Summary: A request that I received from a friend of mine. “Abby's first time going to a sleepover and Mike is stressed, you try to distract him which inturn evolves into him basically using you to forget about his anxiety.”
Tags: Part 12 of this series of Mike Schmidt x male reader but can be read as a standalone as usual. No use of Y/N. Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Mike is a perfect older brother. Sometimes too much. Lots of teasing and intimacy. Smut. Fluffy smut. Top Mike. Bottom reader. Anal sex. Riding.
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Words count: 3000
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
The clock on the wall ticked past 11 P.M., but Mike's restlessness filled the room like a storm cloud. He sat slouched on the couch, one leg bouncing furiously while his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze flicked back and forth between the phone on the wall and the door, almost willing it to vibrate or swing open. Abby was out for her first sleepover and the unknowns of her new friends, their parents, their house, were eating him alive.
You knew how he got when his nerves took over, which was exactly why you were in his lap, determined to pull him out of his spiral of worries.
"You're gonna give yourself a heart attack," you muttered, your lips brushing against the stubble of his jaw as you peppered him with kisses, each one loud and insistent. His skin was warm under your touch, his body taut like a coiled spring.
He let out a low groan, somewhere between irritation and something far more carnal.
"It's not funny," he said gruffly, though his hands had drifted to your thighs, gripping them through the fabric of your pants as if grounding himself. "You don't get it. She—“
"She's fine," you interrupted, your voice soft but firm. You nipped at his jawline, smiling when he flinched and tightened his grip on you. "She's probably drawing some creepy animatronic with her new besties right now, not plotting her escape to Vegas."
"That's not—"
"When's the last time we had the house to ourselves?" you cut him off again, your lips finding the sensitive spot beneath his ear. Your tone turned teasing as you let your hips roll ever so slightly against his lap, feeling the hardness that was starting to press against you despite his sour mood. "I mean, no Abby, no interruptions…"
Mike's hands flexed on your thighs, his jaw clenching tight enough that you could see the muscle jump beneath his stubble. "You're unbelievable," he muttered, his voice rough, though the way his hands slid higher up your legs betrayed his growing interest.
"And you're stressed," you countered, leaning back to meet his eyes. "Seriously, Mike, she's fine. You need to chill."
His brow furrowed, his lips parting as if to argue, but you silenced him with a kiss all teeth and tongue, a deliberate effort to pull him out of his head and into the moment. He groaned against your mouth, his frustration tangling with desire as his hands found your hips, holding you in place even as you continued to grind against him.
"You're the worst," he grumbled, though his voice was muffled against your lips.
"I know," you whispered back, your breath hot against his skin as you tugged at the hem of his shirt, sliding your hands beneath the fabric to trace the lean muscles of his stomach.
He didn't stop you. Instead, he pulled you closer, his hands slipping under the waistband of your pants to grab your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.
You ground down harder, feeling the full extent of his arousal pressing against you.
Mike cursed under his breath, his resolve cracking as he shifted beneath you, his hands deftly tugging your pants down your hips. The cool air against your skin made you shiver, but his touch was warm, almost searing, as his fingers slid between your legs.
"Shit," he muttered, his voice low and rough as he dipped his head to kiss along your neck, his stubble scraping against your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. "You're so—"
"Yeah," you cut him off, your voice breathy as you fumbled with his belt, your fingers trembling slightly as you worked to free him.
The moment his cock was in your hand, heavy and hot and already leaking, he let out a deep groan, his head falling back against the couch as his hips jerked involuntarily.
"Fuck," he hissed, his hands gripping your hips tightly as you stroked him, your movements slow and deliberate. "You're so fucking eager."
"Can you blame me?" you teased, your voice laced with heat as you leaned in to kiss him again, swallowing the guttural sounds he made as your hand worked him with a steady rhythm.
The first press of his finger was slow, the stretch intoxicating. His fingers moving faster, lips capturing yours again as he prepped you thoroughly, slicking you up and preparing you for what’s next to come.
When you were finally ready, your skin slick with sweat and your body trembling with anticipation, he guided you into position, his cock pressing against your entrance as you braced yourself against his shoulders.
"Take your time," he murmured, his voice softer now, though there was a tension in his tone that betrayed how badly he wanted you.
You nodded, biting your lip as you began to sink down onto him, the stretch both overwhelming and addictive. He groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he watched you.
His head tipped back against the couch as you slowly sank down onto him, and for a brief moment, he couldn't breathe. The heat, the tightness, the sheer, overwhelming sensation of you wrapping around him had him teetering on the edge already, his fingers biting into your hips as he forced himself to stay still, to let you adjust.
"Fuck," he muttered, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. His chest heaved with shallow breaths as he closed his eyes, every nerve in his body alight. He felt you trembling against him, the way your body pulsed and clenched around him, like it was trying to pull him even deeper. His hands smoothed over your thighs, gripping tightly, his thumbs brushing over your skin in a soothing rhythm to keep himself grounded.
But then his eyes opened, and when he looked at you and saw the flushed heat on your face, the way your lips were parted as you panted, the slight furrow in your brow as you worked to take all of him with that unfiltered want mixed with the faintest hint of pain as you adjusted was enough to drive him out of his mind.
He tilted his head forward, resting his forehead against yours. "You okay?" he murmured, his voice softer now, a quiet rasp that didn't match the burning desire coiling low in his belly.
You nodded, biting your lip as you wiggled slightly, sending a shudder through both of you. "Just…big," you muttered, your voice shaky, your breath warm against his face.
He chuckled softly, though the sound came out more like a groan. "Take your time." He said, his tone laced with something teasing, though his chest tightened at how fragile you sounded.
His gaze flicked past you for a moment, catching on a piece of paper half-finished made by Abby, the bright colors smudged slightly where she'd pressed the crayons too hard. The sight sparked a sudden, stupid thought, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out.
"Do you think her friend's mom has enough papers for her?"
You froze, your forehead still pressed to his as you blinked at him, your expression shifting from confusion to disbelief.
"Mike," you said, your tone incredulous but low, strained from the stretch of him inside you. "Are you serious—" You trailed off, biting back a laugh as you rested your head against his cheek, his stubble scratching against your skin. "Can we maybe not talk about your little sister while I’ve got your dick in my ass?"
It took a second for your words to register, but when they did, his eyes widened, and he groaned, his head falling to your shoulder. "Shit. Sorry. Fuck, I—"
"It's fine," you interrupted, snickering softly as you nuzzled into him. "Just…focus, yeah?"
"Yeah. Focus," he muttered, more to himself than to you. He tilted his head, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I'm an idiot."
You were about to say something but he cut you off with a sudden upward thrust, his cock burying itself completely inside you. You gasped sharply, your words dissolving into a hiss as you clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.
"Is this what you wanted?" he murmured, his voice hit your ears like a low hum, rough and frayed at the edges, his lips brushing just beneath your ear as he spoke, the huskiness of his tone vibrating straight through you.
It wasn't the overconfident dominance of someone trying to prove a point. His words carried the weight of his exhaustion, the kind of bone-deep weariness that clung to him. That rasp in his voice, that almost lazy confidence was enough to leave you breathless.
You swallowed hard, unable to stop yourself from clenching tightly around him in response, which drew a low, throaty groan from him that only made the moment more intense.
You started to move then, rocking your hips against him, finding a rhythm that made both of you moan. His hands dropped back to your waist, guiding your movements, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrust upward to meet you.
"You're so tight," he groaned, his head falling back against the couch as he watched you. His hand slipped between your bodies, wrapping around your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts.
Mike's grip on your hips was almost punishing, his fingers digging into your skin as you rode him, the couch creaking beneath the weight of your movements. His head was tipped back, lips parted, breaths ragged as his dark eyes stayed fixed on you.
"Fuck," he muttered, his voice hoarse and strained as if speaking took all the energy he could spare.
You could feel him trembling beneath you, his body taut and flushed, his length throbbing inside of you as you clenched tightly around him.
His hands tightened their hold on you, pulling you down harder onto him as his hips snapped upward to meet yours, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room. You could feel how close he was, the way his rhythm was faltering, his movements growing more frantic as he chased his release alongside you.
And then the phone rang.
The sharp, jarring sound cut through the haze of pleasure like a slap to the face, breaking the intimate barrier you'd both built so painstakingly. Mike froze beneath you, his gaze snapping toward the phone on the wall.
You let out a frustrated whine, your hips still grinding against him in a desperate attempt to regain his attention.
He didn't respond, the sound of the ringing filled the room, relentless and intrusive and you felt his body tense beneath you, his grip on your hips loosening slightly.
"Mike," your voice insistent as you leaned forward, your hands framing his face. You forced him to look at you, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, "Stay with me."
The plea seemed to snap him out of his daze, eyes refocusing on you as his hands tightened on your hips again. "Shit—sorry," he muttered, his voice low and rough, but before he could fully immerse himself back in you, the ringing stopped.
For a moment, there was silence, then, the voice of Abby's friend's mother crackled through the answering machine, her tone calm and measured as she left a message.
You couldn't make out her words—didn't want to, frankly—but Mike stilled again, his gaze flicking toward the machine as his jaw tightened. He made a muffled sound against your lips, a low groan that was equal parts annoyance and worry, and you could feel him pulling away mentally even as his body remained pressed against yours.
Your hands clutched his shoulders as you moved against him again, desperate to keep him with you. The friction was almost too much, the intensity of your own need clawing at you, and when he groaned again, this time louder, deeper, you thought you'd won.
But then he was pulling back, his movements abrupt and clumsy as he shifted you off him. "I'll be right back," he muttered, his voice laced with apology as he grunted softly, pulling out of you.
The sudden emptiness was unpleasant, your body protesting the loss as you stared at him, wide-eyed and breathless. "Are you serious?" you managed to whisper, your voice raw and incredulous.
He winced, his hand braced against the couch as he stood, his other hand adjusting himself awkwardly. "I just need to make sure everything's okay," he said, his tone almost pleading as he glanced toward the phone.
You shifted on the couch, wincing at the dull ache in your lower half from how deep Mike had been before the damn phone decided to ruin everything. With a sigh, you brought your knees up to your chest, your arms crossing defensively over them as you watched him pace to the phone on the wall.
His posture was stiff. Partially from the erection he was still sporting and partly from the mix of irritation and worry etched into his expression. You caught the faint tremor in his voice as he answered the call. "Yeah? This is Mike."
You leaned back against the couch with a huff, your head falling against the cushions as you glared up at the ceiling.
The conversation blurred into a series of muffled words as you tuned him out, your frustration and wounded pride making it hard to care.
When he finally hung up and turned back to you, his expression softened. His lips curved into a small, sheepish smile as he walked back over to the couch. "So, uh," he started, his voice low and tentative. "Abby's fine. She passed out with a crayon still in her hand together with her friend."
You hummed in acknowledgment, refusing to meet his gaze. Your arms remained crossed over your chest, your eyes fixed stubbornly on the ceiling.
"I think that woman caught up on what I was doing." He groaned in defeat as his voice dropped into that awkward, self-conscious tone you loved while he ran a hand through his hair.
You finally turned your head to look at him fully, raising an eyebrow.
"I sounded like I'd just run a marathon," he groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if he could erase the memory. "She was definitely trying not to snicker." He trailed off, his eyes flicking to you briefly before looking away again.
You kept your gaze stubbornly fixed on the ceiling, your arms still crossed as Mike kissed your shoulder, the stubble of his jaw scraping softly against your skin while one of his hands rested on your knees. "Hey," he murmured, tilting his head to catch your gaze. "Are you mad at me?"
"Mad? No," you replied, your tone clipped as you shifted your legs to make it harder for him to hold them. "I'm just thinking about how I'm going to sleep on the bed tonight. Alone."
He blinked at you, his lips parting slightly in disbelief before he let out a soft laugh. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that."
"Like what?" you shot back, your voice unintentionally sharp as you finally met his gaze. "Like someone who was left high and dry because you had to go full 'big brother mode' right in the middle of—“
"Okay, okay," he cut in, holding his hands up in mock surrender. His cheeks flushed slightly, and he chuckled, the sound warm and rough. "I get it. I suck."
"You said it," you muttered, your arms tightening around your chest.
Mike let out an exaggerated groan, leaning forward to press his forehead against your knees. "You're killing me here," he mumbled, his voice muffled against your skin. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk with this?" He gestured vaguely at his still prominent erection.
You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips despite your best efforts. "I noticed," you quipped. "Pretty hard to miss when you're waddling around like a penguin."
He laughed, the sound genuine and unguarded, and the tension in the room eased slightly. His hands slid up your thighs, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your skin as he looked up at you with those dark, tired eyes that always made your heart skip a beat. "Let me make it up to you," he murmured.
You pretended to consider it, tilting your head as if weighing your options. "I don't know," you said, your tone light but teasing. "I'm pretty comfortable here, actually. Might just call it a night."
Mike's lips twitched into a grin, and he leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee. "Come on," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Don't do me like this. I'll be good. Promise."
You hummed, your arms still crossed as you feigned indifference, though the heat pooling in your stomach betrayed you. "You're gonna have to try harder than that," you muttered, your voice trembling slightly as his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone.
"I plan to," he replied, his voice thick with promise as he leaned in to kiss you, slow and deep.
Mike's thumb brushed over your thigh as his other hand wrapped around your still throbbing erection, his fingers stroking the length with a deliberate slowness that made your breath hitch. His hand was warm, his grip firm as he tugged, squeezing you just enough to make you groan softly despite your earlier resolve to play stubborn.
Your resolve cracked under the weight of his touch and you finally uncrossed your arms, threading your fingers through his hair as you pulled him closer. "You're lucky you're cute," you muttered against his lips, your voice breathless.
He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your chest as he pressed you back against the couch, his hands gripping your waist as he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss while slowly easing you down onto the couch. His fingers curled around your thigh, pulling your leg up and wrapping it around his waist as he settled between your legs. The weight of him was grounding, his toned stomach pressing against your aching length, the happy trail there tickling you while his own erection nudged insistently at your entrance.
His hand drifted down, positioning himself with careful precision, and the heat of him pressing against you made your breath catch.
"Mike—" you started, your voice breaking on a gasp as he pushed forward, his cock breaching you with a slow, deliberate stretch that had your fingers digging into his shoulders.
He groaned low in his throat, his forehead dropping to yours as he slid deeper.
Your head fell back against the couch, your lips parted as you sucked in shallow breaths, your body trembling beneath him. "Move," you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please."
Mike didn't need to be told twice. He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in another searing kiss as he began to move, his hips rolling with a steady, unrelenting rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. His cock filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was almost overwhelming, and the friction with each thrust had you gasping against his mouth.
"Fuck—" you moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips brushing against his with every desperate breath.
He groaned in response, his movements growing more frantic as he buried himself deeper, each thrust harder and more insistent than the last.
The weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the relentless rhythm of his hips was too much, and yet not enough. You clung to him, your nails scraping down his back as you arched into him, your own arousal trapped between your bodies and smearing against his stomach with every thrust.
Mike's hand slipped between you, his fingers wrapping around your cock once more as he stroked you in time with his movements. The combination was devastating, the pleasure building so intensely it left you gasping, your body trembling beneath him as you teetered on the edge.
"Close," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling as your walls clenched around him, pulling him even deeper.
"Me too," he muttered, his forehead pressing against yours as his pace faltered, his hips stuttering as he chased his release.
Your body tensed, your release spilling between you as you cried out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him.
Mike wasn't far behind. The way you tightened around him and the look of pure ecstasy on your face drove him to his peak. He thrust into you one last time, his body going rigid as he came, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he filled you completely.
Mike collapsed against you, his weight comforting as he pressed lazy kisses to your neck, his lips warm and soft against your flushed skin.
"Still mad at me?" he murmured, his voice teasing but tired, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.
You chuckled softly, your fingers brushing through his hair as you shook your head. "Not anymore," you admitted, your voice warm with affection.
"Good," he muttered, his lips curling into a small smile against your neck. "Because I don't think I could survive round three."
You laughed, your chest heaving with the effort, and pulled him closer, your bodies tangling together as the heat between you slowly gave way to a comfortable, drowsy warmth.
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