larascorneroftheworld

[larascorneroftheworld]

jonathan byers listening to music

[larascorneroftheworld]

I was wondering if you could do a fic with Mike Schmidt x fem!reader and the quote “can I stack donuts on it?” I apologize in advance 😭

THE FUCKING SCREAM I SCRUMPT WHEN I GOT THISSSSSS BITCH YOU GOT ITTTTTT

Cherries & Cream

Mike Schmidt x AFAB!Reader

Summery: It's a modest holiday. Spent indoors, soft music on the cassette player... oh, and a collection of bad ideas snowballed into a day of sticky situations

Tags: No use of Y/N, author has fucking lost it, comedy, Valentine's Day fic, mentions of failed masturbation attempts, mentions of inappropriate use of lightsabers and water snakes (I SAID AUTHOR HAS FUCKING LOST IT- DONT ASK, JUST READ, IT AINT THAT BAD!), sex toys, handcuffs, sex dice, pre-established relationship, food sex, blowjob, facial, Mike gets restrained like we all know he wants to be.

Notes: I'm not apologizing for shit.

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"These are ridiculous questions."

"Oh, come on. Don't be a sourpuss," I say. Cards are scattered around the small box on our bed, both of us long deciding we'd clean up later.

"What does it say?" I ask him, leaning forward. I'm straddling his chest, my arms crossed against mine, dressed in nothing but one of his shirts. His hand on my hip is halfway under the black material, his pointer finger twisting the old cotton around his digit. His other hand holds a dark purple card that he rolls his eyes at before shifting them to focus on me towering over him.

"It doesn't even apply to you," he says.

"And how do you know?" I say smugly.

"Because I've sucked your dick and it's not big enough to apply," he says

"What? Give me that." I snatch the card from his hand, ignoring his laughter as he shifts his hand to rest on my other hip, rubbing soothing circles into my skin while I read.

'What's the weirdest thing you have ever stuck your dick in?'

A short laugh escapes me, a bit louder than it should be with Abby sleeping peacefully down the hall.

"I'm waiting," Mike jokes, smiling up at me with his lips twisted into a smug expression of sarcasm.

"I mean, I stuck a toy lightsaber up my snatch once," I say casually.

"What?" He bellows, descending into a fit of laughter so grand his chest is rattling underneath of me, making my face bloom with blood in embarrassment.

"I was fourteen!" I say quickly in my defense. This doesn't help my case, making him cackle loud enough I grab a pillow to shove onto his face to muffle his fit. He grabs my wrists before it can descend, holding them up as he wheezes.

"Oh, Qui-Gon Jin! You're my only hope!" He relaxes his grip slightly, allowing me to stiffle his incessant noise.

"That was Obi-Wan, and I liked Darth Vader!"

His hands shove the pillow away from his red face, eyes teary and judgemental.

"He's burnt!"

"It was the vibe! Mysterious, dark, and that voice!" I protest. Mike makes a pitiful attempt at the sounds of Vader's breathing through his mask, muddled with spit from his laughter. "James Earl Jones has a handsome voice!"

"It's just so hot," Mike cackled.

"Mike."

"Nothing can hold a candle to it."

"Michael."

"Makes me go-" a crude imitation of lightsaber noises is the last thing Mike can communicate before I'm slamming the pillow down on him, making him laugh harder and block his face from my playful blows as he begs for mercy.

"You're a dick!"

"You'd stick yours in one of those- those-" as he regains his breath and I lessen my attacks, he snaps his fingers, one hand slapping gently against my thigh for thought.

"Oh, you know. One of those fucken- the uh..." He makes a jerking motion with his snapping hand, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling like the answer is written on the spot where some poster used to be.

"A hand?" I ask, crossing my arms and glaring down at him.

"No. One of those toys that had like water in them and you could like- I don't know what the point of them was, some sensory thing. There was like water, maybe fish or sparkles stuffed inside," he describes, gesturing his hand as he speaks.

The image begins to click together in my mind. "Oh yeah. Water snakes?" I ask. He slaps my thigh, snapping his fingers and pointing at me with wide eyes.

"That's the fucker. Yeah, you'd stick your dick in that," he says confidently, nodding and relaxing in satisfaction with his statement.

"Okay, but you can like slide those things in and out so honestly that's kind of genius," I say.

"That plastic burns like a motherfucker though. And it's got those seams for the plastic so lube doesn't help," Mike says, one arm curled above his head and his other hand once more rubbing my hip.

"That's descriptive," I say with narrowed eyes. I lean forward, my face hovering above his. His relaxed hazel eyes widen slightly, but only by a hair. His rubbing stutters. His body language is still casual, but has stiffened enough to betray him.

"Just a thought."

"How old were you?"

"I did not- fifteen."

It's my turn to snicker now, picking my pillow back up and smacking him once more in the head.

"Okay, okay. Teenagers are idiots. Next card, next card," he says laughing, hand now searching for a new card from the deck. "Oh my God. What food item would you use during sex- babe, where the fuck did you find this game?"

"It was some dirty Santa gift, got it a couple years ago," I say with the wave of my hand. "Anyways, it's my turn to ask the question."

"Oh right. Pick a new one," he says, flicking the card away.

"Well, hang on now. On the topic of poor sexual choices and food, what would you use for that?" I ask, smirking and crossing my arms across my chest once more. He glares at me, lips pressed firmly together as he narrows his eyes. There's a long silence, neither of us speaking as we decide who's going to break it.

"Donuts," he finally says.

"Donuts?"

"Yeah. They have the hole," he adds as if it explains everything.

"Uh huh."

"Okay, you used a fucking lightsaber, you cannot-"

"I was fourteen, you are twenty-eight. What happens if you squeeze the thing too hard and you've just got crumbs and frosting all over you?" I ask.

"I wouldn't fuck the damn thing. I'd, like, stack them," he clarifies. "Do it like one of those really cheesy porno bits like 'did someone order some food?' And just rip open the trenchcoat to reveal several donuts stacked on my dong."

"Michael, you've put a weird amount of thought into this."

"It's the fucking question!"

"Okayokayokay- so hypothetically," I begin.

"Mm-hmm."

"If I brought home a box of donuts-"

"Nice ones. Krispy Kreme or some shit, I'm not getting sugar in my shit if it's cheap," he insists.

"...glad to know. If I brought home a box of overpriced donuts and a trench coat-"

"Take the coat out, that was a bit."

"Will you let me finish?"

"That'd be the preferred outcome," he interrupts again. "But like, before the donut thing. If it was like, y'know." He thrusts his hips into the air slightly, not to be arousing but to clarify. Because that's the part he can't say out loud. "'Cause you can't get sugar in your snatch."

"You can't get sugar in your snatch," I repeat slowly, blinking.

"Don't ask."

"Right. So if I brought home the Kreme-y goods, you would present yourself to me with a donut dick?" I ask. He rolls his eyes, suppressing a smile.

"Sure."

Valentine's Day. A day for kids and new couples, mainly. And since this household is aging out of both of those demographics, Mike and I had decided to go smaller this year. Not that we went huge every year before, neither of us feeling quite like blowing a shit load of cash on the day. But usually we booked a reservation at a decent restaurant, put on some nicer clothes, and spent the holiday just having a nice family dinner. But Abby was old enough she was itching to attend some sleepover at a friend's house for the holiday, and Mike and I felt fine just ordering in and playing a card game that we usually thumbed through while bored.

"Do 12 year olds even get valentines?" Mike asks, sprawled upon the bed the night before.

"I don't know, I didn't," I shrug. "She's just visiting her friends and wearing pink so they can gorge on chocolate, sounds like a good holiday to me."

He considers this, scratching his jaw as he continues staring at the ceiling.

"Valentine's Day alone. What trouble we could cause," he teases.

"What food are we ordering in for the trouble, anyways?" I ask, looking up from the box of my things I'd been unpacking, hanging up pictures and placing knick knacks around the room and new desk we'd shoved in earlier that evening.

"Chinese?" He asks.

"Gas for Valentine's Day, I'll love that," I say. He laughs. "How about Italian?"

"Makes me bloated, you'll be top," he says. "What are we doing in that department? I mean, we probably should do something."

"You say that like sex is a chore," I say with a raised brow, looking up at him for a moment from the box.

"Oh, hell no," he says. "If that's a chore than it's my favorite."

"Chores typically bring you closer to God."

"Than I'm smokin' it with Jesus, fuck yeah."

At that I laugh, tossing a small box at him that rattles with something inside. He catches it, laughing and pulling it open out of curiosity.

"Oh ho! What are these?" He asks, holding up a small, hot pink cube.

"Oh Jesus, I thought I lost those. They're-"

"Sex dice!" He laughs. "You whore!"

"I'm not a whore, I just went to college!" I laugh defensively. His eyebrows raise.

"Popular?"

"Fuck off," I groan. "My ex bought those, I just kept them."

Mike rolls the dice in his hands, actually sitting up and crossing his legs on the bed before sending them flying across the quilt.

"Suck toe," Mike reads. "That's disappointing."

"We never used toe, we always just picked a different spot," I say.

"Like?" He asks.

"I don't know, it varied. I guess it was kinda a pick your poison spot," I say. "You wouldn't believe how often it lands on toe."

"The universe is trying to tell you something," he says.

"The universe can suck it," I say. Mike rolls one of the dice again.

"Tit. Nice. I'll be acting as ambassador for said universe sucking-"

"You'll be acting as helping me unpack these dresses," I say, setting the box on the bed in front of him. He stands with a sigh, hands on his hips as he awaits his work. I take out a few dresses and lay them in his arms before returning to my work of organizing the closets.

"Hold 'em," I say.

"Just hold them?"

"Yeah."

"You made me get up for this?"

"Before you find the handcuffs in there? Yeah," I say.

"Handcuffs? We've been together for three years, you're moving into my house and now I'm finding out you have handcuffs?" Mike asks incredulously.

"I didn't know that would upset you," I say honestly, shrugging.

"Upset? I've been deprived! You're a freak and haven't taken it out on me!" He says overdramatically. I roll my eyes but smile.

"I'm not a freak, I've only slept with like, two other guys. That's it," I say.

"So the guys were freaks," he says.

"I mean, I wasn't saying no," I admit.

"So you're a freak when asked?"

"You sound like a teenager."

"I sound like a guy who's gonna be home alone with his girlfriend and sex toys tomorrow, yeah, I sound like a teenager," he says.

"Oh, so we're ordering in and banging all night?" I ask, raising a brow in amusement.

"Was that not the plan already?" He asks.

"I wasn't gonna say it, but if you want to."

The night was spent laying out plans of debauchery. After dropping off Abby in the early afternoon at her friends the next day, Mike and I made a slight detour before heading home, where the items were laid out before us.

Whipped cream. Donuts. Handcuffs. Dice. And some cheap, bottom of the $5 bin collection of 'Top 100 Sexy Songs for Valentine's Day' cassette tape that Mike had grabbed from a local music store during our trip.

"Do you ever question the things we do while bored?" Mike asks, staring at the ceiling, butt naked and handcuffed to the bedframe while I straddle his thighs, trying to figure out how exactly I'm gonna do this.

"Do you?" I ask, pinching his soft tip between my fingers.

"I'm starting to," he says, glancing at the can of whipped cream that was starting to sweat on the bedside table beside us. "I had questions before I shaved my junk for this, but I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Good. Keep that philosophy, I think I figured it out," I say, finally leaning for the box of glazed donuts we'd hardly been able to act mature about buying while going through the drive through. We're not seeing the gates of heaven.

"Shouldn't you get me hard first? It's just gonna grow," he says in questioning, trying to look down at what I'm doing.

"No, because then I'll have to keep you hard and that's gonna deflate quickly," I say. He nods in agreement, satisfied and sighing in slight boredom as I begin my task, trying to get the first donut on without breaking.

"Ow! Are- are you trying to fucking fold my shit?" He asks, his voice slightly higher than it was a moment ago.

"You're bigger than the hole, it's gonna break the donut! It's soft, isn't it?" I ask.

"Not that soft!" He says a bit frantic.

"Okay, what if I stretch it out like this?" I ask, tugging his dick upwards.

"I'm gonna ask you not to!" Mike says. His thumbs find the latches for the handcuffs, undoing one so he can reach down himself. "Jesus Christ- you're gonna break me!"

"This is my job," I say amused, giggling as I cover my mouth with my hand.

He ignores me, examining himself and the donut before glaring at the corner of the room, sighing.

"Motherfucker, I've been blessed, goddammit," he groans.

"What a humble statement," I say, trying not to laugh.

"This is humbling enough. Do what you will, I guess," he says, flopping back onto the bed, donut in hand and taking a bite from it as he crosses his ankles beneath me.

"I need that," I say.

"There's eleven more, this is my consolation prize," he says through his mouthful, returning his glare to the ceiling.

"You gonna redo the handcuff?" I ask.

"I'll redo your fucken dad," he snaps, but shoves the rest of the donut in his mouth as he fiddles with the handcuffs once again, groaning as I start on my work.

It takes half an hour, four donuts and a ridiculous amount of whipped cream, but the deed is done. Stepping off the bed, I behold my work of a restrained, glaring, donut stacked and cream covered Mike with a proud smile.

"This was exponentially hotter in my head," he mutters, looking down at himself.

"You don't like it?" I ask.

"I didn't say that, I'm just not drooling over- where are you going?" He asks. I quickly dart out of the room, racing to the kitchen as a series of 'babe?' Rings throughout the house. I open the fridge quickly, find the box of cherries and race back into the bedroom, holding it up as though it were a crown jewel.

"Ohh, my fucking God," Mike loudly drawls, rolling his eyes.

"I almost forgot," I say with malicious glee.

"I wish you had," he says, staring at the ceiling. "You're sick in the head."

"This was your idea."

"I'm sick in the head, I repent, I repent."

Placing a fat cherry carefully on top of the fluffy tip, I smile in true satisfaction.

"Perfect," I say, hands working to undo my house robe, shrugging it off and leaving me in simple lingerie instead.

"Now you faceplant into my dessert dick. Delicious," he deadpans.

"Mike, if you really don't wanna do this-"

"I'm gonna get a fucking UTI, just fulfill the high school fantasy already. I'll have no shame once I'm hard," he spits out quickly, jerking against the restraints slightly in impatience.

Well, that's true enough.

I lean forward, trying to figure out where to start, deciding between bottom or top.

"Babe, this is mortifying, just do some- oh-kay," Mike groans, his hips shifting slightly as I gently suck one of his freshly shaved balls into my mouth, my tongue swirling around it as I grip his thighs. The stack shifts slightly, Mike moaning as he thrusts against nothing.

My mouth works his sack for a little bit, one of my hands trailing down to between his legs to press against the spot behind his balls, making him keen into my touch as he moans loudly, the handcuffs clicking against the frame of our bed as he squirms. When I'm sure he's hardened properly underneath, I remove my mouth, making him whine as I glance up at him, smiling.

"Doing good?" I ask sweetly, pressing my fingers harder into the spot between his legs.

"Still mortifying, just keep going," he moans shamelessly, his cheeks red as he keeps his eyes closed in embarrassment.

I lean down once more, licking at the melting whipped cream on the tip of his cock, his moans growing louder as my tongue finds contact with his cock, his skin cold and wet underneath of the cream. I'm barely able to reach his actual tip, my tongue sticking down far in the hole of the top donut. I begin biting into the food, quickly tearing away at my work in eagerness of what awaits.

There's probably a special place in Hell reserved for the two of us for doing something like this and enjoying it, but I promise you, if you could see the look on his face right now, blushing wildly and trying to hide behind the bulk of his large arm, it would be worth it.

Once the first two donuts are gone I take off the cherry from the top, dangling it over his mouth in teasing.

"Want some?" I ask. He just groans in response, his cock twitching from neglect. I chuckle, tossing the fruit away and quickly taking him into my mouth, drawing a sharp, high moan from him as I suck eagerly, admiring the taste of his skin mixed with the sweet sugar from the food.

Yeah. Definitely worth it.

Pre-cum shoots into my mouth as he rolls his hips into my face, my hand still working against him as I swirl my tongue around his tip, sucking harshly as I watch him. His back arches against the bed, his head thrown back in pleasure as he loses himself in the feeling of my mouth against him.

"Go deeper," he begs, his voice soft as he bucks into my mouth, his arms straining against the handcuffs. "Holy shit, please go deeper."

His hips buck harshly against my face, smashing the two other donuts and an annoying amount of cream into my face, covering me in a facial I didn't ask for.

I pull away from him, stopping my hand and just staying still for a moment to allow him a proper look at my face.

"... I do not like this," I deadpan. I'd blink if I could open my eyes right now.

Small whines escape him as his hips continue moving, questions being voiced then everything ceasing all at once as I guess he takes a good look at me. There's a moment of silence, then he bursts out laughing at the sight, loud and obnoxious.

"It's in your hair!" He exclaims, probably wishing he could point at me as I blindly search for the hand towel nearby.

"I hope this was worth it," I say flatly, suppressing my own giggle.

"Oh, the feeling is awful, but you're doing great," he says sweetly, still chuckling as he watches me wipe at my face, groaning at the stickiness of it all.

"Jesus, I'm a mess," he says, looking down at himself. "Can we just take that off and-"

"Yeah, normal blow job, on it," I finish for him, quickly taking off the other two, very smushed donuts and discarding of them inside the box. "You have horrible ideas "

"You wanted us to try new shit, this is not on me," he laughs, smiling at me. "But thank you for answering a decade old question."

"You're weird," I say.

"Just fuck me," he says back.

Quickly I take him back into my mouth, deepthroating him and encouraging him to fuck my mouth, focusing on my breathing as he does with blind obedience. His thighs press against the sides of my head, squeezing slightly as his tip rams into the back of my throat, all gentleness off the table. My tongue slides against his prominent vein, feeling how he throbs, his cock stiff and twitching from the stimulation. He pants loudly, whining when I press my tongue harder into his vein, a loud 'snap' echoing from near his head.

His movements cease for a moment, his chest heaving as realization crosses his face.

"... the handcuffs weren't expensive, right?" He asks inbetween gasps, holding up his hands to show the cheap cuffs now hanging uselessly around his wrists.

My eyebrows raise in surprise, my head beginning to lift off of him when one of his hands comes down on my head, suddenly gripping my hair as he begins to fuck my mouth with new vigor, tearing lewd sounds from my throat as I gag sharply around him.

"Fuck it, I'll buy another pair," he decides, slamming quickly into my throat as he pulls my hair sharply, his pre-cum beginning to thicken in my mouth. "It's not like you mind, right, sweetheart?" He asks, propping himself up with one arm to watch as I swallow his dick eagerly, one of my hands dipping down to play with my clit. He tugs sharply at my hair, making me whine as his other hand smacks quick and gentle against my hollowing cheek before pointing at me.

"No," he says sharply. "I'll deal with you after."

His hand strokes my cheek as he continues fucking my face, his thumb trained on my chin, keeping my mouth open wide for him. His eyes are glazed over in pleasure as he watches me, my spit dribbling down my chin as I take him, my legs pressed tightly together as I grab blindly at his thighs, admiring the thickness as I gag on his cock.

"Fuck- you're so pretty," he moans, his cock twitching in closeness. "And kind." I moan appreciatively around him, eager to feel his cum down my throat as I dig my nails into his thighs. "Don't know how I got so lucky."

His hand roughly drags my head up by my hair, forcing me off of his cock and making me whine as I try to take him back into my mouth. His hand wraps around his length, pumping quickly as he watches me.

"Keep your mouth open, pretty girl," he commands softly. I obey, sticking out my tongue slightly, eager to please. He smiles at the sight, his lashes fluttering shut once more as he fucks his hand quickly, using my thick spit as lube, beginning to lose rhythm.

"I'm gonna cum," he warns breathily. "I'm gonna- fuck!"

His words stutter as he gasps, his hand squeezing roughly at his cock as his cum hits my face, warm and thick against my skin. We watch each other as the first few ropes cover my face, admiring the other in a hazy cloud of desire and satisfaction. Then he shoves his cock back into my mouth, his hand pumping me up and down his length again as he finishes shooting his load down my throat, admiring my new look.

"I'm just- gonna do this for awhile," he gasps, his cock still stiff in my mouth as his flow of cum begins to slow, his hips still quick in contrast.

I moan around him, my cunt clenching in want.

"Don't worry," he says, reaching for something in the nightstand, pulling open a drawer and revealing his new gift for me. "You'll get some fun too."

When I tell y'all this motherfucker somehow found a dildo shaped like a fucking lightsaber.

Goddammit, I'm gonna marry him.

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You heard me.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

               •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

how would y'all feel if I told you the title was a pun from that old 'berries and cream' meme

[larascorneroftheworld]

DEAD POETS SOCIETY (1989)

[larascorneroftheworld]

I certainly can. And I did. Well, sort of. I took some creative liberties with this one. Crossposted on Ao3.

Warnings: 18+ Content Vaginal sex, Praise kink, Loss of virginity (both reader and Mike), soft!dom Mike.

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x Reader

Summary: From the name written on your sneakers to the hickey on your neck, Mike had left his mark on you in more ways than one.

Words: 5.8k

According to fandom wiki, Mike is 25 in the movie. The timeline of this story is based on this fact.

In Permanent Marker

1995

Mike has a problem. An even bigger problem than his annoying younger sister, or the bills he cannot pay that keep piling up. That problem is you, his new next-door neighbour.

It all began when he had been unloading the boxes from the car, calling out to Abby as she disappeared to explore the new house. The place was small, but enough for the two of them. More importantly, it was as affordable as it could get, given the savings his parents left behind, the money from the government, and his new job. That was all he really needed.

"Need help, there?"

A voice broke him from his thoughts, a voice belonging to you. He did a double take as he looked to his side towards you, nearly dropping the box in shock. He blinks as if you're nothing more than a hallucination, induced by his lack of sleep, dehydration, and the summer heat. Because there was no way that you were standing there. Someone his age. Someone so attractive. Someone exactly his type and talking to him. You take notice of his shocked expression.

"My folks and I saw you from the window," you point to the house left of his, "thought I could lend a hand.”

"Yeah. Yeah, uh," he nods eagerly, breaking eye contact as he fumbles over his words. He looks back towards the house, "If you could watch my little sister while I unload these. She’s somewhere inside…”

“You’ve got it,” you flash him a smile.

—

He’s sweating and close to passing out as he places the last box down in the front hallway, bracing himself against the wall as he catches his breath. He then looks around. There’s no furniture yet. He couldn’t afford movers to help move the couch or the kitchen table from his parent’s old house, instead opting to sell the furniture and find cheaper options once moved in. That meant he’d be eating on the floor until he had time off work again. This also meant he’d have to take Abby table-shopping and listen to her complain every time she picked something out of his price range, then cry the whole drive back home. He groans to himself, annoyed by his endless stream of thoughts. He supposes that’s just adulthood, now. There’s always something to think about.

He hears giggling from down the hallway, grabbing his attention enough to raise himself from the wall. He creeps towards the sound, peeking past Abby's door. A box was open on the floor, toys and crafts scattered across the carpet. You sit cross-legged in the middle of the room at Abby’s side and she’s pointing to her drawings, chattering away.

He wonders how you make it look so easy.

—

"I don't like it here." Abby tugs on the leg of his jeans, "Can we go back?"

It’s the last thing Mike wants to hear the morning after moving in, his back and arms still sore from all that he carried. He looks down to see her lips were pulled into a frown, her brows furrowed. He's leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking instant coffee from a mug he'd managed to dig out from one of the kitchenware boxes, staring at all the shit he has left to do. And, of course, his sister could never let him do that in peace.

"This is where we live now."

"Why?"

"Because it is."

"I don't want to live here."

And I don't want to work shitty hours for shitty pay just to afford this dump, he thinks to himself.

Still, he can't blame her. The place is a downgrade. The toilet in the main bathroom doesn't really flush, her room is half the size of the one at their parent's old place, and he’d discovered more than a few suspicious stains on some of the walls and carpeting around the house.

"Well, that's just too bad."

"I want to go back!" She shouted, her little fingers digging harder into the fabric of his jeans, now trying to tug his leg. He tries to nudge her off, shaking his leg just enough to make her lose her grip, but she doesn't budge. He sighs to himself.

She's at that age. Five years old, and a complete menace. She was smarter than she looked and had begun to realize that sometimes creating a fuss could get him to bend the rules for her, which now meant she was constantly defying him. Constantly picking a fight. Constantly whining about something. And as much as he loved her he could not stand to hear another tantrum, especially not this early in the morning.

"Stop it, Abby. I'm not dealing with this today."

"Nu-uh!"

She screams when he tugs her away with his hands, lifting her in the air while she tries to kick and shove him away. He knows he's bound to have bruises from where she kicks his torso and scratches where her nails dig into his skin. Had he any energy left in him, he might have been tempted to raise his voice at her. That's one good thing to come out of his restless nights, at least.

The doorbell rings and she's still whining when he places her down on the floor. He kneels to her level, hands on either of her little shoulders.

"We can talk about it later, okay?" He lowers his voice, desperate for her to be quiet. Anything for her to be quiet. "Behave. And quit being such a baby."

His words were enough to render her silent, by some miracle, and so he goes to the door, only to see you standing there. You . He knows he's ogling again and he hates himself for it but he can't help himself, not when you're so pretty. He leans against the doorframe, clearing his throat.

"Hey, uh. What are you doing here?"

"Good morning to you, too. Thought you might need more help," You lean forward, taking a peek inside the place and noting all the boxes, "Judging by all this, I guess I thought correctly."

"Guilty as charged," he holds his hands up, cherishing the sound of your laugh.

The moment doesn't last long. He fails to notice that behind him, his sister is teary-eyed, her lower lip quivering. You furrow your brows, about to say something, but the little girl beats you to it.

"You— you jerk!" Abby finally lets out, and you stand dumbfounded at the door, watching the crying girl. She turns to Mike. "I hate you!"

She runs off to some room somewhere and slams the door, the distant sound of sobs easily heard from down the hallway where you two stood. While you stood there in shock, Mike had grown used to these outbursts, but it didn't leave him entirely unfazed. There was still a tug on his heart like there always was.

"She's just having a moment right now," he sighs, his fingers rubbing his temples, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"You're not going to go and talk to her?"

"She hates me. Didn't you hear?"

"You know that's not true," you shove past him, your hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment longer which certainly did not go unnoticed, "come on."

"What do I even say?"

"You're going to go apologize, dumbass."

That's how he found himself standing outside his sister's door. He was about to simply walk in, until you stopped him, your hand on top of his as he reached for the knob.

"Knock first."

He would've asked why but he's too distracted by how your little touches keep making his face grow hotter, so he simply nods and does as you say, raising his fist to the door. He hears Abby's sobs halt the moment he does. He looks to you, and you nod, as if to signal him to start talking.

"Abs?"

There's a sniffle. "Go away."

"Look, I'm sorry for hurting you. Just open the door." You toss him a glare, "Please?"

There's a pause.

"Liar," she hisses, "you're only sorry 'cause they're making you."

Mike is about to retort, but you raise your hand to silence him.

"Abby, we both want to make sure you're alright. Could you please open the door so we can talk?"

There's a pause and then a shuffle, the sound of her moving from the floor to go and open the door. She's red in the face, snot-nosed and teary-eyed. Mike's heart can't help but break at the sight. He's an idiot. A complete and utter idiot.

"I-I'm not a baby," she blinks at Mike, lifting her arm to wipe her snot on her sleeve, "Y-you're always s-so mean to me. I hate that."

"I didn't mean it. I just, uh... I say stuff sometimes." He frowns, a trembling in his voice. He speaks softly as if it will compensate for all the harsh words spoken prior, "I promise I won't say mean stuff anymore. Honest."

"Pinky promise?"

She raises her pinky finger.

"Yeah. Pinky promise."

He raises his own, letting her little finger curl around his. She quickly wipes her tears away.

The rest of the day is spent doing whatever Abby wants. Mike discovers quickly that you seem to love spoiling her. You take her to the park, let her unpack all her toys and leave them tossed all around the house. You end up ordering pizza at her request, as well, and by the end of the day, she’s saying she wishes you were her older sibling instead. Though it’s said jokingly, it still pierces him through the heart.

The day ends with a tired Abby curled up in her sleeping bag on the floor of her room. Now he's with you, you sitting atop the counter at his side while he places the leftover pizza slices from the takeout boxes into ziplock bags. If he had it his way, the day would have ended with all the moving boxes being unpacked, but he supposes a happy Abby makes his life a hell of a lot easier than an unhappy one.

"She's a lot easier than most her age."

"You're kidding, right?"

"I'm the oldest ' kid ' in this neighbourhood. I've babysat for practically every family around here," you sip your drink, "she was very quick to forgive you. Not just any kid does that."

Garett had been the same way. Every prank he played, every cruel joke, he forgave him for because that’s just what older brothers do. The difference being that he was a child back then, not an adult. He may be Abby’s older brother by blood, but he needed to be more than that now. She needed him to be more than that.

He finishes packaging the last slice and throws the leftovers in the fridge. He's now fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie— a poor choice of clothing for the midst of a summer heat wave, but he didn't exactly have lots of options. He supposes he should add clothing shopping to his already long to-do list.

“What am I doing?” He says aloud, “I can’t do this.”

“Don’t say that.”

"This always happens. I get annoyed, she gets hurt, and it’s going to happen again.”

"Nobody's made for this at our age,” you gesture around at the house, then at him, “You're bound to fuck up, that's just inevitable."

"Yeah, thanks,” he deadpans.

"That’s not what I meant. You live and you learn, that's what you do. No one's perfect but we can always try.”

“What if me trying isn’t enough?”

“It’s better than not trying at all.”

He looks back down the hallway, at Abby’s door. Does she care that he's trying? Does she know how much he has sacrificed to give her a semblance of a normal life? He scoffs at himself internally. She's a child, of course she doesn't. That's not her fault. It’s not her responsibility either. She’s the kid, and he’s the adult now. It’s unfair on both sides but that’s the way things are.

"Thank you. For all the help, and everything," He finally says, turning to you.

"That's what neighbours are for, right?" You’re hopping off the counter. It was dark outside now, and fair to assume you’d be on your way home. Only, you halt in your tracks for a moment. "Wait, one more thing."

You pull out one of those disposable cameras from the pharmacy. It’s scratched and beaten up, evidence of its use. He freezes up when he feels your arm draping around him to pull him into the frame and snap a quick picture. He blinks from the flash, and you laugh at the way his eyes squint, shoving the camera back into your pocket.

"The hell?" He raises a brow, "that's going to be an awful one, just so you know."

"I don't care if photos look good. It's about the memories and all that." you roll your eyes, "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early. We're going to finish unpacking.”

You're out the door before he can even reply.

—

He starts to learn who you are, piece by piece. He learns that you don't know a single thing about keeping your curtains drawn shut and that you're completely oblivious to how he's seen you in your room in your pyjamas at night, talking on the phone while you twirl the telephone cord around your finger. He learns that you go to college out of state, which is why you're so insistent on taking photos of everything you can because you get homesick so easily. He learns, that because of that, he won't be seeing you after the summer for many months and struggles to figure out why that thought leaves a dreaded ache in his heart.

The ache only grows the more time he spends with you, whether it’s with Abby or one-on-one. He thinks he’s going to die when he sees you packing up your car at the end of the summer, but offers to help you out regardless.

"Have fun," he says to you, hating how disingenuous the words feel on his tongue.

Your car is now packed, and you're on the steps, him standing on the stone path below. You look up at him with a smile while you're lacing up your shoes. It's those damn shoes you always wear, always torn up and dirty and desperately in need of being replaced. He's not one to talk when it comes to proper footwear, but he swears they are only a thread away from being torn apart.

"I'll try."

You finish doing up your laces, and pull out a permanent marker from your pocket, handing it to him. He gives you a confused look.

"Sign it."

"What?"

"My shoe," you repeat, and he takes notice of your sneakers, varying names written along the white rim already, all in different colours and sizes. "It's something I've been doing since high school. Just to remember."

Knowing how you treasure your photos, it only makes sense to him now. He kneels down and signs it in the black marker, his handwriting atrocious, but evidently an effort to make it appear more legible than normal. He lets go of your ankle when he's done and you smile, raising it to look at his handiwork.

"I tried."

"Hey, it's not that bad."

"It's pretty bad."

You both laugh, and you stand up finally, stepping down to his level. He tries not to show his shock when he feels your arms wrap around him, pulling him tightly towards you. He happily accepts the embrace, soaking up the affection like a dried-out sponge.

"One last thing," you whisper to him, and he feels your hand slip something into his pocket. “Look at it later, ‘kay?”

"I'll miss you."

"I'll be back."

And though he wants to believe you will, he can't help but stare into your dark windows that night, counting down every day until your return. Not everyone in his life has, after all.

He checked his pocket the moment you left earlier that day. It was the photo of the two of you in his kitchen, from one of the first days you met. It was blurry and dark but he could make out the sight of your smile and his face of confusion. The back side has the date written.

He places the photo on his nightstand and rolls over on his back, staring at the Nebraska poster on his ceiling. He took his meds not long ago, his eyes drooping, but his mind unable to stay focused, his thoughts drifting towards you.

—

1996

The last time you called his home line, you said you'd be home in a few weeks, but he still hasn’t seen you yet. The light in your bedroom window remains turned off. He wishes the thought of seeing you again didn’t have him so restless.

Today is his birthday. A whopping twenty-one years old. If he were a normal person, he'd be out with friends, pouring liquor down his throat until he couldn't drink anymore. Instead, he went to work, then returned home late to greet the babysitter on the couch, her middle school textbooks sprawled on the coffee table and Abby already in bed. She’s gone the moment he hands her a twenty-bill, peddling away on her bicycle.

Though the house now has furniture, it still feels so empty. He sits alone on the couch, the sounds from the TV turning into a soft humming. He doesn’t want to think about the dirty plates in the sink or Abby's toys and crayons that littered the living room floor.

His heart skips a beat when he hears a knock on the door. He tentatively gets up, swallowing dryly. It couldn’t be you. You would have called him or said something, right? He’s never been so thankful to be wrong in his life because when he sees you standing there on his steps, in those torn-up sneakers with his name on them, with a six-pack of beer in your hands, he’s immediately grinning like a child.

"Where the hell have you been?" he looks down at the alcohol in your hands, "what's this?"

"A gift for the birthday boy," you grin, "twenty-one. That's a pretty big age."

"Are you twenty-one yet?" He raises a brow.

"You want the beer or not?"

"Alright, alright," he looks into the house, the place dead silent save for the TV. "Let's go out back. Abby has school tomorrow. I don't want to wake her."

Sharing the company of another had become so foreign to him at this point that he forgot how nice it feels to be human. To feel the summer breeze through the fabric of his t-shirt, to feel the condensation from the cold can drip down his fingers, to feel the warmth of the alcohol sitting nicely in his stomach. Hell, he doesn’t even mind how shit the beer you bought tastes, though the initial shock causes him to cough the moment the first gulp is downed.

"Don't tell me you actually waited until now to have your first drink," he hears you say.

"I didn't, but I don't drink that much. Especially not this," he eyes the brand name on the can.

"I was tired of college parties and all the watered-down shit alright? I needed something different."

"Must be exhausting . Getting invited to so many parties."

"Oh, shut it," you shake your head, "trust me, college is lonelier than you think."

He stares down at your sneakers, noticing that not a single new name has been written. One part of him wonders how anyone could not want to become your friend. The other part of him is proud that he’s the last person to sign it, his name standing out compared to all the other old, faded-out ones.

"That's one thing we have in common."

"I take it life's not so great, either?"

"Abby has been acting out less but now she barely talks.” He sighs, “It's... another thing to think about."

There’s a pause.

“Then don’t think about it. Not tonight.���

“Easier said than done,” he rolls his eyes.

"Come on, it’s your birthday and we’re out here moping on your back porch. That's no way to celebrate."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"Something. Anything. I dunno, you're the birthday boy. What do you wanna do?"

"I..." his eyes trail down to your lips and stop. He knows he's being obvious but he's tired enough to where he doesn't really care anymore to hide it. He sees how your brows knit together, and he looks away. "I'm fine doing this."

"That's not what I asked." He feels your hand creep over to his, flat against the porch. Your touch is electric. He allows himself to look at you again. Your eyes are determined and your touch is intentional, he's sure. "I asked what you want ?"

Hesitantly, he lets his hand intertwine with yours. He's barely able to meet your eyes, embarrassed by his cheeks which he knew were most likely pink by now.

"I want you."

His other hand raises to your cheek, his cold hand against warm skin. His eyes speak to you, though his mouth says nothing, asking for permission. You lean in yourself, tired of his hesitation. You can taste the alcohol on his lips, his mouth so tender and sweet against yours. He's gentle and endearingly clumsy but above all else, he's desperate and he kisses you like you'll disappear the moment he lets you go. His hand is tighter around yours and the other that had first been against your cheek drifted to the back of your neck. You hear him let out a sound when your hand runs through the back of his hair and you're both pulling away, still craving something more.

"How much of me do you want?"

"So much," he gulps, "so much more."

There's a grin on your lips as you drag him by the hand, abandoning the half-drank beer cans as you enter the house. Careful not to alert Abby, who was sleeping next to his room, you both tip-toe down the hallway, unable to help the giggles that escape your mouths. Then, the moment you're in his bedroom, you're pushing him against the door, seizing his lips. You feel his abs under his T-shirt, realizing just what he had been hiding under all those hoodies last summer. You feel the warmth radiating from him, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You smile against his mouth when you feel his hand at your waist, slipping under your top to fit right into the arch of your back. He's holding back, you can tell, and it only makes you want to fan the flames and let him burn even brighter.

You tug him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards the mattress until his legs hit the edge and he’s sitting, your body crawling on top of him. And, for someone who had been concerned about not waking his sister, he sure allows himself to make so many pretty noises. He pulls away for air once again and looks up at you like he worships you, his hands on either thigh while you lean your forehead against his own. He then lets out a laugh, still genuine, though hushed.

"What's so funny?" You murmur.

"This is the best birthday gift I've had in years."

"But you haven't even unwrapped me yet," you quirk your brow. "You said you wanted more, didn't you?"

"I did," he hums, his eyes dragging down over your body, shyly. "Still do. If that's what you want, too."

"You already know I do."

He brings his fingers to the hem of your shirt and slowly lifts it, your arms raising to help him slip it off. You feel yourself shudder under his analytical gaze, even though the night is sweltering. You feel the goosebumps rise under your skin as his fingers brush over your body as if to memorize every curve and texture with his fingertips. And though you had done your best to mask your inexperience all night, it became obvious to him, the moment you were squirming before him— topless— the truth.

"I've never done this before," you admit before he can ask you, feeling more vulnerable than ever as he stares up at you, the most anyone had ever seen of you beneath your clothing.

"That's okay," he tilts his head, big brown eyes looking right back at yours, "if it's okay with—"

"I've already told you it is. Everything is okay with me. Please. "

He nods, his hands reaching behind you, and you feel his fingers at the clasp of your bra. There's a flush on his face as he fumbles with it, brows scrunched as he tries to pull it apart. Then, it hits you. The look in his eyes, the uncertainty in his actions, the constant need for reassurance. He's been trying to hide it just like you were. Had your own mind not been so clouded, perhaps you would have noticed it far sooner. You reach behind yourself, hand brushing past his own to unclasp the bra yourself, before letting it slide down your shoulders. There's a glimmer in his eyes as he takes in your half-naked form, mouth parted slightly.

"You've never done this either, have you?" You ask, hands looped around the back of his neck as you seat yourself better in his lap. You try not to make a sound when you feel his erection through his gym shorts, pressed right up against where you need friction the most.

"Never," he manages to say, somehow. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"We'll figure it out."

You're kissing him again, and this time you're the one fumbling to remove his shirt, unable to properly admire his exposed body as his mouth is pressed against yours the moment the garment is removed. You feel yourself start to crumble at every little noise he makes, every little touch and grinding of his hips into yours. Then his mouth is trailing down your neck and his hands are on your breasts, his touch gentle but his lips hungry. You feel his lips suck on a particular spot on your collarbone and hiss, your fingers threading through his hair.

"You're gonna leave a mark.”

He pulls away, not quite sporting a grin, but the look in his eyes tells you he’s proud, regardless.

"Is that a problem?"

"Bastard," you retort.

With that, you're pushing him down until his back is against the mattress, leaving your own trail of kisses down his neck and chest, a flurry of butterflies in your stomach every time you hear his noises, and whispers of praise. You reach down for his shorts, tugging them down, this time you're able to get a better view of him beneath you. Your hand traces the outline of the muscles on his abdomen and chest, feeling your face heat up, again reminded just how built he was. As if he couldn't get any hotter, you notice the trail of hair leading from his belly button, disappearing beneath his boxers. You suck in a breath, your pupils blown wide.

“I'm gonna go insane if you don't touch me right now,” he says, allowing you to realize just how long you had been staring him down.

The words go straight through you, reminding you of your arousal between your legs, and how you were currently sitting right on top of his dick, the only barrier between you being each other's underwear. You rock your hips against him and hear him whine, your hands flat against his chest. It almost scares you how good it already feels, without having done much of anything at all.

"You have any condoms?" You ask.

"Yeah, think so," he stammers, his eyes darting towards his dresser.

You get up, feeling his eyes on your ass as you dig through the drawer, sifting through clutter. Momentarily, you smile when you find the photo you gave him last year— before returning to the task at hand. You find a condom buried at the very back.

"Were you prepared for this?" You tease.

"I don't think that far ahead. They’re free handouts from sex Ed, senior year."

"If you actually paid attention in that class, you'd know that condoms have an expiration date."

"I did pay attention," he says as you settle yourself back on top of him, the foil between your fingers. "They're not expired yet ."

"Yeah? What else did you learn?"

You suppress a yelp when you feel your position forcibly switched, your back now against the mattress with him hovering over you. The condom had disappeared into his hand.

"That you probably shouldn't be on top for your first," you feel his hand at your panties, brushing your clit over the fabric, "and that you're gonna need more foreplay than just dry humping."

You notice how he looks at you for approval before tossing your underwear aside, admiring how your slick coats his fingers. You'd touched yourself enough times before to know what this feels like but somehow, when it's him doing it instead of yourself, you already feel you'll fall apart at any moment. Your clit is swollen and your hole flutters around nothing as his fingers continue to tease you. Fortunately, he slips his middle finger in before you can scold him for being a tease— and fuck it's so much more than you're used to. His fingers reach inside you better than yours ever did you feel your mouth go agape, your hand reaching to clasp over your mouth out of fear your noises will echo through the mostly silent house.

"Mike," you plea, but to no avail, one hand still desperate to muffle your sounds while the other gripped the bedsheets.

“Is it… am I doing it right?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “please, don’t stop.”

You’d heard horror stories before from others, about how aggressive some men were with their first times. But you think Mike is the opposite. So gentle and considerate— uncertain and awkward, sure, but with a willingness to learn and try.

“Doing so well,” he whispers sweetly, “you’re so perfect.”

You're so close to reaching your high that you almost wish you could strangle him the moment he pulls away, leaning down to capture your lips into a kiss. You then hear the sound of the foil being torn apart and the feeling of his dick rubbing against your centre. Despite his smile, you notice the worry behind his eyes. He's terrified. So, you bring your hand to his cheek.

"I want this," you reassure once again.

He nods.

He slips the tip in and your body spasms, the intrusion feeling so foreign. He watches your expression change with each passing moment he spends pushing into you. He loves the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter shut. Loves how your brows scrunch together. All because of him. You’re so soft and warm around him and he’s struggling to cool himself down.

"So much," you comment, your eyes half-lidded when he finally bottoms you out, your bottom lip pulled by your teeth. He tries not to let the compliment get to him, otherwise, he knows he’ll be finishing faster than he wants.

"You're doing so good," he whispers, his hand intertwining with your own, "taking me so well. Can you keep doing that?"

You nod, and he whimpers, taking another thrust. Your nails are digging into his shoulder blades but he doesn't care. It’s another distraction, helping him hold himself together while you take him. He takes another thrust and nearly loses it when he watches you whine, tilting your face to the side.

“More,” you let out.

You feel every inch of him inside you, pressing against your most sensitive parts and though the initial discomfort hadn’t fully yet faded, you start to feel yourself getting lost in pleasure the more you accommodate him. You continue to drag your nails down his back, the knot inside of you growing tighter. You reach down to touch your clit, aching for more stimulation, but he’s quickly replacing your hand with his own, rubbing circles into you.

“So good.”

“Yeah?” He stammers out, finding it difficult to string words together in the moment.

“You feel so good, Mike.”

He didn’t realize how fucking hot it would be to hear you say his name while you’re fucked out like this until you do, and he feels himself losing a grasp on himself.

The feeling inside of you starts to snap and your body is thrashing around as you approach your high. He feels you grasping onto him like he’s your lifeline, shaking through your cries, which are muffled by your hand on your mouth. He, too, reaches his limit, and he’s burying his face into the crook of your neck in the hopes that he isn’t too loud.

All that’s left is the sound of both of you breathing when it’s over, and you hear him get up, throwing the rubber away. The bed dips at your side and you feel him on top of you again, head buried into your neck as he holds you. You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips, your fingers raking through his brown curls.

It's different from all the times you've touched yourself beneath your sheets in the dead of night. Instead of coming down from your high and laying your head against a cold pillow, your head is against him. You can feel every beating of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. You can feel the stubble on his chin and jaw tickling the crook of your neck. You're shaking, sweating and your whole body aches, yet you want nothing more than to lay here with him. And though you could have given yourself to some other person in college, you know it would not have been the same with anyone else other than the messy-haired brunette who lay atop you.

"Missed you so much," he whispers, "please stay?"

You stare at your house through his window, choosing not to think too hard about the view he has into your bedroom from this angle. Your family wouldn’t care.

"I'm here," you respond, pressing a kiss to his head.

[larascorneroftheworld]

It’s not a want, he’s a need at this point

[larascorneroftheworld]

Me at 3am clicking “keep reading” on the most jaw dropping, earth shattering, pantie dropping, smutty fic when I have to be up in 3 hours

[larascorneroftheworld]

i need josh hutcherson so bad its interfearing with my school life. like i got a project due tmrw for my spanish class and i havent even touched that shit once like its 11pm and im over here reading mike schmidt smut on tumblr..💀

[larascorneroftheworld]

Me after reading the most profane, toe curling, mind blowing smut known to man in the middle of class because I was bored

[larascorneroftheworld]

PURE FILTH PLUS GOOD DIALOGUE IM SOLD.

What's One More?

Mike Schmidt x AFAB! Reader

Summery: The house is all to you and Mike, which is a strange feeling to Mike as he begins to realize how things are changing. But change isn't always a bad thing, is it?

Tags: Porn with plot barely, no use of Y/N, Reader has female pronouns, set after the events of the FNaF movie, pre-established relationship, breeding kink, dirty talk/talking through it, oral sex (fem recieving), face fucking, vaginal fingering, pet names, possessive sex/actions, marking, hair pulling, mentions of drinking, multiple rounds, aftercare, multiple orgasms, teasing, dumbification, overstimulation, this is possibly filthier than Princess imma be fr.

Notes: Yes I'm working on requests. Yes I'm working on part II for 'Easy Money.' Yes I'm working on 50 million different projects + writers block that's preventing me from posting as much as I'd like. But in the meantime, *rattles can* COME GET Y'ALLS DICK.

▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

The front door opened at the same time it does everyday, Mike slipping in quickly to evade the cold, bitter Febuary air that has turned his cheeks red while he called out his usual 'hello' to the house. His easy smile instantly appeared as soon as our eyes met, me standing at the stove giving the large pot of chilli its final stir just in time for his arrival home.

"Hey!" I said cheerfully, looking up from the boiling pot briefly before setting the lid back down, crossing the floor quickly to come collect his coat.

"Hey," he returned, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to my cheek as I undo his buttons, his hands coming to rest on my silk covered hips. "Never seen you in this before," he mumbled, pulling away slightly to get a better look.

"You like?" I ask, pushing the jacket off of his shoulders and folding it over my arms. "I've had this since freshman year. Found it in one of my boxes from the move." The robe is simple, thrifted but It'd been new when I'd gotten it. Emerald green and made from silk, if not silk like material- I'm no expert on fabrics, -reaching down to my ankles and showing off my curves, drawn tight around my waist to accent my figure. Simple floral patterns sewn into the collar decorate the robe, slightly darker than the rest of the fabric. His eyes wandered over my body, taking in the sight as he slowly removed his items from his pockets.

"You look nice," he said, almost sounding as if he was in a trance.

"Just nice?" I tease.

"The word 'motherly' comes to mind," he said. "Not- not in a weird way," he quickly added, blushing slightly. "Just- you cooking, dressed in that. Just kinda...." He's flustered, scratching at the back of his head as he tried to clarify what I already understand.

I smile at him, leaning closer. "Well, it's fitting," I teased.

It had been about a year since I moved in. Mike and I had met during a night out, our friends recognizing each other. Initially I thought the blonde he had been with- Vanessa, I would later learn, -had been a bit more than a friend. But after spending the night round a table, laughing and getting up one by one for drunken karaoke, Mike and I had made eye contact enough times to warrant my request for his number after I confirmed she wasn't.

"Seriously?" He asked when I'd passed him the notepad specifically meant for numbers that I kept in my purse.

"Yeah," I'd laughed, slightly- okay, maybe more than slightly -drunk. "You're hot."

I was three beers and one shot of straight tequila into the night when I'd asked, everyone beginning to debate who would call a taxi and who would ride with who. I felt rather confident.

His eyes narrowed, his cheeks red most likely from alcohol. Although he'd only had the one beer.

"Oh shit," I giggled stupidly. "Did I read things wrong? Because I thought-"

"No! You didn't," he quickly said, cutting me off. He scribbled his number down quickly, scratchy enough that I could barely read it, and he could sense that.

"You want me to write it again?" He asked sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"Maybe," I giggled. "Or I can have my friend ask Vanessa if I get it wrong."

I got it wrong. Twice. But that was my fault since I called as soon as I'd gotten home, bleary eyed and claiming to just be checking to see if he got home alright, which wasn't a total lie. Then he asked if I wanted to get Chinese the next day. And how am I supposed to say no to an offer like that?

When he first brought up his sister I think he expected me to run for the hills. God, no. Not a man committed to caring for his baby sister. Please.

When I'd met the girl she was sly, simply saying "Oh, you're who he won't talk about." Mike seemed ready to throttle her, and I was ready to step in and help take care of her however much they needed me to. Who could say no to a kid like that?

Three years in and Mike had been nervous asking for me to move in. We'd both had the idea, but we both were terrified that the other would immediately shoot it down. But it was almost ridiculous to worry about such a thing. Mike had visited me all the time with Abby in tow, I visited Mike. Eventually we were at the point that I was at his house more often than I was at my own apartment. And with Abby getting older and beginning to have a life of her own, one that I could tell Mike was anxious about her having, it was about time a serious talk be had about the future of our relationship.

"You know, married couples have better taxes," I said casually one day while huddled around the kitchen table, papers strewn all over the place and some even on the floor while I punched numbers into a calculator. I think that nearly killed Mike, who shot out air through his nose hard enough all of his coffee covered his face and hair.

Then a week later he'd flipped through channels lazily, commenting on how awful the channels were before landing on the one of the marketers selling jewelry for prices that could make you shit.

"That's a nice ring," he commented. "Don't you think?"

I looked up from my book, narrowing my eyes to focus my vision. "Ooh, it is," I agreed.

"What kind of rings do you like? Like, what's your favorite?" He asked.

"Subtle," I deadpanned, smiling. "I'm coming with you to pick it out."

We picked up a new set of housekeys first.

"Get a room," Abby groaned, wandering in to flop onto the couch.

"Don't flop, you'll hit your head," Mike and I both scolded, smiles growing as we heard the other. Abby simply groaned louder, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, that's punishment enough," I muttered, giggling slightly. I moved to the coat closet, hanging up Mike's jacket. "How was work?" I asked him.

Mike shrugged, leaning against the wall. "It was good. Long. Shop gets cold this time of year," he said.

"Well, dinner will help. It's done, by the way. Timed it just right," I said with a wide smile. Mike returned it, stepping closer to wrap his arms around me once more and say a soft 'thank you' before pressing his lips to mine.

"Seriously, a room," Abby groaned.

"There's one right there with a table that needs set. Go on," I said to her, gesturing towards the adjacent room. She rolled her eyes once more, getting up off the couch and grumbling as she made her way to the cabinets.

"Wow," Mike chuckled. "She's got attitude."

"She's fourteen, we should be lucky she hasn't killed us in her sleep," I said into his ear, laughing.

"Don't you mean ours?"

"No."

The dinner is nice. A scene right out of a book, all of us gathered around the table eating the warm food as we discuss our days, Mike and I shooting each other glances here or there when we think Abby, who's in the middle of some long story neither of us are truly able to give our attention towards, won't notice. Eventually his hand found mine under the table, grasping it gently and squeezing as I hold his gaze, smiling in the same idiotic manner he always brings out of me.

"It's tonight. I know it's short notice but all of my friends are going and her parents will be there," Abby said quickly, inturrupting our mental conversation with her pleading eyes.

"Wait a minute, back up. What's happening?" Mike said, blinking and refocusing.

"The sleepover," Abby said emphatically. "I didn't find out about it until today and my friends invited me. Can I go?"

Mike opened his mouth to respond, his eyes worried and glancing over to me.

"Who is this?" He asked.

"Lisa."

"Lisa?"

"Lisa Browning," I reminded him.

"Oh. And this is at her house?" He asked.

"Yes," Abby moaned in frustration, clearly impatient for her answer.

Mike and I glanced at each other. His eyes are unsure, looking to me for my thoughts.

"She visits them all the time, I don't see why not," I said. I turn to Abby. "Is her mom picking you up?"

"She can," Abby said quickly.

Mike is still unconvinced, I can tell by his grasp on my hand.

"You have that phone we bought you for Christmas?" I asked her. She nodded. Since recieving the cheap, purple Motorola she hadn't let it out of her grasp. "If you go, will you call us when you get there, when you guys are going to sleep? Any location change you'll run by us first?" I asked. Abby nodded again, her eyes shifting to Mike once more, wide with teenage desperation.

It was hard for Mike watching her get older. It would scare any parent, but take a man who'd watched his brother be kidnapped and his parents wilt away leaving him to step up? There were days Mike would wake hyperventilating, terrified something would happen to her if he didn't do something. It took convincing, but over time I had convinced him to relax, told him she was smart. Once I'd told him all the trouble I'd survived, he finally learned to catch his breath before jumping into several questions about how I was still alive with a new panic.

With a squeeze of my hand, he nodded.

"Check in. If you don't, I'll call her mom."

"Unnecessary, I'll call," Abby said, leaping from her seat and already dialing a number.

"Wash your plate!" Mike tried to tell her, but she was already gone.

"I'll get her plate, let her go," I chuckled. Mike sighs beside me, wiping his face with his hand.

"You think she'll be okay?" He asked me.

"I think fourteen year olds spend their days watching scary movies and MTV, nothing she won't do here," I said, taking a spoonful of chilli into my mouth. After I swallow I add, "Besides, it gives us the chance for some alone time."

That solidified the decision in his mind.

Much to Abby's embarrassment, Mike reminded Mrs. Browning to have Abby call us to check in, and with her reassurement he finally relaxed, walking back into the house once they're out of sight.

As I finish drying the dishes, I feel his hands settle on my hips, warm and large as he sinks his head into the crook of my neck.

"Where did the time go?" He mused, moreso to himself than to me.

"Feeling old?" I teased.

"Yes."

"Hot."

"Shut up," he groaned, laughing into my neck.

"'Oh my God, get a room,'" I groan in a fake voice, my laughter joining in.

"Are we gross?" He asked, wrinkling his nose.

"A little," I concede. "I mean, imagine how you're gonna feel when she brings home a boyfriend."

At that his eyes widen and he groans. "I don't wanna deal with teenage boys," he moaned, pulling away to lean against the counter in front of me.

"Oh, they're coming. Just you wait. I was this age when I got my first boyfriend," I warned him.

"Teenage boys are idiots," he said.

"Teenage girls are terrifying," I add. At that he nods, eyebrows raised in agreement. "Oh, she could bring home a girl instead!"

"You know what, I'd prefer that. Less trouble actually," he decided.

"You'll survive," I tell him, shaking my head as I set the dish inside the cabinet with a small clatter. He sighed, smiling to himself in thought.

"I remember when she was a baby. So tiny," he said softly. "You should've seen her. So cute. Smelled good, too."

"You've been smiling at babies a lot, you know," I teased, shutting the cabinet and putting away the dishcloth. "Something on your mind?"

Mike blushed, waving his hand. "Nah." He paused. "...kinda," he admitted. I chuckled. Every time we'd passed a couple our age walking through the store with a baby in tow, Mike was instantly softened. His usual automatic glare giving way to a little smile as he'd wave at the tiny human, maybe even making a face to make them laugh. It'd been entertaining when ones mother once caught him with his cheeks puffed out and eyes crossed, the baby letting out a huge shriek of laughter at the sight. He hid in the soup aisle for awhile after that while I tried not to cry from laughter.

"We still have plenty of Abby's old baby stuff in the garage, you know," I said. It wasn't a new conversation, we had both agreed it was something we wanted when the time came. "Spare room, stable jobs, great sex."

Mike's wide eyes watched me as I slowly trailed closer. "Good genetics," he mumbled.

"I don't see any reason we couldn't put any use to those things," I mused, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and leaning into him.

"I can't tell if you're serious," he said, his eyes narrowing.

"Even Abby would like it. Said we're taking forever as is," I said cooly. He laughed at that.

"No she didn't," he said.

"She did!"

"Abby, the one who can't even see us in the same room without threatening suicide?"

"Listen, babies are different," I laughed, shrugging. He eyed me carefully, looking me up and down before saying anything.

"You'd like that?" He asked finally, wrapping his arm around my waist.

"I'm living in your house, wearing a ring and making dinner for you and your little sister that I've been helping you raise for four years. What is one more commitment?" I asked.

"It's a human being," he pointed out.

"Oh, fuck that then. None of those shits are gonna live in my house," I deadpanned. He laughed, leaning in to catch my lips in a kiss.

"Be our human being," he said softly.

"That means it'll be funny," I said just as soft.

"It could have your eyes."

"Could have your nose."

"Yours is better."

"You're right."

He smacks my ass gently, chuckling as his eyes darken pleasantly. "Should we give it a try?" He asked, his voice low and rough in my ear.

"I'd say it's about time you asked."

Mike hiked me onto his shoulder, carrying me through the house and pushing open the door to our room as I giggled wildly, feeling the bed underneath of me as he flung me down, fingers searching for the ties of my robe.

"You're sure about this?" He asked, eyes watching me carefully. "This isn't just some sex thing?"

I laughed, feeling him struggle with the knot.

"Not a sex thing," I clarify. "Although admittedly hot. Do you need help?"

"The fuck did you do to this thing?" He asked, laughing but brows furrowed in frustration. I reached to pull on the string and give it one simple tug, making it come undone to reveal my simple underwear underneath.

"I like coming home to this," he said, his voice deep and husky. "You look so comfortable here. So perfect. House is so much brighter with you in it. Just so perfect."

His lips wander on my chest, first working on the valley between my breasts, his teeth nipping at the band of my bra. He tugged it upwards, snapping it against my skin harshly. A soft moan escapes me, and I allow my legs to fall open to offer him better access. He takes the opportunity, settling his body perfectly against mine as his lips begin to trail upwards to my throat.

"I love waking up next to you in the morning. I sleep so much easier with you here, feeling your breath against me as soon as I wake up. You've got creative methods to keep me up too when I don't want to be," he teased. His hands find my hips, squeezing them as he thrust our clothed hips together, making us both groan. "Are you already wet?" He asked me, nipping at my throat.

"Gotta have something to think about while I cook," I teased. He chuckled. His lips find purchase and begin sucking on my skin, creating a dark mark on the front of my throat that will only be properly covered by a sweater. I moaned slightly louder, rocking my hips slowly against his. His lips moved slightly higher, creating another, then repeating until a dotted line of dark hickies lay upon my throat, marking me all the way to just under my chin. As he sucked on the edge of my jawline, I let out a high pitched whine, digging my hands into my own hair as I tried to not rush through this.

"You sound so pretty like this," Mike said against my skin, his breath warm. "Only thing prettier is how you look." His warm hand cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking my cheekbone softly.

"Talk to me," he said softly, staying still aside from the gentle stroke of his thumb. His eyes are soft, black in the dim lighting from his blown out pupils. He looks so sweet, so ready to please. If I said the word he'd do anything so long as it made me happy.

I cup his face with my hands, pulling him towards me to capture his lips in a soft kiss. His lips are warm against mine, wet from his own spit from creating the dark marks against me. He moaned softly, his tongue swiping at my lower lip to ask permission for access. I grant it, parting my lips slightly and gasping as his tongue quickly slides in, deep in my mouth and dominating the kiss as his grasp on me tightened. It felt as though he was desperate, like a dying man trying to experience his last contact with another human being ever in his life. I tried to return the kiss with as much frenzy, but his hands on either side of my face, his grasp firm yet careful, his hips pinning me to the mattress made my mind begin to slip into a world of pleasure, not able to focus on anything except how good it felt to not be in control.

I could feel his breathing through his nose, still kissing me and exploring my mouth. It lasted a minute, two, three. When he finally pulled away, several gossamer threads of spit still connected us, disappearing into thin air as he looked down at me, his hand carefully stroking my forehead.

"I'm going to ask one more time," he said carefully. "This is your last chance. After this I'm not checking," he stressed. His breath is hot and heavy against me, and my hips roll against his in an attempt for friction. "Are you one hundred percent positive?" He asked, his eyes wide and eager as he placed carefully kisses along my cheeks. I nod quickly, desperate for more. Mike shook his head, pulling away slightly.

"Say it," he said. "Be clear."

I blushed, suddenly feeling shy for no real reason. "I'm completely sure," I said gently. "I want this."

"This as in sex or a kid?" He asked.

"Both," I answered.

"You're completely sure? Because if you want to back out that's completely-"

"Michael, I swear to fucking God if you don't hurry up and fuck me I'm gonna get you pregnant, see how you like-"

Mike scrambled off the bed, grabbing my ankles and pulling me roughly to the edge. I let out an involuntary yelp, giggling as he spread my legs wide and high, his lips and teeth pressing against my left ankle before quickly trailing downwards, biting and sucking quickly as he moaned wantingly.

"Eager?" I asked him lightly. He shoots me a look, biting down particularly hard on a spot almost under my knee before beginning his work on the inside of my thigh. His hand trailed up and down my right thigh, grazing his nails against my skin to make me shiver while he focused his mouth on the other.

"You taste delicious," he moaned, teeth sinking into my thigh as his nails dug in harshly, raking down until his hand came near my hips before raking back up to my knee. "Whatever soap you're using, keep using it."

I blush, moaning gently. My hips rolled towards his head, making him chuckle.

"Be patient," he chided.

"I am patient," I said defensively.

"Since when?" He asked, biting down on a new spot. I moan again, squirming against him as I felt a surge of warmth shoot from my head straight to my cunt. "Anytime I so much as look at you, you beg me to fuck you."

"That's not true," I said. His hand slaps my thigh, grabbing it roughly as he bit down once more, lower.

"Made me fuck you on the table last night just because you couldn't focus on your book," he tisked. "Now you're making me fuck you because you want a baby."

"You want one too," I reminded him.

"I want anything with you," he moaned against my skin. "Especially anything that makes you mine."

My hands stretch above my head, my fingers woven together. Mike's eyes caught on something, staring at my hand as his mouth drew closer to where I wanted it.

"Your ring looks so pretty," he moaned. "Love seeing you wear it. So glad I bought it. Love seeing people notice it on you."

"Yeah?" I asked. I tried to squeeze his head with my thighs, but his hands keep me open, even spreading my legs wider after my attempt.

"Remember that kid at the bar?" He asked, chuckling. The 'kid' in question had been in college, clearly drunk as he leaned against the bar next to me while I'd waited for Mike, who'd watched the interaction curiously from the window outside, asking if it hurt when I fell from heaven. A simple flash of my ring and the response of having someone catch me before I hit the ground sent him stumbling away to disappear once more into the crowd. "Poor fucker looked so disappointed," Mike said, sucking a dark spot into my thigh, making me squirm and throw my head back in pleasure.

"You like being possessive," I teased him. His hand smacked my thigh once more.

"I'm not the one who came and shoved her tongue down my throat when the bartender got a little too flirty for her taste," he said. His eyes sparkled, fingers massaging the spot tinged red from the abrasion.

"I did not shove my tongue down your throat," I said defensively.

"You pulled my hair like I was a bitch," he laughed. His hot air blew against my clothed cunt, making me gasp from stimulation. He picked up on this, blowing cold air against me before saying "She was just trying to get tipped."

"I know," I moaned. "I'd had a couple."

Mike licked at my covered pussy, flattening his tongue wide against me as he licked a long, hot stripe from bottom to top, sucking at my clit through the wet cotton once he reached it. I moaned into the pillow beside me, muffling my cries. His hand reached up and snatched it from me, throwing it off the bed as he repeatedly licked, gaining speed as his dark eyes watched me.

"Okay, maybe we're both possessive," I conceded, bucking my hips against his face. He hummed happily, his large hands cupping my asscheeks and lifting my hips higher off the bed as he squeezed the cool flesh.

"I like it," he said. "Like that I won't even have to do anything to show you're mine now after this."

I feel my stomach flutter at his words, a blush dusting my cheeks.

"It may take a couple tries," I tell him.

"We've got all night," he said breathily.

"Until Abby calls," I reminded him. He groaned at that. "She's not gonna call, we both know that," I laughed.

"Not my problem right now," he said. His fingers hooked around the band of my underwear, pulling them away from me harshly. "You are."

"A problem?" I said in mock offense. "Well, I guess if that's what I am, I'll take my goods elsewhere." I huffed haughtily, twisting away from him and turning onto my stomach. The motion helped Mike bring my underwear to my ankles as I began to crawl away. He tugged them off fully, then grabbed my ankles once more to return me to the edge of the bed. I yelped once more, grabbing at the sheets and dragging them down with me. Mike spread me open once more and immediately shoved his tongue as deep inside of me as he could, holding my hips up and legs open as he tongue fucked me in earnest. I cried out, grinding my hips against his face. I clutched a pillow to my face, crying and even screaming into it when his lips wrapped around my clit, sucking harshly at just the right spot to make me cum with barely a warning. Mike had been pleased as punch when he figured out just the right angle the very first time. It was his favorite, throwing me into orgasm without any preparation to strike me dumb and overstimulated. There were times he'd focus on my clit for what felt like hours, tugging and licking to figure out what made me cum the fastest, the hardest, sometimes even managing to make me paint his face, and once his hair. He grinned so wide I almost thought his face would split open when he accomplished that.

He pulled away from my cunt for just a moment, his voice deep and commanding. "Let me hear you," he said. He buried himself in my cunt once more. I could feel his jaw moving, his bottom lip moving against my clit as his tongue slipped in and out, creating lewd, nasty noises that filled the air. I moaned into my pillow, hardly able to think. His hand smacked my ass hard before he pulled away once more. "Don't make me ask again, woman."

I raised my head to say something, but the words escaped me as I felt his tongue dive in once more, curling to scoop my slick into his mouth. He moaned at the taste, his hand roughly grabbing at my ass. All that spilled from my mouth were long, broken moans as I fucked his face, gutturally pleading for more. He flipped me onto my back roughly before spreading the lips of my soaked pussy apart, attaching his lips quickly and sucking at that perfect spot. I screamed, shrill and high as though I'd been stabbed while he giggled in excitement against me. The vibrations of his voice against my clit sent me higher, my head digging against the sheets as my back arched high away from the bed. My hands slapped against the bed, my legs trembling as I rode his face. Lost to the world, Mike is the only thing that grounds me, his fingers gently tracing patterns against the insides of my thighs while he watched me come undone with nothing but love and pride in his eyes.

He didn't relent, releasing my clit to lap up my glistening cum eagerly before returning to the bundle of nerves, flicking his tongue against it before sucking it once more, bringing me back to the same edge as I begged for mercy.

"Gonna scream, gonna scream, gonna-" my harsh whispers turned into a scream once more as I cum again, my hands finding his dark curls to force him to stay against me, my hips grinding harshly to fuck my clit into his mouth properly. His eyes relaxed, looking completely lovesick as I muttered rapid praises to him, tugging on his hair hard enough to make his eyes water. He moaned seemingly with no control against me, face red as he obeyed with no complaint.

"So good," I tell him. "Taking me so well. Letting me fuck your face like I own you. Fuck my face."

I felt his fingers find my entrance, slipping two inside of me with no hesitation as cum dribbled out of me. I clenched around his digits, my voice breaking as he massaged my top wall, searching inside of me to help me find a new peak. He moaned against my clit, eyes wide and begging for more as he watched me carefully. When his fingers brushed against that perfect spot, the one that makes me fall silent, he knows he's struck gold. His fingers begin slamming into my g-spot, curling and fucking me until I screamed out one more time, my body going limp as my eyes rolled to the back of my head. It's like I speak in tongues, the only language I'll probably ever be able to speak again after what he's done to me. I shake terribly as he sucks a few more smaller orgasms out of me, milking me for all I'm worth before pulling away, standing tall and chuckling as he slipped his middle and ring finger into his mouth, cleaning them with his tongue. His face and chest are covered with me, the shine of his gold ring dulled from the dried cum. He pulled his soaked shirt off of himself, flinging it into a corner before walking around to the side of the bed, gently sitting down next to my head to stroke my forehead.

"You okay?" He asked gently, smiling proudly. I moan in response.

"Need some water?" He asked, leaning closer to press a kiss to my cheek. I can smell myself on him, thick and heady. I moan again, trying to nod but unable to. "Maybe a snack?"

At that I grab at him, pulling him closer to press his lips against mine. He allowed it, humming happily against me as he gives me a gentle kiss, loving and careful as though I could break easily. I probably could.

I whined when he pulled away, but I'm instantly sated as he scooped me into his arms, pulling me against his chest to rest us properly against the headboard of our bed. He leaned over to open a drawer on his nightstand, pulling out one of the water bottles we kept in there. Carefully he moved me into a better sitting position, then opened the bottle and held it against my lips.

"Drink," he said softly. I accept it, gulping the cold liquid as my senses begin to return to me one by one. "Good girl."

Once I finished he placed it on top of the nightstand, then held me to his chest once more to lay against the bed.

"Good warm-up?" He asked me.

"Not entirely sure that didn't do the trick right there," I said. My voice is rough, threatening to break with each word. Mike laughed loudly, his chest rumbling against my ear.

"That good?" He asked, smiling widely.

"I'm ruined for anyone else," I told him. His fingers grazed my jaw, tilting my face to meet his eyes.

"Good."

His lips are gentle as they guide me back into a kiss. It's me who deepens it, grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck, silently pleading for him to continue. He takes the hint, one hand holding the back of my neck to keep my mouth close, the other trailing down my chest, fingers making quick work of the clasp on the front of my bra. He pushes the item away, cupping my right breast gently as his thumb gently strokes across my nipple, making it harden underneath his calloused touch, making me gasp.

"So sensitive," he remarked, smirking. "Could do anything to these and you'd be my willing bitch. Such a pretty girl."

I moaned eagerly into his mouth, tugging at his hair and pressing my chest against his touch. He adjusts my body, guiding me to straddle his lap properly as he guided the robe off of my shoulders, letting the material fall to my elbows. He pulled away from the kiss, admiring the hickies adorning the column of my throat.

"So pretty," he mused. His finger trailed from under my chin to the valley of my breasts, then back up again. "Do you know how pretty you are?"

"You tell me every day," I laughed softly, blushing. He hummed, his arms moving to support my upper body as he leaned me back.

"Doesn't mean you know," he said. He sucked new dark spots onto my chest, continuing his trail until it ends at the bottom of my ribcage. "Dressed so pretty for me, wearing nothing under your pretty robe. Keeping yourself easily accessible like the pretty girl you are."

It was easily his favorite nickname for me, calling me 'pretty girl' more often than my own name. Sometimes I think he only calls me by my name just to remind me he does know it, although I won't lie that I'm disappointed when he does it. The first time he called me by his favorite name was the first time we had sex. He was balls deep and panting, desperate for air as he pumped in and out of me. I think it had slipped out by mistake, based on the way his eyes widened after he said it. He was so shy in the beginning, his inexperience obvious but not damning. It was cute.

His lips trailed from the bottom of my ribcage until he found the bottom of my left breast, accenting it with little marks wherever his mouth landed.

"You want my cock?" He asked me, breath fanning over my breast. I nodded eagerly. "Use your words," he reminded me.

"Yes please," I said quietly. He laughed against my skin, nipping close to my nipple.

"Aw, she has manners," he said sweetly. I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Don't be a brat." He chided at my response. I smiled at him.

"Or what?" I asked innocently.

"Or I'll find something else to do," he said.

"Like?" I pressed.

"Like fuck myself until there's nothing left for you to take," he said smugly.

"You're no fun."

"I'm very fun, that's why you're going to behave."

"It's more fun if I don't."

At that he latches onto my hard nipple, biting and lavving his tongue over it while moaning greedily, watching me through his dark lashes as I leaned back, pressing my chest against him as much as I could, rocking my hips against his as I lost all other thought.

"There she is," he said, his voice low and gravely. "There's my girl."

He layed me down gently, spreading my legs wide open for him. He undid his jeans, taking out his cock and stroking it while he admired me from above.

"Tempted to just watch you," he said, his hand slowly trailing up and down his throbbing length. "You look so perfect, all red and dazed."

I whined, reaching for him and wrapping my own hand around his cock, stroking him at a slightly faster pace.

"There you go," he crooned. "Get it ready."

I pumped with more vigor, watching his face as I felt him twitch under my grasp. Deciding he was satisfied he gently grabbed my wrist and pinned it above my head, then guided himself to my entrance.

"How do you want me, sweet girl?" He asked softly, smiling above me.

"I don't wanna remember my own name," I said quickly. "If I can walk across this room by the end of it, you need to try again."

He raised his eyebrows, smiling down at me. "Eager?" He teased.

My response is a sudden moan, my cunt clenching around his thick cock as he sinks into me, burying himself to the hilt and making me feel as though he'll split me in two.

"You're tight," he groaned in my ear. "You want it fast?"

"Yes."

He grabbed the back of my knees, pressing them to my shoulders as he pistoned in and out of me rapidly, moaning at the feeling of my cunt swallowing him eagerly, clenching at every vein, every inch, slick and desperate for his seed.

"It'll take better like this," he moaned. His jaw is slack, panting as his balls slap against my ass, heavy and making me clench with each thrust. "Been thinking about this so long.'

I tried to respond, but all that escapes me are the tongues from earlier, moaning gibberish as all I can focus on is him fucking me into stupidity.

"You'd look so pretty with a baby on your hip. My baby," he groaned. His tip finds my g-spot, making me cry out loudly.

"Right there," I chanted quickly, eyes rolling to the back of my head.

"Yeah? That the spot?" He asked. "Can you hold this knee for me, baby?"

My body automatically obeyed, quickly holding one of my knees right against my body as he moved his hand to settle on my lower stomach, pressing down as he fucked me hard enough to make a small bulge whenever he slammed his dick fully into me.

"So cute," he praised. "Such a pretty fuckin' pussy. You know that?" I moan, my vision and thought completely fucked.

"I keep telling you to use." Thrust. "Your." Thrust. "Words." His third pointed thrust tears a scream from my throat, making him smile. "Does this sound like a suggestion? Because I promise you that it's not."

"I have a pretty pussy," I moaned without second thought. My voice is soft and frail as I chant the phrase over and over, not stopping even as he cooed sweet praises in my ear.

"Gonna look so pretty with my baby," he said. The smacking of our skin is loud, echoing through the room with each new thrust. "Maybe I'll give you another." His balls stick to my skin, tacky from my cum that drips out of me onto the newly washed sheets. "Just keep giving you my kids until I can't anymore. God, I hope this fucking takes."

I'm still chanting the phrase, stupid and willing to do anything so long as it means I will be rewarded with his cock. He smiled down at me, his eyes fluttering shut as my pussy swallows him whole again and again.

"Need you to cum baby," he said, his voice strained. "It'll take better if you do."

"I'm close, Mikey," I whined. It was a nickname I only used in times like these, too stupid to say his name properly.

His hand shifts lower on my belly, thumb snaking down to rub tight circles onto my hard, pulsing clit.

"Gonna make you mine. Gonna make you a mother." He is completely lost to the world, eyes shut in bliss as his thrusts grow deep and shallow, making me begin to grow quiet as I focus on my orgasm. "Jesus Christ, I love you."

A loud cry escapes me as my muscles contract around him one final time, hard enough I can tell it almost pushes him out of me completely. At the feeling of such a strong grasp Mike comes undone too, painting the inside of my cunt a pretty, pearlescent white as he unloads right next to my cervix, burying himself as deep as he can before resuming his pace with newfound vigor, moaning with every new thrust.

"Again," he moaned. His chest presses against mine, our bodies intertwined into such a tight mating press it's hard to tell where I end and he begins. "Wanna make sure it takes. Wanna make sure it takes."

I can't help but laugh in pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of my head as I nodded happily, taking as much as he was willing to give me.

"I'm not gonna last long," I said, the overstimulation already turning my face red as I felt the knot in my stomach begin to tighten once more.

"Good," he growled. "I'm not gonna stop until I fucking break you."

His words send me over the edge again, my voice louder this time as I begged him to break me, to fill me, to-

Much to our immediate frustration, it turns out Abby did remember to call, making Mike yell into the bed in frustration before he slipped out of me to race to the living room, making quick work of the conversation before almost slamming the phone down in excitement, rushing down the hall once more to return to the immediate task at hand.

"Where was I?" He asked me, mischief sparkling in his eyes as he quickly climbed back on top of me.

"You were telling me you want like six kids right before damning the one we're already raising," I teased, smiling.

"Well, maybe not six," he admitted. He glanced down to my aching cunt, admiring the sight of our mixed cum leaking out before sliding his dick back inside to plug the hole. "But what's one more?"

¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

This was fucking filthy. I have no apologies. Take your problems up with God, he's the one who put me on this earth.

Taglist:

@jhutchissupercool @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support! <3

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[larascorneroftheworld]

HANDLE IT

mike schmidt x f!teacher!reader word count; 2,417 warnings; once again, no plot, just porn <3 summary; mike has a look. that's never a good sign.

 “Follow Mrs Davis and her class for lunch!”

 Mike watched from his seat behind the teacher’s desk as his girlfriend saw her class out the door, hand on the handle and pulling it closed behind them, making sure to twist the lock while she did. The corners of his mouth twitched as she sighed and fell back against the door, blowing a strand of loose hair out of her face. 

 “Long day?” Mike asked and she narrowed her eyes over at him, her lips quirked in a tired grin. “Don’t even get me started,” she grumbled as she pushed herself off of the door, heels clicking against the tile as she made her way back to her desk. 

 “Abby hasn’t been a problem, I hope?” Mike cocked an eyebrow to his hairline as she leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, settling herself down in her chair. She rolled her eyes at this, “you always make it seem like she should be causing trouble,” she tittered. “No, Abby’s always great.”

 She watched as Mike reached for the floor beside him, a plastic takeout bag in his hand and she grinned, wiggling in her seat as he began to unravel the knot in the handles. “Sooo… what did you bring me?” She asked, letting the smell of what she swore was tomato sauce waft through her nostrils.

 “New Italian place opened in the mall. Figured we could try it out,” he replied as he handed her one of the takeout boxes in which she ripped the lid off of, grinning over at Mike. “Spaghetti with meatballs. You know me so well.”

 She leaned forward as he handed her the plastic fork to press a kiss against his lips and Mike smiled, practically chasing after her mouth again when she pulled away. He watched as she spun the spaghetti around her fork, as she took a bite and moaned at the taste. 

 Suddenly, Mike’s jeans felt very tight. 

 “What is this place called? It’s amazing,” she moaned, chewing behind her fingers as she turned to glance over at Mike. “Ten out of ten. This might even be better than your spaghetti and meatballs.”

 Mike, although distracted by something else entirely, furrowed his brows at this, tossing his hands up. “Hey,” he said. “Thought you loved my spaghetti and meatballs.”

 She shrugged, “they’re alright.” Mike playfully shoved her shoulder and she tried to bite back a chuckle, glancing back over to him. “Hey, I don’t see you eating spaghetti and meatballs, why don’t you try and find out?” She laughed, taking a bite from a meatball as Mike pressed his lips together, curved into a grin as he shook his head. “Nah, I’m not that hungry right now.”

 She raised a brow and tilted her head to eye the other takeout box in the plastic bag. “Mike, you haven’t even touched your food,” she tittered, eyeing him incredulously. She narrowed her lids, “you have a look.”

 The corner of Mike’s mouth twitched— she was catching on. “I don’t have a look.”

 Her face fell and she dropped her fork in the to-go box, eyebrow cocked. “Yes, you do.”

 Mike leaned back in his seat and locked his fingers together on his lap, shrugging as he turned his head to face her. “Enlighten me, what look do you think I have?”

 For a fleeting moment, her gaze lowered to the very evident tent in his jeans, her thighs subconsciously clenching together at the sight, cheeks growing warm when he chuckled. She looked away, soothing her palms up and down the length of her skirt and Mike watched, teeth sunken into the inside of his cheek. A scenario played in the forefront of his mind, fantasizing about ripping the skirt clean off her legs and taking her right there on top of her desk had him balling a fist, squeezing his thumb so tight, it almost felt like it’d pop. 

 “Mike…”

 “What?” He murmured, leaning in closer, brushing away the hair curtaining away the side of her face back behind her ear. She melted like wax at his touch, as if her fingertips were flames. Her skin burned so hot now, she feared she actually would melt into a pool of magma on the floor below. 

 “Here?” She whispered as he rolled his chair closer, his breath a phantom looming over her flesh, sending shivers slithering down the coil of her spine. Mike peered up into the sides of her irises, “why not?”

 His lips pressed against the delicate skin just below her ear and she trembled, panicking eyes darting to the door she had thankfully locked. “I’ll give you a million reasons why not,” she murmured as his kisses trailed down to the curve of her shoulder, the scruff on his chin and just above his lips deliciously burning her skin. 

 “I can be sneaky,” he whispered against the valley between her neck and shoulder, his lips a crescent against her skin when he playfully nipped her flesh between his teeth there. She jolted and hissed, clenching her thighs together once more as the familiar slick of warmth burned the pit of her belly. “If somebody walks in, we’re both dead,” she murmured as his palm gripped and soothed down the length of her thigh, kneading at her knee, teasing her, taunting her. 

 “Relax, babe,” he breathed a chuckle against the crook of her neck. “I just want a taste, that’s all. Wouldn’t want you to get all fucked out before the day is over.”

 His low, raspy words had her reeling, her head in a frenzy and teetering on the edge of a mindset she knew she was at risk of falling down into. “Screw you, Mike,” she muttered through gritted teeth as he grinned, placing one last kiss against the breadth of her shoulder before sinking down to his knees on the floor, hanging his head so that he could fit beneath the desk. 

 Her heart drummed against her chest as he slithered his way between her legs, hands on her knees as slowly he parted them, as if he were unwrapping a present on Christmas Day. Through heavy eyelids, she peered down at him just as a silent curse fell from his mouth, teeth burrowed into the plush of his bottom lip as the pads of his thumbs rubbed circles into the inside of her knees. 

 “You’re soaked clean through your panties,” he chuckled and she burned brighter, sweat already beginning to bead at her hairline and her chest heaving to the unsteady beat of her heart. His name fell from her lips in a whispered sigh as he reached forward with his right thumb, pressing the fat of it straight onto her clothed clit, her back arching up off of her chair as he traced an agonizingly slow and painful circle against it, sighing at the way her slick showed through the thin fabric of her underwear. 

 “Fffuck,” he grumbled beneath his breath, hiking the skirt that hugged her curves until they pooled at her hips, pushing her knees further apart until he had full access to everything. His gaze was like a laser, burning through the damp fabric of her panties straight through to her pussy. He eyed her like he was starved, like he’d go hungry if he didn't get himself a taste. 

 Mike hooked his middle and forefinger around the hem of her underwear and tugged, although with some resistance with how wet she was. She gasped when the fabric unstuck itself from her arousal, Mike’s lips falling agape as he tugged her panties all the way down her legs until they hooked around one single ankle. He pressed himself closer, wrapping his arms around her hips and with his palms to her ass, drawing her in even closer until she sat on the edge of her seat. 

 “So fuckin’ pretty,” he marveled at the sight before him, admiring every single inch of her as if she were an artifact. She shuddered beneath his stare. “Mike,” she mewled through a shaky breath, “please.”

 With those deep, rich chocolate brown eyes, he glimpsed up at her and she gazed back, wondering when his pupils ended and his irises started. His eyes glimmered with longing, with desire, with lust. She thought she’d come from just his stare alone. 

 “Have to stay quiet, hm?” He nodded up at her, maintaining eye contact as he pressed a kiss just above her clit, feeling it throb against his chin as she writhed, trying to suppress her mewl. She nodded, pressing her lips together as she briefly glanced up at the door then to the windows— she was so grateful she’d drawn the blinds earlier. 

 Their gazes never leaving one another, Mike carefully leaned down to press a tender kiss on top of her aching bud, her toes curling in, back arching off the back of her chair. One of her hands flung to the mess of dark tendrils atop his head, the other gripping the armrest of her desk chair. Mike pulled away again, the makings of a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Think you can handle it?” He asked and she whimpered, nodding, every ounce of dignity in her body long gone, thrown somewhere far away from right there.

 “Just… please, Mike,” she whined, trying to keep her voice on the low as she gripped the roots of his hair tighter, inviting him back into her warmth, his arousal like a gloss on his lips. The crescent shape of his lips fell back against her clit as he pressed another kiss to it, electricity flowing through her body and making her jolt once more. 

 Mike eyed her through hooded lids as he licked a stripe all the way from her entrance back up the underside of her clit, relishing in the way she’d tremble and press her lips together in a desperate attempt to silence her whimpers. The delectable taste of her arousal coated his tongue and simmered on his taste buds as if she were his ambrosia, and he hummed as he licked another line up her slit. 

 “Taste so damn good,” he practically growled against her cunt as he plunged his face back in, his lips around her clit and tongue swirling against the sensitive nub. Tears were streaming down the sides of her face now as she threw her head back, using every last ounce of strength inside her body to will her moans to stay at a minimum. All she could do was pray that nobody would come knocking on her classroom door now. 

 A string of curses, his name among the mix, tumbled from her lips as he sucked her clit, every swirl of his tongue coaxing her closer and closer to the edge. She was balancing on a tightrope now, teetering on bliss as his tongue trailed down to her entrance, slow but firm as it pushed its way in. Her fingers tightened in the mess of hair on his head, pulling harder, making him surge into her. 

 She could feel every inch of his tongue inside of her and he was so close, the bridge of his nose pressed deliciously down on her clit, sending her down into a spiral of pleasure. She squeezed her eyelids together so tight, she was seeing stars, a shimmering backdrop of glitter as he swirled his muscle inside of her, humming into her at her taste. 

 “Sh… shi… shit, Mike!” She gasped as he nodded his head, tongue swirling inside of her, the bridge of his nose rubbing up and down against her clit. Her eyes were rolling into the back of her hand, every move his tongue made and every bit of pressure his nose applied to her clit added more rubber bands to the ball pressing down against the pit of her belly, dangerously close to erupting. “I’m… I’m gonna come if you don’t… if you don’t stop.”

 Mike blinked up at her and pulled away for breath, every inch of his face from the bridge of his nose down slick and shiny with her arousal. She felt herself clench at the mere sight as his chest heaved, chasing air back into his lungs, a smug smirk on his face. “I’m betting on it, babe,” he chuckled before diving back in, her pussy empty one moment and nearly full of his tongue the next. 

 His eagerness almost had her screaming, her nails scraping so hard against his scalp, somewhere in the back of her mind, she feared she’d draw blood. Mike hummed against her— he didn’t seem to mind so much. 

 Oh, how could he when he could sense she was so close? He could practically smell her orgasm, using every ounce of skill in his body to push her even closer to the edge, to knock her unsteady on top of that tightrope until it snapped below her altogether. 

 With her hand not tangled in his hair, she sank her teeth into the side of her hand to muffle the scream that ripped through her body, squeezing her eyelids shut even tighter as her body spasms, bones rattling in her release’s wake. Her orgasm thundered and cracked through her body like an earthquake, the sheer power of her release like a tempest. Her thighs squeezed around Mike’s head and he palmed at the sides of them as he swirled his tongue inside of her again and again, making sure not a drop of her went to waste. 

 He was practically drinking her, slurping every last drop until there was none left to be had. And only when that moment came did he pull away, breathless as he sat back on his heels below her desk, swiping at the slick dripping down his face with the back of his hand. 

 Mike gazed up at her curiously, her head still thrown back over the back of the chair, chest heaving up and down as she struggled to catch her breath. He chuckled as he pushed himself out from underneath her desk and up so that he could stand beside her, a palm cupping her cheek, the other aiding her head to sit normally on her shoulders. The pad of his thumb soothed over against her cheek, coaxing her out of her bleary state, her vision slowly beginning to clear again. 

 Mike tried to bite back his smile, “doing alright there?”

 She huffed as her cheeks burned, “shut up, Mike.”

a/n; i ended up writing up this one in like 45 minutes while sitting in the bathtub LMAO y'all went absolutely crazy with the last mike fic, you literally broke my tumblr notifications 😭 glad to see so many others horny for josh in this movie too

TAGLIST !!

@bxbyyyjocelyn

[larascorneroftheworld]

i NEED a thirst of mike walking in on shy!innocent! reader trying to get off and she gets so embarrassed when he catches her and he teases her while helping her!!

there's about another hour before you're required to peel yourself from the wrinkly warmth of mike's unmade bed and wake the slumbering girl down the hallway up for school. the red of the alarm clock's numbers cast an eerie glow over the tangled sheets, and you use the dim lighting to find the knotted ties of your joggers. once you wriggle your fingers underneath the band without the worry of a constricted wrist, you nearly fumble with the cotton hem of your panties, until your fingers are able to find the dewy slick that clings at your tired pussy.

with goodnight kisses smeared against your temple, mike had draped his body over yours the night prior, chest sticky against your back. hot breath in your ear, pelvis clapping against your bottom as he bottomed out with each forced thrust inside your cunt. promises of the next morning were fleeting when he scrambled to get dressed, already running out of the bedroom with unbuttoned jeans, and with his spend oozing lazily out of you.

you're quickly reminded with the sticky remnants that coat your fingertips, and with a breathy groan you use the lubricant as means to reveal your clit. you rub heavy-handed circles against the aching nerves, sometimes delving down between slick folds to gather more semen.

your chest heaves from the mattress when the fingers find a permanent spot against your hole, one digit first to ease the rigid muscles into their practiced, relaxed state, and then two when the pressure against your g-spot isn't satisfactory.

your palm is flat against your mound, fingers messily scissoring against your gummy walls, rubbing against sensitive zones until your toes are curling into the navy blue sheets.

"oh mike," you trill in a breathy moan, grinding down against the slight application of pressure that the heel of your hand provides against your clit, other hand creeping up to twist at a clothed nipple.

your fingers squelch inside your cunt as they move faster, messy in their uncoordinated thrusting, and your thighs nearly clamp down over your hand when a throaty chuckle echoes from the doorway. "g'morning, baby."

your mouth goes desert-dry, but the thought of removing your hand from between your thighs isn't present. "hi.."

mike makes sure to keep his footsteps quiet as he glides over, discarding his uniform first, and then pulling at his belt. "you okay, over there?"

you lick over your lips, jaw clenching as you slowly creep your hand away from your cunt, a trail of moisture slicking across your abdomen. "um.. yeah?"

"couldn't wait for me, could you?" he taunts, climbing onto the bed until he's looming over you, weight braced with two sturdy arms bracketing your midriff.

he leans in for a kiss, which you reciprocate with warbling lips, gasping onto his tongue when he sinks his teeth into your lower lip. "didn't know what time it was." you fib.

"6:25, babe," course fingertips ghost over the wet mess between your thighs before he finds your clit, applying a delicate pressure. "but that's alright, i know you couldn't do it without me." another kiss. "i'll help you, now."

[larascorneroftheworld]

i can’t let this thought go and want to request this to all my fav mike schmidt x reader fic writers but i LOVEEE the idea of reader standing and mike wrapping his arms around their torso while he’s sitting and leaning his face into their stomach—— AAAAHHHH im going insane.

#mike schmidt #mike schimdt x reader #mike schimdt smut #mike schmidt x fem!reader smut #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt imagine

[larascorneroftheworld]

IM GOING INSANE

baby roy doodle as i must do to survive

[larascorneroftheworld]

[larascorneroftheworld]

starting the ritual of reading this every night before going to sleep😭

coffee and kisses. mike schmidt (gn!reader)

when mike gets out of bed in the morning, it’s hard. especially when it’s weekend and he had his week filled with nightshifts that seemed to never end, especially when all he wanted was to return to you and abby as soon as possible.

you feel the mattress shake as mike stands up, a groan leaving his lips as he rubs his eyes. he stands up with a sigh, walking to the bathroom to brush his teeth quickly before coming back to his bedroom, that he now shared with you, to slide some sweatpants on.

his mind only begs for coffee and he hurries to make one, still not aware you were watching. you get up with a stretch, following him to the kitchen and stopping to check on a sleeping abby on the way. the coffee machine whirrs, the hot liquid pours into the cup and, with soft blow to it, so he doesn’t burn his pretty lips, mike takes a much-needed sip.

you want to tease him a bit on his coffee addiction, the brunette still having taken no notice of your presence. but you miserably fail when your eyes trail on his figure.

you see, to you, mike looks absolutely stunning in the morning, even if he doesn’t believe it. that drowsy demeanour, those messy brown curls and… “morning, baby” that soft but hoarse voice. you were in a daze as you hurried to return the greeting. mike’s lower back presses against the counter, lip corners turning up into a smile at your flushed demeanour.

“see something you like?” okay, he was just teasing you at this point. you furrow your brows at him, trying to rid yourself of the want to jump him as mike grins, taking another sip. you take note of his big hands, the fingers you knew so well for caressing your skin each night, his arms that were much stronger than they looked, his neck, his sharp jawline…

“cat got your tongue?” mike presses on, increasingly amused as you blink repeatedly, trying to find your words. to him, it was weird how attracted you were to him… he just had no actual idea of how hot he really was.

“made me a coffee yet, pretty boy?” your added nickname makes mike’s demeanour falter a bit. you make your way next to him, pressing the button on the coffee machine as his brown eyes stay glued to you.

“pretty boy? so i wasn’t wrong, you’re staring at me like that again” mike quips, setting his cup down on the counter as you smile.

“not my fault you look so damn good” you admit, making him let out a chuckle. the husky and irregular undertone of his morning voice makes your whole body shiver as you attempted to focus on stirring your coffee. the clinking sounds of the spoon hitting against the cup echo through the kitchen.

“yeah?” oh fuck, you were so gone. your defence shatters, turning a head to see him leaning in closer, a sleepy smile on his face “do something about it, pretty” it was rare to see mike so bold since he always took extra care in everything he said and did, every action followed by a small tint of red to his cheeks. but in the morning when his brain wasn’t fully awake yet and he was unaware of everything he was spewing? he was a menace.

you set your cup down, turning to him as his eyes moved to your lips. his intentions were clear and you couldn’t help but set your hand on his jaw and bring him closer, pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. what follows is a groan, coming from mike’s throat as his eyes close and he wraps his arms around your waist, torso pressed against yours.

you can taste the coffee on his lips, you dig your nails in his hair, you feel the soft breaths fan on your face… god, this man was nothing short of perfect. you pull back in awe, taking another quick glance at his sleep-filled features before he pulls you back in, needy and longing.

“eeeeewwwww!” a little scream hits your eardrums as you both pull away from each other, eyes wide and pupils blown “it’s 10 in the morning, can you not?!” the frail voice scolds you two as mike rolls his eyes.

“abby, stop being so dramatic” he retorts as she sticks her tongue out and sits herself down on the nearest chair. mike throws you a small smile, parting away from you with a scratch to his head. you take the chance to sit next to abby, apologising about the little incident her small eyes had to witness. you knew it didn’t actually bothered her. you knew she wanted nothing more than to see her brother happy. but you still played into her game, earning a chuckle from her.

“so, what will it be for breakfast?” mike chimes in with small smile as the three of you start arguing over what to eat.

© cultrise | don’t steal, copy or translate my works.

[larascorneroftheworld]

#REAL #all my baby boy needs is a little affection and care #and i will give it to him