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bened1ctcumberbatch · 4 months

Text

Night Shift - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Mike Schmidt x Female Reader

Chapter 4

Rating - Explicit

Warnings for sexual content, dub con

Also available on AO3

Mike looks exhausted.

The lack of sleep and the strenuous shift compiled with certain…activities…has clearly taken its toll. You promise him you’ll take Abby to school and he doesn’t argue, tossing his keys and work vest on the kitchen counter before collapsing into bed fully dressed.

When the phone rings, startling you from the copy of the Dream Theory book that your boyfriend’s always engrossed in, you hurriedly move to the kitchen to answer it, hoping the noise didn’t wake Mike.

”Hello?”

“Well, hello, honey.”

Steve Raglan’s voice purring in your ear makes you shudder. You sag against the wall, fiddling with the phone cord. “What do you want?”

”I wasn’t expecting you to answer. Are you two living together now? That escalated quickly.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d swear he almost sounded jealous. ”No, we’re not. I’m taking the semester off from school and I’ve been working remotely so I have extra time to help out over here.”

”Like a good housewife. How…quaint,” he murmurs, the disdain dripping from his words.

”Did you call for any particular reason, or did you just want to insult me?”

The man’s tone instantly shifts. “Not at all. The owner and I have been chatting and have come to the realization that the clean up here is going to be more than Mike can handle on his own within a reasonable amount of time. It also detracts from his time spent watching the cameras, therefore defeating the entire purpose of him being there in the first place. Soooo,” he draws out the vowel, his voice now deceptively cheerful and innocent, “I thought I’d accept your earlier offer of lending a hand.”

He’s done it again: found another reason to have the three of you together.

“The owner isn’t filing a police report? You’re certain?”

“No, he’s not. Although this might help solidify that decision, if you catch my meaning.”

“Am I ever going to get to meet this owner?”

You can practically hear his sly grin over the phone. “Maybe someday, sweetheart. I’m sure he’d like that very much.”

The thought of him drawing another person into your little blackmailing circle of sin makes your stomach turn. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“As you like. You’ll be there tonight then?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. I look forward to supervising your progress.”

The line disconnects and you hang up the phone, turning to see Mike standing in the doorway.

“Shit, I’m sorry the phone woke you up. I tried to get it quickly.”

He stifles a yawn, rubbing his eyes. “Was it that asshole?”

“Yes.”

“What now?”

“He wants me to go with you tonight to help clean up.”

“Bastard.” He curses, glancing at the clock. “We’re going to have to get someone to watch Abs. I really wish Max would answer her damn phone.” He folds his arms across his chest. “I’m gonna have to call Aunt Jane. Abby will be mad.”

“Want me to pick her up from school?”

“Nah. It’s better if I break the news to her as soon as possible.” He frowns. “You’re going to need to take a nap since you’ll be up all night.”

“I’ll try.”

“I’m gonna grab takeout. Maybe that will soften the blow. We haven’t had Chinese in awhile.”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay I’m gonna go shower and get going.” He brushes a quick kiss against your mouth before leaving the kitchen.

You return to the couch in the living room, your eyes staring sightlessly at the words on the page. Tonight will be your third night at Freddy’s. Your fourth time with Steven Raglan.

Your body shudders again.

***

Mike had been right. Abby was upset.

She refuses supper, storming off to pack an overnight bag while you sit at the kitchen table, unfolding a carton of chicken fingers, munching on the batter dipped meat while Mike works on a container of rice.

“What time are we dropping her off?”

“Another hour. You don’t have to come, you know.”

“I know. I just think it will go smoother.”

Abby reappears, reaching for one of the plates stacked on the counter. You and Mike’s eyes meet and you see his lips twitch.

“Change your mind, Abs?”

“You’re still a jerk,” she says dismissively, settling into the seat next to you. You offer her a piece of chicken and slide an unopened carton near her plate.

“You know it’s work. We both have to work,” he reminds her gently, spooning out a portion of fried rice onto his sister’s plate.

“Still a jerk,” she proclaims around a mouthful of chicken, but she sounds much less grouchy this time.

You glance at Mike, seeing him wink and you struggle not to smirk.

***

With Abby dropped off there’s nothing left to do but wait until it’s time to leave for the restaurant. You’d tried lying down earlier but sleep had completely evaded you, even after you'd listened to Mike’s soothing nature sounds cassette and attempted some of the techniques in the dream theory book, willing yourself to sleep and maintain control of what you envision but ultimately failing.

Mike is slumped beside you on the couch, clearly still worn out, unaware of your gnawing anxiety and anticipation, knowing the latter is wrong but not being able to help yourself, your mind racing from one thought to the next. You replay the strange conversation on the phone earlier, certain now that Raglan was upset at finding you at Mike’s; the way his tongue had touched the pulse in your wrist after he’d asked you what you wanted during your previous intimate encounter; the secret smile he’d gifted you in parting the last time you’d seen him.

“I’ve got to go get ready.” Mike’s voice interrupts your reverie.

“Okay.”

He hesitates. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

It hadn’t even occurred to you to change; when you’d dressed today you’d wanted to look nice for your boyfriend. Now the clinging ribbed knit dress and matching shrug seems wildly inappropriate.

“I…no. Can’t really clean in this.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter. I doubt he’ll have you do much actual cleaning,” he says bitterly.

“I’ll change,” you say firmly. “Can I borrow something to wear? Pajamas maybe?”

“Of course. You look great, by the way. I appreciate the effort, believe me. I’m just really tired.”

You squeeze his hand sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I’m going to try to help. I mean with the cleaning,” you add, wondering if you’re making it worse.

***

The career counselor’s car is waiting for you in front of the pizzeria, the man himself leaning against the side of it, seemingly oblivious to the cooler night air.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” he greets you as you exit the car. Mike moves more slowly, glaring at the older man, slamming the door shut. “Why don’t you head inside, Mike. Your girlfriend and I have something to discuss.”

The security guard’s eyes narrow. “I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

“What’s the matter? You think we’re going to do something scandalous in this climate? This won’t take long.”

Mike scowls but relents, directing his attention at you. “Make it quick, okay?”

You nod, watching the shorter man’s retreating figure.

“Are you cold?” Steve steps forward, halting just in front of you.

“I’m fine.” You wrap your arms tightly around yourself, wishing you’d brought a warmer jacket. You’re always so ill prepared.

His eyes rove over your figure and he frowns. “What are you wearing?”

“I borrowed Mike’s pajamas.” You shuffle your feet in his poorly fitting sneakers, suddenly self conscious about the plaid pants and loose shirt you’re dressed in.

“What happened to your own clothes?”

You sigh, rubbing your arms to try to generate some warmth. “I had to change out of my dress so I could do this stupid cleaning.”

“I would have liked to see you in the dress,” he murmurs. “Why didn’t you just go home and change?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think about it until it was too late. I figured you’d be pissed if we were late.”

“Or maybe you were just impatient to get here.”

“You wish.” You shiver again. “Was there something specific you wanted to talk about? Why are we out here?”

“Come here.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “You promised we weren’t going to—”

“—I didn’t promise anything. I’m simply asking you to come here.”

“You never ask. You only tell.”

“We both know that’s not entirely true now, don’t we?”

You chew your bottom lip, hesitating. “Why do you want me to?”

The bearded man feigns surprise. “Do I need a reason?” He reaches out, fingers briefly stroking against your jaw, his tone matching the gentle touch. “Have I ever needed a reason?”

“I guess not.” You can’t control your shivering now.

His hand drops back to his side. “What is this sudden obstinance tonight? I hope this isn’t an indication of how the rest of the evening is going to go. Your boyfriend is already on thin ice.”

The implied threat weakens your resolve. “Fine.” You sigh, moving to wrap your arms around him. It feels good, being crushed against his chest, heartbeats echoing on opposing sides, his arms securing you against him, breath warm in your hair. You inhale the scent of him, remaining silent, wishing it didn’t feel so pleasant to cling to him.

He draws back to peer down at you, tipping your face up to view his. You think back to the very first time he done this, before your first kiss. Your eyes trace the lines near the corners of his eyes and mouth, lingering on his lips. They curve ever so slightly.

And then he abruptly leaves your embrace, instead reaching for one of your hands to lead you to the entrance.

You’re more baffled than ever, confused by the man’s erratic behavior.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” you protest.

“We did talk.” He pulls on the handle of the glass door, holding it open for you.

“Barely,” you mutter, following him into the entryway and dining room.

“We shouldn’t keep Mike waiting.”

“You don’t care what he wants.” You stop dead in your tracks, pulling your hand free of his grasp.

“You’re right. I don’t care what he wants,” he agrees, nonplussed, the emphasis on he unmistakable.

“What do you care about?”

“Now that’s a much better question.” He smirks at you as he opens the door to the employee area. “After you.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

“It’d be nice if you answered a question once in a while.” You shake your head, about to walk past him when he grabs at your waist, tugging you against him. All traces of amusement have vanished, the dark centers of his eyes expanding, the pools of desire widening. Just the slightest lift on your part and bend on his and his mouth would be on yours.

You’ve never wanted anything so much in your life.

“Raglan!” Mike appears from the other end of the corridor, starting towards you.

Steve sighs, relaxing his grip.

You’re not sure which one of you is more disappointed at the interruption.

***

You’d thought the destruction at the front end of the restaurant had been bad, but it pales in comparison to the state of the back rooms.

You’re not even certain that all of the mess spread before you is from the previous intruders; there’s a definite layer of dust on many of items scattered everywhere, the mysterious dark stains on the floors looking like they’d soaked into the surface a long time ago.

“This isn’t from the break in,” you announce, startling Mike, who’d begun sweeping rubble into a pile.

Steve returns from throwing the switch on the box to restore power in time to hear your complaint and shrugs. “It’s still part of the job. Clearly stated when you accepted the position,” the career counselor says, directing his gaze meaningfully at Mike, then turns back to you. “Come with me, sweetheart. We’re going to need some supplies to work on these floors.”

Mike halts mid sweeping motion, his grip on the handle tightening.

“You should know the routine by now. Back to work,” the older man growls warningly.

You follow Raglan down the hall to a large custodial closet, your attention wandering to the room across the hall while he begins gathering items together.

“What’s in here?”

“Extra locker storage for employees,” he replies distractedly, hefting a bottle of industrial cleaner free from the clutter of its brethren on the steel shelf.

You step inside the room, noticing that all of the steel cabinets are open and empty, save the one on the end of the row that is sealed shut.

Almost as if in a trance you walk toward it, reaching for the handle.

The distracted muttering that had become background noise disappears, Steve rushing past you to slam a hand on the door, preventing you from opening it, his breathing harsh. You’ve never seen this expression on his face before.

He looked afraid.

“Don’t open it.”

“What’s in there?”

“It doesn’t matter what’s in there. I’m telling you not to open it.”

“What is it, Pandora’s box?” You quip but the older man’s features remain grave.

It takes him a few moments before he’s no longer panicked, the wild look in his eyes fading, his breathing slowing as he regains his composure. “That’s not your concern. Let’s go.” He guides you back out of the room, this time locking the door behind you.

***

For the first several hours, you and Mike actually do nothing but clean, surprised when even Steve lends a hand in your efforts to restore the space to some semblance of order and cleanliness.

He’s acting differently tonight, especially after the strange incident in the locker room earlier. There’s more of a familiarity with this area; a sort of odd reverence for the animatronic components that he encounters.

The more you think about it, the more you feel like you’re missing something blatantly obvious. Why is a career counselor so familiar with the interior of the children’s restaurant, particularly this area restricted to employees? Had he worked here once? You find it hard to imagine, but it did explain some things.

“Alright. That’s enough for now.”

The room smells of cleaning chemicals, pungent ammonia mingling with whatever had been saturating the floors, something metallic and musty that clashes unpleasantly. You’re grateful when he leads you away, first giving you both a minute to wash up in the restroom, then guiding you towards the security office.

“Why don’t you keep an eye on the monitors for awhile, Mike?” He points to the office chair and Mike obediently slumps into it, too tired to argue. The security guard begins dejectedly punches on the command panel to view alternate camera angles.

Raglan’s gaze wanders to the Nebraska poster the younger man had recently tacked up on the wall, an unreadable expression on his features before he meets your stare.

You’d been acutely aware of his eyes on your body all evening, lingering over the places where you’d gotten splashed with water, thin material clinging dark and wet to your skin. You couldn’t help notice his ass whenever he bent over, generous curves straining against the seat of his sensible trousers. The impulse to shove your hands inside those back pockets to cop a feel has struck you more than once.

“Enough,” he reprimands Mike, his voice less stern than usual as he shoves the keyboard away from his hands, clearing a spot for himself to half sit on the edge of the desk, one thigh seated in place, the other leg braced against the floor, the tall figure blocking Mike’s view of the monitors. He gathers a fistful of the younger man’s shirt and drags your boyfriend and the office chair he’s seated in forward, then releases his shirt and lets his fingers siphon through the soft brown curls, the touch more of a caress than any you’d seen him bestow on Mike previously. Maybe it was because it was so late; he was probably tired after working all day and most of the night, too.

His face drops down as he pulls Mike’s head back gently, his eyes flicking up to your face as he descends, seemingly in slow motion, watching you watching him as he captures Mike’s lips with his own. His free hand reaches out for you and you accept it, letting him pull you towards them, and you collide somewhere between Raglan’s hip and Mike’s arm.

Steve’s fingers search your face blindly as he’s currently occupied with sucking a bruise onto Mike’s neck, and you feel them pause when they reach your lips. They part and you suck along his index and middle fingers, the knuckles passing through as he strokes along your tongue, pushing back as if to test the limits of your gag reflex before he slides them free, shoving them past the drawstring tightened waistband of your borrowed pajama pants and panties where they circle around your clit.

You gasp and the older man hurriedly swallows that sound, his mouth breaking free from Mike’s and covering yours, gifting you the kiss you’ve been craving all evening.

You lose track of who does what to whom, vaguely aware of sounds of zippers parting, some moans from Mike, who’s hair you’re now clutching, your own needy whimpers and the feel of Raglan’s fingers easing inside your entrance. He pants beside your ear while your free hand briefly traces the outline of his cock through his pants before wandering across the rest of his body. You feel your boyfriend’s hand moving underneath the oversized shirt he’s lent you to stroke across your nipples.

Steve’s face moves so he can see your features as he continues invading you, making you plead breathlessly for another kiss, to cum, anything he’s willing to give you. Your eyelids flutter, your mouth slack as the pair of long fingers curl inside you, expertly stroking your sweet spot.

Oh, God.

You come apart on his hand, words unspoken pressing at the back of your teeth as your grip tightens in Mike’s hair, your other hand finally surrendering to what it’s wanted for hours, slotting into Steve’s back pocket and squeezing.

Slick fingers work on the knot of your pants, impatiently tearing the fabric ties and jerking the waistband over your hips, collecting your panties on the way, bending just long enough to tear everything off your legs completely. “Sit on your boyfriend’s lap, sweetheart. He’s ready for you.” He grasps your upper arms and turns you so that you’re facing the seated man, indicating for you to straddle his slouched form, Mike’s erection sliding inside of you as you lower yourself down, the chair creaking alarmingly with the added weight. You feel the older man against your back, lending you extra support and you lean your shoulders back on his chest, your boyfriend’s thumbs digging into your hips as he thrusts into your pussy still oozing your own cum.

Raglan’s hand cups your chin and he thrusts his thumb into your mouth. You lick and bite the pad of it, frantically grinding down onto Mike. It’s such a sloppy fuck, you’re so wet…

It takes tremendous concentration to orgasm when you’re exhausted; you know exactly what that feeling is like, how frustrating it is because you just want release but you can’t quite find the energy to get there. You know just fucking you is not quite enough to send Mike over the edge.

“Fill her up, Mike.” Steve’s hands slide down, reaching the pair still holding on to you and that’s it, you feel the hot splash of seed inside, the younger man cursing his way through his release.

It’s already leaking back out but Steve doesn’t waste any time solving that problem, lifting you easily and sitting you on the edge of the desk, his cock sliding right back into the slot your boyfriend had so recently vacated, fucking his cum right back inside your cunt. You cling to him, clutching his body with all of your limbs while he rocks into you, your teeth gripping his shoulder through his shirt.

“Harder,” he urges, and you comply, jaw closing, teeth digging into fabric and the skin beneath. He huffs in pain; you can hear him wincing in that sound and you immediately release him, kissing a gentle apology against his throat.

“I didn’t say to stop,” he scolds you, but he doesn’t sound upset. “You ready for it, honey?”

You are and you aren’t. You love the feel of him inside you; you adore his mouth on yours; you want to take him apart; you don’t want to watch him leave the parking lot without you when you’re finished here.

You say none of these things. You nod and kiss him and let him fill your womb with another load.

When he finally lets you go, you see Mike just sitting there, haunted eyes fixed on the poster above you, the fragile skin beneath his eyes shadowed darker than you’ve ever seen.

***

“I have to tell you something.” Mike’s voice cracks through the silence of your ride home.

You glance over at him. “What?”

He rubs at the hair lining his jaw. “I have a younger brother named Garrett.”

You remain silent, waiting for him to continue.

“He went missing when my family went camping back in Nebraska. Somebody took him. I was supposed to be watching him, and I got distracted.” His knuckles blanch as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “That was the last time I saw him. Until I started working at Freddy’s.”

You frown in confusion.

“There’s something about that place. I know it doesn’t make any sense. But I can see him so clearly when I doze off there. That’s why I’m so invested in the Dream Theory. I feel like if I keep at it, I can finally remember something, some detail that might help me find out where he is. I saw the car that drove away with him, but I’m not certain about the make or model. I don’t think it had a license plate. Sometimes I see other kids at the state park, too. They’re new. They weren’t in the dreams until I started working there. I’ve tried to talk to them, but they keep running away from me. I feel like they know something. I don’t know what it all means, but…” His voice trails off.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

“I think you should know. Even if…even if there wasn’t this blackmail about Abby, I’d have to stay there. It’s the only hope I have of ever finding him. I’m never getting out of this situation any way that you look at it.”

He pulls into the driveway of his house, making no move to exit the car. “I let it happen again, didn’t I? Let myself get distracted when I should have been watching what’s going on right in front of me.”

“What do you mean?”

His wounded eyes meet yours. “I see the way Steve looks at you. He’s not even bothering to hide it anymore.” You see his Adam’s apple shift as he struggles to swallow past the emotions building in his throat. “I know you think about him all the time.”

“No, I don’t.” The denial sounds feeble even in your own ears.

“Do you ever wish you were with him instead?”

“No.” Your breath hitches at how on target he is and you struggle to recover. “No, of course not. I spend more time here now than I do at my own place. I help take care of Abby—”

“—And I appreciate that, sincerely. You’re amazing with her,” he interrupts. “But that’s not an explanation for what’s happening with us.”

“How am I even supposed to act with you?” You snap bitterly, on the defensive. “You’re afraid to go near me. You don’t want me to make a move on you. You treat me like I’m some delicate flower you’re going to crush. I’m not.” You pluck at the rumpled plaid pants you’re wearing, your voice softening. “It’s not my fault. I did all this to help you so you wouldn’t lose your sister.”

“I know. And I had no right to ask that of you. It was my problem. I’ve created this entire mess. I always do.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Ever since Garrett went missing because of me. It’s just been one mistake after another. I’ve caused everyone I care about grief.”

“What happened to your brother wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s a moot point. The damage is done all the same.” He reaches for your restless fingers, stilling them. “I’m right, aren’t I? About Steve.”

You force yourself to meet his eyes. “Yes,” you whisper.

He nods to himself, exhaling loudly.

“Why did you hide that shirt? The one you wore to the movies that night.”

He frowns at the shift in conversation. “I don’t know.”

You shake your head, smiling bitterly. “Yes, you do. Because it’s the same for you. You enjoy the things he does with you. You think about him when he’s not around. Wish he was here—”

“—I fucking despise that man,” he growls.

“Maybe. But it doesn’t mean you don’t desire him, as twisted as that sounds. Maybe because hate is such a strong emotion, the opposite side of the same coin.”

“You don’t hate him,” he mutters quietly.

“No. I should, but I don’t.”

“Are you…are you falling in love with him?” You can see him struggling to push the words out.

“I don’t even know him. Not really.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. I’m still here because I want to be. I care about both of you. And I know that’s not fair. So where does that leave us? Do you want me out of your life?”

“It would hurt Abby.” He pauses. “It would hurt me, too. Badly. You two are all I have left. I’ve lost everyone else. But I don’t want you sticking around just because you feel some sense of obligation. It’s just going to get harder for us the longer you’re around.”

“I don’t want to lose either of you. I don’t know what to do.” You drag one palm against each of your eyes, attempting to smear away the tears that are starting. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Okay. Then we’ll…we’ll figure this out. Together.” He pulls you against him, burying his face against your neck.

***

The Check Engine light comes on when you’re in the middle of nowhere on a stretch of highway late at night.

You should’ve left sooner, back when it was still daylight; back before you’d had perhaps one too many drinks; even more than that, if you were being honest with yourself. It’s foolish, but the peer pressure of being with a group of friends you haven’t seen since last year clouds your judgment, delaying you with silent promises of staying for just a few more minutes, and consuming just one more for the road.

Now you’re stranded on that very road, the car making some horrible grinding sound. You pull onto the shoulder and turn the key, silencing the noise and extinguishing the warning message. You feel a headache coming on and you massage your forehead absently, trying to sort through the intoxication and think of who you can call to rescue you. You have a cell phone for emergencies, a clunky looking Nokia that you keep tucked in the glove compartment just in case.

Mike’s at work by now of course, and Abby is staying over their aunt’s for the weekend. The friends you’ve just left certainly aren’t in any shape to come out this far. You rummage in your purse, squinting in the darkness, hoping you’ll find a bottle of acetaminophen when your hand brushes against a small rectangular object:

Steve Raglan’s business card.

You’d tossed it in there without a thought, a duplicate of the one he’d given Mike after one of your previous encounters, pressed into your palm before he’d exited the parking lot of Freddy’s. He obviously wouldn’t be at work this late. You turn the key in the ignition to the accessory position, flipping on the rear view mirror’s lighting. You hesitate, your fingers tracing over the embossed lettering on the front before you move to throw it back into your bag, freezing when you realize there’s another number handwritten on the back, along with the words Home No. and Call any time.

You’d tried to obliterate Steve from your mind, renewed in your commitment to Mike after that last heart to heart you’d had. You’d hoped a change of scenery would help; that enough booze would numb your senses and make it difficult to concentrate, dissipating the memories. Instead it’s only made you ache with longing, realizing that there’s no escaping the older man’s reach. You’re bound to him just as firmly as Mike is.

You lean over and flip the latch of the glove compartment, shoving the owner’s manual aside, fingers finally closing over the mobile phone and its power supply. You plug the phone into the charger and hold the power button, the lime green screen blooming back to life, glowing brightly. The phone rings twice before Raglan answers. He doesn’t sound like he was asleep, at least.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me.” It comes out breathier than you’d intended and you try and fail to stifle a giggle at how absurd you sound.

There’s a long pause. You can practically hear the disapproving scowl forming from here. “Where are you calling me from?”

“I’m on my cell in the car. I’m broken down on the interstate.”

“Where?”

“Um…I don’t know. It’s hard to think. My head is splitting. I’m like probably forty five minutes outside of town? Heading north. No, I mean, you’ll be going north. I was heading south.” Another giggle escapes.

“I’m leaving now. Make sure your doors are locked.”

“Thank you. I’m—”

The call disconnects. You power it down and put it everything away, turning the key again, bathing yourself in darkness once more.

You’ve nearly nodded off when you see the pair of headlights growing closer, and you know, somehow instinctively, that it’s Steve.

You emerge from the car just as he loops around to stop behind it. You still feel buzzed, your footing on the broken asphalt on the shoulder making the trek more difficult. You hear the older man curse as he slips out of the car, hurrying over to you. One arm slides around your waist, half dragging, half guiding you. He bends to lift the door handle on the passenger side and you cling to him with whatever strength you have left.

“Christ, how much did you drink? You reek of alcohol. You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed. Or hurt anyone else,” he adds.

“Not enough to forget everything you’ve done to me.” You realize he isn’t wearing his glasses nor his customary business attire, instead clad in jeans and a Henley. You relax your grip on his shoulder, wondering if the marks you bruised him with the last time you’d been intimate still linger, moving to toy with the pair of buttons holding his shirt closed instead, leaning back against the side of the car, pulling him with you.

“What are you doing? Stop.” He shoves your groping fingers away.

“What’s the matter? You only like it when you’re forcing me?”

“Enough. Get in the car.”

“You’re not really forcing me anymore though, are you?” You seat your palm against the broad muscles in his neck, feeling the tension there. “You know how much I want you.”

He drags your hand away once again. “I’m not arguing with you when you’re this intoxicated. Get in the car or I will put you there,” he growls.

“That’s the aggressive Steve I’m used to.” You laugh but surrender, sitting down heavily, nearly losing your balance again before you manage the task.

He shuts the door and makes his way back to the driver’s side, sliding behind the wheel, about to reach for the gear shift when your hand closes over his, halting his progress.

“You didn’t even call me sweetheart or honey. You’re that mad at me?”

His hand slides free of your grasp, as if he can’t tolerate you touching him all of a sudden, his voice tight. “Yes.”

“Because I made you drive out here in the middle of the night?”

The career counselor glowers at you. “First of all, you didn’t make me do anything, I volunteered. Secondly, this is the kind of irresponsible behavior I’d expect from that idiot boyfriend of yours, not you.”

“He’s not an idiot,” you protest. “Don’t say that.” You watch his lips press together thinly with the strain of keeping whatever further insult he’s about to hurl in check. “Why are you so pissed?”

“Because you could have gotten hurt!” He exclaims, slamming a fist on the steering wheel.

“You do care about me,” you realize, giving voice to the sobering thought out loud. It was like that night when you’d gone into the locker room and reached for the closed door; he was afraid for you.

His gaze remains focused on the rear of your car currently bathed in the glow of headlights. “I shouldn’t,” he murmurs quietly.

“Why not? Please talk to me.”

The older man sighs heavily. “About what?”

“Anything. Everything. Trivial stuff. What you eat for breakfast. What color your toothbrush is. Which sitcom makes you laugh.”

“It’s one thirty in the morning. I hardly think these questions are that pressing. You need to sleep this off. You’re going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning.”

”I’m not that drunk,” you protest. “I know what I'm saying.” You pause. “What do you do when you go home after you’ve been with me? Do you think about me as much as I think about you?”

He hesitates, glancing over at you. “You really shouldn’t go down this road. You’re going to be disappointed.”

You swallow thickly, the sudden swell of emotions building in your throat threatening to choke you. “I’ll die if you don’t kiss me.”

He makes a soft, broken sound, like a wounded animal in its dying moments, so full of regret and want, then leans over, fingers bracing your jaw as his mouth roughly covers yours. You whimper at the feeling, lips desperate against his, tongue restlessly probing. Your heart slams against your ribs and your grab his free hand and place it there, willing him to feel what he does to you.

“Sweetheart, you shouldn’t pursue this,” he exhales beside your cheek.

You shudder at the pet name, once so condescendingly offered, now saturated with affection.

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bened1ctcumberbatch · 4 months

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I made this edit for the SOLE PURPOSE of bringing him back to popularity. He deserved to have the spotlight a lot longer and stupid crazy Snow ROBBED him of that so… this is my attempt to make him known again.

I also might be writing fanfiction for him as we speak (let’s not talk about my million requests rn)

Song: Love on Me — Jtbazz

Movie: Five Nights at Freddy’s

Character: Mike Schmidt

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bened1ctcumberbatch · 4 months

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Comforting Michael Afton After a Nightmare

Pairing: Michael Afton/Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, fluff, nightmares, tired sex, kissing, comfort sex, affirmations, cuddles, neck kissing

A/N: Look at his cute and handsome face! I wanna kiss him and hold him and kiss him.

Comforting Michael after a nightmare is a very common occurrence unfortunately. Nightmares can go from a memory of his to his experiences in the Pizzeria and the consequences from that. It's never to a point where he has to miss hours and hours of sleep anymore, which is in part because of the things you do for him when he has these nightmares. After a nightmare you almost feel bad about leaving him alone in bed.

His big, brown eyes look at you for reassurance and you find yourself very drawn to him to hug him and kiss him better. Michael will follow you and hug you while you make tea for the two of you in silence. You'll hear him mumbling a few details about his nightmare between the kisses he gives you. There are some comfort foods and snacks that you eat together, but you'll careful not to get crumbs in bed.

Comforting Michael after a nightmare can involve sex as well but not the fast and needy kind. The objective is still to make each other feel good but its more about sharing that closeness and intimacy with each other with arms fully wrapped around each others bodies. The movements of your bodies slow down to a crawl when he pushes his cock inside of you, the slow thrusts providing just enough stimulation with out it being overwhelming.

Kisses stop only when one of you needs to breathe. He likes to kiss you on the spots where he will feel your heartbeat the best and that happens to be your neck and breasts a lot of the time. Often he won't even finish, he'll keep the slow rocking of your bodies going until your words turn into whispers and you're both later fully woken up by the morning sunlight.

Dividers made by: @cafekitsune

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bened1ctcumberbatch · 4 months

Note

hi! I really enjoyed reading the older bf headcanons for Mike - I was wondering if you could write a fic or hcs of how Mike would try to make it up to the reader after an argument? like angst with hurt/comfort? thanks!

★Mike Schmidt comforting you headcanons★

𖦹 Warnings: slight angst and fluff, GN!Reader no use of pronouns, use of Y/N

⋆｡°‧Requests are open! Comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated ♡

―୨୧⋆ ˚A/N: this feels so short but its been sitting in my drafts forever im sorry anon☹️ I promise im working on all my other requests and will try to get to them as soon as i can<3 Happy holidays!

This has not been proofread ^_^

Mike Schmidt who almost never gets angry or upset with you. Dealing with Abby has taught him so much and he is oh so patient with you

Mike Schmidt would accidentally lash out at you and instantly regret it as his guilt ridden eyes would land on your hurt expression, making his chest hurt at the sight

Mike Schmidt who would instantly try to make things right and apologize, quickly running towards you before you could leave the room and pulling you into a tight embrace, his hand landing on your lower back as the other is holding the back of your head, his chin resting on your shoulder

Mike Schmidt who would silently and softly sway you side to side as he tries to find the right words to say, he wasn’t the best at apologies but he knew he wouldn’t be able to let this go if he didn’t

Mike Schmidt who plants a kiss on your forehead and leaves his lips there, “I’m sorry, y/n” he’d simply say mumble against your skin, “i promise it won’t happen again, ever” he’d continue to mumble, his voice dripping with guilt and shame at the memory of him raising his voice at you

Mike Schmidt who still isn’t able to get over the incident even after you accept his apology and would go above and beyond for you for the rest of the day, not that he doesn’t already do that but now its even more amplified

Mike Schmidt who would offer to cook dinner that night despite how exhausted from work he is, making the occasion extra special by cooking your favorite meal and surpassing you with it

Mike Schmidt who would shower you with kisses every chance he got, quite literally kissing you from head to toe and muttering a small “I’m sorry” in between each and every kiss

Mike Schmidt who ends the night with you wrapped up in his arms while you lay in bed, his chin resting on the top of your head as one hand soothingly strokes the back of your head, kissing your forehead every once in a while as you drift off into sleep in his arms

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bened1ctcumberbatch · 4 months

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day 29, somnophilia

mike schmidt x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, free use (kinda), semi-established relationship, neighbor!reader, part 2, part 3 kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You and Mike came to a relatively simple agreement. You’d watch Abby while he worked nights and he’d repay you by fucking your brains out. He was hot and good in bed, plus Abby spent most of her time in her room. So, you didn’t mind your arrangement much.

That was until Mike got so busy you hardly saw him enough to receive your payment.

“You know,” you said as you took a seat at your usual spot on his couch, “you still owe me from last week.”

He sighed and leaned over you, placing a hand on each side of the back cushion, trapping you.

He pressed a kiss to your lips, “I know. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

You grinned, “I’ll leave the light on for you.”

Mike surprised you that night when he came home late that night, and you had curled yourself up in his bed, fast asleep. You awoke with Mike pressing heated kisses along your neck and his hand between your thighs. He pressed his free hand against your mouth, muffling the desperate moans that fled past your lips.

You’d stay tangled between his sheets until the early morning when you’d sneak back across the street to your own home. Ever since that night, you’d tell him that if you wanted him to wake you up like that. The light was on more often than not.

When he started working nights, things became slightly more complicated. By the time he got back in the morning, it was time to wake Abby up for school and you had to get ready for the day. That was until you had the day off and an idea struck you.

You were about to head out the door before you turned to Mike, “Leave the light on for me?”

His eyebrows furrowed for a split second before the corners of his mouth quirked up. “Yeah, of course,” he nodded and you were out the door, grinning.

You waited a few hours, performing menial tasks around your home before you decided it was time to put your plan into action. Abby was off to school and Mike was asleep soundly in his bed, headphones placed securely on his ears and nature sounds drifting out of them. You slowly crept further into Mike’s room and began to set up the camcorder at the foot of his bed, flinching at the slightest creak of the tripod.

You knew Mike wouldn’t wake up, but it was more exciting if you made yourself believe there was a chance. You pressed record and giddiness filled you. You made a show of stripping for the camera. You slowly slid off your sweatpants and underwear in one swoop.

You picked up the pair of jeans he had on the floor and held them up to the camera, doing your best game show girl impression. You picked up your underwear and tucked them in the front pocket, patting it in before setting them at the foot of his bed. Your shirt was the next to go. You faced the camera as you slowly tugged your shirt over your head, revealing your bare chest underneath.

You trailed your fingers up your torso and circled your fingers around your nipples, causing them to harden under your touch. You leaned your head back to give him a full view of your chest as you pinched one of your nipples between your fingers, gasping slightly.

You turned and sauntered to his side of the bed where he was sleeping soundly. You ran your fingers gently over his forehead, brushing his hair out of the way, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He made your job easier by wearing a black t-shirt and briefs and by always sleeping on his back. You threw the blankets covering his form to the side and kneeled beside the bed. Your hands wandered over his thighs before palming him through his briefs.

You crawled into bed next to him and your hands drifted past the waistband of his briefs. You stroked him, slowly, before freeing his cock from its confines. You pulled his briefs down and over his balls, just enough for you to access everything freely.

You threw a leg over his thigh and your hand wrapped around his cock once again. He had begun to harden in your grasp but you couldn’t quite get enough friction. You slid down his body and turned so the camera could get a clear view of what you were about to do.

You held him in your hand and swiped your tongue across the head of his cock. You groaned at the taste of him and enveloped your lips fully around him. You swirled your tongue around the pink-hued tip and Mike’s breath caught slightly but he didn’t stir.

You steadily bobbed your head, gradually taking more of him with every stroke. One hand stroked what you couldn’t reach while the other gently fondled his balls. You pressed your tongue against the underside of his shaft, and Mike’s cock twitched in your mouth.

You pulled away and licked your lips when the ache between your thighs became too great. You carefully straddled his lap and ground against his cock, spreading your slick. A soft moan left you as the tip hit your clit just right.

You brought your hand down to where your bodies met and aligned him with your entrance. The whine that escaped you as you lowered yourself onto him was loud and you slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle it.

You missed his hands roaming your body as you rode him, but there was something so pleasurable about seeing the minute changes in his demeanor as you used him. You dipped down to press open-mouthed kisses against the column of his neck. You clenched at the thought of covering him with hickeys to find later. You leaned down and explored his chest with your lips and tongue.

You smiled as small red marks covered his neck and chest. You were confident that they’d blossom into the purple marks you desired once he awoke. You began to rock your hips faster against him as one hand drifted down to circle your clit. You used your free hand to knead your breast, pinching and dragging your fingertip across the bud of your nipple. Your legs were beginning to burn and tremble but the familiar heat pooling in your belly spurred you on.

You leaned forward, and the new angle had you reaching your peak in no time. You spasmed around him as you continued to jut your hips against him, riding out your high. A satisfied moan escaped you as you felt Mike twitch within you and he filled you with his cum.

You panted softly as you slid off of him. You kissed his lips softly before fixing his briefs and covering him back up. You stopped the recording and quickly got dressed. You tucked the camcorder and tripod under your arm before leaving Mike’s home. In a few hours, you’d bring him the lunch you made him, tucking the VHS tape inside the paper bag.

You’d hold the door for him, and walk him out to his car, smiling the entire time.

“I hope you enjoy your lunch,” you’d mention. He’d grin, a knowing glint in his eyes. You’d leave the light on for him for when he came home.

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bened1ctcumberbatch · 4 months

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| P U S S Y D R U N K |

sub!mike schmidt x dom!fem!reader

explicit content | minors dni

Sitting on Mike’s cock, your pussy sucking at every inch of his length…watching his pretty face go soft and dumb as you rock back and forth on top of him…your thighs sticky and sweet and warm around his waist, the wet sound of your juices grinding into his bush louder with every thrust…

Mike always tries to be dominant, pretends to be the one calling the shots. But in reality, you both know that once you start working your magic on him, his tough guy act will disappear so fucking fast…

Getting him all worked up, letting him think he’s the one in control, then turning the tables on him when he’s on top of you…Tugging Mike’s earlobe between your lips and sucking gently, making his eyes roll back and his brain short circuit. He loses all focus and control, and you can easily flip him over so that you’re the one on top, sinking onto his dick and making him go stupid before he has the chance to resist…

His eyebrows pull together at the center, soft whimpers coaxing up from his chest. Mike can’t form a coherent thought when his dick’s being milked by your cunt on top of him, let alone try to maintain his facade of dominance. He lets you have him, take him, ride him as long as you need till you’re satisfied. And then, when he knows you’re too exhausted to go on from making yourself come on his cock, he’ll flip you over and finish inside you with his forehead pressed to yours in a tight embrace…

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bened1ctcumberbatch · 4 months

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day 29, somnophilia

That was until Mike got so busy you hardly saw him enough to receive your payment.

“You know,” you said as you took a seat at your usual spot on his couch, “you still owe me from last week.”

He sighed and leaned over you, placing a hand on each side of the back cushion, trapping you.

He pressed a kiss to your lips, “I know. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

You grinned, “I’ll leave the light on for you.”

You were about to head out the door before you turned to Mike, “Leave the light on for me?”

His eyebrows furrowed for a split second before the corners of his mouth quirked up. “Yeah, of course,” he nodded and you were out the door, grinning.

You turned and sauntered to his side of the bed where he was sleeping soundly. You ran your fingers gently over his forehead, brushing his hair out of the way, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

You’d hold the door for him, and walk him out to his car, smiling the entire time.

“I hope you enjoy your lunch,” you’d mention. He’d grin, a knowing glint in his eyes. You’d leave the light on for him for when he came home.

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bened1ctcumberbatch · 4 months

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first time for everything

Drug dealer! Mike Schmidt x fem!reader wc: 4.2k

Summary: You’re a good girl. You’ve never been arrested, you don't drink alcohol, and you certainly don't smoke weed. So why were you standing on Mike Schmidt’s doorstep about to buy the very thing you swore you wouldn’t?

Warnings: 18+ content, sorta implied age gap (reader is in college, mike is like the age he was in the movie so like 28-30ish?), cannabis use, shotgunning, dirty messy sex, praise, degradation, spit, grinding, fingering (f rec), handjob, unprotected sex

Authors note: guys i am SO HAPPY with how this fic turned out, and I really hope u guys like it too!! this fic ended up being my longest so far LOL, i got carried away but i LOVED writing the dialogue in this one

You’re a good girl.

You’ve never been arrested, you don't drink alcohol, and you certainly don't smoke weed.

So why were you standing on Mike Schmidt’s doorstep about to buy the very thing you swore you wouldn’t?

—-------------------

“Y/n, it’s seriously no big deal, okay? My dealer’s name is Mike, he’s cool! Just hand him the money and he’ll give you the weed. Simple.” Your friend Sara says as she throws on her work uniform. You furrow your eyebrows at her words, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sara, I’m not fucking buying weed for you.” You say incredulously, leaning against a wall in your dorm room. Once Sara’s shirt is pulled over her head, she gives you an insulted look.

“It’s not just for me, it's for us! You need to live a little more, Y/n. You haven’t even been to a party on campus yet and it's our third year.” Sara says, emphasising her words with her hands. She brushes her hair, throwing it up into a quick ponytail to make a flat foundation for her ‘Burger King’ cap to lay on top of.

“Well, that’s because I’m studying. I have a job too!” You say with a roll of your eyes. Of course it’s easy for Sara to judge, she’s always been very extroverted. Sara’s the type of girl who’s well loved by everyone on campus, and goes to a party almost every weekend. You can’t blame her. If you were as outgoing and charismatic as she is, you’d follow in her footsteps. However, you’re not, and making friends and being invited to parties hasn’t been an easy feat for you.

You and Sara have been roommates since your first year, and although you haven’t always seen eye to eye, you love her. She’s truly one of your only friends on campus, and even though you know it's pathetic, you think you’d be completely friendless if it weren’t for her. She’s the reason you’ve met most of your friends over your time at college, and although you get annoyed at her, you’re thankful for the times she's pushed you out of your shell enough to have some sort of social life. That being said, buying weed for her is where you draw the line. At least, you think it is.

“I study and work too, but I'm not a total hermit.” Sara exclaims. You scoff and cross the room to sit on your bed. You give Sara a defeated look and she lets out a soft laugh, joining you on the bed.

“Okay, I'll take that back. I don’t think you’re a hermit.” Sara says with a soft smile. She places a caring hand on your back.

“I just think you need to get out a little more, you know? Make some memories, fuck a hot guy, get shit-faced, whatever!” She continues with a laugh. You laugh along with her, and you know she's right. You are a hermit, and it wouldn’t kill you to break out of your shell a little. Even if that means buying weed for your very persistent friend.

“So, why do you need me to buy you weed?” You inquire.

“Because, I’m going to work. Duh.” Sara says, motioning to her ‘Burger King’ uniform. “And I promised my dealer I’d pick my stuff up today. Apparently afternoons are better for him now because he got some weird job working nights.” She continues and you bite the inside of your cheek. Sara notices your apprehension and she grabs your hand.

“Listen, don’t think of it as buying weed. Just…think of it as doing a favour for your friend.” She says softly, ducking her head to meet your gaze that is currently fixed on the floor. It’s just weed, you think. Not cocaine, or something like that.

“And your um, dealer? He’s nice?” You ask, wiping your palms on your jean clad thighs.

“Yeah, I told you. He’s cool. Dealing is, like, a side thing for him. To make enough money to support his little sister.” Sara says, getting off of the bed to collect her things. She swings her backpack over her shoulder and starts towards the exit of your dorm.

You’re not totally convinced, and you’re also not sure how buying weed for Sara will make you less of a “hermit,” but with a long, dramatic, sigh you nod your head.

“What’s his address?”

—-----------------------------------

The gust of the cold December wind that hits your face when you exit the city bus makes you recoil into your hood, and with an annoyed huff you set the hair that stuck to your lipgloss from the breeze back into place.

Mike Schmidt’s place wasn’t far, only a 10 minute bus ride away. However, that was plenty enough time for you to almost completely think yourself out of going. You walk to the address that Sara texted you, the sound of snow crunching under your feet somewhat interrupting your racing thoughts. “Just hand him the money, and he’ll give you the weed.” Sara’s voice replays in your head, and the butterflies in your stomach aren’t sure if her voice is comforting or not.

Mike Schmidt’s house wasn’t one to gawk at, at least from the outside. You start the trek from the end of the driveway to his front door and you wonder how many times Sara has done this before.

You reach the front door and your cold, dry knuckles rap on it. The cold air makes knocking on the wood hurt more than usual, and you rub your knuckles softly. You hear heavy footsteps making their way from the back of the house to the door, and you let out a big breath. The door opens and you scan the man in front of you. He’s…not what you had expected him to look like. In your naive mind, you had pictured a big, burly man, covered head to toe in tattoos. But, this man looked like he had just woken up, his eyes still adjusting to the light outside. His curly brown hair was slightly dishevelled and he laced a hand through it, attempting to make it look more presentable.

“Can I help you?” His voice comes out slightly gruff, and he clears it softly.

“Are you the…the drug guy?” You ask in a low whisper, like the title ‘drug guy’ is akin to the name ‘Voldemort’ in ‘Harry Potter.’

“Depends on who you’re asking.” Mike says, leaning against his front door. He gives you a once over with a little smirk and you cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m asking you.” You say, and it comes out a little harsh, your teeth chattering from the cold.

“Do you want me to be?” Mike says, and you narrow your eyes at him. His smirk widens and you bite the inside of your cheek, he’s enjoying this. Sara said this would be easy.

“I’m here for Sara.” You say, and Mike nods his head, a soft hum tumbling out of his closed lips.

“Oh, so you’re her druggie friend?” Mike says with a little mischievous smile, although his teasing is lost on you and your jaw drops open in shock.

“What? I, wha-, no!” You stammer and Mike lets out a laugh that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“I’m joking. Come in, you’re freezing.” He says, noting the way you’re shivering on his front door step. He pushes himself off the door frame and motions for you to follow him inside. You hesitantly follow him inside, but your frosty fingers thank you for the new found warmth of his house.

“Do you want something to drink?” Mike asks, leading you towards the kitchen, you following behind him. You shake your head no, even though he can’t see you.

“I won’t be staying long.” You say bluntly, and even though you can’t see Mike’s face, you swear you can picture the little smile that forms on it with your words. You sit down at the dining table, watching as Mike reaches into the fridge, grabbing a can of soda. The dining table is covered with unopened envelopes and you try your best not to snoop while Mike is in the kitchen. You look up as Mike exits the kitchen with an extra soda in hand, placing it in front of you.

“Just in case you change your mind.” He says and a small “thank you” leaves your lips.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Mike continues, and you slowly nod your head, watching as he makes his way down the hallway and towards the back of the house. You half pay attention to the turned on television in the living room from your spot at the dining table, partly watching some sitcom that’s been left on while you wait for Mike to return. The house smells like weed and spicy cologne and your leg bounces up and down rapidly as you listen to the sounds of Mike’s footsteps coming back.

“Here.” He says simply, tossing the baggy of weed onto the dining table in front of you. You look down at it, and you crinkle your eyebrows in confusion.

“This is it?” You ask, your eyebrows raised as you hold the baggy between your pointer and middle finger. Mike looks at you with his arms crossed over his chest and that stupid smirk that seems to be permanently painted on his face.

“This is an eighth.” He answers, like you’re supposed to know what that means.

“It doesn’t look like much.” You mumble, reaching into your pocket to fish out the $40 that Sara gave you.

“Well, you can always come back if you’d like more.” Mike says in a sickly sweet tone, and now you know he’s teasing you. You roll your eyes and you get up from your chair, holding the dollar bills in your hand.

“Is $40 enough?” You question, and Mike nods his head. He holds his hand out and you place the money in his palm. You turn to leave and you hear Mike’s voice behind you.

“Enjoy.” He says, and you can’t help yourself from turning back around.

“And just for the record, I’ve never smoked weed. So-, so don’t think this is for me. Cause’ it isn’t.” You say, and you wonder why you feel the need to explain yourself to this man that you met only fifteen minutes ago. Your eyes squint at the man as he lets out a laugh at your words.

“Trust me, I know.” He says, and you watch as he takes a sip of his soda, never breaking eye contact with you.

“How? I’m literally buying weed from you.” You say, your tone somewhat annoyed. Does everyone think you’re a buzzkill? A hermit? Is it written permanently on your forehead in big, bold, marker that you’re a ‘drag’ for everyone to see?

“I can just tell. You don’t seem like the type.” Mike says with a sort of shrug. You stand there with what can only be described as a defeated look on your face as Mike makes his way over to the living room. He sits on the couch, changing the channel to some sports game. It’s silent for a moment, save for the sound coming from the tv, and you stand in the front corridor motionless as you have a mental battle over what you decide to say next.

“...Can you show me?”

You watch as Mike turns his head, looking back at you from the couch.

“You want to get high?” He asks, and he sounds genuinely surprised. You walk over to the couch, moving to stand in front of Mike. He looks up at you with a quizzical look on his face, his eyes dancing around from your lips, to your eyes and nose. You nod your head and you watch as he swallows slowly, drumming his fingers on his knee.

“I want to try.” You say, and you’re not sure where this new found confidence has come from, but you’re not going to back down now. Maybe when you get back to your dorm and smoke with Sara, you can surprise her by showing her it isn’t your first time getting high.

“Alright.” Mike says, putting both of his hands on his knees and pushing himself off of the couch. You watch him walk over to a console table in the living room, pulling out a little baggy of pre-rolled joints. He grabs a joint and a lighter and walks back over to the couch, patting the spot beside him, motioning for you to sit.

“Have you ever smoked at all before? Like, a cigarette or something?” Mike asks softly and you shake your head. You were never really interested in smoking or getting high, even when your friends had started to do those things. You’re not really sure where that interest is coming from now, although you feel a strange need to change Mike’s impression of you. To be the opposite of what he expects. To impress him.

“Okay so, the first few hits might burn a little. And you’re probably going to cough so it’s a good thing I got you that soda.” He says, walking over to the dining table to grab the soda that you left unopened, and handing it to you as he sits back down on the couch. You watch as Mike fiddles with the joint between his fingers and you look up at him.

“Is there any way to make it burn less?” You ask genuinely, and Mike smiles at you, relaxing back on the couch and slightly spreading his legs.

“I mean, there is. But I’m not sure if you’d want to try it.” Mike says, resting his head against the back of the couch and looking over at you. You look over at the joint resting between Mike fingers and back to Mike.

“Let’s do it.” You say with almost no hesitation.

“Alright.” Mike says nonchalantly. “It’s called shotgunning. I’m going to take a hit, and then blow the smoke into your mouth. So you have to be ready for me, okay?” He continues, putting the joint between his lips and lighting it. You watch as he inhales the smoke and then blows it back out, the smoke exiting his body through his mouth and nose. He licks his lips and looks back over to you for confirmation. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You say with a nervous laugh that you try to play off. Mike takes another hit, and you watch as his chest rises with the smoke entering his mouth and lungs. All of a sudden, he’s grabbing your jaw with his hand and bringing you towards him. He opens your mouth with his thumb tugging at your lower lip and chin, and he’s blowing the smoke into your mouth. He’s so close, and this feels so intimate in a way that you try not to think about.

“Told you to be ready for me.” He mumbles as he pulls away from you, his thumb and forefinger still resting on your chin. You inhale the smoke, coughing a little but not nearly as bad as if you have taken a direct hit from the joint. The weed doesn’t taste great, and you crack open your soda to wash the taste and your semi dry throat down.

“Well, you could’ve given me, like, a countdown or something.” You mutter and Mike gives a genuine laugh at that. He shakes his head at you, and you’re not sure if it’s the weed already starting to hit but you but you stare a little too long at the way his lips turn into that charming smile.

“I can’t give you a countdown if I have smoke in my mouth, smartass.” You roll your eyes at his words but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. You shuffle a little closer to Mike, your knee hitting his.

“Well, whatever. Can we go again?” You ask, looking up at him. He nods with a hum, putting the joint to his lips and inhaling. You’re ready this time, lips parted as you watch the way his eyes flutter as the smoke fills his mouth. He turns to you, once again grabbing your jaw, and blowing the smoke into your mouth. His lips brush your own and before you can stop it, you let out a soft moan. Mike pulls away from you slightly, looking at you with a lazy smirk. He moves his hand from your jaw to your cheek, rubbing slow circles into the skin with his thumb.

“Someone’s enjoying this, aren’t they?” Mike says, his tone sweet but you know that he’s mocking you. His eyes bore into yours and you can’t find it in yourself to look at him, your eyes fixating on your lap.

“Look at me.” He says, and you do.

“Do you want to try one more time?” He asks, and you nod. Like the last two times, he takes a hit, bringing his mouth close to yours once the smoke invades his mouth. However, as he’s blowing the smoke into your mouth, he only seems to get closer with every passing second. His lips brush against yours hesitantly but you respond by leaning closer into him. The gap is closed and his lips are soft, and the room is spinning. You know the weed is probably a contributing factor but, god, this feels so good.

Mike cups your face in his hands, cradling you like a piece of fine china. He bites your bottom lip, causing you to part your lips so he can slip his tongue inside your mouth. The kiss is needy and wet, but you don’t care. The only thing you can think about is how good his tongue feels caressing your own, and how the hand that was once on your jaw, is slowly trailing up your thigh.

Mike pulls you onto his lap, pressing you down onto him and you let out a gentle whine. He breaks the kiss to look at you and your eyes divert to the place where both your laps are connected.

“Don’t get shy on me, baby. C’mon look at me.” Mike says. You look up at him, starry eyed, and his gentle eyes are already on you. His hair is messy, his lips are swollen, and he definitely looks high.

“There you go.” He says, praising you. “This okay?”

“Yes. I want more.” You whimper, your hips softly grinding down on Mike. The weed is heightening all your senses, and your pussy is throbbing. You can’t think of anything else right now except reliving the ache between your thighs, and Mike looks more than happy to do that for you. He bucks his hips up as you grind on him, and you can feel his erection through his sweatpants. His hands have a strong hold on your hips, pulling you down onto him.

“Mike, fuck.” You choke out. You two are grinding on each other like a pair of horny teenagers, but neither of you care. You two kiss each other messily, and when you pull away, a string of spit connects your lips.

“Take off your jeans.” He simply says, and you couldn’t be happier to oblige. You wriggle off his lap, standing in front of Mike to take your jeans off. You can feel his heavy-lidded gaze on you with every one of your movements, and as soon as your jeans are off, he’s pulling you back onto his lap.

His calloused hands are everywhere. On your hips, your ass, your inner thighs. He presses sweet kisses on your neck, sucking and licking on the places you’re the most responsive to. Your hands are in his hair, pulling and tugging at it, making him groan.

“Can I touch you?” Mike asks, and you let out a quick “please.”

One of his hands trails up your inner thigh, reaching the wet spot on your panties.

“Christ, you’re soaked.” He says, and you let out a shaky breath as he starts to rub you over your panties. You buck your hips into his fingers, silently begging for more. He pulls your underwear to the side, running his middle and ring finger up your wet cunt. His fingers find your clit immediately, rubbing lazy circles. You reach down to palm Mike's bulge through his sweatpants and in response, he sinks two fingers inside of you.

“Fuck, you’re taking it so well.” He moans, pumping his fingers in and out of you. You clench around him, and the television in the background is now being drowned out by the sound of your pussy squelching around Mike’s thick fingers. The palm of his hand hits your swollen clit perfectly every time he moves his fingers in you, and you rest your head on Mike’s shoulder.

“You know, you act all innocent, but you’re not really a good girl, are you?” Mike grunts in your ear. He adds a third finger and your legs clench around his hand from the stimulation. Your hand has now ventured inside his sweats and boxers, and you pull his dick out from the confines of his clothes. His cock is so hard, with pre cum steadily leaking from the tip. You spit in your hand and then bring it back to his dick, stroking him from the base to the tip. You massage his tip with your thumb and Mike lets out a whine.

“Y-you know what I think? I think you’re a- fuck, I think you’re a slut whose finally getting the attention she needs.” Mike grits out, and with his fingers curling in and out of you reaching a spot your own fingers have never been able to reach, you think you’d agree to anything he says.

“Mike, I think I’m gonna-” You start to say, your legs shaking from your oncoming orgasm. But as soon as the words leave your lips, Mike removes his fingers from you.

“I wanna feel you cum around me, okay? Can you do that?” Mike says softly, and you eagerly agree. With your panties pulled to the side, Mike teases you with his dick, rubbing it up and down your pussy. He catches it on your clit every so often, making you jolt. Mike’s cock is glistening with a mix of your wetness and his own, and you decided to take matters into your own hands, grabbing Mike’s dick and guiding it into your pussy. You both moan out simultaneously, and the feeling of being full again makes you throw your head back in ecstasy.

Mike lifts you up, so the tip of his cock is barely in you, before slamming you back down onto him. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, and you watch as the muscles in Mike’s arms flex everytime he lifts you up and slams you back down. His cock is reaching so deep, and being high only makes it feel that much better.

“Fuck, your pussy is fucking perfect.” Mike whines, and he drops his head, letting some of his spit dribble down to where the two of you are connected. Mike brings his hand down to your puffy clit, rubbing fast circles. You let out a sob, lacing your hands through Mike’s hair and pulling him towards you to kiss him. Your moans are muffled into the kiss, and Mike slaps your ass, making you cry out.

“C’mon, baby. You wanna be a good girl? Then cum for me.” Mike says, rubbing your clit faster and fucking up into you harder. Your cunt spasms around Mike as you cum, your legs shaking and for a second you swear you can’t feel anything except for the sheer euphoria making it’s way through your body. You drop your head on Mike’s chest as he cums inside you, and his grip on your hips is so tight it would hurt if you weren’t so fucked out right now.

Mike’s soft voice is what coaxes you out of your bliss, and with his fingers running through your hair you think you could fall asleep right here on his lap with him inside of you.

“Hey, you’re okay. You were so good, baby, but I need to get you cleaned up.” Mike says sweetly in your ear, and you slowly nod your head. You let Mike take you off of his lap and place you onto the couch, his release running down your legs. You watch as Mike tucks himself back into his pants and walks down the hallway towards the bathroom. You suddenly hear your cell phone ringing, and you reach down from the couch to fish it out of the pocket of your jeans on the floor.

“Hello?” You say in your dazed state.

“Y/n? Did you get the weed? You were supposed to be back like an hour ago?” You hear Sara say on the other line, her tone laced with worry.

“Um, yeah. I got the weed.” You say, deciding that for now, you should probably keep it a secret from your best friend that you fucked her dealer.

taglist: @slutf0rmilfs, @angie-likes-to-art

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