#mike is such a fucking brat

[butdaddyilovehimmm]

SUITS 1.08

[jevilowo]

Sometimes in fnaf time travel fix it aus its so busy being dramatically dramatic about crying child and Mike and the bite of 83 they forget to give Elizabeth a personality beyond "kind of bratty"

[hushedlover]

In your defense it was the week before your period and Mike looked so fucking good, jeans low on his hips and T-shirt clinging to his arms.

“Mike,” you whined with your shoulder hunched forward to show your sadness. “C’mon, who’s really gonna break into an old abandoned kids play place? It’s just a creepy dump.”

Mike had his back facing you as he dug around in one of his drawers looking for something. His shoulders tensed and raised slightly towards his ears as he sighed.

“Don’t start, please. You know I need this job. For Abby,” he rasped. It hurt your heart to see how tired he was. You knew he needed a break.

Searching for some new material to use against him in your argument, your eyes traveled the room. They passed over the bare walls with no luck and continued until they landed on his bed. Navy blue, rough material caught your eye. Mike’s security vest lay discarded on the bed. Your face lit up with mischief.

“Well, if I can’t convince you,” your voice trailed off as you inched towards the mattress. With your eyes locked on Mike’s back to make sure he didn’t turn around, you snatched the best into your grip. A triumphant smile pulled at your lips as you slid the material over your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to-,” Mike’s words cut off as he turned and saw you. His face fell impossibly more at the sight, but you saw the light that filled his eyes. You knew he just didn’t want to leave you when you looked so fucking good in his vest.

“Okay, that’s real cute. Now give it.”

He held his hand out, waiting patiently for you to hand over the cloth. His eyebrows raised in annoyance when you only smirked and crossed your arms. You took a single step backwards and his face morphed into one you only saw when you were being a true brat.

“Do not,” He warned. Your smile widened. He took a step forward. You stepped back again. That did it. Mike lunged towards you and you spun on your heel, sprinting off.

It didn’t take long for Mike to catch up. Big, warm, and calloused hands gripped your hips tightly and yanked you back into a hard chest. You didn’t have time to process before you were being spun around and lifted off your feet. Your lower abdomen folded over a broad shoulder, you chest hitting Mike’s back as you were tossed over his shoulder like a potato sack.

You were still disoriented and grappling at the back off his shirt when Mike’s big hand smacked down on your left ass cheek.

“You just never fuckin’ listen,” He growled as he carried you back into his room.

Send in Mike requests <3

[aweina]

౨ৎ. CHOCOLATE LIPSTICK ( 17﹢) ; mike schmidt

tags fem reader. enemies to ( ? ). mike is mean + angry. 2-3 year age difference. sexual tension. oral fixation. semi-brat taming + 1k words.

mike was staring at you funny, it made you feel weird — annoyed, actually.

“what?” your voice was harsh, muffled by the sweet frozen yogurt coating your mouth.

he raised a brow at your tone, a little vexed from your sudden attitude. it reminded him of the bratty kid he happened to escort out of a toy store just an hour ago. he’s in a bad mood already, but there was no reason to get mad right now.

“don’t talk with your mouth full.” mike tiredly mumbled. an honest suggestion, but half of what he really wanted to say.

you rolled your eyes at his critiquing words. he always seemed to lecture you about the littlest things. how you’re not as productive during your usual security checks or even that one time he was finding the mall keys during your shared nightly protocols — making sure to make a sly comment and sprinkle in an unneeded suggestion about how untidy your bag was. exactly how an obnoxious parent would.

it was annoying. being treated like a child and especially by someone like mike. so what if he was a few years older? slightly more mature than you, much more responsible, and definitely not hot. just a little bit tho, but you’ll never admit that.

but ninety-percent of the time he pisses you off, and this is one of those times.

you swallowed down the yogurt that melted from your seething irritation, brows furrowed at the snarky comment he had to make about your dining etiquette. it’s a fucking mall food court, not a fine dining restaurant.

“do you always have to be a dick to me?” your words were laced with venom, all the suppressed anger managed to bubble out your throat.

his calloused fingers suddenly stopped twisting on the volume of the two-way radio, usual soft hazel eyes darken to a muted brown, stubbled jaw clenched. mike swallowed back the urge to say a few fighting words at your childish retort.

your tone wasn’t a big deal. well, until now.

his day has already been ruined. parents weren’t so attentive when it came to their bratty children, that meant he had to parent them himself — awkwardly standing until their tantrums fall silent or escorting dozens of children that happen to run off for some ridiculous toy. he didn’t need anymore whining from you, especially about something he’s done without the intention of malice — you were childish, immature.

“i don’t need to hear this right now.” mike was too tired to argue. a heavy sigh escaping his lips, his rough hands brushing away the tired feeling in his eyes. “you’re acting like a kid right now, you know that?”

you swore your blood pressure just went up.

“see that’s what i’m talking about! you treat me like a kid and you have to be a total asshole about it. why?”

passing families and teens curiously looked towards your table, the sudden blast of your agitated voice drawing unneeded attention. just what mike needed.

he turns away from their prying eyes, flustered that he was a victim of your grownup tantrum. mike continues the silent treatment as he listens to your incoherent babbling, colorful words like “old man” and “asshole” passed through his eardrums like a sour tune. the grip of his arm was deadly tight. yet, your pouting made his heart skip a bit. it was adorable, it always has been. but not when it’s accommodated with your high-pitched whines, your brows knitted with all these negative emotions, cheeks redden from breathless insults. the angry look in your face looked so familiar — it was the same look everybody seemed to give him.

all this over a smudge of frozen yogurt on your mouth. he would laugh if he wasn’t at his breaking point.

“fuck, i hate yo – !“ with sudden force, mike grabs you by your chin, the pouring insults latched shut with a firm grip.

the reddish hue on your face that was once from your vexation became brighter from mike’s unusual forcefulness — he has never been this angry with you before. weirdly enough, you don’t hate it.

the chocolate remnants blotched over your cheeks, dribbling from your unwiped mouth, was he pointing this out the whole time?

“watch your mouth.” you didn’t know if he meant the mess you made or your little tantrum session that set him off.

maybe both, you can’t tell anymore.

you both stare at each other for a second, the tension so thick in the air — the invasive looks felt like a blur in the background, or rather, seemingly drawn away by this peculiar exchange. hazy eyes slowly peered down at your mouth, deliciously glazed with chocolate yogurt. it was tooth aching, he could imagine the taste on his tongue. if only he was a little closer, he never had to daydream about this ungodly sight for weeks.

his thumb slowly drags over your pinkish flesh, gathering the sweet residue that coated your quivering lips. he reached over the corners of your mouth, studying every hitch of your breath and the way you nervously fiddle with the plastic spoon. someone so loud, bratty, could be silenced with a single touch.

pushing past your pursed lips and clenched teeth with ease, his sweetened touch swirled all over your taste buds — the subtle hints of sweat somehow tasted sweeter than the chocolate goodness. mike watches you closely, his slacks suddenly feeling tight. you’re letting him do this to you, without a protest or your usual dirty look.

for another second, his fleeting touch brushed against your wet muscle, mesmerized by its softness. the darkness that loomed in his irises vaporized into a soft green, lured by the sight of an obedient mouth. he finally draws away, a string of saliva connecting his cleaned off thumb and your glossy lips. the rigid grip on your chin loosens as mike huffs in mild irritation, mostly out of astonishment from this predicament.

mike stands from his seat, hiding his hard-on with his bunched up security jacket — hand still soaked from your dribbling saliva. awkwardly, he picks up the trash splayed over the table, making sure his car keys were stuffed deep in his pocket.

“i’ll see you tomorrow.” he steadily spoke, seemingly unbothered.

you nodded, mouth still slightly agape.

mike walks off, leaving you with your own muddled thoughts.

out of complete horror, you hover your nimble fingers over your mouth — the taste of his skin still permeates on your tongue. even with how intimate that whole situation was, mike made sure to clean the remnants of frozen yogurt off your face.

the gall to leave you utterly confused, edged by this new side of your usual grumpy coworker. there was a line between guilty attraction and burning hatred towards mike, you were stuck in the middle of it. but your racing mind seemed to linger towards the shadows casting his tired eyes, the focused look on your compiling mouth, the demand in his voice animating your body like a toy. fuck, yeah okay, he was hot.

the ache between your legs seeped arousal through your pants, you thanked your employers that your uniform was black. gosh, it’s been so long since anybody has touched you like that.

you nearly break your skull when your head falls defeatedly on the table — a heavy groan vibrating in your chest.

you don’t know if you could come to work tomorrow.

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[dawntized]

warnings: somewhat brat tamer!josh, he uses the name “slut”, edging, p in v sex, umm yeah

a/n: first post on here !!!! hope you all enjoy my sick lil thoughts about joshy <3

“do i look like i’m fucking messing around? hm? do i look like i won’t punish you?” josh spat as he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “flirting with mike.. right in my face.” josh shook his head disapprovingly.

you had a smirk on your face, knowing you had josh right where you wanted him. you purposefully pissed him off just so he’d fuck you good to remind you of who you belonged to.

“i should treat you like a little slut since you wanna act like one, huh?” josh asked as he leaned down, his eyes boring into yours. his pupils were blown and his eyes were wide as he watched you.

josh stood up straight, letting your jaw go. “get on the bed.” he ordered. josh felt his blood boil when you didn’t move an inch, still watching him with hooded eyes. “i said, get on the fucking bed, now!” he yelled, his deep voice startled you, causing you to scramble up onto the bed.

josh wasted no time, pushing you back onto the bed and turning you on your stomach. arousal pooled in your panties with the way josh was manhandling you into the position he desired.

he pulled your hips up, creating an arch in your back. "this is what you wanted? for me to fuck you like a little slut? is that it?“ josh pressed his clothed bulge to your heat, “want me to remind you who this pussy belongs to?" he asked, delivering a sharp smack to your ass.

josh smiled sadistically when you cried out. he quickly unbuttoned your jeans, pulled them off of you before doing the same with your panties. “look at that… little slut’s turned on cause i’m punishing her.” josh chuckled, running his fingers through your slick before he pulled them away.

josh stepped away from the bed, leaving you spread out for him, “beg for it.” he demanded. you turned your head, peering over your shoulder at josh, who was standing with his arms crossed. “c’mon, better start begging if you want my cock.” he began to take off his flannel, tossing it across the room. “cause right now.. doesn’t seem like you deserve my cock.” he shrugged.

you glared at him, “i’ll just get mike to fuck me.” josh felt his blood boil at the mention of mike’s name. he swiftly moved over to the bed, his eye twitching with anger. “you’re on thin ice, slut.” he seethed, “you must not want to cum tonight.” josh pressed two of his fingers to your entrance before thrusting them in roughly.

he smirked as he saw your mouth go agape at the pleasure. he quickly pistoned his fingers in and out of your cunt as you cried out, your hands gripping at the sheets below you. “already falling apart just from my fingers.” josh tutted.

before you could get close, josh pulled his fingers out of you, laughing mockingly at your whines. “you thought i was gonna let you get away that easily?” he asked, “you’re gonna have to work for it, princess.”

josh unbuttoned his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers. his wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, pressing it against your hole.

he slowly pushed the tip of his cock in before pulling out. “are you gonna be a good girl, now? gonna stop being a brat so i can fuck you good?” he asked while teasing your cunt more, pushing in further before pulling out.

“mmph fuck, josh! i’ll be good, ‘m sorry.” you whined, trying to move your hips against his cock. “fucking pathetic,” he huffed, giving in to your pleas as he fully thrusted in.

josh gave you no time to adjust before he began to rock his hip, setting a deep and fast pace. "you're gonna learn your place," josh panted, "gonna ruin this cunt for anyone else." josh’s hips never faltered, his cock pistoning in and out of her soaked heat.

loud moans erupted from your chest as your walls fluttered around his cock, your orgasm building up with every thrust. “g-gonna cum, josh-!” you cried.

josh’s hips slowed, he leaned over you, his lips near your ear, “so tell me, who does this pussy belong to?” his hand slid around to your clit, lightly drawing circles on the bud. “no, josh, please! belongs to you!” you whined, your hands grasping at his arms around your waist.

“good girl,” he purred, “say it louder. i want everyone to know that this cunt is mine. that you’re mine. my good little girl." josh began thrusting his hips once again, the tip of his cock reached deep inside of you as you moaned loudly.

“you’re clenching me so- tight! cum on my cock, baby.” josh panted, feeling himself nearing the edge. “let everyone know who’s fucking you this good.” with a few more deep thrusts, your vision went white as your orgasm hit, your walls fluttering around josh’s length.

josh’s name left your mouth in a scream, his hips not slowing as he chased his own high. “fuck, i’m cumming, princess-!” josh grunted. he pressed his hips flush against yours as he released his seed deep inside of you.

josh pulled out, collapsing beside you on the bed. “no more flirting with mike,” he panted, a smile forming on his face as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your spent body closer to his <3

[pearlessance]

Watch Duty - Idle Threats [i]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

There are certain, non-negotiable ways of post-apocalyptic life. For instance, food must be rationed, and in most cases water, too. Energy is to be conserved for necessary things. Looting is for food, water, medicine, and weapons first—then for things that improve the way of life. Everyone must be willing and able to shoot to kill. And in a commune like Jackson, someone must always be on watch.

Joel Miller knows these things. He’s been living in the end of the world for years now, has grown accustomed to this cutthroat way of life. Sometimes he even convinces himself he was meant to live in a world just like this one.

When he settled in at Jackson a few short weeks ago with Ellie and was assigned his job, he was grateful to be a watcher in the homemade tree blinds. Simple, easy, to the point. And, most importantly—quiet. 

There’s always two people on the south side of the commune and two people on the north side. Joel is thrilled to learn he’s been paired with Mike, a middle-aged man with a penchant for crossbows. Mike is a man of few words, which just so happens to be Joel’s favorite thing about him. 

Every night, they’d relieve the daytime watchers, nod to each other once, and start their shift. Mike brings a large thermos filled with hot water, and Joel smuggles in a plastic bag of instant coffee in his pocket. A rare commodity these days—but he’s willing to share it with Mike in appreciation of his silence.

Joel enjoys his nights of quiet. Especially after he and Mike make an agreement to allow one another to sleep in rotating shifts. It’s a blessed routine. Simple, easy, to the point. 

So, when Tommy lets him know that Mike will be going out on a run for a few weeks, Joel isn’t exactly happy to hear it. He tries to convince his brother to let him be on watch alone—but Maria puts a stop to that before Joel even finishes getting the words out. 

It’s too dangerous. What happens if you're ambushed? 

Joel is capable of handling himself. They know it, he knows it, but Tommy agrees with his wife. And once the two of them decided on something, there was no use arguing. 

His dread escalates when Tommy tells him you will be taking Mike’s place. Joel’s hardly ever spoken to you—has gone out of his way to avoid you, in fact—and anxiety spikes in his chest at the idea of being in that tree blind, stuck with you, completely alone. 

The third day he spends in Jackson is the first time he sees you. He and Ellie are sitting at a table in the dining hall, eating a peaceful breakfast, and you waltz right up to the table where Tommy and Maria sit. Flakes of snow cling to the ends of your hair and your long lashes, making you look a little ethereal, like some vengeful snow goddess. You’re wearing tight jeans that leave little to the imagination and a white, low-cut, long-sleeve shirt that’s drenched and left completely transparent.

Joel has to force his eyes away from the sight of the black lace you wear beneath because the feelings it evokes are so wrong.

There’s something clutched tightly in your hand. Joel can’t see what it is, even as you slam it on the table in front of Maria. You lower your head to look her right in the eye, hands braced on the wood between the two of you. “The next time you have a craving for bullshit, go and get it your goddamn self. I’m not your fucking errand boy.” 

Tommy raises a hand. “Hey, now,” he reasons. “Everyone’s got a job to do—”

“I almost died! I almost died for this!” If your near nakedness didn’t command the attention in the room, your shouting certainly does.

Joel tries to ignore the fury lashing at him from the inside. You’re just a girl—a young girl, and you might as well be naked for all that wet shirt covers. Was everyone in this town so fucking nosy? They should be turning away from you, not toward you.

Never mind the fact that Joel, it seems, is incapable of doing just that. 

You pick up the item and throw it at Tommy’s chest. It’s only as his brother catches it and sets it back on the table that Joel recognizes the foil package of barbecue flavored chips. 

“You’re a runner,” Tommy tries to reason. “That’s what you’re supposed to do; go on runs.”

But you don’t hear him and his calm logic. You point a finger at Maria, whose face has gone crimson in embarrassment, and bare those pretty white teeth in a snarl. “Go fuck yourself, Maria.”

She opens her mouth to respond, to offer an excuse. Only she never gets the chance before you turn away and storm back through the dining hall, slamming the door behind you so hard it rattles the windows. 

When Joel asks his brother about it later that night, Tommy explains that that’s just how you are. Explosive, defiant, easily provoked. But you’re the best runner Jackson has, which was why you specifically were assigned to Maria’s task for her pregnancy craving. 

But the run had gone south, and you’d narrowly escaped an encounter with a small group of men who’d happened across you on the way back to Jackson. Tommy doesn’t explain what exactly happened, but he mentions the jacket you returned wearing that was so soaked in blood you had to burn it. 

The next time he sees you, Joel and Ellie are walking through the streets of Jackson. Ellie is poking fun at him, cracking some joke about Joel being old, when you come barreling out of one of the buildings in the middle of town.

Mike’s wife owns a bakery, Joel knows. And it looks like you’ve just done something that’s made her real mad—because she’s standing at the threshold, shaking her fist and yelling your name. 

You’re running fast, sweet sounding laughter falling from your lips. You nearly run right into Ellie, but stop yourself a moment before you crash into her. “Hey, kid,” you say, a grin stretching wide across your pretty face. “You ever had a strawberry scone before?”

Joel snorts when her mouth hangs open as she shakes her head, eyes starry as she stares up at you. “Uh…no—no. Never.”

You pull a plastic-wrapped scone out of your pocket and peel off the cellophane packaging. 

Joel watches eagerly as you carefully split the pastry in half. Your hands are small and smooth. They look soft, so soft , and he wonders what they’d feel like against his back, his hips, between his legs. 

Ellie takes the halved scone with a smile, and it’s reflected back on your face as you watch her tear into it with her teeth. Her eyes widen as the sugar reaches her tongue.

You and Joel both laugh at her reaction, but all amusement leaves him as you take a bite of your half and let out the prettiest sounding moan he’s ever heard. 

No, Joel suddenly doesn’t think anything is funny anymore. He clenches his jaw and says, “I hope you paid for that.”

When you roll your eyes, Joel resists the urge to take your face in his hands and squeeze. “Oh, please,” you say, voice filled with sarcasm. “I’ve brought that woman so much sugarcane this last week, there wouldn’t be a bakery without me. I think I’m owed a little scone now and again.”

Joel is inclined to agree, but the blatant arrogance in your tone stops him. Don't you have any civility? Any manners?

You turn back to Ellie and say, “If you want another one, go on and give Stella some puppy dog eyes. She’s a real sucker for the kids.” 

“No, Ellie,” Joel says, fixing a scowl on his face. “If you want another scone, we’ll pay for it. We don’t steal from our own people.”

You roll your eyes again and start to walk away. Joel wants to watch you, wants to turn one hundred and eighty degrees to get a full glimpse of the back of those jeans. But he knows he shouldn’t. 

Ellie distracts him, an awestruck look on her face as she chews another bite of pastry. She looks up at Joel and says, “I think I just fell in love.” And then she’s clutching at her jacket like she’s having a heart attack. “Oh god—is that what this feels like? Holy shit.”

Joel just grunts in annoyance at her dramatics, but he ends up thinking about you for the remainder of the day. 

It’s wrong, he knows, to find you so appealing. You’re half his age, so full of life you’re bursting at the seams with it. And Joel is nothing but a grumpy, old man. Your polar opposite, really. 

He has to refrain from asking Tommy about you during dinner that night. But there’s so much he doesn’t know, so much he wants to unearth. How did you end up in Jackson? Why are you the only runner they allow out alone? What happened to you?

There’s something that happens to everyone these days. Joel’s is Sarah—and then Ellie. He wants to know what your something is. He wants to know why you’re so explosive, defiant, so easily provoked.

When he crawls into bed that night, he tells himself he’ll stop thinking of you tomorrow. He’ll put his curiosity to bed and allow you to continue wreaking havoc in the commune without any interference from him.

Except Joel dreams of you. He dreams about that white shirt, about those skin tight jeans. He dreams about the black lace. He dreams about what’s beneath even that. About your softness, about that gritty fight he sees in you. Joel dreams about taking you over his knee and showing you what discipline feels like, and he wakes up the next morning with sticky sheets like he’s some pillow-rutting teenage boy.

It’s embarrassing. Even though no one else knows, even though he’ll never, ever tell another soul, Joel feels shame at the realization that a mouthy, twenty year old girl is what does it for him.

Joel pushes his dreams and filthy thoughts far, far away as he makes his way to the tree blind that night. He’s running a little behind, and he can’t deny that the sole reason for his tardiness is you. 

You make him nervous. Uneasy, on edge. He never knows what to expect from you, and it drives Joel just a little bit insane. 

He expects you to arrive before him. But when he sees that both Bonnie and Greg remain and you’re nowhere to be found his jaw ticks. “She didn’t show up?”

When Bonnie shakes her head, Greg says with a shrug, “We thought she’d show up with you.”

The answer leaves Joel’s blood boiling. How could you be so inconsiderate? The two of them have been on watch for hours—likely counting down the minutes until they could be home with their families. It’s rude, Joel thinks. And he has a few choice words to say to you. He holds up a hand and says, “Give me five minutes.”

Jackson is small, and Joel is…observant. He knows you live at that little white house down on the corner. And he takes the steps of the porch two at a time, banging a fist on the door. You don’t answer, and so he’s hitting it harder, well and truly furious now. 

“What the fuck?” You rip the door open, brows pinched together. You’re wearing nothing but a pair of flannel pajama shorts and a sweater that’s two sizes too big, and Joel’s hands shake at the sight of you.

“What are you doing?”

There’s a light in your eyes, he notices—excitement maybe, or mischief. Either way, it sends off warning bells in his head, loud and demanding. “I was trying to sleep, asshole.”

The curse word on your lips sends him into a blind rage. Joel grabs you around your bicep, hard enough to bruise. “You have a job to do. We all do. Your little attitude doesn’t make you exempt.”

You snort incredulously. “You’re talking about my watch duty,” you infer, seething. “That’s such bullshit. It’s just Maria’s way of trying to get back at me for that day in the dining hall. I’m not doing that shit.”

“Yes, you are,” Joel states. He’s not sure why, exactly, it’s so important to him all of a sudden. Hadn’t he nearly begged Tommy yesterday to let him be on watch alone? “Even if I have to drag you down there myself.”

With a hand on your hip you say, “Then drag away, because I’m not mov—jesus christ!” 

Joel’s got his hand tangled in your hair, pulling you out of the house and onto the porch. It feels like silk between his fingers, and he wants to wrap it around his fist. But, more than that, Joel wants you to take this seriously, to take him seriously. He pushes you towards the steps just enough that you stumble. When you look up at him, there’s surprise, anger, and something a little more heated in your eyes. “Go,” he orders, leaving no room for negotiation. 

Much to his delight, you actually listen. You turn away from him and lead the way through Jackson, toward the edge of the commune. Joel realizes you don’t have shoes on, either, and the smallest bit of guilt weeds itself into his chest as he watches snow melt beneath your fuzzy pink socks. 

When you dismiss Bonnie, she offers you her coat. But you mutter under your breath, “No, thanks.” And the words themselves aren’t rude, but the tone you use is, and Joel wonders where the fuck your parents are. You’re not old enough for them to be gone, but even if they are, they’ve done a real shit job at teaching you to be respectful.

As Bonnie and Greg walk away with apologetic looks on their faces for Joel and what he’ll have to endure for the remainder of the night, he holds the rope ladder to the tree blind steady. “Ladies first,” he says. 

A wicked smirk tugs at your full lips. You take a step back and sweep an arm out in front of you. “By all means, ma’am.”

Joel doesn’t laugh, but it looks like you might. And your childish stab only serves to rub him raw. “You’ve got about five more seconds before I force you up there myself. And, believe me, little girl, I don’t make idle threats.”

You raise your brows in astonishment. “Fuck you, dude. Seriously.”

“Four,” he says sternly, eyes fixed on yours. He enjoys the way your mouth parts just slightly. “Three.” And the way your sweet, pink tongue darts out to wet your lips. 

“You think that’s gonna make a difference? You’re not—!”

“Two.”

“Okay! Jesus,” you huff, shoving him out of the way hard and starting up the ladder.

Joel holds it steady for you, ensuring you make it up nice and safe. And, yeah, maybe he does it for his own benefit, allowing himself to marvel at your thighs, at the swell of your ass poking out of the bottom of your shorts, the sight of all that bare skin.

He climbs up after you, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. The tree blind isn’t spacious, and Joel finds himself wishing that it had a little more room because you and your sweet-smelling skin take up too much of it. You’re sitting in one of the wooden chairs, arms crossed firmly over your chest and a glower on your face.

Instead of taking the seat beside you, Joel walks the perimeter slowly, trying to find any disturbance outside. It looks quiet tonight, though, the only movement born from the two patrolmen walking the outer walls and the song provided by the wind in the trees.

Twenty minutes in, you let out a frustrated sigh that’s a little too loud for his liking. “How many times are you going to check before you realize that nothing is happening out there?”

It’s true, but he can’t bring himself to sit that close to you. “I’m just being cautious,” he says. He’s worried about wandering thoughts, about wandering hands. Joel’s sure you hate him, and if you didn’t before tonight you most certainly do now. But that look you’d given him after he’d pulled you by your hair is what keeps him standing. Because Joel Miller has morals, but at the end of the day he’s still a man. And he’s self aware enough to know that all it would take is one look—one fucking look that gives the smallest bit of permission and he’ll be throwing caution to the wind.

“Cautious,” you mock. “Of what, the wind?” His brows pinch together, a little unnerved at how parallel your words are to his inner thoughts. “Better be careful. The universe might huff and puff and blow this blind right down, huh? Fuckin’ stupid.”

“You watch your mouth,” he snaps. He’s tired of the disrespect, of the attitude. You’re a goddamn brat, Joel thinks.

You turn in your chair, facing him with your shoulders squared in challenge. “Fuck-ing,” you repeat, annunciating every letter. “Stu-pid.”

Joel can’t help himself, morality be damned. He crosses the small space in one step and wraps a calloused hand around your neck. You try to pull him away, clawing at his wrist, hissing in pain at the force. But Joel holds firm, leaning over to look you in the eye. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he says lowly. “You might be able to pull this shit with Tommy and Maria, but it’s not gonna work on me. It’s in your best interest if you just keep silent. You understand?”

There’s something on your face that gives him pause; something more than amusement, more than gratification. It’s hot and heavy and needy. And as you stare up at him through those long lashes, your grip on his wrist loosens in submission. 

He leans down, lips inches from your ear. Joel feels you shiver in his hands as he repeats, “Do you…understand?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. He can hear it stutter, can hear you swallow nervously. Good, Joel thinks. He likes that he makes you nervous, edgy, restless. He feels you lean slightly to the side, pressing your cheek against his greying stubble. “Yes,” you whisper, and the submission is so sweet sounding in his ears that he feels himself growing hard.

It’s that particular realization that has him pulling away from you, nearly outed by his own body. Joel finally takes the seat next to you and stares pointedly forward, out at the far end of the perimeter. He’s thankful when you slowly turn back around and remain quiet.

This he can handle, Joel thinks. As long as he doesn’t look at you, as long as you’re not spouting off at the mouth…he’ll be just fine. He’ll remain a man with his morals intact.

You pull your legs up to your chest, holding them against your body. Even though the tree blind provides a fair bit of shelter, it’s still the middle of winter in Wyoming. And Joel suddenly feels guilty about dragging you out here like this with nothing but shorts and fuzzy socks on. 

He shrugs off his coat and lays it across your legs without a word. 

But you have something to say about it, of course, suddenly forgetting your agreement of silence. “You’re real chivalrous for a brooding asshole.”

“What did I just say about that goddamn mouth of yours?”

Your eyes round and your mouth hangs open in hilarity. “Do you hear yourself? I mean, really, Joel. Seriously?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever said his name, and it sends a shock of delight down his spine. Even if you do say it in annoyance, it’s still his name in your mouth, and fuck, his resistance falters. “C’mere.”

“You can’t just tell me what to do,” you say, defiant. But you stand to your feet and set his coat on your chair. “I’m not just some little girl you can boss around.”

Joel spreads his legs wide, allowing you to stand between them. Even though he’s sitting and you’re standing over him, you look so small. Joel smirks up at you and asks, “Liked that, did you?”

“No,” you answer, too quickly for it to be true. “I didn’t like it. Not…not even a little. I don’t know how you got it in your head that you’re the boss of me but…but you’re not.”

He doesn’t speak. Instead, Joel takes a selfish minute. He lets himself drink you in real slow, raking his eyes over your face, down the smooth curve of your shoulder. Your sweater is too big, but Joel can tell you’re not wearing a bra beneath, can see the hardened peaks of your nipples through the material. Your hands hang loosely at your sides, but they tremble just a little. Joel thinks it’s real cute, how you’re pretending not to be afraid. Your legs are smooth, thighs thick and delicious.

Joel raises his hand, letting his fingertips ghost across the soft skin. He waits a couple of seconds, staring up at you, giving you the opportunity to run far, far away from him. 

But you don’t. Of course you don’t. You stay firmly planted between his legs, chest heaving with each ragged breath.

He searches your face for any apprehension as his hand begins to move, knuckles running along the top of your thigh. He finds nothing but heat in your eyes, and Joel ventures a little further. When he presses his hand between your legs, he watches as your eyes flutter closed and you take your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Your skin is searing, so hot he wonders how plumes of smoke don’t emit from you in the cold night air. He squeezes your flesh, delighting in the peaceful little sigh you give in response. He does it again, a little higher this time. And then the side of his index finger is pressing hard against the seam of your shorts, and you raise a hand to cover your mouth. 

“Joel,” you breathe. “Joel, you—”

He stops, hand freezing between your legs. He expects you to shake your head, to take that opportunity of fleeing once and for all. He’d allow it. Encourage it, even. He was no good, proved even further by the fact that he’d touched you even knowing he shouldn’t.

But you do none of these things. You only press your fingers against your mouth and squeeze your eyes closed real tight. 

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

Defiant as ever, you keep your mouth sealed firmly shut for once. Instead, you use your free hand and reach for his wrist, turning it so his hand is cupping the warmth between your thighs. Your hips shift forward slowly, experimentally. 

It’s the hottest thing Joel Miller has ever fucking seen. You’re so needy, so desperate that this little bit of friction has you moaning.

The sound is so much sweeter when it’s him making you feel good instead of some pastry, Joel thinks. 

And as much as he wants to let you use him for your own benefit, as much as he wants to see you fall apart just like this, rutting against his hand, right here, right now—Joel wants to teach you even more.

He pulls his hand away, grabbing your hips and pulling you close. You stumble towards him with a gasp, eyes snapping open. You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as Joel pulls you down, forcing you to straddle his thigh. He places one hand on the small of your back and tangles the other in the hair at the base of your skull, gripping just tight enough that it hurts. 

“Gonna listen real good now, aren’t you, little girl? Hm?”

You’re nodding frantically, and Joel can feel how wet you are even through his jeans. When you start to move your hips, grinding against his thigh, Joel pulls your hair hard. 

“Did I say you could move?” 

You stop moving, even though you spit through gritted teeth, “I didn’t ask.” 

That fucking mouth on you. He has half a mind to fill it up to quiet you once and for all. But Joel’s a patient man, and he wants to see you squirm, wants to hear you beg. He tilts his head menacingly and orders, “Apologize.”

“What?” 

“You heard me,” he answers. “You said you’d be good. Now, go on.”

The glare you give him in response brings a depraved smile to his lips. But then you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his neck. The touch sends a shiver down Joel’s spine, and his cock throbs in his jeans, begging to feel your wet mouth. You kiss him again, just below his ear, and then run your tongue along his pulse. “I’m sorry, Joel,” you whisper.

And then the hand on the small of your back is pushing you forward, forcing you to grind against his thigh again. You let out a moan at the friction, nails digging into his shoulders through his flannel. He’s weak, so fucking weak. Completely at your goddamn mercy, desperate to hear the sounds you make. 

He lets you move a little faster, lets you grind yourself against his leg at whatever pace feels best. A dark spot forms on the denim spread over his thigh, and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. 

You nestle your head against the crook of his neck, your breath warm and wet against his collarbone.

“That’s it, baby,” he says. “See how good it feels when you behave? See that?” You’re so soft, so pliable in his hands. It’s such a stark contrast to the unruly girl you were just moments ago. Joel could tell, even before he ever set his hands on you, that you were capable of being good. It just took a little discipline, that’s all.

The hand he has on your back drifts down, over the curve of your ass, even lower. When he snakes his hand below you and you drag your hips backward, his fingertips brush up against your entrance. “Oh, god,” you whimper, grinding against him even faster now, more desperate. “I’m close, please don’t stop.”

He almost listens. You sound so fucking pretty when you beg, and Joel thinks he’d be perfectly content to listen to you for the rest of his life. 

But no. No. You could apologize and beg all you wanted. That doesn’t mean the lesson is learned. Joel pulls his hand away and forces you off him, back onto stumbling feet. 

“What the fuck, Joel?!” Your hands are clenched into fists at your side, but your fury only proves his point. 

“What did I say about that mouth? Hm?”

Your lips part, and Joel has no doubt there’s another insult on the tip of your tongue. But the threat in his eyes must be enough to dissuade you because you’re rendered silent, deciding to close your sweet mouth and clench your teeth instead. 

“Not so hard, was it?” Joel shifts in his seat, settling lower, very much enjoying the glower on your face. “Don’t worry, little girl. You won’t forget your manners anymore when I’m done with you. Take off your shorts.”

The muscle in your jaw feathers, but you do as told. And Joel is proud of you, really. So, so proud of you. He watches as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and pull them down, kicking them away with your feet.

Seeing you bare before him is magnificent, so beautiful it hurts him. Your face turns a sweet shade of pink as he takes you in; memorizing the way your pussy looks. Joel adjusts himself through his jeans, cock aching painfully. You don’t deserve an ounce of praise, not right now. Not after all the attitude you’ve given him. But the words escape him anyway. “You’re so pretty, baby,” he says. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” 

Joel leans forward, presses his mouth to your belly. And again, lower this time. His kisses are slow and soft, his stubble tickling your skin. Your fingers thread themselves through his peppery curls, tugging softly, and Joel can’t hold back his moan at the sensation.

You feel so good, and Joel knows you’ll taste even better. He convinces himself that it’s for him, not for you, as he runs his tongue along the seam of your pussy. He does it again, licking desperately, wondering if he’ll ever get his fill of you. It’s just for him, he reminds himself. 

You’re so wet that every soft stroke of his tongue makes an obscene sound, but it’s the sounds you’re making that keep his mouth between your legs.

“God, Joel, yes—mmm. That feels so good,” you moan, pressing his face against you harder. You start to tilt your hips against his face, spreading your legs wider. Joel glances up to see your head thrown back, goosebumps rising over your throat. He can’t tell if it’s the cold or him that creates them, but he selfishly hopes for the latter. 

He sucks your clit into his mouth, circling it with the tip of his tongue, and he feels your legs begin to shake, hears your breathing slow. And then he pulls away, and the sight of your eyes as they turn glassy in desperation makes every bit of his own suffering worth it. 

You know well enough by now not to scream in protest like last time, but he can see that you want to. You’re learning. Good, Joel thinks.

“Turn around,” he says. And you do, but he can feel the rage radiating off your skin. He pulls you back into his lap, laying your legs over his, spreading you real wide. 

When you finally realize his intention, your whole body melts against his chest. And it’s trust he senses then, a warm feeling that cuts through him like a razor. You’re trusting him to make you feel good, Joel knows—and he has every intention of doing just that. 

His hands are cold as they drift up the inside of your thighs. He drags them back down, and then back up even slower this time. He does this again and again, feeling you, tracing patterns into your skin, savoring the feel of you in his hands. By the time his fingertips ghost across your pussy, you’re trembling in anticipation. “Please,” you beg.

Joel presses one hand to your belly, just below your navel, and uses the other to slide his middle and index fingers through your wetness. He moves easily, gliding them over your clit, down to your entrance, circling it with the pads of his fingers but never sinking in. You tilt your hips towards them, desperate to feel them inside of you. 

You’re so beautiful like this, Joel thinks. All needy whimpers and frantic movements. He swipes his fingers over your clit, back and forth, picking up speed as your moans grow louder. 

“This all for me, little girl? You’re so wet. Look at you, makin’ a big mess in my lap.” He presses a kiss to the side of your neck.

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the arms of his chair. “Joel,” you cry out. “Joel, please, I’m gonna—!”

He stops, pulling his hand away completely. He winds it around your trembling thigh instead, spreading you so wide your muscles burn. He clicks his tongue right next to your ear, and you can feel him smiling into your hair. “ Nuh uh, baby,” he says. “Not yet. Not until I say so.”

You raise your hands to the back of his head, pulling on his hair, writhing in his lap like a woman possessed, grinding against nothing. Your slick drips down your legs, and even though you’re near to tears, Joel knows you’re enjoying this. Knows you need this. “Please,” you beg. “Please, please, just—!”

“Shh, s’alright,” he says. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’m gonna take real good care of ya as long as you behave.” His words seem to relax you a little. Joel works the tension from your muscles, massaging slowly. He doesn’t touch you again until your breathing evens out.

Joel slips his hand beneath your sweater, palming your breast, squeezing the supple flesh between his rough hands. His thumb smooths across your nipple, hardens it into a perfect little point. 

It feels so good that you close your eyes and lean your head back against him, so focused on the feeling of his calloused hands that it takes you by surprise when his fingers find your pussy again. 

This time, he circles your clit once, twice, and then he’s pushing two fingers inside of you. He slides in easily, your body so worked up and desperate for him that it pulls him in. His fingers are thick, stretching you, pressing in deep. He hooks them upwards, searching, searching— there. “Ohh, yes —yes, please, Joel, fuck.”

He begins to slide his fingers out of you, but you grasp his wrist and push them right back in.

“Wait, no! No, no, please, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, god, just touch me, please, please, please, ” you rush out, all in a single breath. 

Joel thinks you look like damnation as you fuck yourself with his hand, moving it of your own accord, whining when you can’t get enough pressure. “Oh, baby,” he says, wiping away the tear that’s spilling down your cheek. “That’s alright, hm? I know you don’t mean it. I can see what a good girl you are. S’okay.” He presses his thumb against your clit and begins moving his hand again, thrusting his fingers inside you, caressing that sweet spot you can never reach on your own. 

Silently, Joel begins to panic. Because you’re so tight, so wet, so perfect. His perfect little girl. And he knows this is wrong, knows that while, yeah, technically, you’re an adult, Joel fucking knows better than to touch someone like you. He knows what other people will think of him, what they’ll say behind his back, what they’ll whisper about in the dining hall. He should stop it right here, right now, while there’s still a sliver of redemption to be had for him. 

But he can’t. He can’t. Not now, and he worries he’ll never be able to. Because no one, fucking no one has ever felt like this.

He picks up his pace, trying to push the thoughts from his mind. He feels you clamp down around his fingers, feels your walls tighten so much it makes a deep groan rumble through his chest. You’re close, he knows. He can see it, can feel it. 

“ Joel,” you plead when he pulls his fingers out of you. Your tears are falling freely now. Big, fat, alligator tears on your flushed cheeks. You let out a ragged moan as he pinches your nipple beneath your sweater and for a split second, he thinks he’s fucked up. Thinks he’s strung you so tight that the little bit of pain and pleasure has you tumbling over the edge.

Thankfully, though, you’re only shaking in blissful agony.

“Oh my��god,” you cry, hands trembling as you scratch at his arms. Every small movement of your hips has your ass rubbing against his erection, and it’s almost enough. Watching you shake, hearing you beg for him. It’s almost enough to do him in entirely. Almost.  “Please, Joel, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, I promise.”

He presses a kiss to your jaw, licking the salt from your sweat-slick skin. “I know you will be, baby,” he says gently. “I told you, didn’t I? Told you you’d remember your manners by the time I was done. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You’re whimpering, so desperate for his hands, his mouth, for anything, that you don’t even notice what he’s doing as he reaches beneath you. No, you’re too busy grinding against his hand to notice as Joel unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out until he’s holding it against you. 

He’s got his cock between your pussy and the palm of his hand, pushing it against you hard. You feel so good against him, so warm and wet, and Joel’s moaning right along with you. Your clit is so swollen he can feel it as you grind it against the head of his cock, delicate fingers wrapped around his bicep. “Ohh, yeah. Feels real good, don’t it, pretty girl? Jus’ like that.”

“I want it, Joel,” you say, voice sweet and whiny and angelic. “Put it in, please, please.”

“Gotta get you right on the edge first,” he says, palming your breast. “Gotta make it hurt. Haven’t you learned by now, little girl?”

“But it does! It hurts, Joel, please!”

Joel leans his head back and chuckles lowly. “I know it does, I know, baby. You can take a little more though, hm? Just a little more so you remember this lesson.” So you remember me.

The thought comes wicked and unwanted. But it’s there, it’s there, embedded in his brain. Joel swallows, can feel your exhaustion as the tremble in your legs returns. And then he stops. He pulls his cock away from your warm heat and taps it against your clit as you cry out for him.

“Shh, I know, sweetheart,” he coos in your ear. He wants to wait until your body calms back down, until you’re loose and pliable again. But he can’t wait another minute, not one more goddamn second. “Don’t worry, I’ve got ya,” he says. Joel lines himself up against your entrance, so wet it’s already dripping down over him.

You’re panting as he pushes in slow, stretching you wide. You’re so tight that Joel’s not sure it’ll fit despite how soaked you are. But he works himself in inch by inch, and once he’s fully seated inside you he’s met with a wave of pride so intense he wraps his arms around your middle and rests his head against your shoulder. “Yes,” you cry, breathing a sigh of relief. “It’s so big, Joel. God.”

“You take me s’good, baby.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder, your cheek, your temple. “Gonna fuck you now, hm? Gonna fuck this little pussy real good, promise.” Joel pulls out almost completely and thrusts himself back in, slamming his hips up against yours. You let out a whine so loud he chuckles and uses a hand to cover your mouth. “Shh, quiet now,” he tells you. “Don’t want anyone getting any ideas about what we’re doing up here.”

When you stick out your tongue and suck his middle finger into your mouth, Joel’s cock twitches inside of you. Your mouth is so soft, so fucking soft he thinks he might die. Might have a heart attack right here, still inside you. You meet each of his thrusts by grinding down against him, moaning around his fingers, the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

Joel reaches his free hand down and rubs your clit, and two seconds later your pussy grips him like a vice. “Hold it,” he orders.

With a shake of your head, you bounce in his lap harder. “I can’t, I can’t, I—!”

“Yes you can. You can. Not till I say so, little girl. Hold it,” he says. And just because he’s decided he likes you, Joel grants you a little relief and lessens the pressure on your clit. Your walls flutter around him, and it nearly does him in. He wants to hear you, wants to fucking see you. 

He straightens in his seat, allowing for a better view. He leans over your shoulder and watches where he disappears inside you, fucks into you a little harder. 

With one last kiss against your forehead, Joel says, “Go ahead, baby. Come for me.” 

That’s all it takes. You go silent for a moment, breath held in your lungs, And then you’re shaking in his hands, a whimpering mess, flooding his lap. You say his name over and over, a prayer, or perhaps a curse. 

“That’s it, little girl. Ohh, it’s so good, hm? Feel so good when you earn it. Good girl, baby. Good fuckin’ girl. My good little girl. Yeah, there you go.” He’s talking you through it, watching it all unfold, watching you tighten around him so hard you’re nearly pushing his cock out. But Joel keeps it buried inside you, forcing it right up against that sweet spot.

It’s right then that he knows. 

Joel will never, ever be free of you. Not now. Not knowing how it feels to be inside you, knowing how it feels when you lose yourself because of him. Whatever redemption there was for him is gone now, evaporated into thin air, never to be found again.

He pulls out with just enough time to spill his come onto your thighs, fisting his cock in his hand. It’s almost a painful end, not being able to finish inside of you. 

But then you reach between your legs and run your hand through the stickiness. You bring it to your mouth and suck your fingers clean. 

Joel watches every movement, hard again at the sight.

As you stare up at him, he knows you feel it, too. That energy shift, intense and wicked and damning.

Wisps of your hair stick to your forehead, the back of your neck. You pull your fingers out of your mouth, and your swollen lips curve into a grin. You look so beautiful that it pains him. You stand back up on wobbly legs, using his thigh as support while you pull your shorts back on. 

Joel thinks you look even better as you slip your arms through his coat. It swallows you up, but it’s his and it’s on you and the sight feels like a kick to the gut. He stuffs himself back into his jeans before he can ravage you again, before he makes the situation even worse. 

You pick up his rifle from the floor and settle back into his lap. Joel has half a mind to push you away, to get some much-needed distance, to give you your last chance at freedom. 

But he’s a selfish man. So he doesn’t. He lets you lean back against him, even wraps his arms around your waist. You lay the weapon across your legs carefully. “If watch duty is always this good, tell Maria to sign me up.”

[part two]

[lovexjoe]

Sex and Aftercare with Armando Aretas Concept

Hot and fucking heavy

He would spend months wanting/chasing you and to finally have you? Brace yourself

Puts your pleasure first every time

Guaranteed to make you cum more than 3x in one session

Loves to praise you

Kisses every inch of your body

He will suck your toes im sorry 😭

He’s nutting everywhere: in you, on your tits, ass and especially your face

"Good girl"

"Moan for daddy"

"Eres tan perfecta mami" (You're so perfect mami)

Insecurities? Not allowed to have them with him. He'll fuck you in front of a mirror just so you can see how beautiful you are.

Always a dominate, rarely a submissive unless he's done something bad and you fully take control.

A whiny little submissive though must I say and you love to see it

"Please baby. Don't stop"

"I fucked up, touch me"

Acting like a brat? He would fold you like a pretzel till you apologize

Delays gratification as punishment

Dacryphillia: something about you overcome with so much pleasure drives him animalistic.

Wants every part of you and I mean every part (anal)

"Armando that's my- oh!"

Loves 69

Breeding kink for you only

Loves to be your little spoon after sex. Lays his head on your chest

Sets up a bath after an intense session

Body massages that ends in him giving you head

After being on a mission and he thought you were gonna lose your life. He would make love to you for hours whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

"Te amo mucho" (I love you so much)

"Tu eres mia" (You are mine)

"Marry me" Yes he would ask you during a passionate session. You would jokingly say yes, not taking him serious at all. Till the next day he has a beautiful romantic setup thanks to Mike's help.

[murdrdocs]

mike schmidt’s world !

☼ fluff ☽ smut ☁︎ suggestive (17+) ⛈ dark content (18+) full masterlist

note: fem! and gn! labels are given based on the use of pronouns and anatomy; fem! fics use 'she/her' or labels such as 'girl' as well as explicit afab anatomy, GN! has no use of gendered pronouns or labels and anatomy is ambigious

mike has a thing for recording ☽ GN!

matt is obsessed with you, and bad at hiding it ☁︎ fem!

mike is a grumpy bf ☼ fem!

mike w an impulsive and nosy gf at freddy's ☼ fem!

phone sex w mike snippet ☁︎ GN!

mike is just a bit of a perv ☁︎ fem!

mike tries to keep quiet but you feel too good ☽ fem!

abby matches up you, her new teacher, and mike ☼ GN!

mike can be a bit of a brat tamer when needed ☁︎ fem!

slightly brat!tamer mike will make you participate ☁︎ fem!

mike needs you to keep him awake at work ☽ fem!

mike trick or treats against his will ☼ fem!

mike is too shy to ask for it (he's obvious about it) ☽ GN!

dad!mike's first halloween with a newborn ☼ fem!

dad!mike aka ultra dilf ☼ GN!

flirting with mike as a playboy bunny ☁︎ fem!

mike eats it from the back ☽ fem!

accidental couples costumes ends w bathroom fucks ☽ fem!

mike who goes "you still with me" ☽ fem!

mike goes cross eyed when he's about to cum ☽ fem!

mike won’t just let you shower ☽ fem!

more than friends w vanessa, and mike is a third ☁︎ fem!

mike whimpering in your ear while fucking you ☽ fem!

mike sees how good you are with kids and gets inspired ☽ fem!

giving mike road head ☽ fem!

trying to get mike to fuck you on your period ☽ GN!

being mikes cutesy 00's gf ☼ fem!

more mike and his 2000s girlfriend ☼ fem!

riding mikes nose ☽ fem!

sharing abby's blanket fort with mike ☼ GN!

mike insisting that showering together will save money ☽ fem!

mike has a wet dream next to you ☁︎ GN!

morning cuddling sex with mike ☽ fem!

vanessa eats mikes cum out of you ☽ fem!

mike has always wanted to be a dad ☼ fem!

mike "doesn't want a relationship" ☁︎ GN!

mike holding your hand during sex ☽ fem!

the comforting weight of mikes dick in your mouth ☽ GN!

getting a drawing of abby's tattooed ☼ GN!

mike "wear whatever you want, i can fight" schmidt ☼ GN!

mike wants you to keep his cum inside ☽ fem!

riding mikes face while he jerks off ☽ fem!

mike and his wandering hands ☽ GN!

handy boyfriend mike builds your bed ☽ GN!

abby picks up on your bratty comments ☼ GN!

mike comforting you after a failed exam ☼ GN!

phone sex with mike ☽ fem!

mike talks you through it ☽ GN!

[rodolfoparras]

SO I JUST GOT OUT OF THE FNAF MOVIE

mike is Most definitely a man who whimpers

he buries his head into the pillow, soft sobbing because he hasn't felt this good in so long while you softly stroke his cock and/or finger him while whispering praises into his ear

-🌷

Ok but hear me out…

Brat!mike who loves to rile you up with his mouth and will only ever shut up once you shove your cock down his throat, forcing him to keep you inside his mouth for as long as possible, til his jaw aches, throat burns and there’s a puddle of drool on the floor. Another way to shut him up is to grip his throat while he rides your cock, you’ll watch the stubbornness bled away from his eyes and get replaced with desperation as he furiously taps at your thigh.

Brat!mike who likes it rough, whether it be having little to no prep, blowjobs that will have tears spilling down his cheeks and face turning visibly red or til it feels like he’s being speared onto your dick, will even let you put mascara and lipstick on him just so that he can visibly see how you’ve ruined him

Brat!Mike who’ll prevent any noises from escaping his lips as you’re fucking him. Even with ropes of cum painted all over his stomach and hole all puffy and red he still won’t tell you how good you’re making him feel. You can even have him tied up while holding a vibrator against his dick and he’ll still manage to stay silent as a mouse, which only manages to drive you crazy

Brat! Mike who’ll purposely stop while in the middle of giving you a blow job or while riding you just to tease, only for you to yank at his hair or hips and shove him back down onto your dick

Brat!mike who loves to rile you up just so that you can have heated make up sex, will even go as far as to moan the name of someone else while you got your fingers or cock buried inside him, wont stop with his little act til you’ve fucked him so dumb he can no longer speak or think

Brat!mike who’s alright with being denied orgasms but loses his mind at being denied a kiss, you’ll have him whining and whimpering within seconds to put your lips on his.

[butdaddyilovehimmm]

All it takes is a look from Harvey for Mike to fold.

[rogueddie]

Eddie trying repeatedly to make a move on Steve, sometimes chickening out himself but often the kids or Robin interrupting, and he grows increasingly frustrated.

Only for Steve to be the one who gets too impatient and finally snaps at the kids to "get out so Eddie can finally fucking kiss me, I've waited long enough and I'm not letting you brats ruin my chances again!"

Mike bluescreens, 404 error page not found

[mozzarella-stickz]

breaking my tumblr silence because mike schmidt from the five nights at freddy’s movie has me in a CHOKEHOLD (18+ POST MINORS DNI)

now, i see you sub mike enjoyers and you go guys (we need more sub men) however i am a firm believer in dom mike who can tame a brat and loves being in control

idk i’m just imagining it in my head, you’re his girlfriend, you live with him (this is after the events of the movie in my mind) and you watch abby when he has night shifts at his new job because you love abby and you work day shifts at the mall (where you guys met at). he comes home after a long night, abby’s with a friend at a sleepover, and you’re watching some shitty movie on TV when he gets home. mike’s tired, and he wants nothing more than to collapse into bed with you beside him (maybe a little snuggle fucking too…), however you just don’t want to listen. you keep telling him “5 more minutes!” watching the TV and every time he says the 5 minutes are up you keep asking for more.

he’s fed up with you at this point. mike knows you’re doing this to get a rise out of him, and luckily for you (or unluckily) he knows exactly how to deal with your bratty attitude.

“5 more minutes?” you whine one more time, giving him puppy dog eyes.

“no,” he says sternly. “i told you it’s time to go to sleep.”

“but ‘m not tired!”

“i don’t wanna fucking hear it. get your ass to bed, or you’re going to get it.”

you smirk at him before turning back to the TV, stretching out so your ass is on full display. you’re in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, making his cock throb.

mike wastes no time, grabbing the remote and shutting off the TV. you whine at first, but then he THROWS YOU OVER HIS SHOULDERS and manhandles you into the bedroom. you shriek and smack against his back, but he refuses to put you down.

when you get into your shared bedroom, mike sits down on the bed, before manhandling you over his lap. he tugs down the boxers, smacking your ass hard.

“5 for each time you asked to keep watching TV,” he says, low and gravelly. “and you have to count.”

it winds up being 15 spanks, by the end tears are streaming down your face. mike coos at you softly as he hugs you into his chest, rocking you back and forth and stroking your hair.

“you gonna be good girl for me now?” he asks.

“mhm,” you mumble. “wanna be your good girl.”

“i know you do, baby. just hard cause you wanna be bad sometimes, right?”

“mhm.”

“but i know exactly how to handle you and to make you my good girl. now that i think you’ve been punished enough, i think my good girl deserves to have her sweet pussy tasted.”

he eats you out until you come three times, before fucking you hard and giving you your fourth orgasm. he has tomorrow off from work, and abby isn’t scheduled to be picked up until 2 in the afternoon, meaning tomorrow when you wake up, he can fuck you nice and slow.

i just love mike schmidt <3

[shadesslut]

simple things

MINORS DNI

Pairing: (Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader)

Content Includes: (Smut, slight exhibitionism)

Summary: Mike has had enough of her teasing, finally taking it into his own hands

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You see, Mike enjoyed the simple things in life. He enjoyed the feeling of wearing warm laundry on a cold morning. He enjoyed the sounds of Aby’s scribbles coming from her room. He loved his simple life, even if sometimes he complained. People knew him as a man that didn’t need much; just his family and home is what he needed. And he loved it, he loved his simple things, in his simple life. He also loved the simple, dirty, touches Y/N gave him when they were in public. 

They were at the mall, eating lunch on one of Mike’s off days, and she kept grazing her foot up Mike’s thigh from across the table. He was leaned back in the metal chair, manspreading his legs. He sipped on his soda, giving her a pointed look at the now fifth time she touched him. She ignored it, giggling as she continued to rant about her weekend, as if she had no clue what she was doing. Little brat.

He felt his pants strain, and he grunted as he shifted his black sweats. “Something wrong?” She asked in a sweet voice. He shook his head before sticking his tongue into the side of his cheek. Another touch, and Mike felt himself grow harder. His eyes darted down to her exposed cleavage, swallowing harshly as she moved. 

“I’ll be right back,” she said abruptly, standing up from her seat. She leaned forward, placing her weight into the table before kissing Mike on his cheek. He softly hummed and leaned into the kiss. 

She swayed her hips as she walked, and Mike thought it was impossible to get turned on from the way someone walked to the restroom, but here he was. He watched her as she went into the single stall bathroom, bouncing his knee up and down anxiously. 

“Fuck it,” he whispered to himself. He jerked his body up, the sounds of the scraping metal of his chair moving causing heads to turn to him. He didn’t care though. 

He knocked on the door, hearing a muffled, “One second!” come from the other side. He heard water drip from the sink, and a few seconds after the door opened. She had an amused expression painted on her face, but before she could ask him what he was doing, he immediately pressed his body against hers, attacking her mouth with a rough kiss. 

She moaned against him, and he instantly shut and locked the door behind him as he stepped in. 

“Think you can fuckin’ tease me like that and not get away with it?” He asked between kisses, his breath hot on her skin. She softly whined at his touches. 

He groaned and picked her up, holding her by her thighs, and instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist. 

“You’re such a fucking slut.” He gritted out. 

He rushedly reached down to the waistband of his sweats before awkwardly shrugging them down along with his boxers, not caring if they fell to the dirty floor. His lips moved deliciously against hers, sucking and licking every inch of her. 

“Mike,” she whimpered. “I need you.” 

His eyebrows raised, as if he was challenged. Reaching under her skirt, he tugged at the crotch of her panties, pulling them to the side. “Oh yeah?” He asked, his voice hoarse and deep. 

She nodded. 

“Then fucking take me.” 

He didn’t wait for her to adjust to him. He rammed into her, not caring if he was gentle. She let out a gasp as she scratched at his back. Mike smirked into her neck at the feeling of her wrapping around him. He used the wall to his advantage, flushing her against it as he thrusted deeply into her. 

He ah’ed and oh’ed as he thrusted, not giving a damn to who could hear him. The noises their bodies made against each other sounded so wrong, but it only made Mike’s cock harder. 

He glanced down between them, staring at the belly bulge that was poking through her skirt. He smiled, knowing he was successfully tearing her apart. 

“Fuck yeah, baby, ah- you like that?” He moaned. The stubble on his chin scratched her neck, and all she could do in response was whimper a quiet “yes”.

He felt his movements stutter and his weight pushing more against her body. He could tell she was getting close too. That face she made before coming, the way she scrunched her nose and closed her eyes. He wanted to do her all over again. 

He bounced her on his cock faster. Feeling his cock twitch inside of her, he quickened his movements and jerked his hips one more time before finishing. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck sweetheart I’m coming,” He whimpered into her ear. She felt her belly twist, and soon enough she came with him. She moaned his name, panting heavily as she clenched around him. 

Their sighs filled the air of the bathroom, and Mike let out a soft giggle. 

“W-What?” She panted, smiling. 

He smiled, before tilting his head at her. “Fuckin’ love you baby.”

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Princess

Mike Schmidt x Female! Reader

Summary: You detest having a roommate. You enjoy cheap rent. One of these things is going to have to change at some point, and with the week you're having? There's only so long before people reach a breaking point.

Tags: Smut. Filthy smut. (This is the first smut I've published too, so enjoy that.) Enemies to lovers, mocking, Mike is so OoC at some parts you could really shove anyone into this role, I'm going to be so extremely for real. (I'm honestly just feral for the actor. Sorry.) Hate fucking, dirty talk, cursing, cucking(??), listening in, masturbating, dumbification, slight dacrophillia(??), Abby's out of the equation for this scenario. Imagine like, early 20s Mike, he's not caretaker yet. Praising, pet names (good girl, princess, whore, pretty girl), no use of Y/N. Dom! Mike, teasing Reader, Brat (??) Reader, phone sex, walking in on masturbation, walking in on sex, possessive! Mike, hickies/bite marks, finger sucking, hair pulling, slut shaming, probably missing some things imma be honest. Just assume this is depraved.

Notes: I'd like to apologize to God and Josh Hutcherson. This is filth and I recognize my eternal soul is indeed damned. Anyways, bone apple teet.

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I didn't mind Mike when I met him, you know.

He's quiet. Shy. Keeps to himself. Those traits should make for a good roommate. If he'd kept his mess confined to his room, maybe the music that he blares just a little too loudly wouldn't be so headache inducing.

My fingers rap on the thin door, demanding his attention which is never given to me unless I make a production out of it. We both know that.

"Michael," I say.

Silence.

"Mike."

Nothing.

I open the door and there he is, peacefully asleep on his bed as the bass shakes the water in his glass. I sigh and click off the stereo, then turn to leave. It's incredible how quickly I hear him shift on the bed, scrambling to stand.

"The fuck?" He croaks, wiping sleep from his eyes.

"Your music was blaring. I already heard it from Mrs. Jones upstairs about you waking her kid up, I'm not dealing with that again," I say raising my hands up in the air defensively.

"I don't sleep well," he says.

"Neither does the baby," I say.

Mike rolls his eyes, turning the music back on and turning his back to me.

"Michael-"

"Don't call me that," he interrupts.

It's my turn to roll my eyes. "Schmidt, can you at least turn it down? I'm asking nicely," I say. He stands there for a moment and though I can't see his face, I know he's thinking.

Finally, with a sigh he says "Fine, princess."

"Don't call me that," I say. I hear a small huff of laughter from him and he turns to look at me.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hit a nerve?" He asks with false sympathy.

"It's a simple request," I say. My eyes narrow at him in irritation.

"Which one?"

"Both."

We stand there for a moment, both of us sizing the other up, taking each other in.

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine."

With the agreement having been made, I turn to leave, shutting the door behind me.

Year long lease. Joy.

-Tuesday-

"Hurry up!" Yells Mike, pounding on the bathroom door.

"I'm fucken hurrying!" I yell back, my hands working as fast as they can to wash off my body. Late alarm, fever dreams causing me to wake in a pool of stinking sweat, and one bathroom make for a horrendous cocktail of repeated 'fuck you's through the cheap door.

"I'm gonna be late!" Mike yells.

"So am I, I'm sorry!"

There's a moment of long silence and I think maybe Mike has finally found a spot of pity, realizing that maybe we aren't enemies but simply humans who unfortunately have to coexist in this world together. Then the water turns freezing, and I realize I hate him.

"Michael!" I practically scream. Traces of soap still reside on my body, but the cold and my alarm both force me out. Angered and not thinking clearly, I wrap the towel around my dripping waist and swing the door open.

"Are you fucking happy?" I sneer, face inches from his.

His expression is initially satisfied, but as his eyes flicker downwards he and I both realize my mistake. His eyes widen, lingering for a moment on my bare chest as he processed what he was seeing, then returning to meet my glare.

"What?" I ask sharply. "You've never seen a pair before?"

He stammers. "I-I have."

"Don't act like it," I say. "Take a fucken photo, be the only pair you'll probably ever see in your life, dicksmack."

As though he remembers himself, his eyes narrow. "Move, princess."

I slam past him, walking quickly towards my room and slamming the door behind me.

"Don't wake the baby!" Mike mocks down the hall.

Oh, motherfucker. It is on.

-Wednesday-

It's hard to break a lease. It's harder when nothing as cheap exists in the area. This is a problem for both Mike and I. I know it's true for him because apparently even his bills are too troublesome to keep on the floor of his room. But despite his mess, it's him that comes barreling down the hall, bursting into my room with no warning.

"Jesus, Michael!" I start, spinning around in my chair. "Have you ever heard of knocking?"

"Have you ever heard of washing a dish?" He sneers. "It's not hard. My baby sister could do it."

"Oh, is she available? I'd love to see how she'd handle your laundry situation," I retort.

"Why is it impossible for you to actually wash something? You'll put water in it, let it soak. I respect that, but then you never come back to it. Do you enjoy flies? I think you enjoy flies," he says with hate dripping off of his words. I roll my eyes, but he's not entirely wrong either.

"Fine," I mutter. "I'll do the dishes. Sorry."

"See? Look at how hard that was, princess." He begins to turn away.

"Will you quit fucking calling me that?" I snap.

"I'm following our bargin. You're the one who slips first, princess," he says while laughing, raising his hands in defense.

A long moment passes, neither of us willing to back down.

"Do the dishes yourself," I say finally, turning back to the computer.

"Not my mess," he says.

"Too bad. I'm too delicate," I say with a faux breathiness to my voice. The door slams behind him, which has me instantly rising from my chair to race after him.

"Don't slam my door!" I say.

"You did it the other day!" He says, spinning around to face me and almost slipping on one of his shirts littering the hall. I can't help but smile at that.

"Problems?" I ask.

"Yeah, they exist in whatever demon spawned you," he hisses. His eyes catch on something though, narrowing as he leans slightly closer. "The fuck is on your neck?" He asks.

"The fuck you mean 'the fuck is on my neck?'" I ask.

"I mean you've got something on your neck," he says.

"No I don't," I say. "Move." I shove past him to enter the bathroom beside us, flicking on the light and feeling my irritation rise as he reaches to do the same thing simultaneously.

"See?" He says, pointing at a small, dark mark on my neck.

Fuck.

"I don't fucken know what that is," I lie, covering it with my hand.

"You liar, that's a hickey!" He says still pointing at it.

"Is not!"

"Is too. What, are you fucking some high-schooler?" He scoffs.

"Adults leave hickies too, Mike. It can be enjoyable. You'd know this if someone ever wanted to fuck you," I spit back.

"Who on earth would enjoy having sex with you?" He asks. "The only loads you leave attract flies I don't want to have to deal with come summer."

My jaw drops in shock.

"And the only loads you leave smell like menthols and depression!" I retort.

Staring. Always staring with this guy. Jaws clentched, eyes narrowed.

"Just don't bring this guy around here," he finally says. His voice is quieter but the edge is still there.

I blink. "What?"

"You heard me," he says. "I don't need to hear your shrill voice like that."

Am I imagining things or is he blushing? No, I'm definitely imagining things. It's the florescents.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I taunt. The fuck kind of response was that?

His eyes widen slightly. "No," he says a little too quickly.

"What, you get one look at my tits and now you're thinking about that degenerate shit?" I press, stepping closer.

"I don't- this-" He's blundering. I've got him now, I've found his weak spot.

Without a word, I slip out of the bathroom and return to my room, shutting the door and beginning a plan that will guarantee I won't have to worry about being the roommate that breaks lease and looks for a new apartment.

-Thursday-

"Are you close, baby?" The sweet voice on the phone asks me. The battery on my toy is flashing, showing one of us needs to finish soon. And while I like Nick, there was just something lacking in him that kept me on this irritating edge, hiding my release from me.

"I'm close," I confirm, switching hands to try and hit a new angle. The video on the computer is doing nothing to help with this at all, and I'm so bored I'm tempted to just fake it and seal the deal.

The plan was simple. Establish dominance over my roommate via fucking a guy I'd met at some party the week before. Nick was an easy target, too busy thinking with his dick to question why I was suddenly insistent on him coming over. And to guarantee his presence at the apartment, I would have to put in work. Not that I wasn't fully uninterested. He was alright, I was single. Beneficial for everyone involved.

The vibrator finally found that sweet spot, the one that made me cry out softly into the receiver as my wrist pumped with newfound vigor.

"Close," I told Nick. "Isn't as good as you though."

Nick chuckles softly. "You're sweet," he says. Then he's prattling sweet praises, whimpering into the phone breathily along with me as I finally begin to tip over the edge, moaning loudly and clearly. It's my luck that Mike should be at work at this moment.

Should be.

Wasn't.

The door opens as Mike walks in, his mind obviously focused on something else but immediately taken aback at the sight of me sprawled upon the bed, legs open, toy in hand, Nick on phone, porn on computer. Shit.

"Jesus!" Mike shouts. "It's the middle of the day!"

"Get the fuck out!" I shout back, my voice less vicious than I'd like given that I was mid-ruined orgasm. Mike covers his eyes, trying to stumble out of the door without looking, muttering a dozen apologies a second before finally reaching and slamming the door shut behind him.

Nick and I are both silent for a long while, neither of us sure what to say.

"So... I'll see you tomorrow?" I ask finally.

"...yeah." He says. And with the click of my phone, the plan is solidified.

-

I don't see Mike that evening until about three hours later when he finally emerges from his room with pink cheeks and clothed in a large hoodie he seems to wish would swallow him whole.

"Hey," I say to him. I chew on my cheap food slowly, flipping through my novel at the cluttered table.

"Hi," he says quietly, not really making eye contact with me. He crosses to the cabinets, taking out a glass and filling it with water. We listen to the tap for a moment before I finally say "I didn't mean for you to see that."

His eyebrows scrunch in confusion. "I got that."

More silence. The tap shuts off and he leans against the sink, taking a long sip.

"So... hickey guy?" He finally asks. And I can't help the snort that escapes me.

"Nick," I say.

"And he's...?" Mike is testing the waters, that much is obvious.

"Canadian," I say.

Mike nods. Sip. Silence.

"Nick, from Canada," he says slowly.

"Yep," I say, popping the 'p.'

Mike looks at his drink in thought.

"So you're into Canadians," he finally says. I think for a moment.

"No," I say. I mark my book and close it. "Just bored."

"Just bored?" Mike asks.

"Just bored," I confirm.

Sip. Silence. Thinking.

"You... do that regularly?" He asks.

"I mean... I like sex," I say.

His cheeks redden at that, and he takes another sip as though to hide that.

"He's coming over tomorrow," I say casually. Mike's eyes dart to mine, dark and wide.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Another sip. He finishes his glass.

"Should I find plans for tomorrow?" He asks finally.

"No," I say a bit too quickly. Both of our cheeks redden at that. "I mean, we won't... shouldn't...." I don't know what I mean.

Mike stares at me thoughtfully for a moment then looks back to the glass in his hand.

"You're pretty loud, princess," he finally says quietly.

There's a new tension in the air. One that isn't brought on by hate or dirty dishes. One that I don't mind strangely.

"You could join us, if you'd like," I offer. Mike's grip on the glass tightens so suddenly I'm almost surprised it doesn't burst.

"I- I'm pretty sure I'd get in the way," he stammers. Then his eyes darken, a strange look in them. "Besides, I don't like being a whore."

This comment stings. Deeply.

"I'm not a whore," I say defensively.

"Oh?" Mike asks.

"He's the only guy I've fucked in months, so yeah," I say.

"Oh, is that why I hear you moaning late at night all the fucking time?" Mike says. "Seriously, you're fucking loud."

"And you're a fucking virgin," I snap.

"Says who?" He asks.

"Forget it," I say. I gather my things and rise from my chair. "Don't fucking talk to me."

"Fine," he scoffs. "I'll wash this dish too, princess," he calls after me.

I spin around. "You would be so much more fuckable if you were easy to swallow," I snapped, stomping my foot like a child.

Both of us stare at each other in a bit of shock at what I just said.

"Most girls swallow just fine, thank you," he retorts.

"Who's the whore now?" I say. I don't wait for him to respond, slamming the door shut behind me.

Fine. Let him hate me. That's the whole point of this anyways. Then it'll be me and someone else in this terrible fucking apartment. Maybe it'll be Nick. Anyone would be better, I tell myself.

...

...how easy is Mike to swallow?

-Friday-

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't struggling to remember the correct name right now.

Nick is underneath me, pumping his cock in and out like no tomorrow as I grind against him. My jaw is slack, my hands buried in the blankets fabric underneath of us. I'm staring at the thin door though, the thin door that I know leaks every little noise whether there's a towel under the enormous crack or not. And the shadows of footsteps that I see make it all the easier for Nick to continue his shallow rhythm, edging me closer and closer.

"Mi-Nick," I moan loudly. It sounds endearing, thankfully. But my heart races at how close I've come to fucking things up in a few different ways. "Fuck, you're thick," I moan. It's not particularly true, but his size is fine, so what's an ego boost to help him along the way?

Nick is sweet underneath of me, moaning that I'm his, that we're each others. That's great and all, but God. There is this missing edge. And it isn't until I hear pounding on the bedroom door that I finally feel real excitement begin to flow through me.

"We need to talk," Mike's voice says firmly.

Nick looks guilty, his eyes wide and asking for silent guidance. I don't respond, simply continuing to slide up and down Nick's cock and moaning while doing so.

"Hey, princess," Mike says firmer, pounding on the door again. "Think you can stop Oh-ing Canada and come talk to me like a fucking adult?"

I don't stop, grinding harder against Nick's base. My hands find my clit, rubbing it as I respond.

"I told you you were welcome to join us," I moan. Nick looks at me like I've gone utterly insane, and maybe I have. Maybe I'm completely delusional about all of this, but I couldn't care less as I feel my dripping cunt tighten to the point even Nick doesn't care what happens so long as he comes inside of me.

"Mi-Nick," I moan. "Mi-ne, mi-ne." Come on, Schmidt. Catch the fucking hint.

All night I had been plauged with dreams about Michael fucking Schmidt. I'd noticed when we met he was attractive to me. I liked his hands, his stubble. God, his shoulders made me think things that will probably send me straight to Hell. But hate usually kept these thoughts at bay. Last night however, the dreams wouldn't stop coming. Over and over, a new fantasy of him emerged in my head. Him underneath of me as a writing mess, him begging for more, my tits in his mouth as he finished inside me. It was depraved. I wanted it.

The door bursts open just as Nick is finishing inside of me. It's the look in Mike's eyes that causes me to finish, all while keeping eye contact with him as well.

Nick is quick to flip me on my back, covering my body haphazardly with a blanket prattling excuse after excuse. Apparently we're sorry. Apparently we had gotten too wrapped up in the moment because apparently, you know how it is, right man?

But it doesn't matter. Mike isn't looking at Nick, who's pulling on his shirt above me. Mike's looking at me, watching my fingers that trail gently along my areolas, flicking lightly at my hardened nipples and clearly longing for more.

"Mike wouldn't know the first thing about pleasing a woman," I say with little thought.

"Oh?" Both of them ask me.

"I think you should leave, Nick. Mike and I are going to have a little talk, and I don't want you to see how ugly this may get," I say without breaking eye contact with Mike.

The sudden shift in the air is not subtle, so maybe that's why Nick doesn't really hesitate to listen to me.

"I'll call you later," he says as he stumbles past Mike.

"Don't bother," Mike calls after him. Mike slams the bedroom door shut, locking it before turning to me and raising an eyebrow.

"Is there something you'd like to say to me?" Mike asks, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms as his stands tall.

My hand dips to between my thighs where Nick and I's cum pools out, coating me in the thick stuff.

"Sorry," I say in a spoiled tone, smiling.

Mike's eyes scan my entire body. From the hickies coating my neck, to my breasts and even my thighs, I can see a new wave of anger washes over him. At least, it looks like anger. There's something else mixed with it too, something I desperately want to play with.

"You're not sorry for shit," he says. He's correct.

"I told you last night, I like fucking people," I say as my fingers circle my clit.

Mike's jaw tightens. "You like fucking people," he repeats.

I can see him grind his teeth. He's silent for another moment. "And do you like... him?"

I giggle. "You tell me," I say with a soft and low voice.

His eyebrows twitch. "You're still... going?" He asks with an unsure edge to his voice.

"Yes, Michael. This is what a woman looks like when she's turned on," I say in a mocking tone, batting my lashes as my fingers dip into my entrance. "Would you like to try?"

He steps closer, bending down ever so slightly to stand over me.

"Don't call me that," he says in a low growl.

"Make me," I taunt.

He blinks.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

A startled yelp escapes me as Mike grabs my hips, dragging me roughly to the edge of the bed. He spreads my legs, stepping between them and slips his rough thumb inside of me with no hesitation.

"Fuck. You do like him," he groans, his other hand fiddling with his belt. I can see how hard he is underneath his jeans, his fingers clumsy but working quickly at the items covering him.

"He's oka-ay," I say quickly, my voice trailing off into a soft moan. His thumb explores the inside of my cunt, probing the wet muscle and massaging inside of me spots a man had never taken time to look for before. "Your finger's thick," I moan.

Mike chuckles, freeing himself and pumping into his hand slowly as he presses his thumb deeper inside of me.

"You told Nick he was thick too," he says. "That just your line with guys?"

It is, but this time I actually mean it. So I shake my head. "No," I say quietly.

"I don't believe you," Mike says. He slips his thumb out of me, making me clench around nothing. I open my mouth to protest only for Mike to quickly shove his thumb into my mouth, touching the back of my throat while he sinks his cock into me.

"Go on, pretty girl," he moans. "Take it like the proud whore you are."

I gag around his thumb, both from the sudden intrusion and from the taste. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't like this, if I said that his actions didn't make me even more wet and that I didn't suck his thumb greedily, wrapping my tongue around it and sucking it clean until I can only taste his rough flesh. I swear it makes his dick twitch.

His cock slides in and out of me with ease, taking his time to feel how I wrap around him.

"Fuck," he drawls. "It's been awhile."

I moan around his thumb, running my tongue along the underside and trying to rock my hips against him to tell him to speed up. Instead, he presses a hand down on my lower stomach, pinning me down as he sinks in fully. At first glance his size is average, but inside of me it's overstimulating how he fills me just a little too much.

His thumb presses further into my throat, making me gag as he tilts his head back in pleasure.

"You are just demanding. Do you know that?" He asks. I try to respond, but he simply presses his thumb against a spot that makes me gag once more.

"Nothing's good enough for you. Not even Nick. You didn't even cum until I came in here," he laughed cruelly, looking down at where we connect. His other thumb trails down to rub my clit slowly, making me writhe underneath him and clench around his still cock.

"Never shutting up. Till now. I like it when you're quiet, princess. Makes you easier to swallow." He presses deeper inside of me, making me whine in overstimulation.

"You're mine now," he says, slowly pulling out. "You can call Nick all you want. Call him, fuck him. But we both know he's not gonna make you cum like I will." Just his tip remains in me, barely staying in before he slams back into me so hard I scream.

"So what's the point?" Mike asks, slowly slipping out once more. "Do you like pitting men against each other like that?" He slams back into me. My eyes water, but I don't protest.

This time when he pulls back, he stays there. I wait for him, trying to he patient. But then he removes his thumb and wraps his hand around his length instead.

"What?" I ask, my voice raw.

"Say it," Mike says as he jerks himself off slowly.

"Say what?" I ask.

"I'm not gonna fuck you like you want unless you say you're mine," he says casually. His tip is bright red and leaking precum, his length coated in Nick and I's milky cum.

"Fuck you," I say. Mike just laughs.

"You're the one laying here crying over some dick," he taunts. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page here, princess."

I try to hold strong, I really do. It'd be more fun if I did. But fuck. The way he stands over me, his shoulders broad. I could never deny I liked the sight of his hands either, and seeing them tug as his pulsing cock while he stared down at me with that stupid fucking smile?

It's not fair.

"I'm yours," I say quietly.

"Hmm?" Mike asks, pumping his dick quicker now. I can see how hard his veins are, and the sounds of him fucking his own hand make me want him more.

"Yours," I repeat slightly louder.

"Use proper English," he says. His face has this stupid blissful look on it, his mouth slightly open as he pants, fucking himself and watching me as he does.

"I am yours," I hiss through gritted teeth. It doesn't even take a full second before he's buried in me once more, his hands pinning my knees to my shoulders and fucking me with enough speed I'm genuinely scared he'll hurt me. And I love it.

"I'm going to make you mine," he grins, his voice suddenly turning feral.

"I'm going to make you mine so much that you won't even be able to remember what Nick's name is, let alone what he looks like. Or what he feels like."

"Uh huh," I whine. My voice is so unusually high and ragged, my mouth slack and eyes rolling back in pleasure. I rock against his hips, trying to find my second edge. I'm babbling, whether I'm asking for mercy or more is anyone's guess.

He laughs at me, and it's a harsh and cruel laugh - not at all like the usual sarcasm and mockery he displays. Instead, his laugh comes from a place that is raw and angry and vicious, the kind of laugh a wolf makes when he's about to go for the kill.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mocking. "Not quite the big, bad man that he's made you think he was, is he? How disappointing," he continues, his hips thrusting into me repeatedly.

I cry loudly with each new thrust. His movements are cruel, borderline abusive. Christ, I love it.

"Bigger," I whine. "Bigger."

He teeth nip at my throat, sinking in hard enough I'll be wearing sweaters and scarves for weeks. Makeup won't touch the color.

"Bigger?" He asks in a mocking voice. "What's bigger?"

"You're bigger," I moan. My voice is broken, and there's no way the neighbors don't hear the degeneracy occurring around them. Sorry, Mrs. Jones.

"What are you going for?" he snaps, his eyes narrowing and his voice growing more and more vicious. "Big bad Mike?" he giggles, his grip tightening on my ankles as he continues plunging into me.

A loud scream escapes me as Mike finds my g spot. He doesn't relent, focusing on the spot and abusing it while I sob and try to wiggle away, completely overstimulated from pleasure and unable to handle it.

His hands pin me against him, trapping me where I am and forcing me to take him however he wants me to.

"You want more?" he asks, taking one hand away from my ankles, grabbing and pulling my hair harshly, forcing me to stare into his eyes. His pupils are so blown out I can't even see his pretty hazel irises. They're dark and predatory, his breath hot and heavy with rage.

"Is that what you want?" he asks, pulling back and plunging into my aching cunt again.

"Yes!" It's a violent scream that escapes me, feeling myself begin to tip over the edge. His eyes sparkle, his lips in a smile that shows he knows he's won.

"And what would Nick say if he could see you like this? All mine, all mine..." he taunts.

"Huh?" I'm completely stupid, my body coming undone so suddenly around his dick with cries, screams, whimpers and everything inbetween. Nick was foreplay and I've no mental energy to remember any detail that isn't Mike's.

"Don't even know his name?" Mike laughs. "You can't even remember his name, can you?" he grins, his eyes narrow again as he tugs my hair and shoves himself in further.

"Uh uh," I pant in a high voice. My body shakes terribly, his pounding length already edging me once more as he continues abusing my spot. How on earth am I supposed to walk after this?

"Then let me help you remember his name," he says. "Say his name."

"Mike," I moan pathetically. I'm right back on that edge, crying and feeling as though I'll burst from overstimulation.

"Louder," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mocking. "Say it louder. Say his name loud enough for him to hear you."

"Mike!" I scream it religiously as I come undone a second time, gripping him to the point I can feel how close he is too. I hear him laugh above me, his other hand now wrapping around my throat and choking me slightly.

"That's my name," he says with mocking gentleness. "Say his name or I won't finish."

"I don't remember," I sob. Jesus Christ, do I have problems? "Just want you!"

His face glows, his lips split into a wide grin of satisfaction.

"So you want me, do you, princess?"

I nod pathetically. He's throbbing, slamming into me hard enough it may draw a third climax in a row.

His laugh is cruel above me, his lips landing on top of mine in a wet, possessive kiss. His tongue fills my mouth, forcing me to take him as the sounds of him fucking me like a depraved animal makes me whine in desperation.

He pulls away, a long string of spit between us connecting our lips.

"Then I'll give you what you want, princess," he says. "But there's a price."

"Uh huh," I agree. My eyes roll back as my body twitches, barely able to focus as he thrusts into me.

"Look at me," he says patiently, tugging my hair once more. When I manage to remember how, he let's out a long 'aw,' smiling down at me with false sweetness as I stare dumbly into his eyes. I suppose I'm staring into his eyes. God, I'm stupid.

His thumb grazes my jaw, tutting as he examines my face closely.

"Your eyes are pretty...*" he says, his voice sweet and tender, almost like I've made him soft and vulnerable, but his cock pounding into me causes the beginning of a headache that won't let me forget how much we hate each other. "Your eyes are pretty, your mouth is pretty..."

I lick my lips and nod lightly.

"You are just such a pretty girl, aren't you?" He asks. I nod, my body twitching uselessly as my third climax washes over me.

"Good girl," he praises. "All fucked out over me. That's good."

Suddenly and without warning, he pulls out quickly and shoves my face down close to his cock, coming all over my face. It's thick and everywhere. In my hair, my mouth. I can't even open my eyes.

"Stay like that," Mike commands as he lays me on my back. His softening cock reenters me and pumps lazily, his purpose to make sure he's fully emptied.

"Any new thoughts?" He asks me in a strange tone, light and amused. I simply moan, relishing the moment. He chuckles and spreads my legs so he can better see what is happening between us. It isn't until I hear the chime of his camera confirming a recording that I realize what he's done.

"Mike?" I ask, barely able to think straight.

A low laugh escapes him, cruel but warm.

"I want to show your new boyfriend the real you," he says. "Make sure we're all on the same page here, right?

...Fuck me, I have problems.

¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

Thanks for reading, pookies. See y'all in hell.

Masterlist

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

french press

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

wc: 1.2k reader: femme/gender neutral (gender warnings: reader is wearing lingerie, reader "pushes t*ts together" -- you've been warned) warnings: smut 18+; MINORS DNI!!! -- specific warnings under the cut -- also some angst and some funny stuff summary: jiwoong has a biiit of a jealousy problem. he's so jealous rn that he won't even touch you :( with his permission, you take matters into your own hands (and onto his thigh). *ੈ✩‧₊˚ oh helloooo. long time no see. decided to write something for the hell of it. maybe i'll write some more soon...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

~

warnings: 18+ explicit smut, thigh-riding, penetrative sex (reader receiving), descriptions of cum (reader's and jw's), unprotected sex, cumming inside, jealousy/toxicity, swearing, pet names (baby, angel)

also the title is VERY clever. french press: french masseusse pierre and... mating press. i'll leave now.

~

“baby,” you whine, pushing your arms together a bit to accentuate your tits. “don’t you wanna touch? you love touching my tits.”

the sheer, black lingerie set you were saving for a special occasion is hugging every curve of your body perfectly as you straddle your boyfriend. a garter belt squeezing around your right thigh, you know you’re irresistible to anyone with a pulse.

but apparently your boyfriend has passed away since he sat down on the couch with a huff twenty minutes ago. he’s still warm though and that’s permission enough for you to let him have it.

“oh my god,” you groan; smacking your hand on the leather armrest like a frustrated child. “woongie! want you to touch me so bad.”

“well, you should’ve thought of that before you let another man put his hands all over you,” jiwoong answers-- head turning to the side in the ultimate display of pettiness. 

you sigh exasperatedly. “it was a massage, woongie. a professional one that you paid for!”

“so?” he asks with a pout. “are you suggesting i’m a cuckold by my own doing?”

“you are the only one suggesting that actually,” you reply, running your hands down his clothed chest. “the only thing i’m suggesting is that you fuck me. and i’m strongly suggesting it.”

“oh yeah?” jiwoong responds, one eyebrow raised in interest. “are you sure those words aren’t actually meant for pierre: the unnecessarily handsome french masseuse?”

“you literally gave me a gift certificate for my birthday!” you exclaim, hitting his chest lightly in frustration. “baby, i tried to request an ugly massage therapist. the woman at the desk looked at me like i was being rude. and i was! for you.”

jiwoong’s eyes go straight to your barely-covered core and you think for a second he’s finally about to give in. “you asked for an ugly masseuse and she gave you a former louis vuitton runway model? i should’ve just given you tickets to magic mike live!”

“kim jiwoong-ah, if you don’t fck me right now, i swear to god,” you threaten emptily, sinking down on one of his grey sweatpant-adorned thighs. “i’m just gonna use you however i want.”

jiwoong folds his arms across his chest in a final act of defiance, attention returning to the tv screen. “knock yourself out.”

it takes everything in you not to whine like a little spoiled brat, but you manage to suppress it. instead, you grind a little harder down onto jiwoong’s thigh. his legs are lazily spread apart in the most enticing way. you could reach right down his pants and grab him in your hands (a tried and true method that jiwoong loves), but you have something to prove too.

so you repeat the grinding motion, your heat connecting again with the toned flesh of your boyfriend’s perfect thighs. at first it’s just for show-- you need his attention and you’ll do anything you have to to get it back.

but after a few moments, a soft moan escapes your throat. jiwoong’s breath audibly hitches; his body stiffening a bit at the sound of your pleasure. despite this, his eyes stay fixed on the screen.

as a familiar knot grows just below your stomach, you almost start to forget about your goal. maybe it’s desperation speaking, but riding your boyfriend’s thigh is actually a lot more stimulating than you thought it’d be. 

“fuck,” you whine, increasing your pace involuntarily. your hands are gripping the back of the couch, eyes closing as you rapidly approach your high.

suddenly, jiwoong’s thigh grows harder-- a sturdier surface for you to grind on. he’s flexing his muscles for you, helping you reach your climax like the perfect boyfriend he is.

“gonna cum all over my thigh, baby?” jiwoong asks, voice already noticeably fucked out. it’s not a mystery who won this game. “gonna make a mess all over my pants like a fucking angel?”

“i--... oh my god, i--...” you cry, strong hands finding your hips and guiding them down for you onto his thigh. you place your hand gently at the base of jiwoong’s neck, pulling at the collar of his shirt and toying with his collarbone. “i--... ‘m cumming...”

pleasure taking over, you reach your high as jiwoong continues to guide your hips for you. “woongie, love you. love you so much.”

your eyes flutter open to see jiwoong’s cheeks flushed, his eyes locked on your core. you look down to find that you have made a pretty little mess, honey dripping from you and soaking his grey sweatpants. he lifts you ever so slightly up and back down, watching as your juices seep through your sheer panties and onto him.

jiwoong meets your gaze for less than a second before you’re wrestled off the couch and onto your back on the carpeted floor below. carpet aside, it’s not a painless fall and as your boyfriend is hungrily ripping his pants off and burying his cock inside you, you decide it’s a good time to start playing again.

“oh my god, woongie,” you complain, knowing that your back’s gonna hurt even worse in the morning. “are you trying to make me need another massage?”

“no. more. massages,” jiwoong growls, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. “unless i’m the one giving them.”

“fuck,” you whine, pulling him even deeper inside you as you wrap your legs around him. trapping him. holding him hostage exactly where his possessive ass wants to be. “surely you don’t think you’re as skilled as a professional masseuse?”

“i’ll get certified,” he manages to grunt, grabbing hold of your thighs and pushing them up to your chest in a mating press. “or would you prefer pierre’s cock inside you instead?”

“that’s not fair,” you reply, absolutely relishing in your reinstated role of bratty sub. “how can i choose if i’ve never seen both options?”

“you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” jiwoong asks, kneading your thighs mercilessly-- striking his palm across the side with a gorgeous smack. “you’re gonna kill me so you can fuck pierre and then kill him too.”

“i’ll let you live a little longer if you cum inside me,” you promise, running your hand through his hair as he stares at you helplessly. “please, woongie. need you to fill me up.”

you can see it in his eyes: he’ll give you anything you want. he’d even let you fuck pierre if you really wanted to. but you don’t. not even a little bit. you just want jiwoong.

“fuck, i love you so much, baby,” he pants as his thrusts grow shallower and more sporadic. “gonna fill up this perfect... little...”

his hips finally spasm; a sweet moan swallowed down as you feel him spill into you. you sigh contentedly at the warmth inside of you, your boyfriend laying his head on your chest-- letting go of your legs from where he’d been pinning them and collapsing on top of you in exhaustion.

you wrap your thighs around jiwoong’s waist, making sure he can’t escape (he doesn’t want to).

jiwoong’s jealousy issues weren’t really harmful. he knew you’d never actually leave him for another man; what he always seemed to forget is that you’d never even dream of it. and besides, whatever misunderstanding arose always ended in fiery, passionate sex like this. 

so could anyone really blame you for making up sexy french massage therapists just to make your boyfriend jealous from time to time? not to worry... you’ll give jiwoong a couple months to recover from pierre before you drop your next fabrication on him: dante, the sensual italian chef.

[murdrdocs]

(slightly) brat tamer mike coming home from working a fucking stressful day. he’s been feeling a little on edge since that morning, and the work he’s been through has just made it worse, so as soon as he walks through the door to an abby free house (thankfully at a friends for the night), and you’re on the couch, he has an instant craving.

but you’re being stubborn, pouting and trying to convince him (and yourself really) that you care about a rerun of a movie that mike already has on dvd more than you care about him. which makes him even more frustrated, his jaw ticking and his nails digging into his jeans as he takes calming breaths.

“baby, would you please cooperate? please.” he wouldn’t plead if he knew you didn’t want it. if there was a doubt in his mind, even an inkling, that you wanted to just watch the movie, he would go take a shower, make dinner for both of you, and call it a night.

but mike knows you and he knows that you want this.

especially when you turn to mike once a commercial starts to air, and bat your eyelashes as you say, “make me”.

you end up thrown over mikes shoulders, hands flailing around and gripping his shirt for stability with squeals leaving your lips, even though mike would never drop you. at least not accidentally, as he does purposefully drop you on his bed, letting your bounces stop before he’s spreading your legs with rough hands and pulling you to the edge by your ankles to make you participate.