Synopsis: Mike always finds the best ways to distract you from your job, and you always find ways to help him get through his. Even if it’s only a few donuts and some coffee at a time.
WC: 2094
Category: Fluff, Slight Comfort
Basic plot I know 😔 but with a month before his return, I felt this was necessary.
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The first weak rays of dawn filtered through the threadbare curtains of Mike Schmidt's home, painting the room in hues of faded gold and gray. It was the kind of November morning where the air hung heavy with the chill of impending winter, the radiator clanking sporadically like an old man's reluctant cough. Mike had stumbled through the door around half past six, his boots still caked with the phantom dust of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, collapsing onto the sagging couch without bothering to kick them off. Sleep had claimed him in fits—haunted by the echo of his brother's laughter twisting into screams in the overgrown lot of his nightmares.
He stirred now, sometime after eight, his flannel shirt twisted around his torso, exposing a sliver of pale skin marked by faint bruises from last night's close call—a nightmare so vivid he was determined to unravel its true meaning before it swallowed him whole. The scent of stale coffee from the night before lingered, mingling with the faint, acrid tang of sweat and fear. Abby was already off to school—you'd handled that much, bundling her into your beat-up Civic with her backpack slung over one shoulder, her crayon-scribbled drawing of a "brave big brother" clutched in her small fist. "Tell Mike the bear said hi," she'd giggled as you waved goodbye at the chain-link gates, oblivious to the shadows that clung to her guardian like smoke.
You'd known Mike's schedule better than your own these past months, pieced together from the weary slump of his shoulders during those endless afternoons in Steve Raglan's cramped office. As the guidance counselor's assistant, you'd filed the endless stream of résumés, brewed the pot of tar-black coffee that Raglan insisted on ("Keeps the regrets at bay," he'd quip with that oily smile you chalked up to salesmanship), and watched Mike Schmidt trudge in like a man carrying the weight of a decade he hadn't lived yet.
Job after job—fast food flips, warehouse hauls, even that stint at the mall—crumbled under the strain of his "personal matters," as he'd mutter through gritted teeth. Raglan would lean back in his creaky chair, steepling his fingers, doling out advice laced with that peculiar gleam in his eye:
"Persistence, Mike. It's all about persistence."
You'd linger by the door, offering a sympathetic nod, a fresh photocopy of listings from the classifieds. One day, it had turned into coffee runs together—yours dark-roasted, his with enough cream to drown the bitterness—and from there, tentative conversations about anything but the failures piling up like unread mail.
The spare key turned smoothly in the lock, a soft click that blended with the morning's quiet. You pushed the door open with your hip, balancing the Dunkin' carrier in one hand—two large coffees steaming through the lids, caramel for you and vanilla-swirled for him, alongside a paper bag crinkling with glazed donuts dusted in sugar like fresh snow. The bell on your keychain—a cheap plastic pizza slice from a long-forgotten fair—jingled faintly as you nudged the door shut behind you. The house smelled of him: worn denim and faint aftershave, undercut now by the exhaustion that seeped from his pores.
Mike's eyes fluttered open at the sound, hazy with the dregs of sleep, his hair tousled into dark waves that fell across his forehead. He bolted upright too quickly, wincing as his neck protested, one hand instinctively groping for the flashlight that wasn't there.
"Shit—Abby?" His voice was a gravelly rasp, thick with disorientation, hazel eyes scanning the room like it was the security office all over again.
"She's good. Dropped her off twenty minutes ago—third time this week you've slept through the alarm." You set the carrier on the cluttered coffee table, amid crumpled job applications and a half-empty ashtray he swore he'd quit. The donuts spilled out slightly, their yeasty warmth cutting through the chill. You shrugged off your coat—a wool thing with frayed cuffs, thrifted from the Salvation Army—and hung it on the hook by the door, revealing the simple blouse and skirt that passed for professional in Raglan's underfunded office. "Figured you'd need fuel before you crash properly. Raglan's got me buried in filing today, but I detoured. Don't make that face; it's not charity."
He rubbed a hand over his face, stubble rasping against his palm, the lines around his eyes deepening like cracks in dry earth. Up close, in the unforgiving morning light, he looked every bit the haunted twenty-something he was—cheekbones sharp from skipped meals, shadows etched beneath his eyes that no amount of sleep could erase. But there was a softness there too, in the way his gaze softened when it landed on you.
"You didn't have to," he said, but the words lacked bite, his fingers already reaching for the coffee cup with your neat handwriting scrawled on the side:
Survive the day, Schmidt.
He took a sip, the vanilla cutting through the fog, and exhaled like a man surfacing for air. "Last night was... rough. Couldn't focus on anything."
You perched on the edge of the armchair opposite, not too close, not too far—navigating the careful geography you'd both mapped out over weeks of shared silence and small talk.
"Want to talk about it?" you asked, knowing he'd likely say no, but offering anyway.
He shook his head, staring into the coffee cup like it held secrets. "Just the usual. The doors, the voices, the feeling that something's breathing down my neck."
You nodded, tearing open the donut bag and offering him a glazed ring that flaked sugar onto his lap. "Here. Sugar rush before the crash. And don't think I didn't notice you dodging Raglan's calls yesterday. He asked about you again—said you've got 'potential' if you just stick with something."
Mike snorted, a low, bitter sound that bordered on a laugh, taking the donut and biting into it with the ferocity of someone who hadn't eaten since lunch the day before. Crumbs dusted his shirt, and he brushed them away absently, his free hand drifting to rest on your knee—a touch light as a question, thumb circling the hem of your skirt in slow, absent arcs.
"Potential. Yeah, that's what he calls it. Guy's got a way of making failure sound like a stepping stone." His eyes met yours then, raw and unguarded, the hazel flecked with gold in the slanting light. There was something unspoken there, a gratitude laced with guilt, for the way you'd carved out space in his unraveling life without asking for blueprints. "You, though... you keep showing up. Dropping Abby, hauling... you know, me out of bed with this crap." He lifted the coffee cup in a mock toast, but his voice dipped lower, rougher. "Why? Raglan's got you running ragged enough without playing chauffeur for strays."
You set your own coffee down, the steam curling like secrets between you, and leaned forward to face him more fully. Your hand found his jaw, fingers tracing the stubble that shadowed his skin, the faint pulse beating steady under your touch. He leaned into it instinctively, eyes half-lidded, the exhaustion giving way to something warmer, hungrier.
"Because you're not a stray, Mike. You're the guy who lets me ramble on about my dead-end grad school dreams, who listens contentedly when I vent about Raglan's endless 'motivational' posters—like that one with the eagle that's just… creepy." Your thumb brushed his lower lip, smudged with a trace of glaze, and his breath hitched, warm against your skin. "And because after all those job fairs, all those 'next times,' I see you fighting. For her. For you. That's worth a detour through Dunkin' at rush hour."
The air thickened, charged like the static before a storm, the radiator's clank fading into irrelevance. Mike's hand slid up your arm, calluses rough from gripping that cursed flashlight, cupping the back of your neck with a gentleness that slowed the tremor in his fingers. He pulled you closer, closing the distance until your knees brushed his, his coffee cup set aside with a soft clunk.
"You know," he murmured, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, "you never told me what you're doing in a dead-end office job, with a brain like that." His nose traced the line of your jaw, breath warm and smelling faintly of donuts and vanilla. "Grad school dreams don't pay the rent, but..." He paused, his lips hovering just shy of yours, testing the air like a moth drawn to flame. "Maybe they buy you coffee for a guy who can't even keep his alarm clock straight."
"Maybe," you breathed, tilting your head to grant him better access, your fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, dark and soft despite the lack of care. "Or maybe I'm just a sucker for lost causes with pretty eyes and a knack for fixing leaky faucets."
The memory surfaced unbidden—the late-night call, the panic in your voice over a drip-drip-drip that sounded like a ticking time bomb of landlord fury, and him showing up at your door in a ratty T-shirt, toolbox in hand, solving it with a grumbled 'This is why you're not supposed to use Drano for everything.'
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, vibrating through you, a sound so genuine it felt foreign against the backdrop of his usual guardedness. "Pretty eyes, huh? That's a new one." His other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him, the worn flannel of his shirt scratchy against the smooth cotton of yours. There was no space left for unspoken questions, for careful geography. The room narrowed to the space between you, the dust motes dancing in the slanted light, the distant wail of a siren painting the morning with urban melancholy.
You could've really had a soft moment together—a real, tender reprieve from the relentless grind of your lives. But the world, as it so often did, had other plans. The sharp, insistent trill of your pager cut through the haze, a digital shriek from the depths of your handbag. You already knew, before you even looked, what the message would say: the office, the filing, Raglan.
It was always the office.
Mike felt you stiffen, the warmth in his gaze dimming like a dying ember as he pulled back just enough to search your face. "Reality calling," he said, the words laced with a familiar resignation that made your chest ache.
You scrambled for your purse, fingers fumbling with the clasp. The tiny screen glowed with Raglan's office number, a glaring summons. "Crap," you muttered, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "He's early today. That's never a good sign."
You didn't need to elaborate; Mike knew all about your boss's moods, the way a sunny disposition could curdle into a bureaucratic nightmare over a misplaced file.
He reached out, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth where a stray sugar crystal lingered.
"Go," he said, but his eyes held yours. "Don't let him work you too hard. And tell him—" He paused, a flicker of mischief in his tired eyes. "Tell him my 'potential' is currently manifesting as a severe case of caffeine deficiency."
A real smile broke across your face, quick and bright.
"I'll be sure to frame that in the most professional way possible." You leaned in, pressing a quick, hard kiss to his lips—a promise, an apology, a taste of coffee and sweet glaze. "I'll try to get out early. Maybe we can... I don't know. Not eat leftover pizza on the couch?"
"Sounds ambitious," he deadpanned, but the corners of his eyes crinkled. "I'll hold you to it."
You grabbed your coat and keys, the pizza-slice bell on the keychain jingling a jaunty, out-of-place tune. "Keep the donuts," you called over your shoulder as you headed for the door. "You'll need them."
The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Mike alone in the sudden silence. He sank back into the couch, the spot you'd vacated still warm. He picked up the donut you'd left, took a bite, and stared at the morning dew-streaked window, the distant skyline a jagged silhouette against the gray sky. The house felt emptier now, the ghosts of his nightmares stirring at the edges of his periphery, but for the first time in a long time, they seemed a little less loud.
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
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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".
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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."
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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
Summary: Kinktober 2025 Day 5 - Stripping. Based on req: Can I request a Mike Schmidt x gf reader who gives him a little strip tease after a rough day? Just imagine the look on his face as he tries to hold himself back 🥺 it would be so precious.
Tags: Stripping/Strip tease, Masturbation (m), Handjob, Teasing, Not allowed to touch, Praise, Established relationship, Mike has a no good very bad day, Gratitude.
Word count: 2 k
all fandom masterlist | fnaf masterlist | read it on ao3
Authors note: I got this request ages ago and only got around to it now by encorporating it into kinktober I'm so sorry! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡
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Mike’s day had gone from bad to worse. It had started with Abby having a tantrum in the morning before school, locking herself in the bathroom and refusing to come out when they were already running late. It had been very hard for him to remain patient and not yell at her. Finally, he coaxed her out by promising you would take her for ice cream after school. He felt awful delegating tasks like this to you, since he was already relying on you to pick her up and watch her after school every day, but nothing else had worked. After dropping her at the school gates just in time, he had to leave you a hurried voicemail while speeding to work, explaining the situation.
At work, things got worse. He had forgotten he had agreed to do overtime that day. He tried to soothe himself, reminding himself that it was at least paid overtime, but he was still incredibly tired and frustrated, having to text you to let you know that he would be home late. Like always, you texted back breezily, seeming completely unbothered by having to watch Abby for longer, sending a few cute, encouraging gifs of cats wishing him a good day. His favourite was the one you sent every day, a cute gif of a bear saying ‘I love you’. He sent back the same gif, thanking you profusely before hiding his phone so his boss couldn’t catch him slacking.
Overtime, unsurprisingly, had been rough, dragging on and on. It was a small comfort to him when you sent him a selfie of you and Abby getting ice cream after school, both beaming. He was so lucky that Abby adored you so much. Who wouldn’t? You were perfect. He never understood why you hung around with him, but he was incredibly grateful nonetheless. His boss was being even more of an asshole than usual that day, micromanaging his every move and not leaving him alone. It was driving him nuts, he was barely keeping himself from lashing out, still tired from staying up to watch your favourite show with you last night, since he hadn’t remembered his overtime. As soon as his shift was over, he rushed out into the parking lot to go home. About to get into his car, he noticed a dent on the door in the light of the streetlights, one he didn’t remember being there earlier that day. He groaned in frustration, smacking his hand against the car and burying his face in his hands. No one had left any insurance information, and he definitely didn’t have the money to fix this anytime soon. He takes a moment, taking a few deep breaths and looking on the bright side. At least it was only a dent, the car was still usable, and the other manager was on tomorrow, she would be more likely to let him check the CCTV for who did this. Admittedly, he felt a bit better, but he was still frustrated beyond belief. This was just his luck, just what he needed with rent coming up soon.
Pulling up outside of his house, it was already pitch black, the air biting cold. A faint light shone out from the living room window; otherwise, the street was completely dark already, most families asleep or at the very least in bed. He trudges up the drive, letting himself in, dropping his bag with a loud sigh and kicking off his boots. The sight of you peeking at him over the back of the couch relaxes him greatly, a small smile curling on his lips for the first time all day. Your presence always seemed to lower his blood pressure. He leans over the back of the couch, pecking your lips in greeting.
“Hey babe,” he murmurs.
“Hi honey,” you smile, giving him another kiss, watching as he fetches a glass of water from the kitchen and returns to your side. You lean into his side, his arm settling around your waist comfortably as he takes a long drink. Mike glances uninterestedly at the TV screen. You were watching the news.
“Ugh, turn that off, I can’t hear any bad news right now,” he grumbles, burying his face in your hair. You click off the TV.
“What’s up?” you ask softly, rubbing his arm.
“The whole day, some asshole dented the car and left no information,”
“Asshole,” you echo his sentiment, and he smiles slightly against your hair.
“Abbs asleep?” he mutters, pulling back to look at you. You nod an affirmative. “I’m sorry you had to watch her so long today, I completely forgot–”
“It’s fine, you know I love that girl,” you cut him off, not wanting him to feel bad. You knew he was taking overtime to save up for a vacation, his first in years, sorely needed. Looking into his eyes, you see the deep exhaustion and frustration there, mixed with the relief of seeing you. You peck his lips. “I have a surprise for you. Wait here,” you giggle as he raises a brow, loosening his grip on you so you can stand. Disappearing into his room, you dig through the dresser drawer he’d cleared for your things, finding what you’d hidden at the bottom. A deep blue lingerie set, just waiting for a special occasion. You figured it was still quite a while until his birthday, and he needed a little pick-me-up. You quickly changed, putting on the underwear set under your pyjamas, admiring yourself in the mirror. The set was a perfect fit, emphasising all your best assets, attractively lacy and strappy, yet still easy to discard. You button your pyjama shirt back up, hiding the set and then fiddle with Mike’s CD player. You find the ‘sexy’ mix you’d made for the two of you once, putting it in the player and adjusting the volume so it’s playing softly in the background. Poking your head out of his bedroom, you call him inside.
Mike walks into his room slowly, a little suspicious of what you might be up to, furrowing his brows as he hears the music playing. You guide him to sit down on the edge of his bed, stepping back and waiting for a good moment in the music. Just as he’s about to ask you what you’re doing, you begin softly swaying your hips, teasingly playing with the top button of your pyjama shirt. He raises a brow, leaning back on his hands to watch you, curious. You continue to sway to the rhythm of the music, slowly popping that first button open, then the next, giving a view of your cleavage as you sway.
“Oh, babe,” Mike growls, reaching toward you, trying to grab your hips. You swat at his hands playfully.
“No touching,” you giggle, popping a few buttons from the bottom of your shirt as he watches, enraptured. He pouts.
“You’re torturing me, woman, you’re cruel,” he huffs, eyes glued on you as you reveal more and more skin. You roll your eyes.
“I’m sure you can cope this once,” you taunt him, popping the final button of the shirt and opening it slowly, swaying to the music. Mike swallows when you sees your bra, feeling himself harden in his jeans.
“That’s a pretty thing,” he husks, watching as you let your shirt fall away down your arms into a heap on the floor.
“Bought it just for you,” you purr, gently running your fingertips over the lacy material. Mike tightens his hands into the sheets, trying to hold back from touching you, his eyes sparkling.
“I’m a lucky man,” he breathes, watching as you turn around, still swaying, now to a new song, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your pyjama pants. He barely blinks as you slowly lower the pants over the swell of your hips, swaying your ass to the music. It pains him not to be able to touch you, rubbing a hand over his stubble as he looks at you. His hand falls to his lap, gently stroking himself through his jeans as the pants make it over the swell of your ass, the sight of you in that lacy underwear making him crazy. “Babe…” he complains softly, working on the button of his jeans. You tut playfully, knowing exactly what he wants, turning back around to face him.
“No,” you chastise, making him groan, unzipping his jeans as his eyes wander your body needily. You step elegantly out of your pyjama pants, letting him admire the lingerie for a moment, giving him a slow twirl. You hear him grunt.
“You’re a goddess, babe… Jesus…” he bites his lip, pulling his cock out of his boxers, stroking it slowly. You dance to the slow, sensual music for a little while, just letting him watch you and stroke himself. “Never seen anyone so beautiful,” he mumbles. “How the hell did I get this lucky?” his words make you smile, gently playing with your hair as you dance, slowly shrugging one bra strap off your shoulder. You hear a sharp, excited inhale from Mike, and you both give a soft laugh at his reaction.
Turning to face him once again, you slowly work the bra straps down your shoulders to the music, letting the bra slip tantalisingly low. Mike hums needily, watching as you reach behind yourself and unclasp it, letting it fall away ever-so-slowly. He’s seen your breasts hundreds of times, but always reacts as if it’s the first, groaning and murmuring compliments, his hand tightening on himself. You toss the bra in his direction playfully, narrowly missing his face. He just laughs huskily, his hand working faster as he looks at you. You take slow steps toward him to the music, hearing his breathing pick up. You stand in front of him, looking down at him. His eyes roam your body, jerking himself off even faster.
“Can I touch yet?” he asks, his lip between his teeth. You shake your head.
“Not with hands,” you tease, but he understands what you mean instantly. He leans forward, pressing a warm kiss to your sternum, gently biting the skin to get back at you for torturing him, even though he knows you like it. He kisses and nibbles up and down your torso, wherever he can reach, your hands tangled in his hair, sighing gently as he closes his lips around one of your nipples, suckling gently. He pays some attention to both of your breasts, kissing his way back and forth between them. Moans spill from his lips, only growing louder as you reach down and replace his hand around his cock with your own. His hands, now free, immediately find your hips, but this time you don’t stop him, letting him trace over the panties while you stroke him just the way he likes. You sway your hips playfully as he reaches around to massage your ass, taking large handfuls, his lips pressing just below your belly button, gently scraping his teeth against the skin.
“You’re so perfect,” he chokes out in awe, breath stuttering as you tighten your grip. “So perfect…” Only moments later, his eyes slip shut, his head leaning heavily against your belly, your name slipping huskily from his lips. He twitches in your hand, thick, warm ropes release decorating your hand and his stomach. You continue to work him through his orgasm, stroking gently until he reaches down, moving your hand away. You step back to look at him, his muscles all relaxed, his eyes droopy and a tired smile on his face. You smile back, grabbing your pyjama shirt from the floor and pulling it back on, a little shy now that the heat of the moment is dissipating. Mike tucks himself away carefully, wiping himself clean with a tissue from his nightstand, then taking a clean one to wipe your hand clean gently. “God, babe… I needed that badly,” he hums, lying back on the bed, gesturing for you to join him. “You always know how to make everything better,” he whispers as you crawl in beside him, his arm going around your waist. You wrap yourself around him.
“I’m glad I could help,”
“You always help,” he says, kissing your cheek, trailing kisses up to your forehead. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you as my girl,”
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
hi everyone :3 long time no write! while i work on something a lil more special for everyone, please enjoy some headcanons! not revised, put together while im baked. plz forgive me.
content warnings: slight nsfw at the end, subtle sexuality
grumpy!mike who gets so mad when the dishes are left in the sink, but he'll never say anything. he may grumble, mumble to himself about how he can't understand why you won't just put your dishes in the dishwasher like he does. he'll do them anyway, every single time, and you'll never hear a peep against it.
grumpy!mike who is subtly dominant. he's a control freak in everything he does, including with his person. hands always gripping some part of your body, rather it's your thigh under the table, a hand in your back pocket, or a singular pinky wrapped around your own. he never strays far from you. his gaze is always watching, his eyes ready to cut over to anyone who glances at you too long.
grumpy!mike who almost NEVER wakes up on the right side of the bed. he's always whining about the light, that it's too hot, too cold. on mondays, he's particularly bad. he'd rasp out to you, eyes still half closed, a hand lazily laying on his forehead. "you know, you'd think living through freddy's would make me happy to see another monday, but sincerely, fuck you to the beginning of the week still." you'd just laugh, inevitably having to tug him out of bed. you'd promise a cup of coffee and a kiss. sometimes that'd be enough.
grumpy!mike who owns any and every possible gaming system that was around at the time that he can get his hands on. he swears hes an expert on them all, that any issue with a broken one from the thrift store? easy peasy to fix. thats when you have to listen to him bitch and complain for a few hours while he trouble shoots the issue. you'e never minded, though. you'll lay on the touch, legs propped up on the side, watching intently. occasionally you'll offer a little support. maybe a quick, "you got this, baby," to which he'll respond, "yeah, well, we'll see..."
grumpy!mike who gets HANGRY. if he hasn't eaten recently, everything becomes overwhelming. tying his shoes, the tv volume, the way his hair is falling in his face. all of these make him antsy. he becomes clumsier with his movements, sharper with his words. he's never mean to you, though. the most you might get is a little attitude in the tone of his voice. he'll still kiss you on the forehead and remind you that you've done nothing wrong.
grumpy!mike who likes something on at night. he likes how the sounds of your soft snores and the tv drown out his thoughts. it isn't as neurotic as the nature sounds he once listened to in order to bring himself back to garrett. no, these are homely, domestic even. these are the kinds of scenes he'd see in the sitcoms he'd obsessively watch. a beautiful woman, a sharper edged man that feels unworthy of her love, and soft sounds of safety.
grumpy!mike who hates grocery shopping days because you both always wake up too late. it always starts with a fight over who snoozed the alarm first, but you always know it was him. the unmistakably gentle weight of his body every morning was a sweet little clue for you. you'd tread through the dismally lit aisles, the saturday afternoon rush making the place packed like a can of sardines. you'd do it best to make it through, and you'd reward yourselves with some sort of treat every time.
grumpy!mike who is a FREAK in the SHEETS. remember how he's a control freak? same in the bed, baby. hands on the neck, in the hair. bite marks everywhere. he's an eater, too. he'll do whatever to hear you whimper. all in all, that's the number one priority.
it’s my birthday! here’s this short thing i wrote for peeta…haven’t wrote in a bit so bare with me. also im back :D
On a boiling hot summer day, Peeta has his cheek pressed up against the counter, his head to a side as he hunches over his seat. There had been barely any customers today, but luckily you came by to give him some company for a bit until you had to head out to run a quick errand, leaving Peeta waiting for you like a puppy.
You weren’t gone for too long so you’re surprised when you walk into the bakery to see your poor boy suddenly so drained. His face is flush, beads of sweat evident, strands of his blond hair sticking slightly to his forehead. He was obviously just looking forward to going home, clearly tired and overwhelmed by the heat.
“Hey,” you greet, approaching him by the counter. He doesn’t sit up, glued down to the cool counter as he hums a simple response. “Tired?”
“Hot.” He mumbles, a soft whiney sound following. You run your hand through his blond hair, softly petting him, wishing you could do something to get him to feel at least a little better—he still had a few more hours until he could close up. “I Want to go home.”
You frown a little, his tone desperate. “I know, I know,” you soothe, continuing to pet his hair. All you wanted was for Peeta to feel good. “You can go home in a few hours…” that doesn’t make him feel much better, you notice that immediately.
With a soft sigh, you simply make your way over to the other side of the counter where Peeta was at. This causes him to sit back up, perking up with confusion. “What are you…?” He simply watches you, brows knitted.
You knew your boyfriend well.
You stand behind him, your hands beginning to message his shoulders carefully. He’s surprised by this but immediately relaxes, not even questioning you. He lets out a soft sound of pleasure, his muscles relaxing at your touch.
“You’ve been working so hard,” you praise, your hands continuing to work with his shoulders. Peeta melts against your touch, feeling himself ease up at your words and touch, eyes slowly closing. “You deserve a reward, don’t you?”
Peeta’s eyes blink open, his body reacting with excitement, having some idea at what you were hinting at with that tone you used. He clears his throat that suddenly went dry, trying not to be obvious about how much he desired you right now but he was always terrible at hiding it.
“Yeah,” he replies, turning around to face you now. You’re standing up while he’s still sitting in his chair which only makes you tower over him, something that oddly enough made him hard.
Your hands cup his face, holding his gaze as he stares up at you with those puppy eyes that always made your heart warm. “Mm, yeah you do,” you softly caress one of his cheeks with your thumb, staring down at him. “Too bad we’re still here.”
Peeta’s eyes soften, brows furrowing together at the thought of you making him wait. You were only teasing, you loved seeing him beg desperately. “No, no, we can…” he trails off shyly, still looking up at you but now much more flustered.
“What was that?” You ask, one of your hands travelling to the back of his head, tangling your fingers between his hair. He swallows, words failing him as he tries to speak but he’s so fucking lost when you have him like this. “Hm?” You yank his hair back a little, his head lolling back slightly, a soft whimper leaving his lips involuntarily.
“We can just…” he stammers again, heavily panting now as you tug on his hair. He can’t bring himself to say it, and the only thing that falls from his lips is a pathetic plea, “please.”
You smile, somewhat content with his response. “Aw, my poor boy,” you coo, letting his hair go now. He looks back up at you now, eyes soft and full of lust.
You settle yourself between his legs, kneeling down in front of him. Now he’s looking down at you but the roles haven’t changed. You run your hands over his thighs, looking up at him with a slight grin as he tries his best not to make a sound. Sure, there had been basically no customers all day but it was still a possibility for someone to walk in.
“You have to be quiet, okay?” Your hands inch closer up as you speak, holding his gaze. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back any sound. “Okay?” You sternly ask and he nods immediately. You smile, “good boy.”
Peeta lets out a soft groan when he hears your praise, your hands making their way up to his clothed crotch making him buck his hips up. “Shh, it’s okay.” You softly say, moving past to start to unbuckle his pants for him.
Before you know it, you have him in your hands, stroking his length at such a slow pace that it practically has him crying.
“Please, please…just—just…” he sighs, face flush. His beautiful skin was glistening in sweat, more than before, cheeks pink.
“What, hm? What do you want?” You tease, your hand stopping fully. He’s trying not to buck up into your hand but you’re making it so difficult for him.
“I want you,” he mumbles, gripping the armrests to the point where his knuckles turn white. “I do, I do. Please, please just…I want you.”
no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind boggling, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride
Hi, hi! I just saw your michael afton fic and I'm so glad theres someone out here taking reqs for Mike! I would like to make one if you dont mind,
I'm thinking of a scenario with Mike where you met him when he was in high school and had feelings for him until Elizabeth's death/Bite of 83 when you moved away and seemingly forgot about him, only to for it to return as you meet him again as adults in FNAF 3 where he's working in Fazbear's Frights and trying to stop his dad to make up for himself (And also he never got scooped cause it makes me too sad, maybe he escaped with ennard or smth?)
Until I Found You Again
Pairing. bully!newkid!mike x popular!gn!reader
Warnings/Tags.slight angst, slight bullying, set in the 80s, enemies to friends to lovers, swearing
Words.5,312
A/N.Hello anoie! ahh thank you for reading it! i had so much fun writing it! ^^ theres not too many people on here who write for mike but im glad to be among the few who do! this ended up sooo much longer than expected but the thought of teen mike x reader started plaguing my mind
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April 21st, 1983
You're 15 and currently attending Hurricane High, located in none other than the little town of Hurricane, Utah, as if it couldn't be any more obvious. This year was the same as the previous one—a few new faces, but none of them really stood out until May 10th rolled around. A new boy had transferred to your school. He looked like one of those kids your parents had warned you about when you first started middle school. He was rather shy for the first few days. You thought he just needed time to adjust, maybe needed a new friend to break him out of his shell.
You got along with most people in your school. Making a new face comfortable wouldn't hurt, right?
Once the bell rang, you walked up to the boy, your eyes accidentally falling onto his wrists. The sleeves of his hoodie were rolled up just enough to show off a nice, dark, and painful bruise. He quickly noticed and hid his hands in his pockets.
“Hi, I'm—”
“Not interested.” He stands, grabs his backpack, and leaves with the other kids. You watched as he left. “Jerk…” you muttered under your breath, making your way back to your desk and grabbing your bag.
Different day, same routine. Place your belongings into your locker, then head to the loud and overly crowded cafeteria that smelled of sweat and food you were sure was slowly poisoning the students.
Somewhere within the sea of merged voices, you heard someone call your name.
“Over here!” One of your friends waves you over, scooting herself to the side and patting the seat next to her.
Quickly you rush over and slide into the seat and place your tray onto the table. “Did you hear what happened?” Damien, who sat across from you, asked with his mouth full. You shook your head. Both of them lean in closer. Confused, you do the same. It's not like anyone could really hear you three anyway.
“There's a new kid.” Jasmine states, Your brows furrow as you look between the two.
“There are tons of new kids, Jas,” you reply, poking at the mysterious glob of green pasta that you were served. In the corner of your eye, you see Mike, seated with a group of other kids. He picks at his food. Clearly he was just there, existing, not a part of the group of boys who were talking about god knows what. Mike seemed annoyed.
“There’s always a new kid. Be specific!” You add before taking a bite of the pasta.
Jasmine sighs, and Damien shakes his head. “We mean the new new kid, the one who just transferred, Mike.”
“He’s got a funny accent, and he’s pretty mean.” Damien finishes, you nod and tsk.
“We had a run-in. I can confirm he’s mean... and British.”
“No way!” they say in unison, leaning closer.
“W-what? Why is that a big deal?” You asked, growing worried now that you might’ve gotten yourself involved in something unknowingly.
“He got into a fight after first period.” Damien whispers; you could barely hear him but were still able to make out enough.
“What does this have to do with me?” You ask, confused why this was being discussed randomly and why you haven’t heard of anything until now.
“Nothing, nothing,” Jasmine says, fixing herself to sit normally in her seat.
“Just a warning, don’t think we didn’t see your eyes glancing in his direction.” Jasmine coos as if she were onto something. But she was reaching for something that wasn't there. Mike was only nice to look at when he wasn't talking...
You barely knew him but still couldn't help but glance and think of ways to get under his skin...
Mike's eyes find yours, making you flinch. It took you a minute to register he was actually looking at you. Rolling your eyes and glancing away, albeit a bit late, but he got the memo.
All was well until Damien pointed to your face and said.
"Aw, your face is flushed!"
Well fuck.
May 18th, 1983
Mike had made a reputation for himself in school, on the opposite end from where you stood and more blunt with his words and actions. He was rebellious and loud but carried himself in a manner that screamed, ‘I’m here.’ Much different than the aura you gave off. Yours was gentle yet still intimidating. His was harsh, demanding all eyes to be on him. No matter what way people looked at him, he was still seen.
Honestly, if anyone looked at you the way others look at him, you might die right then and there.
After your first encounter with Mike, you’ve kept your distance. He was another person who occasionally found himself within your world.
‘He needn't your concern,’ as Jasmine would say. And she was right, until today.
“For this project you’ll each be assigned partners.” Mrs. Clayton rises from her chair, a clipboard in hand, you begin to fear the worst.
Please let us pick. Please let us pick. You chanted in your mind, you always made sure to pick someone you’d work effectively with, but as luck would have it, that wasn't the case today.
Mrs. Clayton began reading off the students that would be paired together for the project.
As you were lost praying to whoever might be listening, you hadn't realized your name had been called until she knocked on your desk.
“Did you hear me?”
“I’m sorry, who did you say I was paired with?”
Dread begins to set in as she points to the back of the class. Your head turns, and your eyes fall onto none other than the class commotion, Mike.
“O-oh...” was all you were able to say. She hands you your project guide as you slide into your seat.
The bell rang, and just like clockwork, everyone began to rise from their seats. You were still packing up your things. You always waited so you didn't need to deal with others shoving you. Finally, once the class was empty, you swung your backpack over your shoulder and slid out of your desk. With your eyes on the floor, your body walks into something, making you stumble back.
“Use your eyes!”
“Maybe don’t stand in the way!” You retort, finally looking up. It was none other than Mike. He looked pissed as usual. Little did he know you could be just as mean when provoked.
“People will think we’re friends. I have a reputation to maintain… Mitch.” You smirk, purposefully getting his name wrong; his lip twitches. Your eyes fell to his lips. You hadn't noticed it before, but there was a small cut on his top lip. Quickly you look away.
“Look, my dad threatened to send me to live with my grandparents if I don't graduate. You're doing this project with me, and we’re going to your place.” He was stern, but his voice sounded…off? You knew he had an accent, and a prominent one at that. His voice sounded like he had something in the back of his throat, trying to put on his best American accent.
“Why my place?”
“Our place is…”
“Is?”
“My dad is renovating it, so it’s not the best place to be for now… dust and shit.” When he swore, it sounded forced, like he was just learning how to talk. You snickered and rolled your eyes. There wasn't much you could do to worm your way out of this situation anyway.
“Fine, my place it is.” You reach the door, then turn around. Mike was a bit too close for comfort, if he was any taller you probably would’ve been intimidated.
“Also, some rules,” you begin, placing the tip of your finger onto Mike’s chest and pushing him away, earning a tsk from him.
“Don't dress like… that at my place.” You motion to his clothes. They weren't exactly bad, but you wanted to stir the pot.
“And two, we’re not friends. So if we get assigned to a project again, consider it a favor. Alright?”
Mike held back with everything he had. He needed to pass, so for now, he would groan and take some of your attitude. Once this was over, he was going to return your treatment tenfold.
The week came and went. Saturday was just beginning. Usually you’d be out with Jasmine and Damien, but today you were trapped at home, waiting for Mike to arrive.
You had your study material ready and laid out on your desk and had pop music softly playing in the background. Then suddenly, your nerves started acting up. You weren't exactly sure why, it was just mike… he wasn't worth the mental turmoil yet here he was, plaguing your mind with his stupid voice and face, maybe you were losing it because you couldn't sworn you just heard his voice.
“Please don't puke.”
You spin around towards the familiar voice. There stood Mike by your doorway. Okay, maybe you weren't that delusional. Mike was dressed differently from usual. His long hair was brushed out and fluffed. It moved with even the tiniest of movements. And his clothing choice didn't make you question whether or not he got dressed in the dark.
He was actually nice to look at…
He raises a brow, his cheeks had a slight flush to them, he turns away but finds his reflection in the mirror, making his face flush even more. He wasn't sure why he was nervous either. Mike places his hands in his pockets and clears his throat.
“Stole some clothes, I hope they’re decent enough for your superficial tastes...”
You scoff with an insult on your tongue that was ready to fire, but instead you held back and nodded, even his shoes were different and for once and they were properly laced.
“You look… not like you and somewhat satisfactory.” You did your best to find the right words without saying, 'You look good.' you motioning for him to sit on the chair, right of your desk.
He takes a seat, his eyes bounce around your room, it was like taking a step into your mind, opening up a part of yourself even if it was reluctant.
He takes note of the posters on your wall. He didn't seem to notice when you took a seat on his left.
“Hey weirdo are you still with us?” You ask, snapping your fingers in his face. Mike rolls his eyes in annoyance and says.
“You listen to 'The Rolling Stones'?” Mike points to the poster of the band. There was a slight hint of curiosity in his voice. You weren't expecting him to be so nosey but then again, none of your friends really cared much for the rock bands you listen to, this was probably your only chance to be able to indulge and share your common tastes in music with someone… even if that someone happens to be the schools wannabe bully.
“I listen to them, they're pretty rad!” you eye him suspiciously before asking. “What about 'Kiss'?”
“Dude I fucking LOVE kiss! And 'The police'.” Mike was practically vibrating in the chair from excitement and so were you.
“'The police'? Never heard of them.”
“Oh they’re another English band. I used to listen to them all the time with my friends back in Nottingham.”
“Ah, so that’s where the accent's from.” You reply, playfully wiggling your finger at him before quickly pulling it back, clearing your throat. Mike let out a breathy laugh, catching him by surprise.
“To be fair, my family moved around a lot until we ended up here. My accent was stronger as a child.”
You snicker.
“Stronger? Good thing you’re somewhat intelligible now.” You joked. Mike didn't expect you to be as quick witted as he was, but he enjoyed the challenge from someone other than his insufferable father. You two were about to continue your banter until a knock on the door startled you both.
“I don't hear much studying happening.” Your mother stands at the doorway, arms crossed. Mike went quiet, like he was trying to become invisible in his seat.
“Don't worry mom were just getting the giggles out.” you smiled at her. Your mother eyed you then Mike then left with a smirk on her face.
Whatever that was about.
May 27th, 1983
You and Mike have grown close, but not too close to raise eyebrows. At least that's what you thought. You two agreed to keep things subtle to not disturb the peace within your social circles. Ever since the school week started, you’ve seen students give you odd glances or whisper about you when you walk down the halls. It was common to have people speak about you. You were the most popular student in hurricane high after all, expect this was different, it didn't take a genius to figure that much out.
And just like clockwork, there was Mike, shoving and laughing with his friends. Until he spotted you. You flash him a smile before rushing to your locker. Mike was already hot on your trail.
He tried so hard to be cool that he almost tripped trying to lean on the locker next to yours.
You pay no mind to him as you gather your belongings.
“Aren't your friends waiting for you?” You say a bit dryly, trying to ignore his annoying presence.
“I thought we were?” Mikes voice softens slightly, feigning hurt. You close your locker, turning to face mike your eyes fall onto a brown bag, from what looks like to be a record place.
“I guess I’ll return this then, I don't even buy things for those freaks.” Mike nods in the direction where his friends had gone. You were going to say something but stopped. Your brows raise after realizing what he said.
“Hold on, bought?” You repeat, taken a back. This wasn't like Mike to just buy items.
“I thought you always got a five finger discount.” hesitantly taking the bag, you open it, expecting it to be some gag gift.
“Well, you can't really steal at a record place.” Mike crosses his arms and peers down the hall, stealing some glances at your face. He still wanted to see your reaction.
“No way! You bought me their record!” You bounced on your heels as you held the record from the band Mike mentioned, ‘The Police.’ Mike really went out of his way just to get you something you were too scared to share with anyone else.
Then the stares came, you felt everyone's eyes on you and quickly went into hiding.
Placing the album back into the bag and quickly storing it away in your locker you turn to Mike once again, now with a smile still plastered on your face.
“T-thanks Mike.” There it was again, the small flush on his face.
Annoyingly adorable.
“Do you think… I can come over your place during summer break so we can listen to it together?”
“Uh, sure?”
“Only cause our record player broke and I want to listen to music.” He quickly added, trying to cover up his intentions.
You roll your eyes, was he really pulling this?
“I said yes, now come on, we need to present the project today.”
You begin to walk to class, Mike quickly finding his way by your side, your hands just brushing against each other.
“When would you like to come over?” you ask, eyes glued ahead.
“June 15th, maybe? My little brother’s birthday is the 14th, and my old man wants me to babysit him while he works on his stupid animatronics.” Mike spat the last part bitterly. You sense there was some tension there. It was beginning to make sense now why he was keen on going to your place.
“Animatronics?” you ask, your gaze shifting to him.
“My father is one of the owners of Freddy's.” Mike says, almost humiliated by it, he wasn't expecting you to be so excited about it.
“Freddy’s?! Oh man, that place is all the buzz now! I haven't had the chance to go yet.” You beamed, hoping he'll take you.
Mike smiles, placing a hand on your shoulder. He leans into your ear. You flinch, trying to pull away but instead he gently holds your face in place. His breath was hot against your skin, giving you goosebumps at how it tickled you.
“Don't.”
Was all he said before leaving you flustered in the hall before class.
June 15th, 1983.
You waited for Mike all day, the record still in its package. You wanted to open it with him but as the day came to a close, you choose to listen to it alone in bed. What did you even expect from a guy like Mike?
After that day, you did what you could to distance yourself from him, and so did your parents. One night they were silently talking about themselves, and Mike's name was brought up a few times. You never knew why. Then Freddy's and something about a death. It was hard to make out much through your door. You knew Mike had violent tendencies, seen them first hand, but never did you think he had the capability to kill. What were they keeping from you?
Not long later your parents packed up, sold the house and moved you away to California to finish school before you could say your goodbyes and maybe even see Mike. Eventually you met new friends, feelings for new people, and found new interests.
Mike wasn't even a thought anymore.
As an adult now, you move back to your childhood home in Hurricane Utah. It’s been through many changes, your old room had lost all its charm that screamed it was yours and yours alone.
Everything ends up fading over time whether we want it to or not.
Trying to become reacquainted with your old life, you decide to take a walk in the plaza you and your friends used to ditch school in.
The summer sun beamed on your skin. Maybe it wasn't the best idea moving back to Utah in the middle of summer. You forgot how bad the heat could get.
So many old memories come rushing in. you find yourself in front of one of the old stores you used to spend time in, but just as you reached for the handle someone calls your name.
The voice was oddly familiar, turning around there stood none other than Michael Afton himself. The man you ended up falling for in high school.
He wore a security uniform that had more wrinkles than a sphinx cat. His face had changed so much, his once soft boyish features have became sharper, and his long hair that he once took pride in was now half of the length it once was.
He stands, staring at you trying to figure out whether he accidently mixed up a stranger for you. But once you spoke, those doubts were instantly crushed.
“Mike?” you asked softly, closing the gap between you. He opens his arms and pulls you tightly into a hug, you didn't hug him back, instead you just stood their, arms by your side before pulling away.
Mike looked at you confused and slightly hurt. This wasn't how he expected this reunion to go.
“You left me without a word!” There it was, the words you’ve been dying to get out. Mikes shoulders slump, letting out a pained breath before speaking.
“Can we talk… please?” Mike tries to reach for your hand, but you pulled away, turning your face.
“I'm not sure, can you even do that?” You begin, crossing your arms. “Or will you just ditch me again?”
Mike shakes his head, it was all his fault after all, he could deal with his father hating him, his brother, hell his entire family. But not you.
“Just give me a chance to explain, I didn't leave you on purpose.” There was desperation in his voice that he tried to contain. He places his hand in his pockets, anxiously waiting your answer. Mike wasn't the type of guy to give up so easily— no, that was the mike you knew from high school.
The mike you knew doesn't often ask, he would take, destroy, then when he got his way, find something else to repeat the cycle with. That was a boy who was scared and tried to cling onto anything until he felt like he was loosing control.
That was the Mike you knew, this Mike was a stranger in your eyes.
“Fine…” your voice came out weakly, mike lifts his head, moving in closer to hear you. “Fine, we can discuss whatever it was that happened. But I expect the truth.” Mike gave a hesitated nod. He looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, chapped lips, his skin lighter than you remember. Life hasn't been as kind to him as its been you.
“Maybe this time we can go to my place?” You tilt your head, you buried the memories of him so deeply into your mind that you had to dig to try to understand what past event he was referring to.
“The renovations were finally finished.” he tries to joke, and luckily, it hits... kind of. You softly laugh, finally remembering what he was talking about. His pathetic reason he gave to why you couldn't go to his place at the time.
“Your place.” You reply with a nod.
“At 7pm.”
“Tonight?” You tilt your head, all this was so sudden.
“I don't work tonight.” He replies, mentally praying you’d agree. You thought about it for a second. It might be a while before you can find time to speak to mike.
“Deal.”
Mikes house wasn't anything grand unlike the one you had grown up in. it was only him for the most part and didn't need more than what he has now.
Mike rushes to the door as soon as he heard the doorbell, wasting no time opening it.
“You made it!” He exclaimed, a part of him was wondering if you’d actually show up or not, he felt a twinge of guilt for doubting you.
“No need to shout I'm right here.” You roll your eyes with a playful smirk as you step in. He could see that you’ve changed quite a bit as well, but beneath the small front you were putting up was someone who wanted to jump on Mike, to hold him in a tight embrace. You wanted to yell at him, tell him you were hurt, ask questions that he himself probably didn't even had the answers to.
Mike shuts the door and leads you to the small living room that had one couch, next to it was a chair from the dining room. You eye the set up then glance at him.
“I don't get many guests…” Mike rubs the back of his head before leading you to the couch and plopping himself onto the chair.
“Promise me what I tell you will stay between us?” Mike leans forward, like there was someone else listening in on the conversation and he didn't want them to hear.
“Is it that serious?” You ask, leaning back into the couch growing uncomfortable at the sudden closeness.
“I'm giving you a choice. If you say no, then you can leave and we can pretend this never happened. But if you say yes,” then you’re entering the hell my father created, willingly. Was what he wanted to say, but bit his tongue, he wanted you to have the choice without any prejudice.
“Yes, I promise whatever it is will stay between us.” With that, Mike moves away from your face, there was so much to tell you, so much to catch you up on, he became lost in his mind, trying to understand where it all started and how to became like this. Honestly, it all happened to fast he didn't have time to stop and process t.
So, he started with the thing he remembers vividly.
“My brother died because of me.” Mike looked like he was confessing to a crime, maybe this was his first time saying it outload and the reality hit him like a truck. His shoulders trembled. He couldn't continue, needed a moment to compose himself before he broke.
You carefully place a hand on top of his, your thumb stroking his knuckles. Mike places his other hand onto of yours, giving it a slight squeeze.
The comfort allowed him to continue.
“It was my fault, he died on his birthday because of me. I was a fucking dick and wanted to be cool around my friends. I was pissed my father made be watch him when i wanted to hangout with my friends. So i lifted him into...” he pauses, wiping away the tears, taking a breath before he continued. “Into the animatronics mouth but I didn't know it’s hinges would’ve snapped! It’s all my fault… all my fault.”
Tears stream down Mikes face. He was a wreck, you’ve never thought you’d see him like this, in shambles. You wondered how many years of grief he carried alone, how many people he’s pushed away because of what he did. Then it hit you. The day your parents were being secretive and suddenly moved away from hurricane. It wasn't because of better education, it was because they knew what happened. Now the murmurs of Mike, Freddy's and death all started to make sense.
“Then my parents made us move away. I wasn't able to contact you, I wasn't able to be there for you. I'm so sorry mike.”
Mike begins to fall forward slowly until he was a sobbing mess on the floor. You slide off the couch and held him as he sobbed in your arms. He kept apologizing for ruining your shirt, you didn't care, it was a shirt, it was replaceable, he wasn't. He was a human with trauma, regrets, and grief.
He explains what he can through his sobs, his fathers murders, the death of his sister, friends and how he’s been trying to right the sins of his father. It didn't make sense to you, it didn't feel real, everything he was saying sounded like it was something out of a movie and he was the starring role.
It was getting darker outside, you don't know how long you were on the floor for. Mikes sobs became choked as he ran out of tears to cry. His red puffy eyes finally met yours. He cradles your face in his hands and gently strokes your cheeks with his thumbs.
“You can still leave, pretend you never heard anything and continue life like normal. You don't need to stay for me.” his voice was strained, your heartache at how stripped and vulnerable he was. Mike wipes away at stray tears that fell from your eyes, leaning into his gentle touch, the hands that once destroyed, that killed, now were being used to hold and love.
If only he could see himself the way you see him.
“No…” You shake your head, leaning in and placing a soft kiss on his salty lips. Pulling away Mikes brows furrow, his glossy eyes searching yours, trying to find an answer to your actions.
“I'm right where I want to be, with you. Let me love you the way deserve, Mike.” There was pregnant pause, Mikes eyes were locked on yours, you could see all the pain and gried that he kept hidden within them.
Before you could say more, there was a strange sound coming from what you assume to be the closet. Mike scatters to his feet, pulling you up with him.
“Mike?” You clung onto the back of his shirt, afraid. Mike however was the opposite.
“I’d like you to meet someone.” He gently prys you off of his back, planting a kiss on your temple before heading towards the closet.
Opening the door, you find yourself starring into a dark abyss, white glowing eyes peering at you through the darkness.
“I’d like you to meet my uh… sister or at least the part of her.” A terrifying amalgamation of wires and metal reveals itself from the dark closet, his face moves, opening and closing slightly only adding to your fear.
“Liz, this is… The one I told you about.”
You began to fell lightheaded as the thing—his sister, took another step closer. Your face began to pale.
“The doors still—”
“No, I'm not leaving you Mike, now this is a US issue and I refuse to let you deal with this shit alone AGAIN!” you didn't mean to shout, but you were growing tired of mike trying to protect you after allowing you in to his terrifying world. You were set on your decision, and were going to stand by it, no matter how hard he wanted to protect you.
“Now tell me mike.” you take a step towards him, stopping just an inch away. now you were giving him the chance to choose.
“How can we stop William and put this nightmare to rest?” Mike wasn't expecting you to be so willing to jump right in, hell he wasn't expecting you to help him at all, it wasn't something he even alluded to. he just wanted to be honest with you, give you the truth you deserve. never once did he have anyone so fiercely ready to help him before.
“I have a plan, but it needs to be executed with caution and presession.” He explains, you hum in response.
“But—” You stopped yourself, Mike walked away, then stopped in front of a record player.
“what are you doing?” You glance towards the animatronic then quickly shuffle your way towards Mike, let out something that was between and chuckle and a choked sob.
“Something that we never had the chance to do.” He takes out an album from a worn-out cover, despite being in bad shape you could still make out the remnants of the photo.
"Terrible timing I apologize." he says as he places the record onto the record slot.
“Is that…”
“Yes! We never got a chance to listen together.” He says softly. You remember the day he ditched you, how you listened to the album once when hid it away god knows where.
The first song begins to play and Mike begins to sing along in a broke, strained voice. You wondered what he would’ve looked like that day, his long hair wildly swaying with each head bang, each jump. This felt more real and raw then what it could've been and to be honest, maybe it was better. Mike pulls you in to dance around with him as the amalgamation watched from the corner. His grief was now replaced by the happiness you two shared in the moment.
even if it was temporary, he’d hold onto this moment and to you for as long and this cursed world would allow him to.
Mike Schmidt is the king of being pussy drunk. He'd spend hours with his face between your legs if you'd let him, slaking his thirst on your sweet nectar, rolling and pinching and nibbling at your clit in that way only he knows how until you're mewling, quivering, locking your thighs around his head and cumming with a weak cry; Mike thinks if there's any way to die, this would be how he wants to go.
Mike who works himself into a such a frenzy that by the time he gets around to fucking you, he's incoherent. He pushes in and his eyes cross and roll back in his head, he moans and whines and curses as your cunt involuntarily tightens and clenches around him and he can barely hold himself up, brain mush and bones liquefied. He swears your pussy is magic.
Mike who litters your soft skin with marks and bruises to show everyone just who he belongs to, to show everyone that you're his and he's yours. Teeth grazing your neck and your tits and your lower stomach until you're covered.
Mike who insists that you walk around the house dressed only in an oversized tee that you've stolen from his closet at one point or another, legs bare, marked a myriad of colours where his teeth and lips and tongue touched you the night before.
And, well, what an unfortunate awakening that must be for that nosy cop, Vanessa, when you answer his front door just like that one morning...
