This is a sideblog for my main @stop-talking, where I will be reblogging all my fanfics as I write them.
I shitpost a lot on my main and I don't expect y'all to dig through all that If you're only here for fanfic. (You could also follow both accounts and only turn on post notifications for this one to be notified when I write something new 💗)
If you'd like to see my masterlist, you can find it here.
I will be tagging my reposts here, so you should be able to search for names (Derek Danforth, Mike Schmidt, etc) or "smut" for my 18+ works.
Hi! I have just found your account and I love it. I was wondering if you would be willing to do a bratty!sub!mike fic? I know that might be a little out of character but Tell me you see the Vision with it like I do. If not no worries!
heh... oh I see the vision alright... >:3
Brat!Mike Schmidt x gender-neutral reader 18+
2.8k words
Tags: 18+, gn! reader, brat mike, sub mike, dom reader, lowkey kinda switch mike and reader though i cant help myself, masturbating (mike), light choking (of mike), handjob, head (reader receiving), penetration (of reader by mike), creampie, kinda exhibitionism, porn no plot, idk what else, filthy
Its silent in the Schmidt house. Abby has long been asleep, and your own bedtime came and went. You find yourself growing irritated, robbed of your nightly rinse as Mike is still in the fucking bath.
"Mike?" You call out to him, cracking the door to your shared bathroom.
"C'mon in" he purrs, satisfaction dripping from his voice. As you throw open the door, you're met with a sight that almost makes up for the late hour.
Mike lays back in the tub, preening. Whatever bubbles were in the tub have dwindled down to a few meager patches, not covering anything significant. You try to keep your eyes on his face, lips pressed into a pout to show your displeasure. Still, you can't help as your gaze drifts down slightly.
Down, past the mop of dark brown-black curly hair, still damp and shiny. Past his exposed chest and the lingering soap bubbles still spattered there. Past his submerged tummy, happy trail leading right to the soft plump cock he isn't making any effort to cover.
"Finally gonna join me?" He asks with a barely suppressed smirk, opening one eye and catching you staring.
You feel your face flushing slightly, though you know its stupid. Why shouldn't you stare at what's yours?
"I want to shower," you deadpan, eyes snapping back up to meet his. After being with you two years, he certainly knows your bedtime routine. This wasn't an accident. Mike was testing you. Provoking you. Seeing how far he could push until you snapped or gave in. He'd probably enjoy either outcome, Mike had always loved playing with you.
"Mm, but i already drew us a bath..." he starts, blinking up at you lazily. "And there's room for two."
Looking at the tub, there clearly isn't. Actually, there's barely room for Mike alone. Still, he gestures down his body, silently prompting you to lay on top of him.
"Not gonna happen, Schmidt." you huff, stepping forwards to loom over him. "Get up."
He crosses his arms, meeting your gaze with a challenging look. When it's clear he isn't moving, you reach down and flip the switch that opens the drain.
"Hey!" Mike protests, and tries to nudge it back with his foot. But you hold the switch down, letting the bathtub slowly start to empty with a low gurgle.
"I'm showering," you inform him, standing and beginning to strip down without shame, "whether you get up or not."
That breaks the spell, and Mike has to look away for a moment as you shed your clothes, a pink flush creeping up his neck and tinging his cheeks. Maybe he didn't expect his little stunt to lead to this.
You don't care either way, determined to finally get in your nightly shower. Once the water heats up, you switch it from the faucet to the shower head, and carefully step into the tub. Mike is subjected to a hot spray of water for a few moments before you block the flow with your body, but no complaints come from his mouth as you stand before him.
The water has barely drained from the tub, and you stand well past ankle deep with your feet apart on either side of Mike's legs. The stance feels somewhat awkward, but it's worth it to see the stupid slack-jawed look on Mike's face as you straddle him.
"Stop staring. Its rude." You pointedly look into his eyes and not at his dick, beginning to harden at the sight of your exposed figure.
"Like you weren't just eyeing me up, too." He scoffs in return, but drops his gaze as his cheeks flush with a pretty twinge of pink. He scoots his legs in as he sits up, giving you a little more room and conveniently hiding his dick.
You just ignore his protest, making a show of scrubbing your body down. You work at your shoulders and chest first, then prop a foot on the side of the tub to work at your legs.
Your spread-eagle position in front of him is too much for Mike to take. He not-so-subtly begins to fist his cock, forgoing his earlier shame.
"At least past the shampoo," you tsk, nudging him with a foot. It's on the opposite end of the tub, in the corner against the wall.
He ignores you, mesmerized by your figure, and admittedly a little turned on by your anger. Though, he'd never say that part out loud.
"I think you should just wash your body again," he sighs, still looking you up and down. "Might have missed a spot."
"Shut it, Schmidt." You lean down to grab the bottle yourself, bracing a hand on the side of the tub as you loom over him, trying to keep from slipping on the remnants of body wash.
Mike doesn't let the opportunity pass him by, and makes a grab for you as soon as you're in reach.
With a yelp, you crash into Mike as he pulls you down onto himself. Heart racing, you almost yell at him for scaring you. The heat pressing into your abdomen makes you reconsider, though.
"Well, you got me. What now, hm? What do you want now that you have my attention?" The words are harsh, but you struggle to keep up the sharp tongue when you can feel him throbbing against you. You know exactly what he wants, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't want it too.
Mikes face flushes again, and his grip tightens on you, like he's scared you'll get away. "Want you," he whispers, and its so needy and honest you can't help but kiss him.
He moans into it, and you can feel him shifting below you, desperate for friction. The tub is cramped, water is getting in both your eyes, and there's hardly room to breathe, much less fuck.
Still, its worth a shot. Doesn't seem like he's planning on letting you go anytime soon, anyway.
You wrap one hand around his neck, lightly squeezing the sides juuust enough to act as a warning. The other snakes down his side, finding and gripping his dick at the base.
"This what you wanted, hm? Want me to milk you right here in the tub? Cant even wait till I'm done with my shower?"
Your mocking tone does him in, and when he tries to sputter out a response you give his cock another tug. His mouth falls open, and you take the opportunity to spit inside.
Mike's eyes roll back in his head and you swear he's about to come with the third stroke when he mumbles "do that again."
"What, Mike?" You smile, tightening the light grip on his neck as you continue to slowly stroke him. "Don't be rude. Look at me when I'm talking to you."
Reluctantly, Mike does. He's panting now, chest rising and falling against yours as you hasten the pace on his cock. The pervert had probably been daydreaming about exactly this while he took his stupid hour long bath.
This side of you, the dominant side, the mean side, had always gotten him going. The first few times, you'd been genuinely angry. Pissed off. Taking it out on Mike, though you know you shouldn't. Neither of you even remember now what the anger had been about, just how it had made Mike feel. Hot.
You didn't notice at first, that his silence during arguments wasn't a seething quiet rage. Or at least, not only that. Some part of him enjoyed your attitude. Maybe part of him thought he deserved it, deserved for you to be angry with him. But mostly? It was just hot to let you use him.
Now, it was more of a game. A push and pull, Mike doing everything in his power to get under your skin in ways that would draw out a good reaction from you. The kind that ended with him cumming his brains out and getting the most restful sleep of his life afterwards. (Rather than the alternative, getting banished to the couch for the night. In his own home, too.)
Now, Mike laid underneath you, panting and squirming. He was completely lost in it at this point, making eye contact technically but looking straight through you.
He didn't even respond to your taunts, which only served to tick you off more. You weren't doing all this for nothing, after all. What was the point if you couldn't hear, in real time, Mike's brain turn to mush as he struggles to get out coherent sentences?
"Okay then, baby. I need to finish my shower. You can do it yourself from here." You move to get up, pulling your hand away and planting it against the back of the tub for support as you try to rise to your feet.
Mike isn't having any of it. His face quickly changes from blissfully fucked-out to panicked as he makes a grab for your wrist, desperately trying to lead your hand back to his cock.
"No! please?" he resorts to begging now, shameless and adorably pathetic.
It doesn't work.
"Here, see? Just like earlier, yeah? Gonna stroke your cock while you perv on me?" You guide his hand back to his cock and set a devastatingly slow pace, your hand over his as you stroke him. After a quick kiss to the side of his sweaty face, you're back on your feet.
Mike is scowling, that infuriatingly cute face he makes when he tries to look angry but comes off as more of a pout. He keeps the pace you set, though, and you're finally able to wash your hair.
You make sure to take your time, gingerly pouring the shampoo into your hands, getting a nice lather, and scrubbing your hair with both hands, arms raised and showing off your bare body to him once more.
"Faster?" He pleads breathlessly, unable to even ask in a complete sentence as you're back to flaunting right in front of him.
"Is that how you ask?"
"Faster, please?" He tries, barely whispering the "please," as if he wasn't just putty in your hands moments ago.
"What was that? Can't hear you over the water," you taunt him, intentionally letting the water run over your face and ears to drown out his begging.
"F-fuck, pleasecanigofaster?" Mike stammers, louder this time, but stumbling over his words.
A pause. You look thoughtful for a moment, then decidedly turn off the water, reaching for his towel hanging nearby oh-so-conveniently.
"How about you come fuck me in bed like a real man, hm? How about that?"
That breaks the spell. His eyes snap to look up at you, eyes twinkling like you're offering him a rare treat. As if he wasn't doing just that last night. And the night before. And the night before that.
"Thought you'd never ask."
Mike is right on your heels as you retreat to the bedroom. You try to take a moment to dry your hair, but it seems Mike can't wait that long.
He's on you in seconds, pulling your hips flush with his as he peppers kisses down your neck. Reminding you of his urgency, his need, as it presses into you, hard and angry from the teasing.
Next thing you know you're falling back onto the bed with a squeal, Mike's strong arms making sure you're safe.
"Schmidt! You're getting the bed wet!" You tsk at him, pinching a rib to get his attention, as he's still lost in sucking and nibbling at your neck. The anger might be unfounded, since you did steal his towel.
Mike doesn't point this out, however, instead panting out a quick "m'bout to make something else wet," in your ear, then proceeded to chuckle at his own stupid joke.
You swat at him in return, trying to cover his eyes so he can't see the smile on your face. What happened to the pathetic boy in the shower? That hadn't lasted nearly long enough.
Oh well. He'd switch right back over as soon as he was begging to come inside you, which wouldn't be long judging by how he was already spreading your legs hungrily.
"Good boy," you murmur, threading your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck as Mike went down on you with a practiced grace. He knew he wouldn't be getting any without tasting you first, not that he'd ever complained or showed any displeasure in that little rule of yours.
He eagerly licked, sucked, and fucked you with his tongue, letting himself be guided by the hair to where you needed him most. Watching him like this, hearing his moans, feeling how reverently he held your thighs in his strong arms, sometimes you wondered if this was secretly his favorite part.
It was certainty yours. "Fuck, Mike. You want me to cum right now?" You yanked his head up, breathing heavy as you met his eyes. Truth was, he wasn't even going that fast, it was just so hot to see him like this.
Hazel eyes stared back at you, pupils blown wide and head tilted back as you held firm on his hair. Saliva dribbled down his chin, and water down his neck from his still-wet hair. Looking at him conjured the image of a sopping-wet cat being held up by its scruff.
"...on my face or in my mouth?"
Wide-eyed, with a hunger that quick taste of you hadn't quelled, Mike dives back in, the threat of your oncoming orgasm only spurring his enthusiasm.
"Mi-iike!" You squeal, back arching as he suddenly goes back to work with more fervor than before. "Need you inside me."
You can feel your face flushing, annoyed and embarrassed he managed to turn the tables on you again so quickly. It wasn't supposed to be like this, damn Schmidt.
He just hums in response, and you feel a couple fingers quickly slip inside. Smartass.
As good as it feels, as perfect as he is at making you come with his mouth and hands alone, it isn't enough. Not even close. Not when you know just how hard you can come on his cock.
"Need your cock inside me," you correct, giving him a harsher tug on his hair and fighting to close your legs despite him holding you open.
"Ohh, should've said that, then," he teases, finally letting up and slipping his fingers out of you.
"Cocky bastard." You barely get the words out when his mouth is crashing into yours, tongue seeking sanctuary in your mouth as you have your first real kiss of the night.
It's perfect, and somehow more perfect when you feel his impossibly hard dick notching at your entrance. He waits for your permission despite probably being on the verge of coming himself, ever the gentlemen.
Not wanting to be the one to break the kiss, you simply hum into his mouth in response, and Mike takes the hint.
In seconds, he's bottoming out inside you, making you gasp. No matter how many times you feel it, that first stretch is always unreal.
"I-im not gonna last long," he stammers, panting as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. "Sorry."
"Aww, my good boy just cant wait? Wanna come inside already?" You coo at him, only half-mocking as he finds that sweet spot that makes you clench.
He can't even respond in more than a whimper and incoherent mumble, still panting hot breath against your neck. How is he supposed to answer, with you gripping him so tight?
"Gonna, ha-aah, gonna fill me up, hm?" You struggle to keep composure as well, with Mike setting a devastating pace that has both of you on edge faster than you'd thought possible.
"I think I'm gonna- fuck, I'm gonna," Mike almost cries the words, panicked, though he continues to rock his hips into yours unforgivingly.
"Come," you finish for him, commanding, and he finishes for you in return. The warm familiar gush is all you needed to tip over that edge, your body spasming in return and milking him for all he's worth. Your orgasm feels drawn out, and you savor it, closing your eyes and moaning softly as Mike whimpers in your ear and trembles on top of you. That good for him too, huh?
Mike gives you one more kiss, this time one of pure love and appreciation rather than burning desire, then slowly sits up and pulls out with obvious reluctance. If you let him, he'd probably fall asleep just like that, with you cockwarming him.
As you both catch your breath, his spend begins to leak from you and onto the towel.
"Shit," Mike says, "I think we need another shower."
A/N:
its 4am. i stayed up way too late writing this.
Also, sorry anon. I'm pretty sure you submitted this ask like 6 months ago. I hope it was worth the wait. <3
I don't know what to title this. Mike hits it from the back. (18+)
Mike Schmidt x fem reader
1.6k words Tags: 18+, fem reader, brat reader, brat tamer mike, creampie, mike is an ass man, head (reader receiving), fingering, brief plug use (pussy), just pure filth, porn with no plot
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Since the events at Freddy's a year ago, things were finally starting to look up for Mike. His new job as a contractor and the subsequent new house he was able to afford after took a huge weight off his shoulders.
For once in his life since his dad left him at eighteen, he didn't have to scrape and claw his way through the month to pay rent and put food on the table. Who would have guessed poverty could be so stressful?
Still, there was one more little addition to his life that easily topped the other two: you.
Mike still couldn't believe he was dating you after all this time, that you were really his. Some days, he swore you were an angel sent from heaven, helping him with the house and Abby when things got overwhelming.
Other days, like today, he was sure you had to have been a test from Satan, a temptation of the highest degree, luring him to sin.
Mike stepped out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist. He wasn't sure what he was expecting from you tonight, but it certainly wasn't something this calculated and seductive.
His eyes went to your ass first, a sight that made him groan as he sat down on the edge of the bed, trying not to let you see his obvious arousal under the towel.
You were laying tummy-down on his bed in an obnoxiously tiny skirt that showed your bare ass and thighs beautifully. Mike's eyes trailed further up your body as his hand reached to squeeze your thigh, and saw you were also wearing his sweatshirt.
"Really?" he asked, giving you a playful smack on the ass as you pretended to read a book, your disinterested façade slipping away the more he touched you. "Is that my book, too?"
"Dream theory," you smile, making eye contact with him through the mirror on the wall in front of you. "Interesting stuff."
Mike's face flushes with a twinge of pink as he coughs out a reply. "I- that's old. I bought that when I was in high school."
This gets a giggle out of you, thumbing through the pages of his "old" purchase. "Mmm, well I'm on chapter three. Really enjoying your annotations."
Mike heard enough. He couldn't let you read any further. He snatched the book up with one hand and lifted your skirt with the other, fully exposing you to him.
You try to roll over in protest, but Mike is already holding you in place with strong hands.
"Nuh-uh," he starts, dropping his towel and positioning himself behind you, cock already herd and twitching. "In my bed, wearing my clothes, reading my book. 'Sgonna cost you."
"Oh, I didn't realize this was your skirt, Mike." You turn your head to look back at him with mock-innocence as he cages your body in with his own.
"Smartass." He smacks you again on the rear, this time with enough force to sting for a second.
With a yelp, you try to squirm out of his grasp, but it's too late. He wraps an arm around your neck, laying halfway on top of you with his hard dick pressing against the curve of your ass. His bicep puts a delicious pressure on the sides of your neck, and you have to bite back a moan.
"Safe word," he growls, breath hot and heavy against your ear. "Or I'm taking you right now. Just like this."
You just moan in response, eyes fluttering shut as you melt under the pressure and warmth of Mike's body.
He doesn't take well to this, reaching up under your his sweatshirt and tweaking your nipple in a way that always makes you squeal. "Words."
"Ah- just- ah! Fuck me!"
Mike doesn't stop to ask twice, he simply grabs his cock and begins to guide it in with one hand. That is, until, he feels his tip hit something hard and foreign.
Startled, he backs up off the bed as you giggle, reaching out for his hand and guiding it to your cunt. "Just keeping it warm for you!"
Mike groans as he pulls something out; a plug. It's burning hot to the touch, and he has to fight the urge to pop it straight in his mouth.
If he gets a taste for you, he'll easily spend an hour licking and sucking at your perfect pussy. Which, he'd be willing to do on a normal night, but right now? His dick is protesting the thought of anything but fucking you here and now. He feels a jolt, a painful throb shooting up from the base to tip, and quickly gets back into position.
He wants to put it in slowly, tease you inch by inch, but your greedy cunt sucks up his length so easily he sinks balls deep in one quick thrust. You moan beautifully in response, a pornagraphic sound that Mike can barely hear over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. He's unsure how there's even enough blood left for that with how much must have rushed to his dick when he felt just how perfect and wet you are.
"You're so hot," Mike whispers reverently, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. "M'gonna cum too fast if we do it like this. So tight this way."
Your cunt clenches around him at the words, and he buries his face in your neck in a pathetic attempt to cover the whine that draws out of him. You'd picked this position for a reason, laying flat on your stomach with your legs closed.
Prone bone. His favorite. You'd already known he wouldn't last long, but that's half of why it was so hot. The other half was the guilty apology head he'd undoubtedly give you after, making you cum over and over with expert fingers until your legs shake.
"Then come." You clench around him again, intentionally this time, daring him to spill right now.
Mike groans and finally begins to move, growling out a couple words between each quick thrust. "So... damn... tight..." he marvels at how good your pussy milks his cock.
Its hard to keep your legs closed, as part of you wants to spread them open as far as they'll go, give him easy access. You hold back, though, knowing closed legs makes it even tighter for him. It'll all be worth it when he comes in a minute flat.
Each thrust has you arching into it, trying to wiggle your hips to his rhythm in hopes he'll go deeper than he's ever been. At this angle, it already feels that way, and you try to let him know with an incoherent fucked-out stream of babbles and curses.
As predicted, Mike can't keep up the pace for long. His thrusts grow more shallow, and as you look over your shoulder you can see him holding the base of his cock, face contorted in a desperate attempt to focus and keep from coming. The sight is too much, nearly drawing out your own orgasm despite the sloppier rhythm.
"Mike, come." You command him, tone switching from playful to stern in an instant.
His doesn't protest. His weight shifts as he let's go of his cock, planting both hands into the bed for better leverage. In just a few deep thrusts, he's coming, hot spurts that fill you to the brim and then some. He pulls out far too late, painting your ass and lower back with the last few ropes of pearly white cum.
Its an obscene amount, and Mike almost feels bad for the mess. Almost. Instead, he simply wipes you off with his discarded towel, planting a few quick kisses to your back as he does.
"Fuck, you didn't... did you...?" He can barely make eye contact, staring at your ass instead as he kneads at your thighs in an apologetic manner.
"Nope." Slowly, you lift your hips, pulling yourself up onto your knees and elbows, back arched so he can get a good view of the mess he made. His spend dribbles out of your cunt and down your thighs, and you can see all the shame leave his face in an instant as he's faced with your lewd display.
Mike shoves two fingers in your cunt with a groan, trying to keep his cum plugged up inside you. Where it belongs.
You moan a response, wiggling your hips in an attempt to get some friction going. You were sooo close when he was fucking you, just needed a liiiitle more from him...
That's when he adds a third finger, and though not as long as his cock, it's definitely thicker. A heat spreads through your abdomen and you can tell what's coming next before it happens.
Mike latches onto your clit, sucking hard as you ride his fingers. When he feels the fluttering of your orgasm, he sucks harder, squeezing your hip with his free hand.
Its not on his cock, but it may be the hardest you've ever come in your life. All the time spent teasing yourself on that plug while he showered had riled you up, and Mike practically edged you with how short he lasted inside you. His fingers are deliciously thick, and he guides your movements with his free hand on your hip as you ride them.
"Fuck, Mike..." You collapse on his bed, all but panting from the stimulation.
He isn't finished with you, though, and you squeal with a mixture of fear and delight as his body cages you in again once more. His dick is hard again, pressing into you as he yanks your hips back up to meet his own.
"M'not done here."
From the intense look in his eyes, you can tell he means it. This won't be your last orgasm tonight.
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Reminder that you should follow me on @stop-talking-vtwo if you only want to be updated for new fic drops and not my shitposts <3
A/N:
I went off my depression meds that were KILLING my libido like 3 days ago and now I'm horny and inspired again. God bless America god bless vibrators and god bless the FNAF 2 movie 🔥
(What Mike, Futturman, Billy, Derek, and Clapton would get you for Valentines day 🎀) 18+ , written partially with fem reader in mind !
Mike
♡ Prefers a stay-at-home date. He'd get Abby out of the house for the evening for some alone time.
♡ A homemade dinner would be waiting for you on the table, with some flowers he picked somewhere outside in a vase at the center. (He finds flowers at the store to be a little pricey.)
♡ He does, however, splurge on a nice bottle of wine to share over dinner.
♡ After dinner activities include cuddling on the mattress he dragged out in the living room to be in front of the T.V, sharing a pint of ice cream, and watching your favorite movie.
♡ And since you're home alone for once? Maybe something a little less innocent as well, if you're up to it. 💖
Futturman
♡ Definitely buys you one of the Lego flower bouquet sets. His logic? They'll never wilt! (Plus, he'd love to spend time building it with you.)
♡ Hand-writes you a card. He spent hours at the store agonizing over what would be the best choice for you- but eventually decided there was nothing he could buy to accurately express how much he loves you. His card is a little sloppy, and his handwriting isn't great, but the sentiment is beautiful and genuine.
♡ If you're a gamer like he is, he gets you a little something relating to that. Whether it be in-game currency, an expansion pack, or a completely new game to play together. He pays attention and knows what you want most.
♡ Dresses nice and takes you to a decent sit down restaurant. He doesn't stop touching you and complimenting you the whole night, no matter how well he's dressed it can't compare to you.
Billy
♡ low-key forgets Valentines Day is coming up until a few days before, when he notices the gas station is decked out in hearts and flowers.
♡ Wakes you up with a nice breakfast in bed, whispering in your ear about how you aren't gonna lift a finger for anything today.
♡ Simple lunch date after a cozy morning together, and after that he takes you shopping. Its just running errands together, getting groceries and other necessities, but he throws a cute stuffed animal in the cart when you aren't looking.
♡ Ends the day by making sure you know exactly how much he loves you, wants you, needs you. You're up far too late that night for people who have work the next morning. 💞
Derek
♡ At first you think he's forgotten all about you, but around noon he shows up at your door with an obnoxiously large rose bouquet, $100 bills worked into it somehow.
♡ "To get your hair and nails done. For tonight." he explains, insisting you take the money. It's a little over a grand.
♡ He doesn't leave without a kiss, and a promise to send a limo for you later that evening. With Derek, who knows where your date could be at. A restaurant? A concert? A strip club? All feasible options.
♡ Turns out he was feeling a little more sappy than that, and you find yourself at the very establishment you met him at just over a year ago.
♡ After dinner he gives you another present, some extremely revealing lingerie. He has a matching set, of course. They don't stay on for long.
Clapton
♡ Def the type of guy to slide you conversation hearts from across the lunch table. The little chalky candies with stuff like "luv u" and "kiss me" on them. Gets pouty if you don't say it back or actually give him a kiss.
♡ Gives you your favorite candy, along with a CD he burned for you. The playlist is a mix of both his and your favorite songs, most of them love songs.
♡ If you'll let him, he takes you out on a bowling date. Makes you promise if he gets three strikes you'll give him a kiss. (He only gets two and you kiss him anyways.)
♡ Walks you home, holding his skateboard in one hand and your own hand in his other. Doesn't mind that walking is slower, he's not gonna complain about more time with you.
♡ Ends the night by giving you his jacket. It's not remotely cold outside, he just thinks its hot when you wear his clothes. 🎀
Based on these dates, who r u going out with this Valentines day?
2.1k words
Tags: 18+, fem reader, somnophilia, free use, head (reader receiving), pre-established relationship, morning sex, pussy sniffing, edging sorta?, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie <3
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Mike Schmidt is used to his sleep being interrupted. Whether it be nightmares, the annoying screech of an alarm, or even his own sister, he can't ever seem to catch a break when it comes to sleeping.
What he's not used to, however, is waking up to someone else in his bed. Someone else… shaking him? No, that's not right. What are you doing?
He finally opens his tired eyes, twisting to look over his shoulder and catch a glimpse of you as you cling to his back. His breathing slows, and the memories of last night flood back all at once. Right. He has a girlfriend now. Mike isn't sure he's ever going to get used to that.
"What is it, hun?" He asks, absentmindedly patting the leg you've thrown over him as you continue to lightly shake him awake.
When there's no response, he frowns, squinting at you in an attempt to make out your face in the dimly lit room.
Shit, are you… asleep? The realization hits him like a ton of bricks, and suddenly the "shaking" makes a lot more sense. You're not trying to wake him up. You aren't even awake yourself. You're fucking grinding on him in your sleep.
Mike lets out a guttural groan at the thought, closing his eyes and giving the plush skin of your thigh a squeeze as you continue to desperately hump his leg.
Fuck. He swears he can feel how wet you are even through your panties.
For a minute, he just lies there with his hand on you, letting you cling to him from behind and rock your core against his leg. Should he wake you? Or stay still and let you use him to get off? He only hopes you're dreaming about his cock. And shit, that thought has him stiffening in his boxers.
Past conversations flicker through his mind, and a shiver runs down his spine at the memory of you nipping at his neck and softly begging him to do the very thing he's trying to hold himself back from. Fucking you while you're asleep? It just seems... wrong.
Then again, you'd been not-so-subtly hinting to him that you wanted to try it for practically your whole relationship. Mike's face goes red hot as your words echo in his mind.
You all but begged him to fuck you in your sleep, dirty fantasies whispered in his ear during the heat of the moment more times than he could count. Mike knew very well you'd do almost anything for him.
And, well, if you're dreaming about him, he can't very well leave you hanging, can he? You deserve the real deal. It's his job to make sure you're satisfied, isn't it?
With a deep breath, Mike gently pries you from his body. A gentle nudge has you on your back, allowing him to peel away the blankets and get a better look at your sleeping form. The first few rays of morning sun peek through the blinds, highlighting your figure in a soft warm glow.
You're so pretty like this. Mike can't help but sit up and admire you, watching you squirm and whine on his bed. He absentmindedly rubs at his hardening cock through his shorts, grinding the heel of his hand against his length. He can't help himself, he knows it should be YOU getting off right now, but this view is just too good.
Not good enough. His other hand tugs at your panties, slowly, gently, trying his best not to wake you.
No, he's sure now that you need to stay asleep. You deserve to rest, to be taken care of. There's no reason to wake you.
He loses all interest in his own pleasure once your panties come off- going dizzy at the sight of you dripping on his sheets. Holy shit. THAT wet for him? How long had you been teasing yourself in your unconscious state before he'd finally woken up?
Fuck. Doesn't matter. He quietly lowers himself into position, struggling to go slow in an attempt not to wake you. Strong arms wrap around your thighs, spreading you open so his tongue can do the heavy lifting.
He wants to taste you, but can't resist the urge to smell you first. His eyes flutter shut as his nose buries between your folds, just barely nudging your clit as he inhales deeply.
Even with just the barest flicker of contact to your sensitive spot, your thighs start to tense in his arms. It was clear you wanted this, needed this, needed him.
"You're fuckin' lucky to have me," he whispers, the words getting lost in the soft wet licking sounds as he begins to lap at your wet pussy. You taste so familiar, so warm, like home. He closes his eyes and gets lost in you, groaning into your core as your taste and smell overwhelm his senses.
You may not be awake to instruct him, to guide him with a fistful of his hair like usual, but Mike's sure his performance is more than adequate as you start to lightly buck your hips against his face.
A quick glance up at you tells him you're still asleep, if only barely so. He gently circles your clit with his tongue, preening over the small hum it earns from you.
Your eyes dart rapidly under your eyelids, almost fluttering open as Mike's tongue movements grow more rapid. Fuck, you'd better be dreaming about him.
Mike knows he should finish you off. Put you out of your misery. His poor girl, who knows how long that pathetic attempt to get off on his leg had lasted? Still, he doesn't want this to end so soon.
Something about having you under his control, knowing he could make you cum at any moment, was just so delicious. Mercy be damned, he was going to enjoy this. Play with his pretty little toy till you wake up or gush all over his face. Whichever came first.
Gingerly, still scared to wake you, he prods at your entrance with a thick middle finger. It slides in perfectly, your pussy greedily taking what's offered. For a few moments, Mike just pulls away and stares, hypnotized by the way you perfectly swallow each thrust of his hand.
Usually, you'd be mumbling some kind of praise or thanks right now. Always so grateful when he ate you out, like it was an inconvenience, a favor, something that put you in his debt. Maybe if you could see just how hard his cock was, you'd realize the truth.
Mike enjoyed this just as much as, (if not more than) you.
The throbbing in his boxers made that painfully obvious to Mike as he latched onto your clit, giving it the faintest teasing tug with his lips. Your cunt clenched around his finger in response, hard. That close still, huh? He'd have to be careful.
He focused his attention inside. Quick, shallow thrusts of his hand had your walls fluttering around his finger in a way that made his dick jealous. Before you could tip over the edge, Mike took his hand away, groaning at the strand of slick that still connected his finger to your cunt. Like you didn't want to let him go.
Are you even asleep at this point? Mike spares a glance up at your face as he licks every trace of your taste off his hand. Somehow, you still seemed to be unconscious, through everything. He could imagine you faking it, pretending to be helpless knowing he'd do all the work for you. And he would, too. Mike would always take care of his pretty girl.
Still, he has to know for sure. It takes a little maneuvering, but in a few moments he's positioned over you, using all his willpower not to grind his stiff bulge into your pussy.
"Gonna fuck you, princess," he whispers, lips ghosting against the shell of your ear as he plants a quick kiss to the side of your head. No response.
Mike decides to push his luck even further, hiking your legs up on his shoulders and folding you over into an absolutely filthy mating press. He was so worked up from teasing you he couldn't even be bothered to fully kick off his underwear, simply pulling it down around his thighs as he lined himself up with your entrance. His poor cock was red-tipped and leaking precum that soaked him down to the base. A perfect match for your own soaked pussy.
It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to finish. You started creaming around his cock after just a few shallow thrusts, pussy convulsing and milking every drop of cum from him. Mike swears he saw your eyes flutter open for a moment as your orgasm hit, shallow breaths and small whimpers music to his ears as he rode out the high.
As his pulse settled and dick softened, Mike melted into the bed next to you. He wasn't going to worry about clean up yet, not wanting to waste this time with you. No, he'd just throw a blanket over you both and worry about it later. Out of sight, out of mind.
Part of him couldn't believe you were still fucking sleeping after all his effort. Maybe he'd been working you too hard lately, or maybe you'd just built a tolerance over the months of sharing a bed with him. You may have mentioned his tendency to toss and turn in his sleep a few times. Oops. Was he that bad?
Mike wraps a strong arm around your torso, picking you up and guiding you to rest on his chest, no longer worried about the possibility of waking you. He drifted back off to sleep holding you in his arms, whispering a quick "thank you, baby".
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
When you finally wake up a couple hours later, Mike just smiles and nods as you tell him about the "wet dream" you had. He's content to lay there with you all morning, stroking your hair and listening to you babble into his chest.
"It felt so real, Mikey. You don't understand." You sigh longingly, tilting your head and focusing sleepy eyes on his.
Mike got the hint from your bedroom eyes alone. The pleading little pout was definitely overkill. Any other morning, he would have fallen victim right away, eagerly scrambling to undress you and lay claim to that perfect body.
However, with earlier satisfaction to tide him over, he had time to tease.
"Oh? I wouldn't understand?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"No!" you insist, shaking your head vehemently. "I don't think I've ever had a dream that strong. I... I think I might have actually..."
Mike just chuckles as you squirm in his arms, eyes going glassy and glazed over as you recall the vivid dream.
"Why are you so damn smug, Michael?" Your demeaner shifts in an instant, playfully nipping at his neck in mock anger. "It was dream Mike who made me cum. You're just lying here like a lump."
He scoffs and grabs at your wrist, pulling away the accusatory finger jabbing into his chest. "You sure about that sweetheart? Didn't you go to bed with panties on?"
For a moment, you just freeze. Mike watches the gears turn in your head as you make the connection, his smile only growing more smug. He had been wondering how long it'd take for you to notice his cum dripping down your thighs.
"Mike! You... you didn't..." gasping, you scan his face for any sign of dishonesty. Was this really happening? Did he really use you while you were asleep?
The chuckle that slips through his lips solidifies it for you, and suddenly you're very aware of just how bare your lower half is. That bastard.
Not that you didn't want it, oh the contrary. This was a dream. Literally. But the fact he'd let you gush over your wet dream to him in detail? Without telling you the truth?
Oh, that deserved punishment.
"Why didn't you tell me?" you squeal, sitting up and slamming a pillow onto his face with both hands.
Finally, Mike can't hold back anymore, and laughs. A true, genuine laugh that you only get to hear in rare moments of joy like this. Even muffled as it is through the pillow, it makes you smile.
He lets you feel like you're in control for all of sixty seconds, only using half his strength to push back against you as you smother him triumphantly.
In one quick, decisive swoop, Mike ends the little play wrestling match by flipping you over. He's on top of you now, forehead pressed against yours as he whispers mere centimeters from your lips.
"M'not letting you sleep through round two, sweetheart."
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Reminder that you should follow me on @stop-talking-vtwo if you only want to be updated for new fic drops and not my shitposts <3
Wait imagine listening to music with clapton while in detention.. like sharing earbuds with him while yall sit in silence🫢 and then a cringe song comes on at the wrong time LMAO
BLESS YOU anon this is so cute
Saturday School
Clapton Davis x gender-neutral reader
Word count: 2k
Tags: fluff, a little cringe, romantic tension, older Clapton & younger reader
------------------------------------------------
You'd managed to get through nearly 12 years of schooling without getting sentenced to detention.
Unfortunately, today resets your streak. Only a measly two weeks at this shitty school and you've already gotten yourself into trouble. Just your luck, huh?
God damnit. Surely, this is going to be absolute hell. I mean, it isn't even a regular after-school detention, but Saturday school.
As you take a seat in the meticulously-arranged circle of desks in the library, you spare a glance at the other students. You vaguely recognize some of them... the goth chick looks familiar, at least.
They all seem disinterested, so you copy their aloof attitudes and lean back in your chair. Yeah... that seems right. Just do what everyone else does, and maybe you'll survive this.
Suddenly, the door bursts open and slams against the wall. You turn to look, and see the principal himself storm through, dragging a boy in by the ear.
Oh great. Finally, someone you recognize, and it's motherfucking Clapton Davis.
"It's not fair! I don't even HAVE Saturday school!" He whines, wincing as he's roughly shoved towards an empty desk. The desk right next to you. Wonderful.
"Should have thought about that before coming to school on a Saturday." The older man growls, giving him what he probably thinks is an intimidating look. Honestly, he just looks silly.
Clapton groans, slinking back in the desk and letting out an exaggerated huff that blows his bangs around.
God, can't that guy just be normal? You only just transferred here and already you know almost everything about him. Not by choice... obviously. He's just somehow the center of attention wherever he goes. Even in goddamn Saturday school.
"And as for the rest of you..." The principal continues his rant, glaring at the small circle of students. No, prisoners.
"Just remember. I have eyes and ears everywhere. EVERYWHERE."
With one final less-than-intimidating-glare, the man stomps out, closing the door behind him. Is that it? He's just going to leave you here in a roomful of delinquents with nothing but a vague threat to keep you all in check?
You glance around at the other students, but no one says anything. Hm. Maybe that's normal. You have no idea, so you just lay your head down on your desk, determined to get through this mess as simply as possible.
Turns out, that sentiment might prove to be more challenging than you thought. You hear a quiet "thud", and shift slightly, peeking an eye to your left to see what the noise was. Are you crazy, or does Clapton look... closer?
Nope. Not crazy. With another soft thud, he scoots his desk over again, inching it closer to yours.
"Pssst." He whispers, extending a leg out to nudge your foot. He's less than a yard from you at this point. Though you can't see the other students with your head buried in your arms, you're sure they've noticed. Damnit. Why did this jackass have to draw attention to you?
"What do you want?" You grumble, shifting on the desk so he can see your face, but still trying to stay hidden from the other students.
"I haven't seen you around before. You new?" He gives you a sheepish grin, eyes flickering with mischief as he takes you in.
"Yeah." You respond dismissively, giving him a flat stare. Please just pick on someone else, Clapton Davis.
"Cool, cool..." He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling.
You watch as he restlessly taps his feet and tries to balance on two legs of his chair. He's so high-strung. Like a chihuahua. Small like one too. Hah. The thought makes you smile, which he unfortunately notices and takes as a sign of interest. Damnit.
"So... what are you in for?" He asks, treating the exchange like you're two inmates. Honestly, it's a fair comparison.
"I, uh... Accidentally lit my teacher on fire."
With a crash, Clapton tips back in his chair completely, hitting the floor. Hard.
"You WHAT?"
The sudden noise makes you jolt upright, and you can feel a blush creeping up your neck as the other students turn to stare.
"Accidentally!" You protest weakly, hanging your head in shame as Clapton scrambles to his feet.
"How the fuck do you 'accidentally' set someone on fire?" A dark-haired boy across from you scoffs, and a few other people voice similar questions.
"Okay so... Mr Jones's sleeve caught fire while giving me a demonstration with the bunsen burner..." You start, taking a deep breath and staring down at your desk to calm your nerves.
"I panicked and doused it with a vial of the closest liquid... apparently an extremely flammable liquid..."
"Is THAT why he went home early Friday?" A blonde girl asks, letting out a shrill laugh, like that of a hyena.
"Woah. Sick." The goth-looking girl just nods in approval before lying her head back down on the desk.
Before you can give any kind of response, you feel your desk jostle as Clapton's slams into it. Apparently he'd taken the initiative to get a little closer while everyone was distracted by your story.
"So, Grizzly Lake High has a new pyromaniac, huh?" He teases, propping his elbow up on the desk and resting his chin on his fist as he grins stupidly at you.
"New?" You scoff. "You mean you had an old one?"
"Hey, there's a lot of weirdoes here." He shrugs.
"Yeah... I can tell."
He pouts and tries to feign offence as you pointedly look him up and down. God, what a stupid fucking face.
"You're not in any of my classes, are you, newbie?"
"No. I'm a Junior."
"Ah. Well, maybe we'll have some together next year."
"Next year? Aren't you a Senior?"
"Yeah, but with the way my grades are looking..." He grimaces, shaking his head sadly.
"...you might be a Senior again next year?" You finish for him.
"Yeah."
"Bummer."
An awkward silence settles between the two of you, and Clapton starts to squirm, looking as if he wants to say something else.
"How'd you end up here? In Saturday school, I mean." You ask, if only to cut the tension. Not because you actually care.
"Oh." His face falls, clearly annoyed just thinking about it.
"Principal Verge confiscated my skateboard Friday... I was supposed to get it back at the end of the day, but I ended up getting detention... By the time I was done, he'd already left and locked It up in his office."
"Sooo... you came to steal it back?"
"Not steal! There's sometimes a few teachers here on weekends... I was just gonna ask one of them..." He mumbles, hanging his head.
"But stupid Verge caught me 'sneaking around' and threw me in Saturday school."
"Oh, so he just has it out for you, huh?" You tease.
"Exactly!" He hisses back, eyes wide with excitement.
"People just don't understand. I'm not a troublemaker... just unlucky."
Unlucky? He seems pretty damn lucky to you. Everyone likes Clapton Davis. Everyone but you, it seems.
"Pfft. Maybe you could try being quiet and sitting still for once." You muse, trying to hold back a smirk. He might be onto something though, honestly. He's a total trouble magnet... which is why you should probably just put your head back down and ignore him.
"Hey!" He pouts, feigning hurt as he reaches into his pocket.
"And to think, I was gonna offer to share..."
This piques your interest, and you lean closer to him, trying to get a glimpse of the object he's fiddling with under his desk. An iPhone. Great.
"Won't that just get you in more trouble?"
He rolls his eyes in return. "Look around. I'm not the only one."
Sure enough, when you look more closely at some of the other students... yep, at least half of them are on their phones. The way they slump over the desks sort-of hides it, but once you knew what to look for... damn. He's right.
"Why? What's even the point of Saturday school, then?" You're completely baffled by this revelation, shaking your head.
"What's the point of school at all?" He counters, shrugging and popping an earbud into his ear. His wired headphones are extremely tangled, but he offers you the other earbud anyways.
"So, wanna share?"
Damnit. You really shouldn't. But you hadn't brought your own phone, and fuck, that grin of his...
"Fine. What do you have on there?" You sigh and accept the earbud, scooting closer to him so it'll actually reach your ear. There's not much slack with how tangled they are, so the two of you are nearly cheek to cheek as you hunch in your seats and peer down at his phone.
"Here, I'll turn on my playlist."
He fiddles with the little phone, and you can feel his breath mixing with yours as he speaks. Eventually he gets some music playing, but you can hardly hear it over the beating of your own heart.
"What do you think? You like 90s stuff?" Clapton smiles warmly, turning to face you.
His smile is contagious, and you can't help but let your gaze flicker down to his lips... just for a moment. He's so close, his mouth just inches from your own.
"Uh, yeah. I-I mean, who doesn't?" You mumble lamely, feeling a familiar heat creep up your neck and tinge your cheeks. Fuck. He's not that cute, get yourself together!!
"I know, right?" Apparently that's the right answer, because he turns his attention back to the phone, scrolling through his playlist and pointing out his favorite songs.
His music taste isn't bad, actually. You find yourself nodding at his choices, and soon you begin to forget where you are. The other students fade into the background, and Saturday school starts to feel a little less grim.
That is, until the song changes and the vibe is completely thrown off. What the hell is this? Your brow furrows and you try to make out the nonsense lyrics.
Cat? I'm a kitty cat.
And I dance dance dance
And I dance dance dance
Cat? I'm a kitty cat.
And I dance dance dance
And I dance dance dance
The lyrics repeat over and over, and Clapton nearly drops his phone in his scramble to change the song. In his rush, he gets his password wrong over and over, making it impossible to fix.
"Clapton, why the hell is this on your playlist?" You ask, putting a hand to your mouth in a failing attempt to stifle a giggle.
"I-it's catchy, alright??" He mumbles, still trying to change the song. He gets his password wrong for, like, the tenth time, and it locks him out of his phone for thirty seconds, leaving you both stuck with the nonsensical cat lyrics ringing in your ears.
You try to keep your composure, but when the man singing the song starts meowing, you completely lose it and throw yourself onto your desk in a fit of laughter.
Unfortunately for Clapton, you accidentally tug the headphone cord with you, unplugging it from his phone. As you bury your head in your arms and laugh uncontrollably, the silly cat song starts blasting out loud for the whole room to hear.
And he can't even do anything about it, because he's still locked out of his phone for the next 20 seconds.
"S-sorry!" He shouts, trying to cram his phone into his backpack to shut it up.
You can feel all eyes on the two of you, but this whole situation is so utterly ridiculous, you don't even mind the attention. A few other kids snicker, and you can't help but feel a little bad for him.
Your remorse fades as soon as the principal throws the door open, immediately turning his attention to you and Clapton.
"Both of you!" He roars, pointing an accusing finger. "Detention on Monday! And Tuesday!"
Damnit. You knew this boy was trouble, and yet...? As the cat song finally stops, you meet Clapton's gaze, a sheepish smile plastered across his face.
Maybe spending a little more time with him wouldn't be so bad.
------------------------------------------------
Author's Note: Sorry if it wasn't fluffy enough...? I mean, the reader kind of hates him at first, and they don't even kiss... But the request was really funny, and I love putting Jhutch characters in awkward situations <3
Maybe I'll write a sequel? Probably not, though. Sorry it took so long to write, also. I wrote half of it and then let it sit in my drafts for weeks before writing the other half.
Hope y'all enjoyed, feel free to send in more requests!! I'll get to them eventually, even if it takes weeks. <3
Tags: 18+ Josh x g!n reader, smut, no use of y/n, slight angst, pre-established relationship, reader is called "babe", porn with (slight) plot, pre-show, handjob & oral (josh recieving), unprotected sex, vague penetration (reader receiving), Josh is a sub, reader is a little whiny & needy as well
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────
You wake up to an empty bed. Again.
Squinting, you check the time on the digital clock sitting on your boyfriend's nightstand.
Nearly 2am. Three hours past the time he promised to come to sleep.
You huff in annoyance and throw the blankets off, heading to the door. It's no secret where he is, or what he's doing right now. What he's always doing.
Josh sits on the couch, laughing and chatting with his stupid little internet friends. He hasn't heard you sneak up behind him, not with his headphones on.
For a few moments, you just stand behind the couch, fuming and watching him play whatever game he's been obsessing over lately.
This is, what? The THIRD time in a row? You'd only been dating him around half a year, sure, but damn. When he invites you to sleep over, is it really so crazy to expect him to actually sleep with you?
"Forget about me again?" You finally speak up, placing a hand on his shoulder and startling him so bad he nearly drops his controller.
"Fuck, BABE, don't do that." He cries out, shooting you a quick look of shock and anger while he adjusts his headset.
Seriously? He's just going to leave one ear hanging out and turn right back to his stupid game?
You bite your tongue and take a few breaths to prevent yourself from saying anything you'll regret, but as you stare down at him... you're struck with an idea.
"I know I'm up a little late, sorry." He mumbles, only half paying attention to you as you make your way around the couch.
"It's just- my friends needed me for this raid, thought it would be quick..."
"It's okay." You lie, taking a seat next to him on the couch and trying to keep up a warm demeaner you aren't really feeling.
Josh visibly relaxes at your words, melting back into the couch and leaning against you slightly as he plays his game.
"I figured, if you aren't going to come to bed, I'll just come hang out with you."
He flashes you a quick smile, but it immediately fades as one of his friends shouts something over the line, and he turns back to the TV.
You can only vaguely make out what they're saying to him. Usually it's insults, screaming, or some kind of cry for help. So annoying. Can't he see you need him more?
Josh's eyes go wide as your hand suddenly squeezes his thigh.
"Babe?" He gasps, reaching up to turn off his mic. "What are you doing?"
God, he's so cute when he squirms like that. You move your hand a little higher, giving his inner thigh another solid squeeze.
"Shh, baby. Focus on your game." As you whisper in his ear, you let your hand wander further, brushing against the growing bulge in his pants. Aww, he's so sensitive.
He hesitates for a moment, clearly torn between wanting to play his game and wanting more of... whatever you're about to do to him.
His friends make the decision for him, yelling something through the headset that makes him snap his attention back to the TV.
"Y-yeah, I'm here. Right behind you guys."
You smirk and slide off the couch, settling down on your knees in front of him.
He glances down at you nervously as you spread his legs, trying and failing to maintain composure with his friends on the line.
So fucking cute. You start to grope him through his pants, feeling up and down his hardening cock. His squirming makes it all worth it. Josh Futturman isn't a bad boyfriend, not really. He's just... easily distracted.
Speaking of which... it seems he's finally giving in to your little distraction, because he sets the controller down and reaches to take off his headphones.
"Don't." You grab his wrist firmly, stopping him.
"Keep playing. That's what you want, right? To win your little game?"
He bites his lip as you start aggressively palming his bulge, desperately trying to hold back his usual slew of whimpers and moans.
"I... I don't..."
You shush him, and guide his hand back to the controller.
"You've been playing for hours. No sense in giving up now. Win for me. Can you do that?"
Nodding, he picks up the controller and sinks back onto the couch. His eyes nervously flicker down to look at you, but his attention is still torn between you and his game.
"Your friends still on the line?" You ask, unzipping his jeans and starting to tug them down.
Another nod. He lifts his hips, eager to be undressed.
"Better be quiet then."
"Can't I just-" He reaches up and wraps his hand around the mic, effectively muting himself. "-do this?"
Before you can tell him no, his friends yell something over the line, and his eyes snap back to the TV, absorbed in his game once more.
"I-I got it." He stammers, clearly stressing. A couple beads of sweat drip down his face, and his hair is sticking to his forehead.
"Just play your game... and try not to be too loud."
This is going better than you imagined. His dick is practically jumping in his boxers as you grope him, and all his words are short and clipped as he struggles to maintain composure.
You wait until he's in the middle of a sentence, then lean down and gently bite at his clothed cock. He reacts exactly as you'd hoped, letting out a short yelp that turns into a moan.
"S-sorry. Stubbed my toe..." He mumbles lamely into the mic, giving you a glare that immediately melts away when you rub circles onto his tip.
There's a wet spot beginning to form in his boxers from how much he's leaking. This must be torture for him. Too bad you aren't even close to finished with him yet.
You peel down his boxers, letting his cock spring free. In turn, he slumps a little lower onto the couch, letting out a sharp breath as it slaps against his stomach.
"Just be quiet for me." You whisper, wrapping a hand around his base and taking the tip in your mouth.
As you look up at him through your eyelashes, he meets your gaze, completely frozen. He nearly loses it when you swirl your tongue around his tip, squirming and biting his lip to keep quiet.
It's almost sad that he has to hold back. You've always loved the pathetic little sounds he makes when he's inside you. Oh well, this is what he gets for ignoring you all the damn time.
Fueled by a little bit of anger and more than a little lust, you start to bob your head, lips meeting the top of your fist.
He lets out a shaky breath, placing a hand on the back of your head in a desperate attempt to pull you down further.
That's not right. He should be playing his game. You pull off of his dick slowly, making a lewd popping sound.
"Have you won for me yet?" You tease, meeting his eyes and moving your hand up and down his spit-covered length.
That's it. That little comment seems to break him, because he sets down the controller and rips his headset off, tossing it aside.
"Don't care - FUCK - don't care about the game right now..." He groans, unable to get out a complete sentence without cursing or whimpering.
"Oh? You sure? Because I can leave you be and let you focus..."
He whines when you stop moving your hand, bucking his hips up into it.
"Please don't go."
His discarded headphones suddenly roar with noise, his friends screaming about something in the game. You pick them up and smirk at Josh as you speak into the mic.
"Sorry boys, he's busy."
You flick them off, then toss them aside again as Josh sputters.
"W-why'd you have to say that? That's fucking embarrassing."
"No, what's embarrassing is how many times I've actually believed you when you say you'll go to bed with me." You snap back, pouting and climbing up onto his lap.
As you straddle him, he finally seems to give you his full attention. He clears his throat, noticing your outfit for the first time. A t-shirt and underwear. More specifically, his t-shirt.
"I've missed you, Josh."
He immediately melts under your touch, letting go of whatever anger had built up.
"I'm sorry."
Looking into his eyes, you can tell he really means it. You cup his face and lean in in close, pressing your forehead to his.
"I'm still mad at you." You whisper, absolutely lying.
"I'm really sorry." He tries again, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close.
"Still don't forgive you."
Josh whines as you start to pepper kisses down his neck. At this point, he can probably tell you're just toying with him, but he's too damn horny to care.
"Really really sorry?" He mumbles, throwing his head back to allow you better access to his neck.
"It's not that easy." You tease, giving his neck a solid bite and starting to softly grind on his lap.
He just whines in response, mind too clouded with lust to think straight at this point.
"Need you to fuck the forgiveness out of me. Can you do that?"
Josh nods, moaning as you suck circles into his neck. He's already lost this fight, giving in to you completely. As he should.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
You lie impatiently on his bed, already naked and ready for him. He seems to be taking his sweet time undressing, so you urge him on.
"I need you." You whine, squirming on the bed.
That's all he needs to hear. In seconds, he's on top of you, trailing kisses down your neck.
You wrap your arms tightly around him, sliding a hand up into his hair and gently tugging on it. He takes the hint, bringing his face up to yours and kissing your lips.
He's so eager to taste you. His tongue is in your mouth before you can even kiss him back. Not that you mind. It's endearing.
"Fuck, Josh." You pant as he finally pulls away to catch his breath.
"If you don't put it in me right this second, I'm never going to forgive you."
He lets out a breathless laugh as you tug at his hips, but doesn't waste any time. After lining himself up with your entrance, he slides it in with ease.
"You feel amazing." He stares down at you with those lovesick puppy eyes of his, completely losing himself inside you.
Now that he's finally giving you the attention you've been craving, you're starting to lose it as well.
"Faster." You choke out, gasping from the sensation of being filled. He's usually so sweet and gentle, but tonight you need all of him. Everything he can offer.
His brow furrows in concentration as he goes ever-so-slightly faster.
"Josh." You cup a hand on his cheek, looking up at him with pure desperation in your eyes.
"Fuck me stupid. If I can still walk after this, you're not forgiven."
That makes him blush deeply. It's silly honestly, how he can be so nervous about his performance when he's all you've ever wanted. All you've ever needed.
"A-are you sure?"
"Fuck. Me. Harder."
He complies, moaning and jutting his hips a little more roughly. You cry out with pleasure and grip his hips, pulling him into you further with every thrust.
Once he sees how much you're enjoying it, he goes even harder, making the bed creak and the headboard slap against the wall. You almost can't even hear it, though, over the sound of your own moans.
The way you call out his name only encourages him further, and soon tears are dripping from your eyes.
"Fuck... I'm close..." You whine, tightening your grip on him.
Your admission makes him nearly lose it, hips stuttering as he lets out a sharp moan.
"Please cum with me. Please." He begs breathlessly.
You do so almost immediately, trembling and crying out his name as he pumps hot ropes of cum into you.
"Fuck... missed that so much... missed you so much." He mumbles, collapsing on top of you and panting.
You feel him nuzzle into your neck and you card your fingers through his hair for a minute while you regain composure. Your heart is still racing, and you can feel his cum leaking out of you. Thank god you're making a mess of his bed and not yours.
"You could have fucked me like this at any time." You remind him, a hint of bitterness in your tone. Yes, this was supposed to be apology sex, but it also served as a reminder of what you had been missing out on.
"Damnit. Can you still walk? Do I need to try again so you'll forgive me?" He laughs softly, playfully nipping at your neck and squeezing you tight.
"Mmm... yeah... It's been, what? Three weeks since we last did this?" You muse, humming happily at his touch. It's so hard to stay mad at him.
"So I think I deserve three weeks worth of make-up sex."
Josh nearly chokes at that.
"Three weeks? How much stamina do you think I have?" He laughs again and starts to pepper your face with affectionate kisses.
"We'll have to see, wont we?" You tease, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him back down against you.
"You're going to be the death of me."
"Hey, It'll be a fun death."
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
Josh never ended up giving up his late night gaming sessions. And you never expected him to, not really. But now you have an ace up your sleeve.
Sometimes, on nights when you really need him, you place a hand on his thigh while he's gaming. It's a small gesture that he's learned means "turn the game off RIGHT NOW or I will make you regret it."
He never regrets what happens afterwards.
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────
Author's note: RAHH thanks so much for 100 followers!! I wanted to write a quick little smut piece to celebrate, but this ended up taking all day. Oops.
(Totally worth it because I love Futturman)
This was my first attempt at a gender neutral reader, and I think I executed it pretty well. Please shoot me a message/comment/ask if I missed something.
Tags: 18+, age gap, reader is 20, no use of y/n, smoking, shotgunning, brat tamer Derek, bratty reader, filthy shit, porn that's mostly plot, grinding, clit stimulation, Derek has dirty thoughts, (duh), idk just read it this is mostly buildup to smut
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Derek stumbles into his private study tired, high, and eager to take a break from the party raging in the rest of his mansion. He often retires to this room, as no one is allowed here but himself. Not even the maids.
So why is there a pretty young woman lounging in his recliner?
No, not lounging... you look far too tense for that. In fact, you don't even seem to notice his presence at all until he's towering over you.
"I believe this is my seat, sweetheart." He says, trying to keep his voice firm and suppress a smirk as he takes a hit of his blunt.
You scramble up from the chair immediately, squeaking out a quiet apology.
Ah, so you know who he is. AND you listen. That's good.
Derek chuckles to himself as he plops down in the plush lounge chair, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips.
You apparently don't know what to do yourself after the little evection, simply staring at your feet and tugging on the hem of your dangerously tiny dress.
Fuck, you look good.
"Oh, c'mon. Don't be like that. We can share." Derek pats the armrest of his chair, giving you what he hopes in an inviting smile.
After a few seconds of simply blinking at him in shock, you shyly make your way over and take a seat on the armrest. Your arm hooks around the top of the chair as you get comfortable, but you're careful not to touch him.
Derek can't help but smirk slightly at your timid nature. Is he really that scary? Whatever. He'll take it as a compliment.
"So, does she speak?" He asks after another slow hit of his joint. You look so pretty through the dim smoky haze.
"Not much." You admit, fixing your gaze on your lap in an attempt to avoid eye contact.
Derek looks at your lap too, but quickly has to turn his attention elsewhere. Fuck. That dress really is too short.
"Something tells me you're sober." He teases, waving his blunt in front of you.
That earns him a nod, so he pushes further.
"Want me to fix that, sweet girl? Looks like you need to relax a little."
You pause for a moment, then reach for his blunt. He pulls it away from you with a sharp tsk.
"Not like that. Open up for me, doll."
Your eyes widen with surprise as he brings a hand up to cup your face. He takes a long pull from his joint, enjoying the pretty little look you give him.
When he gently tugs at your bottom lip with his thumb, you obediently open your mouth, leaning down towards him.
His lips meet yours, and he exhales a lungful of hot smoke, depositing it directly into your own mouth. You eagerly take everything he gives you, melting into his touch. He can't help but want to give you more.
"Derek..." You whisper, eyes fluttering open as you stare down at him with a blissed-out look. Oh, that definitely relaxed you.
"Yes, doll?" He has to fight to suppress a smirk as he slowly tucks an arm around your lower back. In a failing attempt to be respectful, he lets his hand rest on your outer thigh, instead of shoving it right between your legs like he truly wants.
"Can you do that again?" You ask sweetly, leaning in a little closer now.
How could he ever say no to you?
"Only if you answer something for me, sweetheart." He practically purrs, gently caressing your cheek with the hand that's still holding the blunt. He's careful not to burn you, as the last thing he'd want to do is mark up that pretty face of yours.
Your neck, though...? No, he shouldn't go there. Not yet.
You hum a response, leaning into the touch and closing your eyes. One of your legs slips down from the armrest, falling on his lap instead.
Whether it's intentionally seductive or simply a sign you're growing more comfortable with him, Derek can't tell. He welcomes the touch either way, tugging you just a little closer with the arm he has around you.
"How'd a pretty girl like you end up all alone at a party, hm? Surely someone out there is missing you."
There. A not-so-subtle question. Is the little trespasser single? Not that it really matters. He'll have you either way.
"Oh, uh... I dunno... I was just feeling overwhelmed, and... well, I've been to parties before, just..."
After a minute of stumbling over your words, Derek waves a hand, cutting you off and putting you out of your misery.
"Just not a Danforth party?" He finishes for you, chuckling.
You flush a bit and nod, clearly embarrassed. Hm. You hadn't exactly answered his question, but, well... If you are in a relationship, it clearly isn't that serious. Not with how you're halfway to sitting on his lap.
"C'mere, sweetheart. You need to relax. It's overwhelming out there, huh?" He speaks softly, pulling you ever-so-slightly closer and giving your thigh a light pat.
Your arms slips around his shoulders in return, and he takes one final pull from his rapidly shrinking blunt in an attempt to hide his smugness. God, you're so damn eager. It's endearing.
After dropping the remnants of his joint in a nearby ashtray, he pulls you down to meet his lips again. You graciously accept his breath, and Derek swears he hears a moan spill from your pretty mouth.
"Feel better?" He asks, cradling your face in his hand.
You stare down at him with pure admiration, inching even closer as your eyes glaze over. The weed is clearly starting to take effect.
"What? You wanna take a seat, sweet girl?" Derek pats his lap, and apparently, that's all the invitation you need.
Before he knows it, you're situated sideways across his legs, with your arm still hooked around his neck.
He lets out a breathy laugh and tucks both his arms around you in return, one around your lower back and one just behind your knees.
Now that you're all up close and personal, he finally gets a good look at you. Fuck, you look young. His heart starts to race for a moment, irrationally fearing the worst. He knows there's a strict 18+ rule for all of his little parties, but still... couldn't hurt to check.
"Just how old are you, doll?"
"Twenty. Why?" You blink at him curiously, making yourself comfortable against his chest.
Shit. Okay. Twenty. That's not... too bad, right? His brow furrows, and he grips your thigh a little tighter as he pulls you close.
You must pick up on his hesitation, because you cup his cheek with your free hand and gently turn his head to look at you.
"Why? How old are you?"
"Take a guess, sweetheart."
Your faces scrunches adorably as you study him, and Derek has to hold in a laugh.
"Like... twenty-five?"
"Hm. You must be higher than I thought." He finally allows himself a small chuckle, taking your hand from his face and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it before lacing your fingers with his.
"That or you're just trying to flatter me."
You flush a bit at the kiss, but don't seem too phased otherwise, giggling softly and avoiding his gaze.
"How old are you, then?"
"I'm twenty-eight, sweetheart. You're practically a baby." Derek lets out an amused huff, squeezing your hand a little tighter as he slumps back in the recliner.
If you're surprised by that realization, you don't let it show. Instead, your free hand finds its way into his hair, lightly tugging at a handful of his curls.
"Yeah? And you practically have one foot in the grave, old man."
Derek should be mad at that. Both at the sudden intimate touch, and your disrespectful words. But looking into your eyes, seeing you smile at him like that? God, it just melts him.
Of course, he isn't quite ready to let you get away with that little quip either, so he gives your exposed thigh a playful smack.
"Play nice, little girl." He growls, returning your sass.
That just gets another giggle out of you. He marvels at how much you've changed from the shy girl he met just minutes ago. Hm. Must be the weed.
"You haven't smoked before, have you?" He muses, voicing his observation. He's sure of it. That light in your eyes. It has to be your first high.
"I mean... not really." You stare down at him with a smile, mindlessly twirling a lock of his hair around your finger.
Alright, that's enough. At this rate, you're gonna make him soft for you.
"Okay, sweetheart. I'm gonna call you a ride home." He huffs in amusement, shifting and reaching into his pocket for his phone.
"What? Why?" You frantically tense your grasp on his hair, giving him a look of genuine hurt.
Ow. Derek grunts, grabbing your hand and gently prying it from his curls.
"I'm not letting you go back out into that party like this, pretty girl. Look at you. Practically naked, and higher than a kite." He playfully tsks at you, running a hand over your exposed thighs for emphasis.
Fuck, you really are one wardrobe malfunction away from exposing yourself. Part of him is tempted to peel back the fabric of your tight little dress and try to catch a glimpse of your panties... if you're even wearing any. He wouldn't be surprised if you'd decided to forgo them.
"Who says I want to go back out into the party?" You start inching up his lap, getting dangerously close to his crotch.
He knows he should probably push you off, call you a ride, and send you home. Maybe give you his phone number, if he's feeling bold. But he doesn't want you to leave. Not when you're so damn fun.
"Woah, woah. Careful, little girl." He gently nudges you back down to his legs, desperately trying to keep you off his awakening dick. It stirs slightly in his pants from the movement, and he tries to discreetly adjust himself with a hand.
"I want to stay here with you." You whisper, giving him a pleading look as you reach to cup his cheek once more.
"No." He says firmly, though his cock is screaming at him to say yes.
"You're too far gone for this, sweetheart. I shouldn't have given you that second puff."
Derek reaches for his phone once more, determined to call you a ride and get you home safely.
Before he can even unlock the damn thing, you snatch it from him, dropping it onto the floor and out of reach. He tries to protest, but his angry growl quickly turns into a moan as you position yourself over his straining cock.
"I. Want. To. Stay."
Derek's nails dig into your thigh in retaliation, and he grits his teeth in a failing attempt to bite back a groan.
"You don't know what you're asking for." He growls, roughly grabbing your jaw and pulling you in closer.
"Then show me."
He does.
Derek kisses you with as much force as he can muster, biting your bottom lip and tugging it down to allow his tongue access to your mouth. He takes over the kiss, trying to swallow you whole.
After a few minutes of oral abuse, you pull away, dazed and panting.
"Too much for you, sweetheart?" He teases, unable to fight back a chuckle.
"No," you pant, "not nearly enough." With that, you reach a hand down and grope at his clothed cock, eyes trained on his own.
Fuck.
Your intentions are now explicitly clear, and Derek can feel his mind and body pulled in two different directions. Logically, he knows this is probably wrong. But his dick doesn't care about logic, and his brain is quick to agree.
He lets out a low growl as you start palming him through his clothes, and finally decides to do something about it. Two can play at that game.
"Oh, you're trouble. Aren't you, little girl?" One hand roughly squeezes your thigh, and the other slips between them, working his way up.
"Hm-hm." You just hum in agreement, melting against his chest and nosing into his hair.
"Yeah? This what you want?" He asks, finally reaching your panties. Fuck, even through the fabric, he can tell you're absolutely soaked.
His thumb traces circles around your clit through your underwear, and the needy little sounds you make only encourage him further.
Derek can't help but think this is a perfect way to spend the evening. He'll sit here and help your rub one out till you cum in those pretty panties, then hold you till you fall asleep on his lap. It'll be a damn good nap, too, considering he'd given you some of his own joint earlier. Good shit.
And then after, well, he'd either call you a cab or have someone fix up a room for you. He wasn't going to let anything happen to his new toy.
"Want more."
Derek is pulled out of his contemplation as you squeeze his cock again, more urgently this time. He hisses a response, trying to stay firm.
"You'll take what I offer, doll." He pulls his hand from between your legs, and lightly smacks your thigh as a warning.
This doesn't seem to go over well with you, as you begin to pout and backtalk him.
"What, scared? Does this old thing even work anymore?" You taunt him with another tantalizing grind of your palm against his dick.
Okay, that's enough of that.
"You wanna test it out, sweetheart?" He growls, harshly grabbing your wrist to put a stop to your little tease game.
"Maybe I do." You giggle, blinking down at him with an false innocence that he might have fell for, had he not just felt how soaked your pussy is.
Christ. You really are trouble. Derek soon finds his hands on your hips, guiding you to straddle his lap. Maybe he could let you ride one out on his thigh. That wouldn't be so bad, right?
Or maybe he'd have to make yet another change to his plans. You start to slide up his lap, and in the blink of an eye, you're pressed right up against his straining cock.
"Look, little girl." He growls at you through gritted teeth, tightening his grip on your hips in an attempt to ground himself.
"I'm not gonna go easy on you."
"Good. I'm not scared."
Derek can feel every gentlemanly urge leaving his body at your words. Well, he had tried the respectful route. His resolve in the face of your teasing should be applauded, truly.
You start to desperately grind against him, and finally, he snaps. You've made it clear what you want from him, and he can't hold back from giving it to you any longer.
He's going to to fuck you absolutely dumb.
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Author's note: I'M SORRY TO LEAVE THIS OFF ON A CLIFFHANGER but I am currently too sleepy to write!! But I want y'all to have SOMETHING, so here's a little treat!!
Part two will 100% be out tomorrow, and it will (probably) be the only additional chapter. This was just supposed to be some quick smut, not a whole series.
(It'll also be from the reader's perspective, this whole scene just felt right in Derek's.)
LOVE YOU GUYS!! HOPE I DIDNT MISS ANYTHING TOO GLARINGLY BAD BECAUSE THIS IS BARELY EDITIED AND IM SLEEP DEPRIVED !!!
Your phone buzzes in your pocket for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is.
Who it always is.
With a sigh, you try and discreetly look at your phone underneath your desk. Opening messages from Derek while you're at work is always a gamble, considering he spends 90% of his time high, horny, or a mix of both.
As soon as you tap the notification, your screen is overtaken by cock. The tip red and glistening with need, his hand wrapped around the shaft, mid-pump...
Fuck.
You quickly turn your phone off, shoving it between your thighs and sitting up straighter. That bastard. He knows you're at work.
Of course, now he also knows you've opened his messages. Your phone vibrates angrily between your thighs, and you start to wonder if putting it there was a smart move.
Fucking Danforth. You try to physically shake the image of his throbbing cock out of your mind, literally shaking your head as you stare at the computer screen in front of you.
That is, until your co-worker in the cubicle across from yours shoots you a glance and asks if you're alright.
"Yeah, just, uh... Tired. Trying to stay awake."
You stand up straight, causing your still-buzzing phone to fall to the floor.
"I'm gonna go make a coffee," you announce.
In your scramble to pick up your phone, you knock your chair over and onto the floor. Damnit, stop making such a scene.
You scurry away, trying desperately to silence your phone. Unfortunately, the last thing you had pulled up was... well, cock.
With a yelp, you turn and duck into the nearest bathroom, praying no one saw your screen.
Once you finally have some level of privacy, standing in a cramped bathroom stall, you start to look over your 50+ notifications from Derek.
He's been sending you messages all afternoon, mostly nonsense texts, with nudes interspersed between them.
11am:
Babe?
Baaaaabe.
Babe
I miss you
Come home
When is work over
12pm:
Are you ignoring me?
Babe
I got a new robe
Do you wanna see
Baby
[A short video of Derek in his robe]
He starts the video making a concerned face at the camera, muttering to himself. Once he realizes it's recording, he sets it down on the bathroom counter and takes a few steps back, showing off his robe.
It's green silk with gold trim, and a gold tie around the waist. He takes a hit of his vape and does a quick 360, twirling for the camera.
"You like it?" He asks, beaming and carding a hand through his blonde curls.
He stares at the camera for a minute, seemingly waiting for a response, before snapping out of it and reaching to turn it off.
"Sorry. Just smoked a few." he mumbles, and the video ends.
1pm:
Babeeeee
I need youuu
Come home already
Come sit on my lap
[A picture of Derek's lap]
He's still wearing the robe, and his hand is wrapped around his hard cock through the thin silk fabric. No skin is showing, but you can clearly see the familiar outline of his dick.
2pm:
Fuck
If you don't come home soon
I'm dying
asjkdakdjha
skdjhfskjdh
aksjdkadjs
Baby
Can I send you
Pics
Baby
asdasjdghask
It misses you
[A shakily-recorded video of Derek from the waist down.]
He tugs at the golden strip of silk tied around his waist, slowly unravelling the loose knot.
Eventually it completely falls away, and his rope opens, exposing himself completely for the camera. His dick is standing at attention, twitching and leaking pre-cum down his shaft.
The video pans to his face again, and he absentmindedly gnaws at the end of his vape. Sweat drips down his forehead and he mumbles out a plea you're unable to hear with your volume off. The video ends.
2:30pm:
Baby
Oh my God
I can't wait
Come home
Looking at your old pics again
Miss you so muchh
Fuck work
I need you
[A short close-up video of Derek's cock]
He's in bed, his animal-print bedsheets peeking through his legs as he lies back and strokes his cock. Slowly, he bucks his hips up into his hand, clearly trying not to finish just yet. You recognize this as the video from earlier, the one you opened at your desk.
2:45pm:
YOU OPENED IT
BABE
ARE YOU IGNORING ME
BABY
I'm so hard right now
Please
Fuck
Fuck
Fuck
I need you to sit on me
Please
asajshdas
hdsjdhfahd
asdasjdk
sljkdfls
Answer
Please
Babyyyy
You blink at your screen, finally reaching the bottom of Derek's endless sea of messages. Fuck. You really should be angry with him, but he's so goddamn hot when he's needy.
Not that he needs to know that.
Is this what you do all day while I'm at work? Get high and play dress-up?
FUCK
Babe
Don't go or I'll die
Please
I still have two hours of work left, Derek.
You wouldn't need to work if you'd just move in with me already <3
Your house scares me. No one should be exposed to that much animal print.
I'll buy us a new one. Just come home, pleaseee?
This bastard. He isn't going to give up, is he? You glance at the time, and bite your lip. Maybe you could make up the two hours later? Work overtime this weekend?
Babe?
I'm here. Brat.
Are you on your way over?
Yeah. I'll be home in ten.
Suddenly you feel very, very sick. Too sick to work. You explain this to your boss, who shoos you off and tells you to go home.
One thought plays over and over in your mind as you pack your things and scurry to the car...
Derek better still be wearing that slutty little robe when you see him.
So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 1)
Derek Danforth x fem reader
Word Count: 2.8k
Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, angst, enemies, enemies to lovers, (very) slowburn, no pre-established relationship, sass, banter, misogynistic & violent undertones, (Derek is a prick), suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, overall mature content.
Part 2
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────
Derek hadn't even stepped foot into his family's beach house, and he could already tell something was off.
He hesitates on the porch, waiting for someone to scurry out and greet him, to take his bags and carry them inside. He waits a minute. He waits two minutes. No one comes.
"Daddy's home!" He calls out to the house as he kicks open the door, a truly unnecessary gesture.
Silence.
What the hell? Did he get the dates mixed up?
Derek grumbles to himself as he rolls his suitcase inside. Where the hell is the staff? Even if the butler had fucked off somewhere, there should at least be a maid or two nearby. What gives?
He takes a quick hit of his vape to calm his nerves as he sets off down a hall, determined to chew out the first person he sees. They should know better than to keep a Danforth waiting.
"The fuck?"
He stops dead in his tracks when he sees you, lounging on the couch and reading a book.
"Hey, been waiting for you." You say, not even bothering to put the book down and look him in the eyes. That alone makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Alarms are blaring in his head. Something isn't right.
"Who the hell are you?" He snarls, plopping down to sit in a plush chair opposite of the couch.
"You don't recognize me?"
This makes him pause again. He studies your face as you set down the book and straighten yourself on the couch. You do look familiar.
"You're my mom's little assistant, aren't you?" He laughs when he finally pieces it together. That's a relief. Does that mean his mom is here after all?
You try to correct him and introduce yourself properly, with a name. Derek just brushes you off, propping his legs up on the coffee table and relaxing back into the chair.
"Alright sweetheart, care to tell me what's is going on here? Where's my mom?" His tone is sickeningly sweet, condescending even.
"She won't be coming. It's just us."
Derek almost laughs again, but when he sees your deadpan expression, he freezes.
"Come again?"
"Aww, did your mommy not give you all the details, Derek?" You respond, matching his condescension with your own.
Okay, that's it. He sits up and plants his feet firmly on the hardwood floor, making a rather loud thud with his snakeskin boots.
"Tell me what's going on. Now." Derek narrows his eyes in what he hopes is an intimidating glare, then takes another puff of his vape and blows it at you from across the coffee table.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
You make a sour face and wave away the cloud of mango-scented nicotine. He really shouldn't vape inside, but you decide to ignore it. For now.
"You and I are going to be getting well acquainted over these next few weeks." You give him a purposely vague answer, just to piss him off more. It works.
"W-Weeks?" He sputters, nearly choking on his stupid little nicotine stick.
"Fuck are you going on about? I'm here to see my mom for the weekend."
Of course that's what she told him. You let out a sigh and rub your temples, already sick of this manchild.
"Well, instead you're going to see me for the next three weeks. Twenty-one days. Get comfortable." You let out an amused huff and lean back on the couch, propping your feet on the table in much the same way Derek did earlier.
That really seems to piss him off.
He kicks the coffee table with his boot, sending it sliding across the floor before finally colliding with the couch.
"Listen here, you little bitch. I came here to see my mom and have a quick vacation. If she isn't here, I'm fucking leaving."
"Good luck with that!" You scoff, pushing the coffee table back into place. Seriously? Temper tantrums already?
You shake your head as he storms off down the hall. He'll be back.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
Sure enough, Derek soon finds that his only option is to tuck his tail between his legs and crawl back to you.
God damn it. How could the entire house be empty?
He had checked all the bedrooms, the office, kitchen, hallways, hell, even the servants' quarters. Every time he opened a door just to be met with an empty room, he felt himself grow more angry. What the fuck? Was this some kind of sick joke?
He stomps back into the living area, only to face yet another empty room. Fuck. It's like his own house is mocking him.
Thinking he heard shuffling in the kitchen, he ducks around the corner. Sure enough, you were in there, poking through a cabinet.
"You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on? And why my phone has no service?" He angrily waves his phone in your face, intentionally encroaching on your personal space.
"I told you. You and I are going to be staying here together for the next few weeks."
Derek silently fumes as you calmly take a step back from him.
"Don't look at me like that. You can thank your mother for this. She thought it was finally time you get sober."
The word sober cut through him like a knife. His mom was always nagging him to give up drugs. Fuckin' hypocrite. The woman smoked, like, half a pack a day since he was born.
Though, admittedly, Derek did a lot more than nicotine. He felt at his pocket, checking to make sure the little baggie of coke was still there.
"So is that what this is, then? A fucking intervention?" He practically spits in anger, giving you his best glare.
"No, Derek. You've had an intervention. You've had ten interventions. This is rehab."
He nearly choked at that. Rehab? Seriously?
"And what makes you think I'm going to play your little game?" He sneers at you, and pointedly takes another hit of his vape.
"Don't do that in here. I'm about to cook dinner."
He watches as you casually wash your hands in the sink, oblivious to his hateful gaze.
"Answer my fucking question. Why shouldn't I just walk out of here right now?" He stands directly behind you, leaning down over your shoulder and hissing directly into your ear. His breath is still tinged with a hint of mango-scented vapor.
"Because... you can't?" Derek is gently shoved aside as you make your way over to the kitchen island.
He grits his teeth and follows, leaning on the counter and staring you down as you start chopping vegetables, presumably for the dinner he wanted no part in.
The worst part is that you're right. His family's beach estate is... remote, to say the least. Located on a private island, the only way on or off is via helicopter or boat. He had taken a helicopter, obviously. Boats were for servants. Unless it was a yacht.
"How much?" He finally relents, sighing.
"For what?"
"To get me off this goddamn island."
You just smile slightly and continue chopping away, refusing to meet his eyes.
"I'm not doing this for the money, Derek. Though your mother is paying me very well for this, I assure you."
That answer didn't surprise him, however annoying it was. "not in it for the money" just meant "you have to offer me a LOT of money".
"Two million in Bitcoin if you can pull some strings and get me out of here by tonight."
"I'm doing this as a personal favor to your mother. And I couldn't get you out of here early even if I wanted to. Your mom is determined to finally get you sober."
Derek's brow furrows as you finally look up at him from across the small section of countertop. A personal favor?
"So what, I'm a goddamn prisoner?"
"Pfft. If you want to think of it that way. But there are much worse places to be held captive than a luxurious million-dollar beach house."
"Four million. Four million-dollar beach house." Derek grumbles, eyes glazed over as he stares off into space and ponders the gravity of his situation. Three weeks? Rehab? With you?
"Ah. Of course."
An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air as Derek leans on the counter and watches you chop an onion. It starts to make his eyes sting, so he backs up and scoffs.
"It's not going to work, you know. I'm not getting sober." He crosses his arms defiantly.
"Oh? You brought enough drugs to last three weeks?"
Derek instinctively pats at his pocketful of cocaine again. Truthfully, he had only brought enough of a fix for a few days, maybe a week if he rationed and stretched it out. Two weeks was pushing it. Three weeks was impossible.
"Fuck you." He spits, and starts to take another hit of his vape to calm down.
"Blow that in another room or you aren't getting dinner."
He pauses, holding his breath as he considers his options. He wants to blow it right in your stupid face, but he does as asked, turning and letting it all out into the adjacent living room.
"Thank you."
He stands in the corner, silently fuming. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Was he seriously expected to just drop everything and let himself be trapped here for three fucking weeks? He had a business empire to run. He didn't have time for this shit.
"I'm not getting sober." He repeats, trying to convince himself as much as you.
"Why? You're going to go through withdrawals and feel like shit regardless of whether you give up the drugs or not. You can either leave here mostly weened off of them, or leave still mostly addicted, having wasted three weeks of your life feeling shitty for nothing."
God damn it. Why did you have to be so sensible? Derek scowls at you from the corner, but of course, you aren't paying attention. You ignore him yet again, scraping the freshly-chopped veggies into a pan on the stove.
"It's gonna be a fucking waste of my life either way. I've tried getting sober before, believe it or not. It's never worked out." He grumbles bitterly.
"I know. I believe you." You respond, still absorbed in whatever you're cooking. It actually smells good. Better than mango vape oil, at least.
"But it's easier when you physically can't relapse, even if you wanted to. Which is why..." You turn around and finally meet his gaze, giving him a sympathetic look.
"...I was hoping you'd give me everything you have on you. Vape, cigarettes, LSD, weed, pills, whatever you're on these days."
Derek scoffs. You couldn't be serious.
"And if I don't?"
"You will."
Derek grits his teeth, but before he can snap back, you speak again.
"Seriously, Derek, please. It'll be easier to give it all up now rather than later when you're craving it."
That makes him pause. Fuck. You really had this all planned out, huh? He's completely and utterly unprepared to argue about this. So, he just groans and leans against the counter, putting his head down.
"Do I have to give up the vape too?" He mumbles, words muffled with his head buried in his arms.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
Four baggies of cocaine, two blunts, and a bottle of mystery pills later...
You stare at the defeated-looking man before you as he slumps over the counter, sitting on a stool. His head is buried in his arms, and you can't help but feel a little bad for him. Just a little.
"Hey, you're gonna be glad you did this." You try to reassure him, but he just grumbles incomprehensibly in response.
You sigh, deciding to leave him alone and turn your attention back to dinner. He'd already done more than you'd expected from him, honestly. He gave you everything in his pockets without a fight, and even fetched the rest of his stash from his suitcase.
He'd convinced you to let him keep the vape until just before bed, since the nicotine withdrawals were likely to hit him first. At least he had that small victory.
You ponder over this while you move the veggie mixture around in the pan, the smell of sautéing onions and garlic permeating the air.
"You wanna help me with dinner?" You call out, looking over your shoulder at Derek.
"Pfft. Women's work?" He grumbles, shifting so one eye can peek over at you. When he sees you're looking back at him, he hides his face again.
"With that attitude, you'll be making your own meals." You scold him softly, but can't bring yourself to really lay into him. He looks like he's taking this hard.
"You know, I only packed a few day's worth of clothes." He muses, finally sitting up and leaning his head against his hand.
"Mhm. You'll be fine. There's extra clothes in your room. Your mom picked them out."
Derek groans. "My mom? Seriously?"
"Oh, please. Like her taste could be any worse than yours." You turn and eye him, taking in the cheetah print shirt topped with a green blazer. It all really clashes with those snakeskin boots of his. Not to mention the gold chain... and diamond earring... god, he's a mess. He dresses like a Texan thrift store threw up on him.
"Like you dress any better." He scoffs, furrowing his brow as he looks you up and down, seemingly taking you in for the first time. His gaze lingers near your breasts for an uncomfortable amount of time, so you turn and quickly change the subject.
"Could you grab me the ground beef from the fridge?"
"I'm not cooking."
"Did I ask you to cook?"
Derek mumbles a few curses but stomps over to the fridge and eventually brings you the ground beef. He stands behind you and peers over your shoulder for a minute while you cook, either curious or bored.
"How much longer till dinner?"
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
Derek sits at the dining table across from you, pushing his food around with his fork. He hasn't taken a bite yet even though he's hungry, partly out of spite and stubbornness, and partly because it doesn't look like anything he's eaten before.
He watched you add vegetables, beef, noodles, cheese, and like ten different seasonings.
The dish was akin to some kind of homemade hamburger helper, but of course, growing up rich and spoiled, Derek would have no idea what that was.
"You gonna eat?" You ask, covering your mouth with your hand as you chew.
Derek sighs and takes a bit of his food. It... doesn't taste bad. Surprising. He takes a few more silent bites.
"So... what exactly are we going to do without internet for three weeks?" He finally breaks the silence, waving his fork at you in an accusing manner.
"What do you usually do without internet?"
"Drugs."
"Oh."
Another awkward silence lingers in the air, and Derek is itching to take a hit of his vape. He could, too, it's still in his pocket. The one thing you let him keep. But he has a feeling you'd react negatively to him vaping at the table, so he waits.
"We could watch a movie? Or walk down to the beach? Listen to music? Read?"
Derek groans. "Aren't you supposed to be more fun than this? You're basically a glorified babysitter, right? You're not going to... entertain me?"
He raises his eyebrows at you, a suggestive tone in his voice.
"Sorry, love. I'm here to keep you sober. Not empty your balls."
He frowns at that. Expecting him to go without drugs for three weeks was one thing, but drugs AND sex? What did he look like? A fucking NUN?
"I'm not saying it's in the job description... but surely you're not opposed to a little... recreation?" He tries again, giving you a sly smile as he props an elbow on the table and leans his head on his fist. His other hand waves his fork around wildly as he talks.
"What, do you want me to call up your mommy so you can beg her to fly out a few of your whores?" You blink at him, smiling sweetly.
Derek grits his teeth. "You bitch."
"Oh? I'm a bitch for cooking you dinner?"
"No, you're a bitch for not wanting to..." He trails off, realizing how stupid he sounds.
Damn infuriating woman. He stands and stomps upstairs to go unpack his things, and take as many hits of his vape as possible before you inevitably take it away.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
You watch him leave with a grimace. Well, that went... well?
At the very least, he agreed to try and be sober for the three weeks. You'd work on his lack of cooperation skills later.
You stare down at his half-eaten plate of food. He is not going to like it when you reveal to him he actually has to do chores.
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────
Author's note: Sorry if this chapter dragged on! I tried to edit it down, but I really wanted to get the general plot set up in one part. We'll get to the more... juicy stuff later. This is going to be more of a slowburn than my last fic, so buckle up!!
Also sorry most of it is in Derek's POV? Do you guys like that?? His internal monologue is just too funny and deranged not to show
This was just going to be a blurb, but I'm losing my mind over the thought of a touch starved, depraved, horny, & slightly perverted Mike Schmidt... so enjoy 2.4k words of filth <3
(gender neutral! reader ❤️)
*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°
• You'd been babysitting Abby for a while, but when Mike got that new night shift job... well, you weren't sure it was going to mesh with your schedule. Still, he needed you. And how could you say no to those big brown eyes?
• So, you started spending your weeknights at the Schmidt house. Mike would get home right as it was time for you to leave for school/work, so you had to get ready at his house, too.
• That meant bringing a change of clothes, usually thrown carelessly into an old blue duffle you used as an overnight bag.
• Coincidentally, Mike's work bag was strikingly similar to your own. If it wasn't just a tad bit dirtier, well... it might be easy to get them mixed up.
• Or... maybe the slight physical differences don't matter when you're both running on hopes, prayers, and caffeine. Hey, it's not easy adjusting to a new schedule. Especially one that requires Mike to leave when he should be going to bed.
• It only took a few days for him to slip up. You were running late that night, and while he couldn't blame you (you get what you pay for, and he hadn't paid you at all) he also didn't have time to stop and chat like normal.
• Instead, he hiked (what he thought was) his bag up on his shoulder, gave you a curt goodbye, and left for another shift at Freddy's.
• At first, everything was normal. He did a quick lap around the building, tried to ignore the creepy shuffling noises coming from shadowy corners, and checked the monitors once or twice before settling down into his chair for the night.
• Mike reached into his bag for his prescription, medicine to help him sleep. Or... perhaps a snack. Maybe even a hoodie he could bunch up on the desk and use as a pillow. Something like that. What his hand actually came back up with made his mind go blank, and he immediately forgot what he'd wanted in the first place.
• In his hand, he held... underwear. And not his own. Definitely not his own. Mike froze, heart pounding as he tried to make sense of what he was holding.
• You. You'd starting bringing a change of clothes for babysitting now, hadn't you? In a... a bag that looked nearly identical to his own. Oh. Oh no.
• Mike dropped the article of clothing, face flushing a deep crimson. Then, feeling guilty at leaving your clothing on the grungy pizzeria floor, he quickly tossed it back in the duffle bag and zipped it up.
• He kicked the whole thing under the desk, trying to hide the evidence further. Who from? He had no idea. Mike felt extra grateful today to be in the one room in the whole building without a security cam.
• Yeah. That's right. No one had to know about this. That he'd... well, it was an accident anyway. How could he have known it wasn't his bag?
• Taking a deep breath, he started to come up with a plan. He'd say he realized it wasn't his bag, but only after getting to work. Once he'd noticed it was yours, he left it in the car and didn't touch it. There. That would work.
• Relieved, Mike lay his head down on the desk to try and get some sleep.
• Unfortunately, sleep never came. He still felt bad about taking your bag, even if it was an accident. What would you wear to work? You always left right as he came home, even if he brought your bag back after his shift you'd still end up leaving late.
• It also didn't help that Mike didn't have his sleeping pills. Or his cassette tape with "sounds of Nebraska" recorded on it. All he had was a stupid Nebraska poster, and a bag that wasn't his. Mike tried staring at the poster, but without the accompanying music and medicine, it did nothing but annoy him.
• Stupid trees. Stupid Nebraska. Stupid job. Stupid Mike. How could he make such a dumb mistake? Surely you'd be angry with him. He hadn't paid you in weeks, and then he goes and makes things even harder for you?
• With his stomach in knots and his mind and heart still racing, Mike resigned himself to not sleeping tonight. Instead, he pushed himself up from the desk and started to pace around the abandoned pizzeria.
• Part of him just needed to relieve some nervous energy, and the other part needed a distraction. From the guilt he felt, yes, but also from that goddamn bag of yours.
• Well, not the bag so much as your clothes. The... intimate ones. Mike slapped his palm to his forehead, trying to physically force out the disgraceful thoughts plaguing his mind. You weren't interested in him like that. This was so fucked up. He was so fucked up.
• A few more slaps to his forehead later, Mike halted in his pacing around the dining room. It had suddenly occurred to him that if anyone did happen to be watching, he'd look pretty silly smacking himself and muttering under his breath like he was.
• Mike turned and eyed the nearest security cam with suspicion, until a soft scraping noise drew his attention on stage. Had Bonnie always been looking this direction?
• Feeling the same level of nervousness and guilt, now accompanied by fear and paranoia, Mike retreated back to the safety of his office. There, he faced the same problems as before, a spike of excitement running through him as his foot brushed your bag under the desk. Maybe he'd take a quick peek at your things?
• No. He couldn't. He shouldn't. It wouldn't be right.
• Still... what else could he do tonight? Mike glanced at the digital clock on the edge of his desk, the flashing red numbers seeming to taunt him as he realized he still had five more hours left in his shift.
• Fuck. With a grunt, he slammed his head down on the desk and covered it with his arms. Just because he couldn't sleep through work tonight didn't mean he had to do his job. No, Mike had decided the very first night that he wasn't paid enough for this bullshit. So he simply worked as little as possible.
• He wasn't going to watch the monitors. And he certainty wasn't going to think about you. Nope. He was simply going to sit here and do nothing. Think about nothing.
Think about nothing.
Think about nothing.
Think about nothing.
• His strategy seemed to work for all of two minutes, repeating the same phrase in his head over and over until he couldn't stand it any longer. Images of you kept popping into his mind. Your smile, your eyes, and that sweet expression of pure warmth you gave him whenever he came home from work. Like you were genuinely happy to see him.
• Nobody else had ever treated him as well as you did. That's why he had to keep these feelings buried, stomp the embers into ash and blow those ashes into the wind. He couldn't afford to lose you.
• Still, Mike couldn't help but wonder. What if the feeling was mutual? Something in his chest stirred, and suddenly all he could imagine was seeing that warm smile of yours underneath him in bed. Would you still be able to run that cute mouth if he pinned you down to the mattress, legs thrown over his shoulders? Or would you find a way to tease him, like usual?
• Shit. Was it getting hot in here? Mike sat up to remove his jacket, then stupidly started for the duffel back to put it away. Right. Not his.
• Mike closed his eyes and suddenly, the piece of clothing in his hand wasn't his at all, but yours. Your underwear. Mike was considering removing his jeans too, as they were rapidly becoming too tight.
• Breathe, Schmidt. Mike took a few deep breaths, but nothing was helping. His blood grew hotter, his pants tighter, and his mind more muddled.
• This was usually the point where Mike would pop on his headphones, listen to the familiar sounds of his tape recorder, stare at a poster, and think "Nebraska" thoughts.
• Unfortunately, without his equipment... this wasn't going to work. He couldn't make it through another ten minutes without some kind of relief, much less an entire shift. Mike dropped the jacket and his hands went to his belt, undoing his pants and immediately dropping those to the floor as well.
• Yeah... maybe a little "stress relief" was all he needed. A distraction. Something to take his mind off you.
• Mike couldn't help but let out a chuckle at that thought. Take his mind off you? As he was palming his hardening cock through his boxers? As if.
• If anything, this would only make him crave you more. But, as he freed himself from the (slightly sticky...) confines of his underwear, he decided that would be a problem for future Mike. Currently, he just wanted to cum. Preferably in you, but all over himself while thinking about you would have to do for now.
• He tried to start slow, he really did. But in a matter of minutes, he was fucking fervently into his hand, hips bucking up off the chair slightly. He kicked off one shoe and wiggled a foot free of his discarded jeans, spreading his legs for stability as he sank back into the seat.
• Precum dribbled down his cock, coating his length and providing some much needed slick. Mike held his breath without realizing it, growing closer to the edge but still not quite there. Damnit.
• After what felt like an eternity of effort, Mike pulled his hand away with a rather pathetic whine. Panting, he scowled down at his still-twitching cock. This was exactly why he didn't often... well, take matters into his own hands.
• It wasn't enough. It wouldn't ever be enough. Not without your warm body wrapped around his. Hand, mouth, anything. Mike would take absolutely anything you were be willing to give. Especially in his current state.
• But he wasn't going to get that, was he? Not now, and probably not ever, if he was honest with himself.
• Mike's heart and cock ached in tandem, frustration bubbling to the surface and drowning out all other thoughts. How could he have been so stupid? Now he'd have to sit here half-naked and even more worked up then when he'd started. Mike bit his lip at the realization that he'd just checked himself into the next circle of hell.
• No, no. He could finish the job. He had to. There was no way he could endure this all shift. Even if he managed, what then? Go home to you and try to muster up an apology while on the verge of creaming his pants? Absolutely not.
• Mike worked his cock again, faster this time. His eyes scanned the room, subconsciously searching for something, anything to help. He was aching. The pressure built and built inside him, his stomach muscles clenching and unclenching in soft ripples as he threatened to spill. It didn't come. He didn't come.
• Finally, his gaze landed on something that made him shudder in excitement. Thinking with his dick and not his brain, he reached for the duffle back under the desk. He just needed a little something to help fuel his imagination. A nudge, that was all. Just a minute. He could return it back to it's spot in your bag after, and you'd never even have to know.
• Shaking, he brought your underwear to his nose with his free hand. The other was gripped tightly around the base of his cock, his mind and senses too overwhelmed by frenzied lust to do anything more than inhale deeply.
• Fuuuuck. It smelled like you. Well, that much was obvious, but never in his wildest wet dreams had he expected you to smell so completely delicious. His mouth watered almost as much as his poor weeping cock as he gave it a few languid strokes.
• In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to put his face between your legs and feast. Lick and suck and fuck you with his tongue, swallowing every drop of your cum until you had nothing more to give.
• His tongue peeked out to lick at the cotton-y fabric of your underwear, imagining the damp spot was from your arousal and not his own mouth. That small taste of you is what finally sent him hurdling over the edge, inhaling sharply and getting one last whiff of your scent before frantically cumming into the closest piece of cloth... your underwear.
• Rope after rope of pearly white release soaked the fabric, again and again until he'd emptied his balls... and then some. Mike fucked into his hand until it hurt.
• When he eventually re-gained enough of his mental capacities to realize his mistake, he let out a groan. Gingerly, he peeled the sticky fabric from his softening cock, whining at how his sensitive damp skin was now exposed to the cool air.
• As he peered at the ruined garment in front of him, Mike came to the conclusion that his situation was not salvageable. He was completely and utterly fucked. In more ways than one.
• He gently tucked himself back into his boxers with a shudder, still reeling in the aftershocks of his intense orgasm. Okay, step one, get dressed. Step two, skip town and never look back. No way in hell he could face you after this, even if he could miraculously get the cum-stains from your clothing.
• But... he had to, didn't he? He couldn't abandon Abby. Or his home. Or you, even, as much as he wanted to crawl into a hole and die right now.
• So, Mike spent the rest of his shift using an ancient bathroom sink and hand soap trying to scrub the evidence away. Maybe... maybe he could salvage this after all.
Or maybe when he looked at you from now on, he'd only be able to see a sick, twisted fantasy, and the shameful result of his indulgence.
Probably the 2nd one. oh well.
*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°
Author's note:
Hi!! Hi!! Hi hi hi hi hi!!! 😁 I'm so happy to finally be able to post something again!! 🥰
It's been almost a year now since I posted a fic, I hope this was a decent comeback!! This one's dedicated to all you peeps who love this pathetic, tired little man as much as I do <3
(Also, I've made a side-blog where I will be reposting all my fics. If you're only here for fanfic and not my shitposting, I completely understand! Or if you just want to follow me on both but only turn on notifications for fanfic, that works too! The account is @stop-talking-vtwo )
Abby wakes up to the sound of creaking floorboards once again.
Honestly, she has no idea how Mike thinks she doesn't hear him. He's been doing this more and more lately, getting up in the dead of night to pace around the house.
Is he having nightmares too? She can't imagine how he wouldn't, after the events that went down at Freddy's.
Abby tries to drown out the sound of his footsteps, closing her eyes and squeezing her stuffie a little tighter. Unfortunately, all she can think about is her brother.
His eyebags have become more prominent lately. He's always been tired, for as long as she could remember. But now, he's at a whole 'nother level.
She thinks back to yesterday, how he nearly fell asleep at the wheel while picking her up to school. And the day before that, when she caught him dozing off at the dinner table, cheek in his mashed potatoes.
Okay, that had actually been kind of funny. But this is serious. How could she help him? Every time she brings up anything related to sleep, he brushes her off. Says he's "just tired". Adults are such bad liars. Or at least, Mike is.
Abby tosses and turns in bed, made increasingly restless by the sound of her brother's footsteps in the hall. Ugh, if she wants to get some sleep, she's going to have to fix things herself, isn't she?
Huffing and throwing off the covers, she slides out of bed and makes her way out into the hall. Mike whips around at the sound of the door opening, but his face softens when he realizes it's just her. Who else would it be? He's so silly.
"Abs, what are you doing up?" He asks, hand nervously scratching at the back of his neck.
"Had a nightmare." Abby blinks up at her brother, giving him her best pitiful look. It's not hard to do, she really is tired.
Mike sighs and scoops her up into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her protectively.
"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" She asks, tilting her head up to look into his eyes, cheek against his chest.
"Y-Yeah, sure." He stammers out a response, obviously surprised by the request. Abby doesn't blame him. She hasn't asked to sleep in his bed since she was... what, five? Six?
Still, he picks her up and carries her into his bedroom. Abby is perfectly capable of walking the ten or so steps to his bed, but she just lets it happen. Mike needs to think he's the one helping her, or else this isn't going to work.
"You need anything? Want me to grab one of your stuffed animals?" Mike asks, throwing his comforter over her.
"No, I'm fine." Abby wraps an arm around her brother as he crawls under the covers with her, lying her head on his shoulder.
Mike reaches over and starts to play with her hair. He hasn't done that in a looong time. She's missed it.
Abby just hums softly, letting Mike pretend he's doing her a favor. Well, maybe he is. Just a bit.
Eventually, his hand goes limp and he drifts off to sleep.
He's so lucky he has a little sister to take care of him.
Tags: 18+, no use of y/n, smut, porn with plot, extremely unrealistic scenario but it's funny, mike is a horny bastard & a sub, handjob (mike receiving), post-movie, mike's POV!
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────
Mike can't even remember the last time he went to the dentist.
Well, he CAN remember, he just doesn't want to. He was a child the last time he went, and only bits and pieces of the experience stuck with him. An old man poking bony gloved fingers into his mouth, having his teeth scraped with a hook, and being scolded for not brushing good enough.
Yeah. The dentist is not a fond memory for Mike. That's part of the reason he hasn't bothered to go in over ten years. (The other part being that he's spent most of early adulthood broke as fuck; and values groceries over trips to the oral hygienist.)
But with his new job, and the healthcare benefits that come along with it... well, he really has no excuse not to go.
So, he sits in a small room with blue walls and ocean-themed décor, squirming on the weird lounge chair. There's a giant mirror over his head, and he can't help but be reminded of those funhouse mirrors at the circus. The ones that twist and contort your face in an unsettling way.
"Hey, Mr. Schmidt, right?" You make your way through the door, scanning over a clipboard.
Is this the dentist? Mike scrambles to sit up in the awkwardly-reclined chair and hold out a hand for you to shake.
"Uh, just 'Mike' is fine." He gives you a weak smile and a firm handshake before leaning back against the chair once more.
You introduce yourself as a dental assistant, and when he thinks about it, that makes more sense. You look young, probably close to his own age. And... rather attractive, actually.
Fuck. Did you just ask him a question?
"Sorry, I... I'm not sure..." He stutters, doing his best not to squirm under your gaze.
This seems to amuse you, because you try and fail to suppress a chuckle. Shit. Was that the wrong answer?
"You're not sure what flavor of toothpaste you want, Mike?" You ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.
Mike sputters again, making a complete fool of himself. Before he can get out a complete thought, you cut him off.
"It's okay. Want me to just pick for you?"
He nods.
"Alright then, you look like a watermelon kind of guy. Is that fine?"
Another nod.
You smile and pull on a pair of blue gloves, matching your blue scrubs.
"Something tells me you haven't been here before."
"Am I that obvious?"
"Yes... and no. I read it on your medical record just now." You give him a teasing smile and hold up the clipboard you'd been pouring over when you walked in.
Mike laughs nervously at what he's pretty sure was supposed to be a joke, and watches as you pull up a chair.
"I haven't exactly been going to regular checkups." He confesses.
"Well then, let's see what we're working with. Open up for me?"
He squints as you turn on a harsh overhead light attached to the mirror and angle it down so it shines right in his face. Damnit, what is this? An interrogation?
"Open up." You repeat, not asking this time.
Fuck. Why is that kind of...? Ugh, no. Not even going there. Mike tentatively opens his mouth, still blinking through the interrogation-esque lighting above him.
"There you go. A little wider, now."
Your fingers immediately find their way into his mouth, prying his jaws open further.
Mike's eyes go wider than his jaw when you pull out a hook and start scraping it against his teeth. What the fuck? He's feeling more and more like this is some kind of torture and interrogation ritual.
"I know, hun. No one likes the hook. Just relax." You coo, placing a hand on the side of his face and wedging your thumb between his teeth.
He takes a deep breath and melts back into the chair, letting himself be soothed by your voice. Mike tries to focus on your face above him instead of the horrible metal scraping his bones. The backlighting creates a halo around your head as you lean over him, reminding him of an angel.
You seem to notice his staring, because you smile down at him.
"So, tell me about yourself, Mike."
Mike's brow furrows in confusion. How the hell is supposed to answer that with a mouthful of latex-covered fingers and metal torture instruments?
"Uhhh..." He lets out a strained gargle, the only sound he can really make in this moment.
"Interesting..." You chuckle, still scraping away at his teeth.
"Tell me more."
Oh. You're teasing him. Fuck that.
Mike rolls his eyes, trying to make it clear he's not in the mood.
"Sassy, are we? Careful. I do have a hook in your mouth."
Christ. Are you threatening him now? Is this how trips to the dentist are supposed to go? Mike has no idea. So, he lets out another grunt.
"Your teeth actually look really nice. You brush at least twice a day?"
Mike nods slightly, scared to move too much with the hook scraping dangerously close to his gums.
"Good, good. Your teeth are so straight and bright."
Now you're complimenting him? Mike can feel his brain go fuzzy as he stares up into your eyes. The paper mask you're wearing covers the lower half of your face, sure, but your eyes are... entrancing.
He tries to say a quick "thanks", but with your thumb still wedged between his teeth... it comes out as more of an "Aahhh". And sounds suspiciously like a moan. Damnit.
"Got something to say?" You laugh softly, removing your fingers and tools from his mouth.
Mike takes the opportunity to close his mouth and feel over his teeth with his tongue. They feel... different.
"Just, uh, thanks..." He mumbles.
"Of course, you're doing so well."
Fuck. Are his jeans getting tighter?
Mike tries to subtly adjust himself while you turn to grab something off the nearby table. God damnit. This wouldn't happen if he wasn't so damn touch starved.
You put a little hose in his mouth and explain it's to rinse his mouth out. Or something like that. Mike isn't really listening, instead focusing solely on calming the fuck down.
"Oh, and sorry if I'm talking too much. I just transferred over from a pediatric office, so I'm used to having to distract my patients while I work. You probably don't need that, do you?"
He just gargles a response, mouth filling with water.
"Wait, here, don't swallow that."
Mike can't help but think he'd swallow anything if you told him to. Ugh. His jeans are definitely getting too tight.
You stick a different hose in his mouth, and it sucks out the watery saliva mixture.
"You're fine... I haven't been to the dentist since I was a kid, anyways."
"Really?" You ask, eyes lighting up as you lean over him again.
"Y-Yeah."
"Oh, but your teeth look so nice! Keep doing whatever you're doing, hun." You cup his face in your hands, leaning in close and gently pushing his lips back with your thumbs for a better look at his teeth.
Mike squirms slightly, a little intimidated by your firm grip on his face and intense scrutiny of his mouth. He tries to tug the hem of his hoodie down in an attempt to hide his growing boner. Fuck, he feels like such a pervert.
Of course, his movement only draws your attention down to his... ''problem area''.
You must be pretending not to notice, because your eyes flick back over to the table. As you get up to grab something, you casually bump the door with your hip and it swings shut.
What's that for? Mike is too embarrassed to ask, so he just waits patiently as you make your way back over with a toothbrush.
"Open for me." You playfully tap his lips with a finger, and Mike does as asked.
"Good, good... we're almost done here."
Mike feels a lot more relaxed like this. Your voice is soothing, and he stares up into your eyes as you brush his teeth. It's strange to have someone else do it for him, but hey, at least you're not using the damn hook anymore.
After a minute or so of this, he starts to calm down, the tent in his pants dying down as well. Thank god.
"Alright, gonna rinse your mouth again. If you have any needs or concerns regarding your teeth, now's the time to tell me."
Mike gently shakes his head no, mouth filling with water as you rinse his teeth with the little hose.
"You sure? Nothing else you want?"
Are you... flirting with him? Or is this just how these things go? Mike's head spins as you put the toothbrush back in his mouth again.
"Just gonna brush your tongue... Say 'ahh' for me!"
Mike lets out a weak ''ahh'', that, again, sounds extremely similar to a moan. Fuck.
You slowly brush his tongue, going further and further back. Mike starts to shift in his seat, wondering just how much of his tongue he's supposed to be brushing. He certainty never goes this far, it's almost at the back of his throat... Still, he tits his head back slightly, letting you go even deeper.
"Damn. No gag reflex, or just used to this sort of thing?" You tease, smirking so obviously he can see it through the mask.
Okay, yeah. You're definitely flirting with him.
Mike just sputters and chokes in response, unable to speak while practically deepthroating the damn toothbrush.
"Sorry, let me get that out..."
When his mouth is finally his own again, free of intrusive fingers and oral hygiene instruments, he clears his throat. There's a familiar tightness in his jeans, and he's sure by now that you've noticed.
"Uhh... I..."
You take off your mask and he can finally see your whole face again. Your smile is attractive, no doubt, but also a little... hungry? You want something from him.
Mike isn't sure he could resist if you asked.
"So, you're sure there's nothing else... bothering you?" You ask, eyes trailing down to the tent in his jeans.
Ah, fuck. There's no hiding it now, huh? Mike tries to at least sit up slightly in the chair, but ends up a squirming mess instead.
"I..." He starts, swallowing hard.
"Are you offering...?"
As if to answer his unspoken question, you stand up from your chair and throw a leg over his.
He watches with wide eyes as you inch up his legs, straddling him and sitting just below his crotch.
"What do you think?"
Holy shit. What kind of a question is that? He "thinks" this is the hottest thing that's ever happened to him.
"More." He mumbles, bringing his hands up to rest on the sides of your thighs.
That's all the confirmation you need, apparently. Before he can even process what's happening, you're grinding against his clothed cock.
Mike moves his hands up to your hips, watching as you remove the blue latex gloves with your teeth. God, that's got to be the most arousing thing he's ever seen, and he's not even sure why. He feels like a victorian man seeing an ankle. Is he really that goddamn desperate?
You brace your hands against his chest and lean in close, even more so than when you were prodding your fingers in his mouth.
Fuck. Mike decides he is definitely that desperate.
"You want this, don't you?" You ask sweetly, hot breath brushing against his lips.
He nods eagerly. Yes, he wants this. More than anything.
"Use your words, hun."
"I want this." He whines, bucking his hips up to meet yours while you grind on him. "I want you."
"I know." You whisper, bridging the small remaining gap between the two of you.
Mike kisses you back in earnest, moaning into your mouth when he finally feels your tongue slip between his lips.
He'd be content to stay like this forever, if his cock wasn't absolutely aching in his jeans. The grinding feels nice, yes, but he doesn't want to cum like this.
When you finally pull away and sit back up on him, he's left gasping for breath. Holy shit. Is this really happening?
"You really thought I wouldn't notice?" You ask, humming happily as you unzip his jeans.
Mike stammers out a response as you tug his pants down, squirming to help you get them off faster. He wishes you'd take the boxers off too, but he's not gonna push his luck.
"I-I couldn't help It... You're so..." He just looks up at you with pure admiration, letting his hands slide down your thighs.
"...perfect." Yeah, that's just about the only word describe you. No other would do you justice, not with how amazing you look on top of him like this.
"And you're already leaking."
Mike whimpers as you grope his dick, palming at it through his boxers. Fuck, you're not wrong. He can see the wet spot growing on his underwear. He tightens his grip on your thighs, desperate to feel you.
"More." He chokes out. "Please."
"Hmm... should I give you more?" You taunt him, giving his aching cock a firm squeeze through the fabric of his underwear.
"Yes!"
Mike is nearly shouting at this point, and tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He can only pray the room is somewhat soundproof.
"Well, I guess you have been good for me..."
You slowly peel down his boxers, and his dick springs up to slap against his stomach. A steady stream of precum is leaks from the tip, and his back arches from the sudden sensation.
"Fuck... yes... good... so, so good for you..." He bucks his hips up into nothing, desperately pulling you down his lap by your thighs.
He isn't thinking straight at this point. It doesn't matter that you're at work. It doesn't matter you're fully clothed. He needs you on his dick. NOW.
"Woah, woah... slow down, hun." Laughing, you take his hands by the wrists and move them to the armrests.
He doesn't resist, throwing his head back and groaning. He'd let you do whatever you want to him at this point. He just wants to cum.
"Please..." He whimpers, gripping the armrests tightly as your hand inches towards his cock.
"You gonna be good for me? And wait till I give you permission to cum?"
He nods, still bucking his hips up into your hand as you wrap your soft hand around his length.
"Say it." You demand, still just holding it, unmoving as he slips further and further into pure desperation.
"I'll be good f'you. I'll wait. I promise. S'good..."
Mike mumbles a barely-coherent response, half nonsense as he fucks your hand with even more intensity. He's losing it already, and you've haven't even started-
Fuck.
You start to jerk him off at a moderate pace, hand moving in synch with his hips.
"That feel good, hm?"
He just moans a response, too fucked out to form words. His hips stutter and he nearly comes just from the way you're talking to him.
When you take your hand away suddenly, he groans, reaching out to grab your hips and pull you closer. You can't end this for him. Not yet.
Thankfully, you didn't seem eager to put a stop to things. You slide down his lap, resting right up against his cock.
"I swear, if you cum on my uniform, I'll make you lick it all up."
Shit. Mike nearly does just that as you lean down and furiously make out with him. It's the toothbrush all over again, with the way your tongue is punching down his throat. He's never felt this desired before.
One of your hands gently tugs at his curls, and the other pulls his lower back up into an arch as you grind against him. Fuck, If you don't slow down...
"I'm g-gonna... gonna cum..." He breaks the kiss, whining and desperately pushing back on your hips, trying to keep from finishing. He wants to be good for you. He really does.
"Do it." You whisper, moving down to kiss his neck as he whimpers.
"Cum for me."
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
Mike wakes up in a cold sweat, trembling and gasping for air. Shit, he had been suffocating with his face in a pillow.
And... fuck. Probably jutting his hips into the mattress, too.
He doesn't even have to look at his shorts to know they're ruined. Damnit. Another wet dream. At this point, he almost preferred the reoccurring nightmares. Almost.
Hey, his next dentist appointment is in... what, three months? Maybe this time he'd work up the nerve to ask you out.
Probably not.
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────
Author's note: I'M SORRY. Literally no one asked for this. Probably no one but me has ever gone "haha what if Mike has a praise kink and gets hard at the dentist". But it was so funny to me?? I had to stop what I was working on and write it IMMIDEATELY. I hope it wasn't too deranged.
I like to imagine his little dream is at least half true. Like, he's touch starved and ended up with an over-friendly oral hygienist who joked with him a little too much. And it made him feel things. But everything from the point of the door being closed and onwards is just his own twisted fantasy.
Mike watched as Abby swung a leg over the side of the shopping cart and climbed in. She was getting a little too big for this, taking up nearly the entire cart. Oh well. Not like he could afford to buy much anyways.
"Okay Abbs, remind me what we're here for?" He asked, giving the cart a solid push to get it rolling.
"Dinner."
"And that means?"
"No asking for junk." Abby droned the words off in a monotone voice, and gave him a flat look. She didn't like to go shopping unless there was something in it for her, Mike knew, but he didn't exactly have anyone home to watch her.
"Here, you wanna hold the list for me?" He offered her a little yellow notepad and a pen from his pocket in an attempt to cheer her up. She eyed him for a moment, then snatched it up and started to doodle on the shopping list.
Mike sighed as he looked down at his little sister. Yeah, she was definitely a little too old to be in the buggy. She stopped fitting in the little seat up front years ago, so now she sat in the main area, legs scrunched to make room for groceries.
He probably should let her walk, but she had a tendency to... wander. And give Mike heart attacks. He always spent too long deciding what to get, or so Abby had told him. Sometimes he'd get lost in thought while calculating the best deal on a can of soup or the like, and realize too late that Abby was no longer by his side.
This usually resulted in him running through the isles and yelling her name, much to Abby's embarrassment. Hell, it embarrassed him too, but he'd rather be embarrassed than end up losing her.
"Hellooo, Mike? Earth to Mike?"
He snapped back into focus as Abby impatiently tapped the metal shopping cart with her pen.
"You passed, like, three things we need. Turn around."
Mike huffed and turned the cart around as dramatically as possible, slinging his sister back with the sudden change in direction. He got weird looks from a couple other shoppers, but it earned him a laugh from Abby, so he didn't care.
"What did I miss? Onions?" He tried to lean over and peek at the grocery list as he wheeled the cart back towards the produce section.
"Hey! You said I could hold the list." Abby held the yellow notepad to her chest protectively, determined not to let him see it.
"Fine. But no funny business. We're only getting what I wrote on there, got it?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just take us that way." Abby waved a dismissive hand in the general direction she wanted him to go, and Mike listened.
"Potatoes, onions, and... co... ca... con...?" She squinted at the list, struggling to read one of the words.
"Carrots." Mike corrected her, already putting a bag of potatoes into the cart.
"Your handwriting is terrible. Aren't grown-ups supposed to write better than toddlers?"
"Maybe you could read it better if you hadn't drawn all over the list already."
Abby stuck her tongue out at him, and the corners of Mike's mouth twinged up into a slight smile.
"Where to next, little lady?"
"The... can isle?"
"You don't sound very sure."
"Just push the cart, mule."
Mike stopped smiling at that. Brat.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
"You want corn or peas tonight?" Mike held out two cans to Abby, who pointed to the corn. He dropped it into the cart.
"Can we get soup too?" She reached out to grab a can, but Mike was already wheeling her into the next isle.
"We have some at home."
"Yeah, cream of mushroom. Who even eats that?"
"You do. Every time I make casserole."
"...gross."
Mike chucked to himself as they rounded the corner into the freezer section.
"What did we need from here again?"
Abby quickly scanned the list, they were most of the way through it now.
"Fish sticks... and ice cream."
Mike paused. One of those things was definetly not on the list.
"Abby. We're not getting ice cream."
"But it's on the list!" She held up the grocery list, which she'd apparently made many edits to. It has little doodles all over it, some items have been crossed off, and she'd added a couple things of her own.
Before he could argue back, a young girl, probably around five years or so, pointed and shouted something at Abby.
"Look, Mommy! Isn't she too old for the buggy?"
The girl's mother, who looked truly mortified, tugged the girl along by her arm and hissed something about it being rude to point.
Abby stuck her tongue out at the little girl, but Mike turned to her mother. She looked tired. He could understand that. He could also understand raising a little hellspawn.
He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but he must not have done a very good job. The woman just turned and sped off, dragging her child around the corner and out of sight. Damnit.
"Chocolate or strawberry?" While he wasn't looking, Abby had leaned over the side of the cart and poked through the freezer.
"Chocolate." He finally relented, sighing as his little sister happily placed a carton of ice cream in the cart. Oh well. They hadn't bought any in a month or so.
"Thanks Mike! You're the best!" Abby blinked up at him with a false innocence. He saw through her little act.
"Yeah, yeah. We're not getting any other unnecessary crap." He grumbled, but still found it hard to fight back a smile. Why did she have to be so cute, even when she got on his nerves?
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
They bought other unnecessary crap.
Two boxes of cereal, a bag of chips, and a half-gallon of chocolate milk later, Mike blinked down at the total. Nearly fifteen dollars over budget. Damnit.
He handed the lady at the register a few bills with a tired smile. Oh well. He'd just skip lunch at work for the next couple days to make up for it. Mall food was over-priced anyways.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
"Do the thing!" Abby pleaded with him, making a truly pitiful pout as he pushed the cart out of store, with her still in it.
"What thing?"
"You know. The thing."
Mike rolled his eyes, but complied. He put one foot on the underside of the cart, and used the other to push off, sending it flying through the parking lot. Abby squealed in delight, which made him smile.
The damn thing would probably tip over if she wasn't sitting on the opposite end to balance things out. As it rattled through the uneven pavement, It teetered, as if threatening to do just that.
"Don't get used to this." Mike started, scraping his shoe along the pavement to slow them as they approached his beat-up Honda Accord.
"We're not getting all this junk next time."
Abby pretended his scolding got through to her, hanging her head as she helped him load groceries into the car.
Mike pretended to believe his words too, but he knew as well as she did that their next shopping trip would go much the same way.
Author's note: Thanks for all the love on my last fanfic?? Part one got 100 notes?? I'll post the first chapter of a Derek Danforth fic soon, so stick around. I just had this in my drafts for the past few days. I love Mike & Abby's relationship so much <3
You're his ex, but he's desperate for a babysitter. (pt. 1)
Mike Schmidt x fem reader
2.5k words
Tags: 18+, mike x reader, no use of y/n, exes, enemies, enemies to lovers, slowburn? sassy mike, sassy reader, pet names, banter, angst, so much angst, flashing mike, fluff, spending time with Abby (because everyone always forgets her??)
Part 2
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────
Mike holds his breath as the phone rings. He's already gone down the mental checklist of people who he could possibly call for help right now, and is currently scraping the bottom of the goddamn barrel.
*click* "Hello?"
He speaks hurriedly into the dingy landline phone, praying you won't immediately dismiss him.
"Hey, it's Mike. Please don't hang up."
You're tempted to hang up on him then and there, just to prove a point. You guys broke up nearly a year ago, and hadn't spoken in... what, six months now? But the tone in his voice... he sounded desperate.
"What, drunk and lonely again?" You scoff, unable to resist taking a jab at him. You two hadn't exactly ended things on good terms, his lack-of-sleep induced grumpiness and general unpleasant disposition making it hard for him to take criticism without it turning into an argument. It wasn't your fault he never made time for you. It wasn't your fault he was so emotionally unavailable.
"No." He grits his teeth, already regretting calling you. "I need a favor. Please." He chokes the word out, his stomach in knots from having to resort to this.
You pause for a few moments, chewing on his words. It must really be serious if he'd called you, after all the things you'd said to him last time you spoke.
"Well... lets hear it, then."
"I need you to watch Abby tonight. My usual babysitter isn't answering the damn phone, and I have to leave for work in an hour. I can't leave Abby home alone. I just can't."
In an hour? You glance at the clock, it's already 8:30. What ungodly hours is he working?
"I thought you didn't work nights? I swear to god, Schmidt, if you're making me watch her so you can go get laid-"
"No. Nothing like that. I swear." He sighs, sounding genuinely exhausted. "I'm working as a security guard these days. Night gig. Long story. It sucks ass, but I need this job. Can you watch Abby? I'll owe you one."
You bite back the urge to scoff at him. He's not even going to pay you? Figures. Oh well. Holding a favor over his head might be fun.
"Ugh. Fine. I'll see. What time will you get back? I have work in the morning."
"6:15. Maybe 6:10, if I drive like a maniac."
"Shit. I'll have to get ready for work at your place. If I go home first I'll be late."
"Yeah, sure. Anything. Just please stay with Abby. She goes to sleep at 10, you can crash on the couch. I just want someone in the house with her."
You let out an audible sigh. Are you seriously going to go crash on your shitty ex-boyfriend's shitty couch on a work night?
...Yeah, yeah you are.
"Damn it, Mike. You'd better kiss my fucking feet when I get there."
Mike almost laughs at that. Almost.
"Sure thing, Princess." He cant help but taunt you a bit, using an old pet name he used to call you way back when you were dating. It probably wasn't the best decision to irritate the last person he could rely on, but he wasn't in the right headspace to make good decisions right now. These days, he mostly runs off of coffee and self-hatred.
"I'll be there in 30. You'd better be on your knees and groveling when you open the door." You slam the phone down before he can answer. Michael fucking Schmidt. Still the same jackass you broke up with all those months ago.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
When Mike opens the door to greet you almost exactly 30 minutes later, he reluctantly drops to his knees. He'd hoped you'd forgotten the silly request, but the unamused look you gave him said otherwise.
"Fucking witch." He grumbles, hanging his head as you brush past him into the house. Were you wearing... pajama pants? He stares at you as you set down your things, a purse and what looks like an overnight bag of some sort.
"Stop gaping. And stand up. You look pathetic." You shrug off your coat, revealing an old t-shirt underneath. Yeah, you were in pajamas, so what? Its late. And you couldn't be bothered to put in extra effort for Mike, of all people.
"Excuse me for doing as her majesty commands." He groans and stands up, brushing himself off. As if that'll make him look any more presentable.
Abby tentatively pokes her head out of her room, watching you and Mike argue. Shit. Did she hear all that?
"Hey Abbs." You wave to her, deciding to ignore Mike's comment. "It's gonna be just me and you tonight, sound good?"
She looks to Mike for approval, who nods and gives her a tired smile. The only kind of smile he's been able to muster lately.
"...Will you play with me?"
"Yeah, 'course I will. Let me have a chat with your brother real quick." She seems to accept that answer, closing herself back off in her room. You sigh and follow Mike into the kitchen.
"There's leftovers in the fridge, and a lasagna in the freezer. Probably have something edible in the pantry. I think there's popcorn." He explains, pointing out a few different measly options for a quick meal. "Look, she probably won't, but just try and get her to eat dinner."
You watch him lean back against the counter and rub at his temples. God damn, he looks... exhausted. His hair has grown out a bit since you last saw him, dark brown curls hanging low over his forehead. His eye bags seem to hang even lower.
"Yeah... I'll try and get her to eat."
An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air as you both run out of things to talk about, so he fills the void with an insult.
"You really had to come over in that?" Mike scoffs and gestures at your frumpy t-shirt and pajama pants.
"What? Were you hoping for something slutty?" You cross your arms and give him a smug look.
He turns his head, unsure what to say to that. Maybe part of him did hope to see you dressed in something a little more revealing. Or maybe just undressed. God damn it, was he blushing?
"Fuck you." He mutters, making his way to the entryway and slipping his shoes on.
"No thanks. Been there, done that." You respond dismissively, watching him leave with a smirk.
Mike slams the door on his way out. Not hard enough to startle Abby, hopefully, but hard enough to make a point he's not in the mood to play your little games. Still, the whole drive to work, he can't help but wonder what if...? What if you had never broken up with him? What if he had been a better boyfriend? A better provider for you and Abby? A better man?
"I fucking hate her." He grumbles, but the words are hollow.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
"Mike told me you stopped coming over because he found out you're a witch and you curse children. Is that true?" Abby finally musters up the courage to ask the question that's been on her mind ever since you walked through the door.
"Did he say that?" You chuckle, a little shocked that this is what she chose to ask after ten minutes or so of silently coloring together.
"Yeah. He said you cursed him, too. And that's why he can't color anymore. He'll explode, or something." She babbles, not looking up from her paper.
"Hmm... well, if you're really worried about your brother, I'll cut you a deal." You do your best to keep the anger from your tone as you continue to color beside her at the table. That asshole doesn't color with Abby anymore?
"...What kind of deal?"
"I'll lift the curse on your brother so he can color and draw again... but you have to eat dinner. Ten whole bites."
Abby seems to consider this for a moment, turning and eyeing you suspiciously. Mike likes to mess with her like this. Were you messing with her too? Probably. But, well, if it would make Mike spend time with her again...
"Fine. What do we have?"
You smile at her. This babysitting stuff is a breeze.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
When Mike stumbles in the door the next morning, he spots you fast asleep on the couch. He flops down in the recliner and just watches you sleep for a minute or two. You look so pretty when you're asleep. Serene. Peaceful. Not at all like when you're awake, giving him that attitude he's so familiar with. He sighs and makes his way over to the couch, knowing he should probably wake you for work.
"Uhh... wakey wakey?" He mumbles lamely, unsure what to really say. Definitely not good morning, beautiful. He scoffs to himself at the thought.
"Mmm... Mike?" You blink up at the man gently shaking your shoulder, your eyes adjusting to the morning light.
"Yeah. Who else would it be?" He shakes his head in amusement and goes back to sit in the recliner.
"I dunno. A hookup?" You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, then stretch out.
"A hookup? Still being passed around, then?" He responds with a scoff, trying to hide just how much that answer bothers him. Even after nearly a year of being broken up, he doesn't like to imagine you with other men. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, even if he's not into you anymore. Actually, you don't look half-bad right now, stretching your arms over your head like that...
"Can you blame a girl? Had to make up for all the unsatisfying nights with you."
Mike reeled at that little quip. The smug look on your face, god... He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to shut you up with a kiss or a punch.
"Just fucking go home." Nice one, Mike. That'll show her.
"Hey, you agreed I could get ready here. I'm gonna go use your shower, and then I have something to talk to you about."
Something to talk to him about? He scowls as you walk off towards his bedroom. Why couldn't you just leave him alone? Why did everything have to be so complicated? He groans and goes to lie down in bed. Maybe he could get in a quick nap while you shower. Maybe.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
You emerge from the dingy bathroom connected to Mike's bedroom fifteen minutes or so later, steam trailing in behind you.
"Three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash? Seriously, Schmidt?" You scold him, crossing your arms as you stand before his bed wearing nothing but a towel. At first, he seems annoyed when you pull him out of his brooding, but when he takes in your current state of undress, he sputters.
"S-so? Its economical." He scoffs, irritated, but unable to look away as you make your way around his bed and out the door.
You return a minute later carrying your overnight bag. "Forgot my clothes." Mike just nods, still unable to tear his eyes from you.
"Stop staring."
"Stop waltzing through my room naked."
"This isn't naked." You gesture to the towel wrapped around your body, drawing his attention back to you.
"This is naked."
Mike watches in complete shock as you let the towel fall to the floor, completely baring yourself to him for a few moments before finally locking yourself in his bathroom. You hear him mutter a few curses on the other side of the door, and smile as you get changed.
"Was that really necessary?" Mike scowls at you when you emerge from his bathroom a few minutes later, now fully dressed.
"Calm down, Mikey. Not like you haven't seen it all before." The old nickname you used to call him by doesn't sound endearing anymore. It sounds taunting. Mike looks like he cant decide between kicking you out of the house or pulling you into his bed. Good to know you can still get under his skin. And maybe his bedsheets, if you wanted.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" He finally asks, sighing in defeat.
"C'mon. I'll tell you."
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
Mike sits in the recliner, watching you set up a bunch of unnecessary crap on his coffee table. Did you really have to do your makeup right in front of him?
"A witch, Mike? Seriously? You told her I'm a witch, and then left her alone with me for the night?"
Mike swallows. Shit. He honestly forgot about that, it was just some lame excuse he came up with right after the breakup back when he was still distraught.
"Am I wrong?" He tries to brush it off with a sassy comment, but folds when he sees your intense glare.
"I mean... uh... I'll tell her you're... not a witch..." Real smooth, Schmidt. Mumble and stare at the floor.
"It's not even about that, really. Feed her all the lies you want. What I'm upset about is that she told me you don't color with her anymore."
Mike finally meets your eyes as you apply yet another random powder he doesn't understand the purpose of to your cheeks with the swipe of a brush.
"I'm busy. And it's none of your business. I asked you to come be her babysitter, not her mom." He snarls, hands clenched into fists.
"I'm not trying to be. It just breaks my heart to hear that stuff from her, Mike. I told her I'd lift the 'curse' off of you if she ate her dinner, and she did. So consider yourself un-cursed."
Mike grits his teeth as you put air quotes around the word "curse". He knew you were right, and that bothered him more than the fact he was being a shitty brother. The worst part was, you weren't even being snarky, you just sounded genuinely concerned for Abby. God damn it.
"...Yeah. Fine. Un-cursed. Got it." He grumbles in agreement as you finish up your makeup and swipe the assortment of products into your purse.
"How do I look?"
He wanted to tell you that you looked gorgeous, that he missed having you around, attitude or not. But in this moment, he couldn't do it. He was too tired. Too angry.
"Like a whore."
"Someone's jealous he doesn't get any."
"Like I'd want you."
"Oh yeah, the raging boner you had earlier when you saw me in a towel was because you don't want me. Totally."
Oh, now you're just taunting him.
"I'll have you know that didn't happen till after you lost the towel." Mike scoffs as he follows you to the entryway, unlocking the door for you while you slip on your shoes.
"Don't lie to me, Mikey."
"I'd never dream of it, Princess."
Mike has to resist the urge to pull you into his arms as you leave for work. Maybe if you didn't look so goddamn smug, he would. Instead he just shuts the door and locks it, hating himself for how much he enjoyed this whole interaction.
