, with a cocky look on his face. You can hear a familiar tune play softly in the background, you recognise it as one of Billy’s favourite songs. “What? No ‘thank you’? ‘You’re the best boyfriend ever’?” He asks, bringing your attention back to him.

You realise you haven’t said thank you now that he’s mentioned it. You move towards your boyfriend, who immediately puts his cigarette out knowing your next move, and cup his face, his hands moving to your hips to keep you close. “Thank you, you’re the best boyfriend ever.” You say through a smile, mocking his words.

Billy rolls his eyes playfully, pulling you closer to him. “Oh, is that how it is then?” He asks, cocking a brow, his hands travelling up to your waist. He loves to have your hands on his face, it’s oddly comforting to him. He leans down to kiss you, pressing his body up against yours. Your lips are familiar with each other, the kiss almost some kind of reflex.

For the first time ever he pulls away first. “I missed you,” he says, your noses brushing up. “Bad day?” He asks, his thumb stroking your sides where his hands still remain.

“Yeah,” you sigh, but you really don’t want to talk about it; you don’t even want to think about it either, right now you just need him. “But I don’t want to talk about it, is that okay?”

“Of course.” He kisses your lips again, a small pure kiss, your lips brushing against each other softly for a second. “Hey, stay here, I have something for you.” He makes his way towards the kitchen with a pace that tells you he’s clearly excited to show you whatever he has for you.

When he returns he has a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers in his hands, the colours bright, your eyes softening at the sight of Billy carrying them towards you. He was a complete softy on the inside despite how much he denied it.

“Oh, they’re beautiful!” You gush, taking them once he hands them to you, a soft smile plastered on his face, happy about your reaction. How was this the same man that blew up that gas station?

“Aren’t they? They reminded me of you.” You meet his pretty eyes, he never fails to win your heart, he always knows how to make you feel better.

You set the flowers aside and embrace the man in front of you. He was truly the best boyfriend—you weren’t mocking his words anymore. “Thank you,” you say, your face tucked into the crook of his neck, his stubble tickling you just a bit. You give him a peck on his neck before pulling away.

“Oh, that’s not it, sweetheart. I made you dinner.” He grins and your brows furrow—-Billy knew how to cook?!

Billy had never tried to cook before but he knew how to use the stove so he thought why not? How hard could it really be? He burnt himself several times but hey, the food he prepared was not burnt! That was surely a plus. Who knew if it was good, he didn’t taste it he hoped for your opinion first.

“You made dinner?” You question as Billy leads you to the kitchen where you see a pot on the stove that is definitely too small for the amount of spaghetti he made, the noodles and sauce overflowing, the pot and stove stained with the red sauce.

“I made spaghetti,” he says, his eyes searching for your reaction. “It’s not anything fancy… but I just wanted to make you something…” he mumbles coyly, feeling suddenly very needy for your approval. Actually, he always craved your approval and he partially hated that because he had never needed praise from anyone before but now he needs it from you at all times.

You smile enthusiastically. Sure the kitchen was a bit of a mess now but he very obviously tried his absolute best. He did this for you and that was enough to make you happy. “No, don’t worry, it’s perfect, baby.” You assure, looking up at him, meeting his worrying eyes. “Thank you, Billy. You really didn’t have to.”

He smiles, his worry suddenly cleared up once he heard your words. “Well, you deserve it.”

You kiss his cheek with a gentle smile. Thank fuck for wannabe cowboys like Billy, right? “Let’s eat then?”

Billy tells you to sit at the dining table insisting to serve you. You agree knowing Billy really wanted to do this for you and sit down at your small dining table. He pokes his head out of the kitchen then. “Do you want Coke or Pepsi? I wasn’t sure which you preferred while I was at the grocery store so I just bought you both.”

You blush at that and you feel sort of silly for doing so but it warmed your heart that Billy could be so thoughtful. “Pepsi is fine,” you say through a flustered smile. He nods, a cheeky smile on his face taking notice of the pink that tints your cheeks, before returning back to the kitchen.

He joins you at the table with two plates of spaghetti, a glass of Pepsi with ice and a bottle of beer for him. You notice when he sets the plate down how stiff the noodles look, like they haven’t been cooked long enough, but of course you don’t say anything.

Billy watches you, eager for you to eat his food. He spent time making this meal for you and he really hoped you liked it. He watches you pick up a bit of noodles with your fork, you stare at it for a moment, you smile at him and shove the forkful of noodles into your mouth.

It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either but…it was the thought that counted, right? The noodles were a little hard, not cooked right, and you could tell Billy hadn’t put any seasoning in it but…it was his first time cooking and he seemed proud of his work.

Once you swallow his food, you smile effusively at him. “It’s delicious! You did really well for it being your first time.” Billy felt pretty good hearing your words but honestly he was a little surprised, had he managed to make something good without following a recipe?

He takes a bite himself expecting his food to be delicious, like you said and the moment the food hits his taste buds his face scrunches up in disgust and it’s honestly adorable. He looks at you, brows furrowed, his mouth stuffed, the corners stained with sauce. You can’t help but laugh at his reaction and he spits his food out onto his plate.

“That is not delicious,” he tries to put on an angry expression but the corners of his lips twitch up. Eventually, he breaks into a smile, your laughter and smile winning him over. “How the fuck did you swallow that?” He asks, laughing a little now himself.

“It’s not too bad!” You insist, your cheeks hurting now by how much you were laughing.

Billy reaches for his napkin, wiping his mouth before taking a sip of his beer wanting to get rid of the taste of his own food. “That was horrible,” he says, setting his bottle down. “You could’ve told me before I took a bite, you little liar.”

You smile softly, your hand reaching over for him across the table. Your hands brush, his hands callous but warm against yours. “But you seemed so proud of your work.”

Billy chuckles. “But it was horrible, baby.” He tugs at your hand a little and you stand up, and like that he pulls you over to sit on his lap, your meals now ignored. You look down at Billy, your hands on his jaw, his eyes sparkling as he stares up at you. “But thank you for not being mean.”

You stroke his cheek with your thumb, his hands on your waist again, holding onto you. “I’ll help you with dinner next time, okay?” You say, and he nods, a soft smile on his lips.

“Okay.” He mumbles with a dreamy look, mesmerised by the sight of you. He loved to have you like this, on his lap, your hands on his face. “You’re perfect.” He whispers, and you respond with a kiss, the best response he could ask for.

[schmidtsbimbo]

Can you do a blurb of reader being self conscious that they're being clingy but Mike is a cutie pie and is so sweet and makes them feel like they're the only person in the world that matters and he meets all their needs attention wise? I just think he's so babygirl.

this is so rushed omg i have the worst writers block right now, hope this is still what you wanted anon ૮₍ ˶•⤙•˶ ₎ა

mike knew how clingy and needy you could be at times and he tries his best to accommodate that, but he’s also a pretty busy man that can’t always be there when you need him.

i feel like he’d absolutely go above and beyond for you after he was gone all day running errands. he’d come home with some of your favorite snacks in hands and asks what you want to do for the rest of the day, he’d be down for absolutely anything. if you want to rot in bed for the rest of the day or watch a movie together he’ll do just that with you.

whenever that’s isn’t enough though, he doesn’t hesitate to reassure you on how special you are to him.

“i dont think you realize how important you are to me” he says as he cups your face with his hands, forcing you to look at him. “i like knowing that you can’t get enough of me and my affection” he says with a small laugh as he peppers your face with kisses.

[schmidtsbimbo]

Just wondering but would you accept gn!reader or masc!reader fic requests at all?

i'm definitely open to gn!reader requests! i don't have much experience writing masc!reader so for the time being i won't be writing it, nothing against it i just don't feel comfortable writing it until i know i can get it right ^_^

[schmidtsbimbo]

he would come home to a hot meal every single day. dishes washed, clean clothes, fresh linen, not a speck of dirt in the entire house EVER. he owns me and i do what he says because i am his property. if he cheats it’s my fault and i’m doing something wrong.

[schmidtsbimbo]

bestie I just wanna say I love your writing <3

thank you sm the encouragement means a lot bestie !!! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ♡ i have some mike schmidt requests i’m working on that should be posted sometime this week hopefully :p

[schmidtsbimbo]

Me when he’s evil, a brat, genuinely unlikable, possible alcoholic, spoiled, has awful taste in fashion, and is high key a whiney little piss baby: 😍😍😍😘😍😘😍😍♥️

[schmidtsbimbo]

mike schmidt x chubby!reader since i have an asshole anon😋 kinda lazy, sorry guys.

mike would definitely be the kind of boyfriend to *love* laying on your stomach. he’d love the way your tummy jiggles when he plops his head down, the softness of your skin, so pillowy and warm. he’d love to draw tiny circles against your skin, tracing any stretch marks that may be there. he’d kiss every inch of exposed skin, loving the warmth against his lips.

mike would also love your thighs. rather it’s to use them as pillows, bite them, or simply to jiggle them with his hand he’d love them. he’d love how thick they were, how they jiggled as you walked, all the way down to the cellulite you hated oh so much.

mike would LOVE to trace all of your stretch marks on your body, kissing each and every one of them, memorizing them. quite honestly, if he had any artistic talent, he could draw you from memory with how well he’d memorized your body.

he’d love to go clothes shopping with you, reassuring you when you anxiously tried on clothing that you loved but didn’t feel confident in. it all started with a pair of low rise jeans. they fit perfectly, but the pudge of your stomach showed a little too much for your liking and your hips poked out. mike went feral, suddenly obsessed with the idea of you in low rise jeans, especially when paired with a crop top. your belly button exposed, all of his favorite stretch marks, being able to place his hand on your soft skin… on pay days to treat you, he’d even bring home a new pair or two once he was sure on what size made you most comfy.

[schmidtsbimbo]

He so cute I wanna throw a rock at him

[schmidtsbimbo]

hello! hope you are doing well :)

I was wondering if I could request a Mike Schmidt blurb of like the little things he admires about the reader and how he expresses his appreciation for them?

ty for the request !!! this feels so informal and short but i’m trying to get through all my requests ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა hope this does your request justice !! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

𖦹Warnings: none this is pure fluff :p

⋆｡°‧Requests are open! Comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated ♡

mike would absolutely adore every single thing about you. even small little quirks that some other people might find a bit annoying or weird he finds completely endearing.

mike would especially admire how understanding and compassionate you are towards his financial situation. he refused to let you babysit abby at first when you offered to do it free of charge purely out of guilt.

he definitely still feels guilty about not being able to get you spontaneous gifts or flowers as much as he’d like or thinks you deserve but your constant reassurance that you do it out of love and don’t care for that stuff settles his mind a bit.

he still finds cute ways to show you how much he appreciates your help and kindness, like saying he’s going out for a small walk to clear his mind and coming back home with a small bouquet of flowers that he picked himself and wrapped up with some old newspaper.

he doesn’t just acknowledge the things you do and sacrifices you make for him, he also deeply admires your beauty. whether it’s him simply getting lost in your eyes as he watches them sparkle whenever you talk about something that deeply interests you to him showering you in kisses whenever you express any type of insecurities about your physical appearance.

mike would be laying in bed, watching you as you look at yourself in the the mirror and immediately walking to you, standing by your side as soon as he sees the dismayed expression on your face. cupping your face with his hands and planting soft kisses from your forehead to your cheeks and nose, muttering small things like “such a pretty girl, don’t ever doubt that for a second” in between kisses, making sure he gives you all the reassurance and love in the world whenever you need it.

[schmidtsbimbo]

real

if he told me to jump off of a bridge with cinderblocks tied to my ankles i would do it.

[schmidtsbimbo]

screaming crying and throwing up this is so good

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

·̩̩̥͙＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚ ˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊·̩̩̥͙ ·̩̩̥͙＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚ ˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊·̩̩̥͙. ·̩̩̥͙＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚. ˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚

Perfect

Mike Schmidt x Chubby!Reader

☆ Synopsis: Mike realizes that you're a virgin, leading to him talking you through it for your first time.

☆ Word Count: 2.9k

☆ Warnings: Smut!! Soft sex, swearing, fingering, mirror sex, p in v , loss of virginity, no use y/n

☆ A/N: This turned out to be soo much longer than I expected, and it took a lot more time than I thought(◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ). But I hope you enjoy it!! This was requested by the amazing @druigssidelady ( *ˊᵕˋ)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:

Sitting on Mike’s bed, you groaned in embarrassment, cringing at the memories from last night. Those burning kisses he placed against your lips left you craving for more, and his tender touch made everything feel just perfect. But as soon as he slipped his hands under your shirt, you shied away. You didn’t understand why you were like this; too nervous to go beyond a makeout session with anyone.

On the other hand, Mike practically worshiped you. Whenever he laid against the soft pudge of your stomach he would ramble on about how it’s the best part, head spinning any time you laced your hand through his hair. Enjoying the way he’d practically beg to lay between your thighs on those tired days, instantly relaxing as he felt your body press against his.

So why did you always stop??

Burying your face in his pillow, you mentally beat yourself up, knowing that these thoughts would be carried to your grave. You were certain that Mike thought he had done something wrong last night by the way he moved away after seeing your nervous look. That alone had you dying in shame. 

You slipped from your mind’s prison when you heard the door creak open, light spilling into the room. “Oh, hey you’re—“

“Mike, I’m sorry” you interrupted, not looking up at him. He opened his mouth, but you couldn’t stop the words spewing from your lips, “About last night. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I just..” you shook your head “I don’t know.” 

His brows knitted together, walking to where you were sitting, “Baby, what are you talking about?” He laughed, not recalling anything from yesterday. You fidgeted with the sheets, refusing to meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean to stop that whole thing so…suddenly.” 

Confusion filled his face before he finally nodded, “Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“You know I’d love you the same even if we don’t have sex.” Heart pounding, you froze. 

Fuck.

“I—Mike I promise it’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you, it’s just…” Trying your hardest to find the words as he gazed down at you patiently. “I’ve never had anyone see me so exposed.” 

“Do you not want me to see you exposed?” His words had you tripping over your own, mind desperately running to find an answer. “No—I mean—I don’t know.” Glancing down at the floor, you crossed your arms, leaving Mike to take in your closed-off state. “C’mon, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”  

You sighed, refusing to look up at him. “It’s embarrassing.” you admitted, struggling to speak, “I don’t want you seeing me differently.”

He blinked back his confusion, “See you differently? What are you talking about?” 

As hard as you tried, you couldn’t cover that small shake in your voice, “I’m not used to this.” You looked up at him sheepishly, “I just don’t want to mess things up. I mean I’ve hardly even..“ Quickly cutting yourself off, your eyes darted away from him, biting the inside of your cheek. 

Blood rushed to your face, feeling the bed dip as he sat down next to you. “Is this because–” he paused, grasping for the right words, a look of concentration on his face, “Are you a virgin?” You swore your heart stopped, somehow, those words felt even worse out loud. Nodding, that nervous feeling creeping up inside of you as you scolded yourself. 

This old and still scared to do anything beyond kissing. 

He shook his head, chuckling, “I don’t care about that, you’re a perfect woman, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it.” Your face flushed at how he spoke to you. It was so gentle. Seeing that slight squint in your eyes, he studied you, reading your feelings like a book. Mike knew you were still skeptical, clearly too shy to initiate anything. Spreading his legs he motioned for you to sit between them, “C’mere.” 

Hesitatingly, you bit your lip, pausing before you sat down with your back pressed against his chest. He traced the pudge of your waist, sliding down to your plush thighs. “So pretty.” He mumbled into your skin, hands holding you as if you were made of silk. 

Your breath felt hot at his touch, head tipping back, burying yourself into his neck. This felt so familiar; his fingertips ran across your body as if he knew it like the back of his hand. You whined in slight embarrassment at his actions leaving you so exposed, grabbing his wrist, “Mike,” you huffed out, “What are you doing..” The sound of your voice muffling against his skin had him biting back a groan. 

“I jus’ wanna make my girl feel good.” That slight slur to his words had your head feeling fuzzy, lifting your face from his neck and looking at him shyly. God those eyes. You swore that this man would be the death of you just from how he gazed into your face with such love. 

You looked like a deer in headlights, staring up at him with that same nervous look from last night, eyes flicking down to his lips. 

“Is this ok?”

You tried sorting your thoughts, nodding shyly. The light ache growing between your legs as his face moved closer, head tipping back to meet his lips as you clung to him. That comforting feeling of his hands sliding down to your jaw had your mind going blank; tongue slipping into your mouth as he sighed at that familiar taste of you.

Your hands grabbed his, moaning at the way he deepened the kiss. Body hot against yours, his sickly sweet taste made the world feel like it was spinning.

You were lost in his addicting touch, head fogging up from how he moved against you. No words could explain how perfect these moments were, lips fitting together like a missing puzzle piece; his fresh scent invading your senses.

You chased his lips as he pulled away, catching him in another needy kiss. A whine muffled against him as you melted at the way he held your face; that reluctant huff making his knees weak as your lips parted.

“Look at that.” Mouth against your neck, his mumbles had your gaze falling to the front of the room with wide eyes.

Oh.

A mirror. Putting your whole body on display for both of you. “Mike I—I don’t..“ Words couldn’t even form as you looked at the sight of yourself, clearly nervous.

“Do you want me to stop?” Hot breath hitting your neck, you bit your lip before meekly shaking your head, already beginning to feel fuzzy. “I gotta hear you say it, baby.” There was a pause as you stared into your reflection.

“Keep going…please.” 

A light grin painted his face from your pleads, “God you’re so fucking perfect.” He groaned, fingers slipping under your shirt, making you tense up. “Relax..I’ll be gentle.” Voice soft, his hands roamed that soft pudge he went crazy for, kneading your skin as he kissed up and down your neck. He was in a drunk daze, addicted to your body like it was the strongest drug he’d ever tasted. 

Playing with the hem of your shirt, he lifted it before looking at your shy expression in the mirror. You nodded, eyes darting away from the scene in front of you. Slipping the shirt over your head, he gazed at how you sat so perfectly against him, legs spread and face flushed he placed desperate kisses up your jaw as his hands grasped your plush waist.

You attempted to bury your face into his neck, burning with embarrassment, only for him to tilt your head forward, “C’mon, look at yourself, sweet girl.” His words pulled a whine from your mouth, eyes scanning your figure in the mirror. You hated this vulnerability, the way his eyes studied you had your face flushing. But you wanted him. You needed to feel him all over you. It was so hard to keep your composure when his fingertips were exploring spots that nobody else had, leaving you craving more every time he touched. 

Eyes hazing over at the sight of his hands on you, your breath hitched, watching him slowly trail down to the waistband of your shorts, hooking under them. He looked at you for confirmation, “Can I?”

That voice of his, those tender caresses, the way he worked his mouth over your body so perfectly; It made your mind spin as you tried to keep your gaze on the mirror. “Mhm..” You mumbled weakly.

Hips lifting, you allowed him to slide down your shorts, biting your lip. The sight before him made it hard to keep his breath steady, looking at your plush body matching those angelic features. He gazed at you with eyes that made you feel like you hung all the stars in the sky, a wave of shyness washing over you.

He took his sweet time with you, hands rubbing the plush of your skin before creeping closer to your panties. An impatient moan slipped from you as his fingertips dragged against the inside of your thigh, touching you everywhere except for what you needed from him most. 

Watching in amusement as you struggled to keep quiet, his other hand trailed up to your chest as he left open-mouth kisses against your neck. The agonizingly slow touches were addictive, hips stuttering slightly from the lack of contact. Your brain could hardly function as he stimulated your body, yet gave you nothing at all. The feeling of longing 

Those soft whines you attempted to hold back spewed from your lips as his hand dipped under the flimsy cotton, gently teasing you; soaking in your pretty sounds. “Mikey–” You whimpered, mouth falling open as a finger prodded at your core, gently slipping inside of you. In a haze of pleasure, you tried to silence those soft sounds as he slowly pumped in and out, getting you used to the new sensation. About to speak, your voice broke off into a moan as he carefully dipped another into your cunt, staying still as you adjusted to the dizzy sting. 

“God..” He groaned, drinking in the sight of you, “Pretty sounds with an even prettier face to match that perfect body.” You so desperately wanted to tip your head back, looking away from the mirror, but part of you was so mesmerized by him and the way his hands moved, that you couldn’t tear your eyes away. “So beautiful.” He sighed.

Attempting to speak again, the only thing that fell from your mouth was a needy whimper as he curled up deliciously against you. You didn’t understand how it was possible to feel so good from something so simple; moaning as he hit spots you never even knew existed, the sweet sound of your wet pussy filling the room. “I wanna hear you say it.” Pressing up to your ear, he let out a breathy sigh from the feeling of you on his fingers. You shook your head, jaw slack from pleasure “I can’t–” 

“You can do it baby, c’mon.” His words only pulled you closer to the edge, trying your hardest to conjure up an audible sentence. “I’m..pretty.” You whispered, whining at how that sounded in your mouth. His lips teased your skin, chuckling at your attempt, “I know you can do better than that.”

You could hardly process his words, that cloudy haze the only thing occupying your mind; other than the feeling of his strong arms and soft aura enveloping you. He paused his gentle movements, causing your hips to move against him. 

“Please,” You begged, eyes darting away from yourself, seeing the way you moaned so with such desperation; the needy sound of your voice leaving him craving more. “You want me to keep going?” A weak nod was the only thing you could muster, “Then I gotta hear you.” That tone filled your head with a haze of desire, struggling to find the words, tipping your head back to avoid the sight in front of you. 

He held your jaw, forcing you to look at yourself once more as he pumped his fingers deep inside of you, earning a sound that he’d sell his soul to hear again. “Fuck, I’m–” You sobbed, “So, so fucking pretty.” Sweet mind foggy with nerves and lust. Whatever thoughts you had before were long gone as you saw yourself; his grasping at your body, desperate to feel you against him. Groaning, he admired your blissed-out face, knowing those pretty whines were from his hands. 

You fell into that dizzy trance as his grip tightened ever so slightly as he felt you trying to look away, a breathy moan falling from you yet again. You couldn’t even manage anything other than desperate sounds as his fingers finally slipped from your pretty cunt, gently pressing your back to the bed. 

The click of his belt along with the rustle of his pants made an unfamiliar heat pool in your stomach.

He looked down at your fucked out state, eyes dazed and glossed over from pleasure. “I need you to use your words f’me baby.” His voice soft as he cupped your face, “Are you ok with this?” Your mind was clouded with pleasure, words hardly coming to you, “God yes…I need you.” That longing tone had his head spinning, hands sliding down to your love handles as the tip of his cock slipped between you, stretching you open.

Your body tensed from the burn of him, desperately clinging to the sheets. The uncomfortable sting had you biting your lip harshly.

“Breath pretty girl, breath.” He mouthed against your neck as a choked gasp escaped you. Carefully pushing in deeper, he let you adjust to him, tears brimming the corner of your eyes before ever so slowly sliding himself further into you, rubbing soothing shapes on your skin.

He buried his face in your neck, trying to hide that quiet whimper from the feeling of you pulsing around him. You tried to relax, one of his hands lacing through yours. Your mind went all foggy as you felt him bottom out inside of you, trying to get used to the pain.

“Yeah–fuuck–that’s it, there you go.” He whined, making your mind go dumb at the feeling of him stretching you out so nicely. He gently rocked his hips against yours, lifting his head up and carefully studying your face, losing himself in that pretty little expression you made; eyes screwed shut and mouth parted so beautifully. Those gentle gasps spilling from your pretty lips were like music to his ears, loving the way your face softened as he pumped himself inside your needy pussy.

One of his hands grasped the thick of your thigh, spreading your legs further as his sloppy thrusts hit every part of you, a whiny gasp slipping from him as he tipped his head back in ecstasy. 

You gripped his shoulders, fucked dumb on him, and unable to process anything other than those pretty sounds he tried to hide. He filled you up, hitting spots only he could reach as you squirmed underneath him, pressure building up inside of you. The way you squeezed around him had stars clouding his head, whimpering as your hips stuttered.

“Oh baby…Look at you,” He breathed out, admiring your body, marked up from his lips, “Lemme see those eyes.” 

One hand kept a grip on your waist, thumb pressing into the pudge of your stomach, the other hand tipped your head up, desperate to see your eyes. Looking up through your lashes, he groaned, dipping that finger down to your clit with slow circles, matching the way he lazily pumped into you, blinded by desire. 

“So beautiful,” He mumbled, feeling himself reach the edge, “You do so much for me, always so–” he whined softly, “So fucking perfect. I’d please you like this every day if I could.” His breathy rambling had your mind going numb, words spewing from his mouth that you’ve never heard anyone else say. 

“You gonna cum for me?” He cooed, admiring the way your brown knit together“Let go for me, sweet girl.” God, everything about you had him weak in the knees, and the way his name rolled off your tongue was so enticing, that he needed to hear it again. Your broken sobs had him falling back into the crook of your neck, whispering sickly sweet praises against you, back arching as you let yourself go dumb on his cock. Pretty sounds spewed from you, feeling your orgasm crashing down.

Desperately, his lips pressed to yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth to muffle his whiny moans as he gripped the soft dough of your hips, feeling himself reach the edge. 

The caress of his hands pulls you back down to reality, the smell of sex and your perfume making him go dumb. “You sound so pretty baby” He panted, voice strained from the desperate attempts to hide his pathetic noises. He could have gotten drunk just from your ruined look. Swollen lips, and blissed-out face, the back of your hand covered your eyes as you tipped your head back, chest heaving up and down. He hummed into your skin.

“Next time I’ll have you on top of me.” 

[schmidtsbimbo]

need more billy burn fics i am starving where are they… save me wannabe cowboy…. save me…..

[schmidtsbimbo]

Tumblr WILL NOT let me post the fic and this ask at the same time and I've tried legit five times. So THANK YOU anon for the request and I'm sorry for the weirdness in uploading. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this!

My Ghost.

Billy x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: You don't know what happened that night. Things were fine, life was good, then your partner is on the news for all sorts of shit you never would've thought him capable of the day prior. He was dead, he was evil, and you were trying to move on. But what's the proper etiquette when the dead show up on your door unannounced?

Tags: No use of Y/N, hurt/comfort, fake death, mentions of drinking, drug use/dealing, grieving, arguing, cursing, flashbacks, brief suggestive scenes, suicidal thoughts.

Notes: The way I've been trying to upload this for two hours. Oh my fucking God. Anyways, everyone say thank you to anon for getting me to write something that doesn't make God cry.

-¤°》◇《°¤-

I'm not hard to please, but I'm not desperate despite what the rumors may say.

People enjoy gossip. People who don't know fuck all about you. And my standards are fine. Were fine. And I don't mean standards such as 'buys me flowers everyday' or 'doesn't deal coke.' I mean standards such as 'is a decent fucking person.'

"That's what I thought you were up until all of this fucking... disappearing for months!" I scream, anger fueling me. I don't let the other emotions win out, don't let them have a say. Because if I do, I'll be too conflicted and overwhelmed and then I'm gonna cry, and that's not fair.

People had warned me he was trouble. Terms such as 'wannabe cowboy,' 'rebel without a cause' were tossed around in warning. But to me, he was just Billy.

Then he was dead.

Now, he was here. He showed up at my door nine months after leaving me with a small little keychain on the kitchen table and a soft kiss on my forehead, saying he had some plans for that evening. But he'll be back soon.

Then he was on the news. And a gas station blew up. Gangs, stolen vehicles. He was probably dead. Things would be easier if he was dead.

Fine. Maybe I initially ignored warning signs. Maybe I was distracted by his handsome side profile, too busy admiring his nose to notice the occasions it was dusted with the trace of a fine powder. Maybe his hands were too beautiful for me to realize they were slipping money to men in dark jackets when we went out to the rougher parts of town. But he was mine and I was his, and overall he was a good person.

He was alive. He was alive and I was mad because if he was dead then at least it would be valid that for nine months I have had to deal with the accusatory stares of our neighbors assuming I knew, the pity from my loved ones, and the betrayel that kept me awake at night. It would mean he hadn't left me to deal with his repercussions, that maybe there was a valid excuse. An undiagnosed brain tumor that finally gave way to insanity, a gun to his head. Something that was not the worst case scenario of just... being an awful person. I could let his things rest around the house undisturbed, hiding from the world and waiting to find the courage to join him one day and living in denial in the meantime. What the fuck was all of this?

"I couldn't tell you," he keeps saying. "It was better if you knew nothing until I was sure I could come get you."

"Why didn't you just take me with you from the start?" I ask. I've been pacing the floor for the past twenty minutes ever since he showed up. It was better than throwing every breakable object in the cheap, worn down shack of a house at him, which was my second instinct. My first was to pull him into my arms, draw the curtains shut and hide him away so that he'll never leave again. Like an idiot.

He laughs bitterly. "You would not be asking that if you knew what the fuck I went through," he says. His words sound like they should be angry, but there's this lightness to them like he can't let himself think too much about it. It just makes me angrier.

"Don't fucking laugh!" I snap. "Do you think any of this is funny?"

"I think you're funny when you're mad," he deflects, smiling. "You got this whole routine. Pacing, nose twitching. I like the Shirley Temple stomps, like you're a kid."

I groan loudly, the noise almost sounding like a low scream in my throat.

"You owed money to fucking- who?" I yell.

"The details don't matter-"

"When I have been grieving your death for nine months, they fucking matter!" I snap. His brows furrow, his hands mid air as if to say 'the fuck did I do?'

"You know me, okay? I don't get caught," he says as though it were obvious.

"I know fucking nothing!" I practically scream.

When we met he was just a guy at a bar, handsome, wearing that same ridiculous jacket that I couldn't help but stroke the white fluff on, tequila running through my veins.

"Can I help you?" He asked, smirking.

"Just wanted to see what it felt like," I said.

"Wanna feel something else?" He asked, his chin resting on his head.

"Oh, fucking gross. Fuck o-"

"I was talking about this," he said, whipping out his keys to show off an odd, weirdly shaped keychain with short, stiff fuzz. "Don't call me a pervert just cause you're one."

He was smiling. It was an easy smile. Careless, happy with life. I loved that smile. It meant things were always alright as long as he was smiling.

He was smiling on the photo they used for the manhunt.

We'd danced the whole night. He didn't know hardly any of the songs, causing him to be off beat. I was too drunk to keep time, so I stepped on his leather boots enough times there was a visible scuff on the top of one by the end of the night. I always felt bad, offering to replace or help pay to fix it. He wouldn't let me.

"They're a keepsake," he'd insist. "A living memory." He wore them everyday.

He's wearing sneakers, today.

At the end of the night, I stumbled out of the bar with a note in my coat pocket. It took two weeks for me to wear that coat again, and when I found the slip I'd almost thrown it away, assuming it was something dumb. But when I saw the worst handwriting in the world displaying a number belonging to someone named 'Keychain Guy,' I almost couldn't wait to call.

"Bullshit," Billy snaps. "You know me better than anyone."

"Don't say that," I say, putting a hand out protectively to keep him away. "That's exactly why everyone thinks I was just fine with that whole- fucked up thing!"

A gas station burned. A stolen vehicle. People were dead. People were dead.

Billy was presumed dead.

There was no funeral. He had no family, and none of mine wanted to put money into something that would be protested by the whole town anyways. No body to bury, nothing to do but gather up his things and smoke what remained in his stash until people came to nurse me back to life. By that point there wasn't even relief in drugs. The taste simply reminded me of better times cooking in the kitchen as we blew the smoke into each others faces, or worse. Better. Whatever.

I never questioned when Billy went out of town. I knew his work had details I didn't want nor need to know. Money was tight. But Billy always came home with little things whenever he went on unexpected trips. Knick knacks, snacks, some item I'd seen at the store and picked up to make a comment about. Had he been particularly forthcoming about his dealing when we started dating? No. He said he worked for a local small business, which technically isn't untrue. But about six months in, he was the one who approached me and sat me down at the small, rickty round table to tell me the truth. And that's what mattered to me. The economy is shit and it's not like it was meth, so who am I to judge?

About a year into it, I was begging for him to do something else.

"I don't like you disappearing," I told him. "I'm scared one day you're gonna piss someone off and that'll be the end. Then what am I gonna do?"

"Then you're gonna make sure they don't fuck up my face during the embalming process for the funeral," Billy said around his hand rolled cigarette. I whip the small dish towel at him, making him laugh and protect his small ashtray that I made him for Christmas the year prior. It was shitty, uneven, and I'm 99% sure a fire hazard. But he wouldn't use any other ones unless I was the one who bought them for him, and even then he favored this one. 'When this place goes up in flames,' I thought, 'I'll regret that gift.'

I'd kept it by the kitchen window every day since he'd died. "Died." It was his spot.

He moves to sit there now, looking in his pockets for the small box of prerolled cigarettes.

"People know you weren't involved," he says dismissively.

"Your friends know. What about the old ladies at church? The checkout clerks at the store? How about the fucking mailman?" I shout, convinced I'm still talking to the dead. "You think they know the ins and outs of the local psychos support group?" I ask, gesturing and stepping closer.

I was the local outcast now. Not to be trusted, not worth kindness. Shame was my title, and when Billy appeared on my doorstep at an hour where only I was awake I was sure I'd caught the same awful disease that must have been what sent him spiraling that winter day. It wasn't until he pushed the door open fully, taking me into his arms and pressing a warm kiss to my lips that I knew he was real. It was a feeling I was in the early stages of forgetting, blurry and cold. But here he was, the stubble on his chin a bit longer and his ears missing the small hoops that had glittered in the sunlight when he walked out the door.

Then I'd pushed him away. And the fight began.

"I'm not a fucking psycho," he argues. His hands pat around his outfit, searching. "You got a lighter?"

"Fuck off." I kept his favorite in my left pocket. I had to be careful what things of his I wore or kept on my person. People close to me knew I would have never condoned his actions, but even they had glared at me in the early wake of Billy's death when I dared to wear one of his shirts out of the house, or more commonly one of his thick leather jackets. But a lighter can be hidden, and unless you had borrowed it you wouldn't know it had specifically been his. So I kept it with me all the time, just feeling it next to my skin with the only barrier being the fabric of my pocket. Without a thought, I cover the small item as though he can see right through me. Picking up on the hint, he's rises from the table and begins walking over to me.

"Don't be a dick, just let me borrow it," he says, holding out his hand.

"Fuck off," I snap.

"You've said that. I just need it for two seconds," he says as his hands begin to gently grab at me, one on my shoulder and the other dipping into my pocket.

"Get the fuck off of me!" I yell, slapping at him.

"Just let me have-"

He cuts himself off as he pulls out the lighter from my pocket, his thumb grazing over the printed picture. The Statue of David. He'd bought because it made us laugh. One side was the regular statue, the other a close up of its small genitals with cursive writing underneath spelling the art piece's name.

"Oh," Billy says quietly.

We stand for a moment, silent. He doesn't seem sure what to do. My lungs burn with unheaved sobs. I fucking hate this.

"You were gonna come back," I finally say quietly. I hate how my voice sounds when I'm upset. I hate that I'm wearing his dogtag, an item he'd bought at a World War II museum in middle school that he gave me for our first Christmas because we were both too broke to actually buy each other anything, hence the poorly made ashtray. I hate that when I sleep at night it's in his clothes that I rarely wash because the idea of losing his smell makes me want to scream. I hate that his scent is different from the bottle of cologne he kept next to my makeup, one time spilling all over the entire bathroom counter because we'd gotten too wrapped up in each other, dragging our nails down each others backs and watching ourselves in the mirror until one wrong move of my hand revealed he'd been a bit too careless about screwing the lid back on earlier in the day. I'd always warned him about that.

I'd been in the bathroom putting on my permanently scented blush when I got the text.

"I was going to," he said softly. "Then I couldn't."

"So what?" I say, not daring to turn and face him, choosing instead to stare at where the cheap, old wood paneling of the wall meets the shaggy, stained carpet that you have to wear shoes on due to the staples that have begun sticking out of it. "You just propose to someone and then pretend to die?"

Valentines Day was an awfully cheesy day to do it. So it's a good thing it was a technicality.

The day had been lovely. Billy had saved up a little to take me to a local hibachi place, telling me to wear my outfit and jewelry. It was slightly overkill, but it's the small things in life, isn't it?

We'd come home with a bottle of wine, a low budget movie to ignore and hands searching desperately for each other.

"I love you," he'd said between pants. "You're mine."

"Buy a ring," I'd dared. Our minds were buzzed, the bottle half empty and our clothes thrown away without care. Took me weeks to find his both of his socks.

I hadn't meant for him to take it seriously. But I guess he decided it was time.

Two days later I thought it was odd when he walked into the house with my favorite lunch. It wasn't expensive really, we just usually got it for special occasions or days that had been mentally harder for me. And things were normal that day. I was getting ready for my shift, running around like I always do trying to make sure I've got everything.

"Your coffee's in the cup, will you just sit down?" He laughed, watching me. I quickly collected the take out box, sipping my coffee and wincing over its temperature.

"Fuck, that burns," I cursed. He wrapped his arms around me, trying to get me to sit at the table. "Baby, I can't," I protested softly, but I was laughing. He was peppering me in kisses, giving me those big puppy dog eyes everyone knew were my weakness. He wanted for nothing so long as he looked at me just like that.

"Just this once," he asked, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I couldn't help the blush and giggle that rose from me, but I also couldn't be late.

"I'll make up for it," I promised, slipping away and running into the bedroom to get my shoes. When I ran back in, pulling them on and coming to kiss him goodbye, I nearly fell over when I saw him on one knee, smiling and looking at me like 'I told you so.'

I don't like how itchy the ring feels on my middle finger as I twirl it in thought.

"You don't know what happened," he pleaded, his hands still on me. "If you would just listen to me-"

"The news gave a pretty good description, William. I don't think there's missing pieces in my head, unlike you," I say coldly, detaching from myself so to not have to deal with my emotions. This makes him stiffen, pulling away and resuming his place at the kitchen table, lighting his cigarette and placing the ashtray in front of him like nothing has changed when everything has.

It feels like I'm out of time. Like I've been shoved into a picture of what my life looked like before. Except the house was never this clean, clothes always scattered about. Not just in a fit of passion, we just had bad habits when it came to picking up. Billy would always say the chairs are more decorations then they are seats, anyways. "Why would you use those when you have such a nice seat here?" He'd ask, wiggling his hips and placing his hands behind his head, making me laugh.

Billy never looked so well put together in the house, usually in a wife beater and his hair framing his face. He'd always joked he looked like a dirty hippie around me, and I'd always show him how much I liked that. Not that he looked fantastic now. When we went out he was known for putting in effort. He always had more hair products than me, which I found funny. Though he refused makeup. Once I'd managed to talk him into eyeliner. 'Guyliner' I'd teased. He liked it, but said it should stay between us with a wink before asking where to get dinner. Now he sits before me in clothes obviously stolen to help him look unremarkable, his hair shaggy and uncut, so different from the man I loved.

"Who are you?" I asked him. That man didn't shrink away from accountability.

He sighed, smoke swirling around him as he wipes his face with his hand.

"I don't know. Can't tell if I'm better or worse, to be honest," he admits softly. His eyes look haunted, heavy bags underneath. It's the way his shoulders sag as though his will to go on is slowly draining from him in this very moment that makes me want to break now. Like whatever reason he had for still going was fruitless.

I didn't like the way we mirrored each other like this.

I slowly scuff my feet towards him, tapping my fingers against the back of the wooden chair before pulling it out to sit across from him. It's a start.

"So if you tell me," I say slowly. "Am I going to wish you were dead?"

He doesn't look at me. "I don't know."

Great.

The night is long. Morning comes without an invitation, the blue sky beginning to glow through the shitty blinders I always told Billy we should replace one day. I understand less than when we started, we've both cried more than once, and between our fingers is cigarette stubs and the feeling of each others skin, hands laced together as though another click of an old remote to an outdated TV with batteries you had to rub against your shirt to make work would reveal the smouldering remains of a gas station, displaying the estimated body count and deeming one of us as a devil of the worst kind, ripping us apart.

"Jesus," I say when it's over.

"Yeah," he says. "So, needless to say, my anxiety is shit now."

It isn't funny. It's a tragic statement. But when we both glance into the others eyes, it's his small little smirk that makes me laugh like I haven't since my mother sent me the local news report with his picture covering the front page. The same one that shows everything is still okay.

"I'm sorry," I say. Then the laughing turns into sobbing, and then I can't breathe. And I really am sorry.

I'm sorry I couldn't help him. I'm sorry he went out on a romantic whim and borrowed money he shouldn't have for the ring I was too ashamed to wear on the proper finger. I'm sorry he couldn't come back for me. And I'm sorry for hating him when he showed up unannounced at my door.

"Hey," he says gently, standing and crossing to me, removing his jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders to comfort me. It's unfamiliar, evidence of a life he wouldn't have led if he had just stayed by me and it upsets me, but his lips against my wet cheeks ground me, familiar and soothing me, coaxing me into wrapping my arms around him, clawing my trembling fingers through his hair. Still soft. Still combed.

"You can't stay here," I choke out.

"I know," he says quietly. There's nothing for a long time, our bodies shaking as we cling to each other. In our arms are the unspoken months of grief. Of his longing for our home, of my insanity. Death looms over the furniture, light hidden away lest it take away my sacred treasures I'd used to keep his spirit close to me.

"I can't lose you again," I say.

"I know," he says, smelling my hair and placing a soft kiss on top of my head. "But I can't promise stability if you follow me."

My brows furrow, my mind racing in confusion, my hopes rising. Follow?

"I know a guy," he says quickly, his arms tighter as if scared I'll turn away. "Says he can get me a new identity and a one way ticket to somewhere. I don't know where yet, but it's worth a try."

My fingers trace his back, swirling invisible patterns over his shirt. He'd always liked that after a rough day. I can feel the tension begin to slowly fall away from him at the contact, his breathing growing deeper and more steady. "And you want me to come?"

"Need," he corrects. "I don't regret leaving you, but I can't stay away. Even if it's more kind to let you mourn and find a better life."

A new life. A new identity. New name, new everything.

Maybe I am insane. Maybe this exactly the kind of mental break Billy had that day. Maybe I was doomed to follow his spirit no matter what. Maybe this is a second chance. Maybe God had granted me a mercy I'll never be able to repay, no matter how many night I spend in worship at a church or between this man's legs. Maybe I'd spend every day looking over my shoulder, paranoid and eventually turning cruel to strangers so to keep this one person everyone told me to let go of from the very beginning.

But the same Billy.

"Can he do a marriage license?" I ask after a long silence. I can hear him laugh, pulling away to look at me.

"That eager?" He asks softly, his eyes gentle, thumb stroking my cheek. I lean into his touch, softly placing a kiss on his palm.

"Well," I say, "I already have the ring."

▪︎》◇《▪︎

As cute as this was, please have better standards than the Reader I wrote in this fic. No man is worth that. I am DEADASS. Anyways, love y'all <3

[schmidtsbimbo]

―୨୧⋆ ˚ welcome !

hi! my name is rosie, i go by she/her prns and i like to write ! i mostly write for josh hutcherson characters but im willing to branch out if you ask and i’m familiar with the character<3 i love getting dms from new friends and moots so dont be afraid to interact !!! pls be aware that i do write some nsfw from time to time.

requests/blog guidelines !⁀➷  

things i will NOT write: ddlg/sexual age regression, scat, water sports, somnophilia, cnc, pet play

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requests are open !!

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