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lefteagleblizzard · 3 months ago

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𝔓𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢 Mike Schmidt x male reader

Summary: You thought you were just having fun, teasing Mike and testing his patience. But everyone has a breaking point, and you’re about to find out exactly what happens when he reaches his.

Tags: Part 15 of this series of Mike Schmidt x male reader but can be read as a standalone as usual. No use of Y/N. Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Lots of teasing. Smut. Dom Mike. Brat tamer Mike. Bottom reader. Anal sex.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 6000

The night air clung to your skin as Mike half-guided, half-dragged you through the front door. His grip was firm around your waist, not out of annoyance but caution. Your giggles echoed against the hallway walls, low and slurred and warm with the afterglow of cheap beer. Mike smelled like faint sweat and faded cologne and every time your shoulder bumped his, you caught that scent and leaned in closer, as if magnetized. Your head lolled onto his shoulder for a second, just long enough for him to huff something between a sigh and a chuckle, the door shutting behind you with a soft thud.

Abby stood there, halfway down the corridor, blinking up at both of you in her oversized pajamas. Her arms were curled around her favorite drawing of you three but her face was wide open, curiosity and excitement shining in her eyes. "You're home!" she beamed at Mike and then her gaze flicked to your glassy eyes, dumb grin and the way you clung to Mike like gravity itself was optional.

Mike blinked slowly, ran a hand through his hair and let out that familiar tired exhale. "Abby," he said, voice flat but gentle, "what did I say about bedtime?"

She puffed out her cheeks, made a face at you (which you lazily returned with a lopsided wink and a finger-gun) and then shuffled off, dragging her feet. The sound of her door closing was the quietest little click and Mike let out a breath he'd been holding since you stepped inside.

He helped lower you onto the couch, your body boneless and warm under his hands. His palms lingered for a second on your waist as you sunk back into the cushions, then slipped away. "Stay put," he muttered, standing up and walking into the kitchen.

You pulled your shirt slightly down as it kept riding up, though not enough to cover anything meaningful. It left your flushed collarbone and the start of your chest exposed. Mike came back with a glass of water, a few droplets sliding down the outside of the glass as he handed it to you.

"Drink."

You took the glass in both hands, your fingers brushing his knuckles. "Yessir," you said with a little salute that made the corner of his mouth twitch, barely.

He sank into the couch beside you, letting out a breath as his body relaxed. You drank greedily, the cool water refreshing and harsh against your warmed throat. When the glass was empty, you leaned over and set it down a little too hard on the coffee table, missing the coaster entirely.

"So," you drawled, turning toward him and letting your entire body follow, practically melting against his side. "I had so much fun tonight."

"Mm?" he answered without looking at you, eyes fixed on a stain on the carpet or maybe nothing at all.

You continued, bubbling over. "We went to Leo's bar, the divey one, you know? With the sticky floor? Gross as hell, but the shots are two bucks. Two. Can you believe that?" you pinched your fingers together dramatically, your body swaying with the gesture.

Mike chuckled under his breath, the sound low and tired. Your smile widened. You were flush-faced and loose, every word falling out like spilled liquor. "Some guy—rando—tried to chat me up. Like, real smooth- like, y'know? Came up, offered to buy me a drink and said I looked lonely!" You rolled your eyes, giggling "I told him, and I quote, 'Back off, I got a boyfriend and he could beat your ass."

Mike turned his head then. Not just a glance this time, his whole face angled toward you, eyes tired but alert. You just smiled and slung your arms around his neck, your chest pressing against him, body curling on instinct and it was wrecking him.

His hand twitched against his thigh, like he had to stop himself from reaching for you, dragging you into his lap, slamming your mouth into his just to remind you whose you were.

He swallowed, throat tight. The image of some greasy stranger putting a hand on you burned. Even the idea of it made his knuckles tense. Pride slid through his veins like whiskey, warm and molten and mean at hearing your response.

"…Glad you remembered," he said finally, voice a low rumble. Not sarcastic or teasing. Just real and quiet and so fucking full of meaning.

You blinked up at him, grinning like a kid. "Of course I remembered," you slurred, your fingers now threading into his hair without a single thought. "You think I'd forget my man? Please. Even wasted I know who makes me come so good."

That hit hard. His breath caught, then left him slow and steady, like a man holding back the tide. Your fingers in his hair, the weight of you against his side, the bare inch between your lips and his pupils blown wide. God, you looked good. The flush across your cheeks from the alcohol had spread down your throat, lighting your exposed skin in a way that made his chest tighten.

He leaned in a fraction, just enough to smell your breath, to feel your warmth tickle the corner of his mouth. He wanted to kiss you. But he didn't. Not yet.

His hand finally moved, resting against your exposed collarbone, thumb brushing that delicate skin. Your breath hitched. So did his.

"You really told him I'd beat his ass?" he murmured, lips barely inches from yours.

"Fuck yeah," you breathed.

Mike didn't expect the sudden weight in his lap. You moved without warning, hands braced on his shoulders, knees bracketing his thighs as you slung yourself into his lap. His whole body stiffened under you, eyes going wide, then narrowing fast, lips parting for a split second in stunned silence.

"Jesus," he hissed through clenched teeth, grabbing instinctively at your hips to steady you. "What the hell are you?"

You just laughed. Loud, tipsy, unfiltered. "You shoulda seen your face," you wheezed, voice bubbling out of you, "you looked like I just pulled a gun on you."

"Shhh—“ Mike hushed you fast, his hand flying up to your mouth with a panicked glance toward the hallway. "Fuck, babe, Abby's still awake."

Your laughter softened into a muffled snort against his palm, eyes glossy and half-lidded as you blinked at him with this lovesick grin that melted everything you said next. "Then she should not be listening to her big brother getting cozy with his boyfriend."

"Goddamn it—" he groaned under his breath, face turning a shade darker, jaw tight. But his hands didn't leave your hips. If anything, they gripped tighter.

You leaned in closer, your weight rockin ever-so-slightly forward on his lap, sending a slow drag of friction right over the growing heat in his jeans.

"I was just thinking," you whispered against his cheek, your voice suddenly intimate, sing-song and sticky with fondness. "You know what I love about you?"

Mike gave a tight, skeptical grunt.

You leaned in so your lips brushed against the shell of his ear. "I love the way you fuck me." Shifting on his lap again, this time grinding unintentionally right down against his hardening cock. Mike's hand spasmed on your hip. He bit down on the inside of his cheek hard.

"You're so… mean about it sometimes," you murmured, voice breathy and low, laced with a dreamy kind of filth, "but in a good way. Like you want me to feel it all week. You know that time you bent me over the kitchen counter? When Abby was sleeping over at Vanessa's?"

You shifted again on his lap, completely unaware of what you were doing to him and Mike could feel every fucking inch of you. His cock was hard now, straining painfully against his jeans and your weight pressing down, dragging over it again and again was maddening. His hands twitched, digging slightly into your waist, like he was holding himself back from bucking up into you.

"Babe—“ he grunted, trying again to shush you but his voice broke in the middle, strained.

Your hips shifted again, this time a full roll of your pelvis and the friction right against the thick press of Mike's bulge made him suck in a breath through his teeth. It hurts now. Especially with you babbling filth like it was pillow talk, laughing and pressing kisses against his jaw.

"Jesus Christ," Mike hissed, head falling back against the couch as he squeezed his eyes shut, like that'd help, like shutting you out would stop the mental image of your flushed face, mouth open in a desperate moan while he railed you. "You're killing me."

You stopped moving.

Not out of mercy. Just… ran out of energy. Your forehead came to rest in the crook of his neck, your breath warm and damp against his skin, lips barely brushing his collarbone. You mumbled, quiet and vulnerable in the way only a drunk heart could be.

"I love my boyfriend," you whispered, slurred and raw and soft, "so much."

Mike didn't move. Couldn't.

His hands were still on your waist, eyes wide, lips parted, brain screaming through the rush of blood pounding behind his ears and the hard pulse of his cock pressing against his zipper like it was trying to claw its way out. You'd said all that shit with the sweetest fucking smile on your face, no shame, no filter, just the man he loved getting him hard and stupid with a dozen dirty memories and no idea what you were doing to him.

You snored just a little. Mike blinked, looking down to find you out cold in his lap, face still nestled against his neck, your breath tickling his skin, arms slack around his shoulders.

"Fucking menace." He muttered again, dragging a hand down his face. Then he shook his head, scoffing under his breath with the tiniest grin cracking through that exhausted, flushed exterior.

"Time for bed," he murmured after a long minute, voice husky and hoarse.

"Mm," you hummed in your sleep, the sound rumbling low in your chest, vibrating against his collarbone. "Fine."

With slow, clumsy movements, you peeled yourself off his lap, rising to your feet with a stagger and nearly tripping forward. You caught yourself just in time, steadying with a hand on the coffee table. Mike bit his tongue watching your ass sway.

You leaned down again and gave him a lazy, crooked kiss right on the mouth. Just a brush. Soft and chaste.

"M'gonna shower," you mumbled with a sleepy groan, peeling your shirt off halfway to the hallway, revealing that sweat-glossed chest, that sloping line from your pecs down to your waistband.

And Mike just stared, thinking about how he wouldn't have minded if you skipped the shower and just climbed into bed like that.

He'd probably be awake all night anyway.

Mike lay flat on his back, one arm crooked under his head, the other sprawled across the rumpled sheets beside him. The room was dark, but the faint blue wash from the window painted everything in cold shadow, including the edge of the faded poster about Nebraska.

He'd tried to rip the damn thing down months ago. Half succeeded, too. The corners had curled from old tape, hanging limp like they'd given up trying to cling to the drywall anymore. But still, the thing clung-ragged, defiant, a stubborn fragment of a past he couldn't fully strip away.

His eyes stared through it, pupils unfocused, brain half-numb with exhaustion and the slowly settling frustration that hadn't left since you climbed off his lap. He could still feel your warm voice like sin dripping straight into his ear.

He shifted slightly, dragging his forearm across his face with a groan that barely made it out of his throat.

Soft footsteps padding down the hallway, a door creaking open, followed by a quiet yawn. The kind of yawn you tried to muffle but couldn't, ending in a breathy little hum as you stretched your arms up before you shuffled across the floor like a drunk cat, mumbling some nonsense under your breath that made Mike almost smile.

You climbed into bed without ceremony, still warm and damp from your shower, your skin radiating heat like a living furnace as you crawled across the mattress and slotted in beside him. Your head found its place against the thick pillow of his bicep, cheek pressed into the muscle, breath brushing over his arm.

For a while, you both just stared up. The ceiling didn't offer much. Just cracks. That dumb torn poster.

Then your voice cut through the quiet, still half-slurred and lazy.

"How the hell did you even get that thing up there?" you mumbled, lips barely moving, a crooked grin curling on your mouth. "You climbed a chair and almost cracked your skull?"

Mike exhaled through his nose.

"Fuck you," he muttered without looking at you, but the edge of his voice curled into something dry and fond.

You laughed quietly, low in your throat. The sound vibrated against his bicep. It made his heart twitch.

You pressed in closer, tucking yourself against his side like it was instinct. Like it was natural.

You sighed, breath trailing along his ribs and shifted to get under the covers, lifting yourself just enough to slip in and Mike moved without thinking, pulling his arm free from behind his head to loop it lazily around your waist, dragging you into him.

His palm met skin.

Warm, naked skin.

His whole body went still.

It wasn't just a slip of skin, either. The whole curve of your waist, the small of your back, the subtle dip down to where your ass started, smooth and hot and absolutely bare under his hand.

His heart jumped into his throat as his eyes flicked down, quick, instinctive, sharp in the low light.

You were practically naked. Just boxers clinging to your hips and not much else. Your chest was bare, collarbones still damp from the steam of the shower, a drop of water still clinging to the curve of your pec. You were sliding under the covers like some dream conjured by his dick and sleep deprivation, eyes lazy, body loose, unaware of how dangerous you looked right now.

Your bare leg swung over his hip, thigh heavy on him as you draped yourself half-on, half-over his body like you were trying to fuse with him.

His hand was still on your back.That warm dip of skin above your ass, smooth and clean and fucking perfect.

Your head dropped again onto his arm, humming softly, curling into him.

Mike stared at the ceiling, blinking

A pulse pounded behind his eyes, then dropped-hard-straight to his cock. The ache from earlier roared back to life, thick and throbbing beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, pressed up now against your inner thigh. There was no way you didn't feel it.

You shifted again, scooting impossibly closer and Mike's breath hitched.

Your bare chest dragged over his side, your skin slick and soft and so warm it burned. His hand slipped slightly lower by accident and now the heel of his palm rested against the very top curve of your ass, just barely grazing the waistband of your boxers.

Your thigh shifted in your sleep, slow and aimless and utterly dangerous, and Mike felt your own arousal, semi-hard and warm, slid lazy along the covered skin of his upper thigh, soft fabric against thin cotton, the weight of it unmistakable as it nestled there between the drag of your body and the sheet.

Your breath was warm on his chest, arms looped around him in a sleepy bear hug.

He groaned softly, almost a whisper, more breath than sound. His head turned to look at you, just to see your eyes shut and face flushed from the shower and sleep, a tiny wrinkle in your brow like you were dreaming. Oblivious. Fucking innocent.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Mike's voice broke, hoarse, low, the words catching halfway in his chest before he pushed them out again, thick with disbelief.

His tone was a snarl and a plea, frustration bleeding into every syllable. He tilted his face toward you, pressing his forehead to your temple.

But the only thing you gave him back was a sigh. Long. Content. Deep from your chest like a lullaby while you slept peacefully, wrapped around him like a heat blanket.

The morning settled in quiet and golden, light slipping through the kitchen windows in long, warm bars. The scent of batter and browned butter filled the air.

it was early, Mike's hair was messy like usual while wore the same worn-out gray T-shirt he always threw on in the morning. Even now, while flipping pancakes for his sister, every part of him still ached from the weight of you pressed on him all night.

So when he heard the light shuffle of footsteps behind him, socked feet brushing against the floor he assumed it was Abby.

"Pancakes are up," he called, half over his shoulder. "Don't say I never do anything for you."

He expected a squeak Or maybe a quick thank you from a sleepy ten years old.

What he got was your voice.

"Wow. I always dreamed of being confused for a middle-schooler. Thanks for that."

Mike froze mid-flip.

He turned his head and found you propped lazily against the edge of the table, one arm crossed under your chest, the other up with fingers dragging across your face, rubbing sleep from your eyes, wearing one of his old shirts that hugged you tightly.

His eyes dragged lower. The thin hem of the shirt stretched just past your hips, the fabric lifting on one side with how you leaned. Your thighs were bare, smooth, shifting with every lazy movement.

Just below the curve of your jaw was a bruise. Faint now and half-faded but still there.

One of his. Right where his mouth had marked you nights ago. A purpling echo of where he'd bitten down too hard in the dark.

The spatula slipped in his hand. He didn't even blink. Just stared, heat rolling up from his chest to the tips of his ears

The pan hissed violently, a dark puff of smoke curling up as the pancake started to burn around the edges. The flickers of crisp batter snapped Mike out of the spell and he turned back to the stove with a quiet, strangled noise in his throat, flipping the pancake.

"What the hell are you doing up this early?" he muttered, voice low, rough from lack of sleep and laced with the same gravel it carried.

You gave a soft shrug, letting your hand fall from your face, your fingers dragging down your neck and over your chest.

"Got cold," you said simply. "Bed felt weird without my human space heater."

Mike didn't say anything. You pushed off the table slowly and padded toward him, until you leaned your hands on the counter beside him, close enough that the heat off your skin kissed his arm, the scent of sleep and shampoo still clinging to you.

"Burning them on purpose?" You looked down at the pancakes, unimpressed.

He exhaled through his nose, voice flat but betraying the tightness in his jaw "Distracted."

"My head kinda hurts," you muttered, your lips brushing warm against the side of his stubbled cheek in a fleeting, lazy kiss that barely registered before your arms looped around his waist, loose limbs letting your weight settle gently against him.

He stilled for half a second, breath held, then exhaled slow. A hum rumbled low in his chest, half-acknowledgment, half-contentment.

"Abby's gonna get fat if you keep making her surprises like this," you mumbled against his shoulder, eyes shut again, cheek resting there now like you planned to nap standing up.

Mike let himself lean back into your body automatically and the moment your touch left, the warmth abandoned him, it was like someone had pulled a blanket off in the middle of winter.

Mike blinked, jaw tight, resisting the urge to reach for you again. His eyes trailed you instead, helplessly.

You padded barefoot to the fridge, that old shirt riding high up your thighs with every step. His eyes dragged down automatically, unable to help it, and then lower still as you opened the fridge and leaned forward.

You bent at the waist, one hand on the fridge door, the other digging deep into the cluttered shelf, muttering to yourself as your fingers worked through the chaos.

The shirt rode up higher, barely clinging to your ass now, the hem catching on the curve like it was intentionally teasing him. The boxers beneath stretched tight across the swell of your glutes, hugging every perfect contour and making it look good to Mike’s tired eyes.

His tongue moved behind his teeth, slow and dry. The muscles in your thighs tensed slightly as you reached deeper into the fridge, giving him the perfect view and he couldn't look away

He made a soft noise in the back of his throat. Almost a grunt, almost a groan. It caught, unfinished, like the beginning of a curse.

You straightened with a small victorious sound, a bottle in your hand, the syrup in question that Abby enjoyed finally retrieved. Your fingers curled around it with distaste, nose wrinkling.

Mike blinked hard, dragged his stare away just in time and you didn't see it.

"This stuff's way too sweet," you muttered, walking back toward the table and setting the bottle down with a clunk.

Mike's lips curled, a low and breathy laugh coming from them.

"You don't like it?" he asked, voice still carrying that delicious morning gravel, the kind that made your spine shiver when he used it in your ear at night.

You turned around, body already in motion, hopping up onto the counter with one clean jump. Your hands braced on either side, knees spreading just slightly apart for balance.

"I like my sugar natural," you said lazily, leaning back on your palms, shirt riding up again, exposing more of that smooth, sleepy skin. "Besides… I tend to prefer things salty."

Mike's fingers twitched.

His chest tightened

He turned back to the plate in front of him, took the syrup and tipped it carefully over the pancake, attempting to make a heart like he'd done for Abby a dozen times before. The outline was shaky, the curves too wide, the dip at the top not quite centered.

The bottle in his hand gave way under the pressure of his grip, and a thick splatter of syrup dropped dead-center in the almost heart. It spread fast, pooling into the middle, ruining the shape.

A mound. Sticky and excessive. A visual metaphor for the filthy thought that slammed into him with no warning.

The seam of his pants felt awful now. Tight. Suffocating. His cock was stuffed against the denim, thick and hot and raging, the memory of your lips wrapped around it dragging across his brain at what you just said to him.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, staring hard at the ruined pancake, jaw clenched.

Mike hummed low in his throat, quiet enough it might've passed for breath and set the bottle of syrup aside with a small clack.

You had both palms rubbing slow across your face, knuckling sleep from your eyes, the hem of his old T-shirt riding up even further on your thighs as you shifted your weight. Your legs were spread comfortably on the counter, toes flexing with lazy stretches, the soft give of your thighs open in a way that made every part of Mike ache harder.

He didn't know if you realized. Were you teasing him or were you that unaware?

Fuck it. He stepped sideways, not fast, but direct until his body moved in front of yours and without hesitation, your legs responded. Those soft thighs slid around his waist, loose but snug and hooking together behind him, your arms draping up and over his shoulders, fingers threading behind his neck.

Mike's hands found your waist automatically. One rough palm spreading over your ribs, the other lower, gripping your hip hard.

You were all soft skin, low heat and sleepy amusement, a little smirk flickering at the corner of your mouth like you knew something.

"Do you… remember anything from last night?" he asked finally, voice low, gravel sticking to the edges like smoke.

You winced slightly, like just the thought pressed too hard against your temples, and gave a slow shake of your head

"Mmmnope," you said, drawling the word out with mock drama. "I remember going out with the guys. Getting maybe… a little too happy. Then I started missing my hot boyfriend, thinking about how he was here being a good big brother."

Mike raised a brow, lips twitching. You gave a lazy smile. "Then it gets fuzzy."

You tilted your head, gaze curious. His hand slipped further down, fingers spreading low on your thigh, thumb grazing the inside where it was warm and smooth. You tensed and your eyes flicked down, following the motion of his hand.

"You don't remember telling me that you like the way we fuck?" He said carefully, voice like molasses and midnight.

Your body went still, breath hitched, caught in your throat and then, you bit your lip.

Hard enough to look surprised. But your lashes fluttered just slightly. Your legs didn't move. If anything, your thighs flexed a little tighter around his waist, grounding him, pulling him closer.

Your voice came out quiet. Soft. Dipped in syrupy innocence.

"I said that?" you whispered, like you weren't sure if you were supposed to be flattered or embarrassed. "Did that really happen?"

Your mouth curled into a slow smile as your brows lifted slightly like you were innocent. But Mike's eyes tracked every detail. The way your fingertips danced up the nape of his neck, the slight rock of your hips into his hold.

He really couldn’t tell if you really knew it or not.

"I haven't stopped thinking about it," he whispered. He leaned in, pressing the bridge of his nose against yours, voice dropping another octave.

"You own me one when you say stuff like that."

You surged forward, your mouth crashing into his with messy, sleep-drunk hunger.

Your lips slid over his, wet and eager, tongues tangling immediately. Mike's hands clutched your hips harder, dragging you flush into him, your thighs squeezing his waist as you tilted your head and deepened the kiss.

You moaned quietly, his mouth opened wider, teeth grazing your lower lip, breath ragged against your cheek as his hands explored, pushing under your shirt to palm anywhere he could feel you

You tilted your head, your teeth catching his bottom lip before sucking it gently and he groaned.

Your ears twitched at the sound of a door opening slow and hesitant, eyes popping open mid-kiss, palms flat on his chest as you gently pushed not panicked, but warning.

Mike didn't stop right away.

He kissed you again in a quick peck, a final wet press of lips before he blinked, dazed and then groaned, the noise deep and almost pained as it rumbled in his chest, nearly passing his lips.

His eyes followed yours toward the hallway with visible reluctance, brows furrowed, face pinched in an expression that read like ‘are you fucking kidding me.’

Suppressing a laugh by biting down on your lip, you rapidly placed a palm on his shoulder to hop down from the counter, your thighs brushing against his hips in one final tease before you stepped back.

Almost on cue, Abby rounded the corner, yawning, rubbing one eye with the heel of her hand.

"Morning," she mumbled, waving blearily. You stepped forward instantly, catching her in a warm hug.

Mike just leaned against the counter, palms flat, still rock hard, jaw clenched as he watched you bend slightly to hug his kid sister while he suffered.

Mike’s aunt has been pressing harder than ever in her attempts to get exclusive custody of Abby. Not because she cared, but because she knew that having Abby under her care meant receiving money from the state. She was treating Abby like nothing more than a paycheck, and that knowledge alone made Mike’s blood boil. He had been fighting so hard to give his sister a stable life, working himself to the bone just to make ends meet and now this woman who had never lifted a damn finger for either of them wanted to swoop in and take Abby away just for a government check?

Mike had barely been able to sleep these days, spending hours poring over legal documents, trying to understand what he could do to stop this from happening and the stress of it was eating away at him.

Now, at work, it was clear that it was getting to him.

He sat slouched in the security office, one hand rubbing over his face while his tired eyes stared blankly at the grainy security feeds in front of him. The familiar hum of the monitors filled the small, dimly lit space, but he wasn’t really seeing any of it. His thoughts were too loud, spiraling with worst-case scenarios, imagining what would happen if he lost Abby.

His jaw tightened. His fingers curled into a fist against his leg. Then, a flicker of movement on the monitors caught his attention.

There you were, standing patiently outside the gates, waiting to be let in. Even through the grainy feed, he could see the way you looked directly into the camera, as if you knew he was watching. His heart jumped at the sight of you. His shoulders sagged just a little, some of the tension melting away. He could already picture you inside, sitting with Abby, making her laugh. That image alone was enough to ease some of the suffocating pressure in his chest.

His small family. All together.

For the first time that night, the corners of his lips twitched up into something resembling a smile.

He pushed himself up from the chair, rolling his stiff shoulders before heading out to let you in. When the heavy metal doors finally groaned open, he was greeted with your ever-patient gaze, a silent understanding passing between the two of you. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know how much he appreciated you being there.

The two of you walked back toward his office together, the only sound being the distant hum of animatronics in standby mode. It was a little eerie, but at the moment, neither of you cared.

Once inside, you leaned against the desk, arms crossed, watching him carefully as he settled back into his chair.

Mike had left for work without even giving you a quick goodbye, something that didn’t go unnoticed. It wasn’t like him to leave without so much as a kiss or a passing glance. It replayed in your head how he had barely looked at you as he grabbed his keys, jaw tight shoulders tense in a way that told you he was holding something back.

That’s why you were here, to find out what was stressing him out so much. You could tell he was debating whether or not to talk about it. He didn’t want to drag you into this, didn’t want you getting tangled up again in his aunt’s manipulative bullshit.

But you weren’t going to drop it and he knew that too well.

Crossing the small space there was left, you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs with a quiet grace, your arms winding automatically around his neck. His hands shoot up immediately, one settling low on your back, the other splaying over your waist like he was anchoring you there, grounding himself to you.

It was now that you took your chance to shift your hips. A slow, careful roll of your waist that dragged the weight of your body down against the hardness nestled between Mike's thighs.

And fuck, the reaction was instant. His breath hitched in his throat, sharp and caught like he hadn't expected it. His fingers on your waist reflexively gripped tighter.

His mouth was just below your jaw, his cheek pressed against your neck and when you moved again, grinding softly, nothing rushed, just enough to drag the curve of your ass across the growing bulge in his pants, he groaned.

Low. Hoarse. Like it came from someplace deep, buried beneath the weight of stress, rage and a hundred sleepless nights.

"Are you—" he breathed, voice broken at the edge, a question cut in half. "You're doing this now?”

You smiled. Couldn't help it.

You rolled your hips again, slower this time, and leaned in close, your lips brushing the edge of his ear.

"You're stressed," you murmured, your voice dipping into something softer, sultrier, the kind of tone that settled into skin like smoke. "Figured I'd help you relax."

He let out a breathless laugh the same moment you felt his face press tighter into your shoulder, his lips brushing your neck like he was trying to hide there.

"You—" he started again, but his voice was lower now. "It wasn’t enough for you to torture me at home?"

You snickered, loud and immediate, your head falling forward onto his shoulder as laughter spilled out against his skin.

And that's when he knew.

"I knew it," he growled, lifting his head enough to look at you, eyes narrowed, mouth twitching. "You've been doing this on purpose all damn day."

You were laughing now, really laughing, body shaking gently in his lap as you leaned in and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"Oh my god," you breathed between giggles. "You should've seen your face this morning."

"Don't even start," he groaned, but he was smiling, despite himself. His hand tightened on your waist as you writhed in laughter against him and his hips bucked up for you to feel the now fully hard line of his cock pressing into you through the layers of clothes.

You gasped through another laugh, soon softening into a smug little grin as you looked up at him again, your eyes sparkling in the low glow of the monitors.

"I like getting you riled up." You said, voice quiet and velvety and his expression twitched between disbelief and arousal, his mouth parting slightly as he stared back

You groaned into his mouth when you kissed him again. Tongue and teeth involved. Your hand fisting into his hair as he devoured you, his lips tugging your bottom lip between his like he needed to own your mouth to survive.

You didn't stop moving in his lap. Your hips were rocking now, slow and hard, grinding yourself down over the thick bulge in his pants.

Rough palms slid over your sides, under your shirt, up your spine, down to your thighs, squeezing, massaging.

"You think this is relaxing me?" he panted between kisses, voice hoarse.

You grinned. "Not yet. But I'm getting there."

He groaned again, head falling back against the chair and you took the opportunity to trail your mouth down his throat, nipping at the skin there, licking the salt from his neck.

Mike's hands snapped to your hips and in one sudden, controlled motion, he stood up with you in his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as your back hit the cold wall of the office.

He caged you there, one hand sliding down, gripping your thigh, the other splayed over your ribs like he was staking a claim.

"You really think you can tease me all day and I'm not gonna do something about it?" he muttered against your mouth, his voice a low, shaking growl.

His hips rolled forward and you gasped, fingers tightening around the collar of his shirt, your body jolting in his arms.

Mike's hand fisted in the hem of your shirt and yanked it up, exposing your chest, dragging the soft cotton roughly across your skin. His mouth followed immediately, lips latching onto your collarbone, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.

You whined as he bit you again, lower this time, right above your nipple, dragging his teeth and tongue.

"Mike—"

"Shh," he snapped. "You don't get to talk now. You had your fun. Now it's my turn."

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers dipping into your waistband and dragging your shorts and underwear down in one rough motion. You gasped as the cool air hit your cock, already flushed and leaking from how long you'd been teasing yourself on his lap.

Mike dropped you onto the desk behind you with a thud, pushing the clutter aside without even looking at it. Your ass hit the cool surface and he stepped between your legs, spreading them wide with his knee.

“You're hard already,” he muttered, voice lower now, staring down at your exposed cock, the flushed head twitching against your stomach.

You moaned, your fingers clawing at the edge of the desk as hr leaned in before kissing you hard, biting your lip and sucking it between his teeth.

Then his hand wrapped around your cock. You choked out a breath, hips bucking instinctively as he began pumping slowly, base to tip, twisting the head to smear the precome leaking from your slit.

"You want this, don't you?" he asked. "You'd take whatever I give you, wouldn't you?"

A slow nod formed as the weight of the moment settled over you, your mind processing everything before giving in to silent agreement. Though you didn’t say a word, the slight dip of your head spoke volumes, conveying your understanding, your acceptance, perhaps even your surrender.

He groaned and his hand left your cock for him to reach between you and undo his jeans. The sound of the zipper brutally echoed in your ears, followed by the rough drag of fabric.

His cock, heavy and hot, slapped against your thigh. In one perfect thrust that split you open, bottoming out so fast your breath left you. You clawed at his shoulders, mouth open, gasping his name, but he didn't stop. He stayed deep, hips pressed flush against your ass with his cock throbbing inside you.

He pulled back and slammed in again, the desk jolting beneath you. His pace matching the one of a man unraveling. Every thrust brutal, intentional, like each one was another weight off his chest.

"You wanna help me relax?" he growled. "Then take it."

You took every inch from your boyfriend, every punishing thrust and groan torn from his throat. His hand came back to your cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, twisting cruelly around the head until you were crying out his name, head back, mouth open, legs shaking around his waist.

With a strangled moan and a full-body shudder, your orgasm ripped through you, cock pulsing hard in his hand, come spilling over his fist and your stomach in hot, messy ropes.

Your body went limp as he kept driving into your still-clenching hole with frantic rhythm.

His breath hitched, hips stuttering before he groaned deep and shoved in hard, staying buried as he came, flooding you with heat.

He collapsed forward, forehead pressing to yours, breathing heavy and fast, lips brushing yours in a kiss that was more grateful than anything.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” despite the lack of energy, there was a determinate will inside of you to get him to open up with you, cupping his face with both of your warm hands.

Albeit hesitantly, he started talking, explaining everything that had happened. “It’s my aunt,” he muttered, voice tight. “She won’t let it go.”

His frustration was palpable and you could see the reluctance in his expression, the way he hesitated to even tell you this much.

“She’s been at me all day about it,” he continued, shaking his head. “Even at work. She called, left messages. She knows how much this shit gets under my skin.”

You listened carefully as Mike vented, his voice rough with frustration as he explained everything his aunt had been doing. Filing more paperwork, twisting facts to make him look like an unfit guardian, trying to manipulate the system into awarding her custody.

“Mike, listen to me,” you murmured, your voice calm but firm. “She doesn’t have a real case. Legally, she doesn’t have the grounds to take Abby away from you.”

His eyes flickered up to yours, hesitant. “She’s got money,” he muttered. “She can afford a lawyer. I can’t.”

You shook your head. “Money doesn’t mean she’s got a winning case. Family court doesn’t just take kids away because someone else wants them. They have to prove that the current guardian is unfit. And you’re not, Mike. You provide for Abby. She’s happy, healthy and well taken care of. That’s what the court looks at.”

His hands flexed slightly against you, some of the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. But he still looked uncertain. “But what if—”

“Mike,” you cut him off gently. “She has no history of caring for Abby. No proof that she’s been involved in her life. Meanwhile, you’re her brother. Courts prioritize keeping kids with their actual family—especially a sibling who’s already been raising them.”

You felt Mike exhale slowly, his forehead pressing a little more firmly against yours. His grip on your waist loosened, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your lower back.

“I can vouch for you and tell them that Abby is safe, that you’re doing everything you can for her.”

Mike was quiet for a long moment, processing. He had spent so much time in survival mode, just trying to get through each day, that he hadn’t even stopped to think about the fact that hem wasn’t alone anymore. That he had you.

You tilted your head slightly, catching his gaze again. “She’s not gonna win this, Mike. Not while I’m here.”

A slow, deep breath escaped him, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “…Thank you,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, fingers threading gently through his hair. “Always.”

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redcoralpot · 2 years ago

Text

Tougher Than Nails - Mike Schmidt X M!Reader

Warnings/Details: NSFW content, implied substance abuse, alcohol, cowboy!reader, hankie/cowboy hat code.

Summary: Mike goes to a bar downtown in hopes of getting his mind off of court, but instead finds something much healthier.

A/N: Everyone should thank my boyfriend for this idea; he's always the one that reminds me that I am technically a 'cowboy'. He saves a horse very often.

Word Count: 1.8K

Bars weren’t really Mike’s thing. Any alcohol he’s ever had tasted like crap, and becoming an alcoholic would just be another check on Aunt Jane’s list to prove to the court that he wasn’t suitable for custody. Hell, he swore her perfume was still clinging onto his nose hairs, and all he wanted to do was escape her. Escape reality, too. Mike remembered when his father used to do just that after Garret disappeared, drowning himself in the bitter liquid at night, his speech slurred. That’s why he was here, at a bar in downtown Afton, while Maxine stayed with Abby. He was desperate.

The building was crowded, delightful chatter and jazz music filling the air. Lights were strung along the wooden walls, narrowly dodging the black and white photos hanging by themselves. More customers squeezed in behind him; Mike frantically searched for any open spot in the room. Hallelujah– a single stool was left vacant near the serving counter, and Mike shuffled into it, shoulders tense. The bartender seemed to notice his presence, as she leaned towards the man, still shaking another person’s drink.

“You’re a new face,” she rattled, “may I see your license?”

Mike fumbled with his wallet, sliding the card for her to see, “Uh, sure.”

“Right, you’re all clear; would you like to open a tab?”

A man cut in before he could answer, and for the first time, Mike got a good look at the person sitting beside him, “Just add whatever he orders to mine, Molly.”

She shrugged, the key hanging from her left pocket jingling, “Easier for me.”

You chuckled, the brim of your hat covering your eyes. It was decorated with embroidery and leather, complimenting your purple button up shirt, though that was partially hidden by a black vest. Two hankies hung out of your back, left pocket, similar to Molly’s keychain. One was rust colored, but the other was a complimentary gray; Mike thought it was an interesting stylistic choice.

“I’ll just have a beer, thanks.”

As the bartender turned, scribbling in a notebook, you inquired, “So, what’s a fine boy like you doing ‘round these parts?”

Mike grabbed the foaming beer that was placed in front of him, “I live nearby.”

“That’s not the only reason, is it?”

He hesitated to answer, instead choosing to take a long sip of the beverage. It burned down his throat, the flavor making his lips curl and his head a little more dizzy. Somehow, it loosened his will, and he found his lips moving without his permission. Your energy was just hypnotizing; he felt himself being pulled in.

“Needed a break from stress,” Mike admitted, picking at the glass’ label.

You cocked your head to the side, your hat tipping upward, “Just ‘cause you’re in a hole, doesn’t mean you gotta keep digging. Alcohol isn’t the cure to what you’re feelin’.”

“What am I supposed to do? Not even my medicine works anymore.”

“I go here for stress relief too,” you assured, downing a shot, “but not necessarily for the drinks.”

Your hand hovered over the small of his back, looking at him for consent. When he didn’t move away, you settled your fingers there, feeling a shiver run through Mike’s body. Some of the previous tension released from his shoulders, and he almost leaned back in relief. Many of the customers in this bar were paired with the same sex, unlike most of the movies he’d seen that included the subject. So, he supposed it wouldn’t look too weird if he did.

You elaborated, “People can be cruel, can’t they, sweetheart? Comin’ to a place like this, where everyone’s like me in some way or another, is a damn good bonus.”

“Like you?”

“Y’know,” you gestured to your handkerchiefs, “queer and such.”

He paused, “Ah.”

“You didn’t know this was a boy bar?”

Mike replied, “I kinda just looked up the closest bar to my house.”

…

“Good to know.” Your hand fell away from his back.

He almost chased it. Mike liked the feeling, the weight of your fingers pressing into such an intimate spot. However, he wasn’t tipsy enough for that, and controlled himself. He watched as you spoke to Molly, the lady’s eyes flicking towards him and back, and you slipped her the money needed to cover the tab. You tipped your hat towards Mike, a respectful way to put distance between you, before disappearing into the suffocating crowd. Molly side eyed him, sweeping away his bottle, before leaving as well. Mike swallowed, pulling loose skin from his bottom lip with his teeth. It was now, or never– perhaps alcohol wasn’t the only way, after all. You were right.

Mike could still see the very top of your hat swerving above the crowd, and he trailed after it to the best of his ability. A random girl almost elbowed him in the face, and he was sure his shins would be bruised after tonight. Your shadow was reflecting in the glass door, growing fainter and fainter as you walked further away, your hips swaying. Mike pushed it open, the vision dissolving, and cold air stung his cheeks. The moon reflected off of car hoods, the only way he was able to see where he was running. His hand reached out and grabbed your arm, as you flinched.

Mike’s ears were red, probably from the alcohol, and you stared at him, “What’re you doing?”

“I don’t know,” was the only answer you got before your collar was jerked forward.

Your lips crashed violently with his; your teeth clicking as he struggled to pull you closer. Mike was still fisting your shirt as you brought your hands to cup his jaw and the back of his neck, trying to gentle the kiss.

You mumbled against his mouth, “Better not be some experiment of yours, pretty boy.”

“Nope,” he whispered, the aftertaste of whiskey on his tongue.

His back hit the side of your car, and his hands moved from your collar to swinging his arms around your neck. Your knee found its way in between Mike’s thighs, pressing against his crotch, and his groan was swallowed by your lips. Mike whined when you trailed down, aiming instead for his neck. Dark marks and bites soon decorated the pale flesh, his blood dripping a contrasting splash of color.

Tugging on his earlobe, you challenged, “Gonna come back to my place?”

Mike doubted he ever agreed to something so quickly.

The drive was long, too long in his opinion. Though, it was most likely only fifteen minutes, at most. Mike didn’t even have to walk up the driveway to your cabin; his legs were locked around your hips as you carried him through the door and up the stairs. He ground his groin against you, searching for any possible friction. You tossed him onto your bed, unbuckling your belt, holding it taut. The man in front of you wiggled back and spread his legs to make room for you. You snickered at how willing Mike was, considering his hesitation when you first met.

You regularly kept lube on the bedside table, just to be prepared for when you brought men home from the bar. However, this one was different in a way you had trouble putting into words, other than positive. His thighs shook as you massaged the liquid into his hole, a hand covering his mouth to prevent you from hearing his noises. Ah, now that wouldn’t do, would it?

In response, you tugged his hand off of his mouth, “Lemme hear you.”

Such pretty sounds from a pretty mouth, it was truly a shame. When Mike immediately went back to covering them up, you slid your fingers out of him, instead reaching for your abandoned belt. His eyes trailed after your hands as they bound his wrists together in front of him, almost akin to handcuffs. Mike couldn’t see much of your expression after your head dipped down, only the shit-eating grin playing on your lips. Of course, that was before you took your hat off by the crown and placed it firmly on his head, though it was a tad too big for him.

“Why don’t you keep that safe for me, sweetheart?”

For a second, Mike was confused. Keep it safe? Just what were you planning on doing? He felt a grip on his waist, right before his world spun around him, and the positions were practically reversed. The guard was now sitting on top of you, or more so your crotch, his thighs caging in your hips. Mike’s hair was disheveled and the light on the ceiling created a sort of halo around him, and fuck, did you think he was pretty. Only a few select people had ever gotten to wear your hat, and you could confidently say that he was the most beautiful in it.

You unbuttoned your jeans, letting your cock slip through the opening, “You ready?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

You had a grip on his waist again, slowly guiding him down. You didn’t thrust, didn’t force him to go fast, and allowed him his proper time to adjust, “How’s that feelin’?”

“G-good,” he shuddered, precum leaking from his tip, “think ‘m ready.”

“You haven’t seen the brunt of it yet, boy!” You grunt, thrusting the rest of you inside, brushing against Mike’s prostate.

The man on top of you moaned, and the sound was so uncharacteristically loud that even he seemed surprised by it. Mike leaned down, resting his tied fists on your chest in order to keep his balance. His sweat dampened your collarbones, his drool smearing on your neck, and the pathetic excuse of a guard tried leaving kisses over the areas he could reach. You soon found a rhythm to your thrusts; groans were punched out of your throat on their own.

Mike could feel heat rushing through his brain, bringing tears that stuck to his eyelashes, covering any thoughts or hesitance he may have had before. That wasn’t enough for it– it spread like wildfire down his body, down to where your fingers were leaving bruises, and down to his red, leaking dick. Something deep was brewing inside of him, nothing he’s felt since his hormonal teenage years. Hell, he didn’t even have time to process it when you kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear that he’s such a needy slut; it exploded.

When he finally came to, he could feel his thighs twitching and your heaving, sticky abs below him. His eyelids felt heavy, and all he wanted to do was stay there with you. You were rubbing circles into his back, attempting to pull out, but a grumble from Mike made you stop. In fact, you were saying things, but it sounded muffled and far away. He took great comfort in your voice, no matter what you were talking about. It was getting farther and farther away, yet still managed to follow him into his dreams. For the first time since the incident with Garret, he did not have a nightmare.

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