#Me and Micheal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diedoverahat · 6 months

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Can you please please please write a smut FIC where reader and Mike is on the Night Shift and we end up thigh ridinggg!!!!

- ps we call him Mikey 😭😭😭

Body Language

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pairing: mike schmidt x afab!reader

word count: ofc it's 1.9k+

warnings: nsfw 18+

authors note: hi anon! thanks so much for the ask, i had so much fun writing it! hope you love it! mwah <333

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“About time you finally show up.”

Were the first words Mike heard as soon as he walked into the security office of Freddy’s. He sighed loudly, shrugging his rain coat off to hang it on the back of the door.

"Don't start," he said gruffly.

Mike turned to face you, your body leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over your chest. You had a smug smile on your face. "I was starting to think you got too scared to come back."

Mike scoffed. "Don't get too excited," He deadpans. "I just had some trouble with the babysitter.”

You don't respond, only following him with your eyes as he walks over and sits down in the one office chair in-front of the monitors. Mike can tell you've been here for a while now, if the half-drunken water bottle and empty protein bar wrapper sitting on the desk is anything to go by.

He only just starts flipping through the different channels when you speak up again. "You're in my seat."

He doesn't look up from the screen when he replies. "You weren't sitting in it."

You scoff loudly, he can hear you push off the wall. The sound of your footsteps getting closer and closer as you walk toward him. "I was sitting in it for thirty minutes before you even got here."

"You sound like a child," He replies, swiveling around to face you. Your body is close enough to slightly loom over his seated form. "Just go get another chair from the dining room."

"No, I was here first. The comfy chair is mine," You press. "You go get a chair."

"Comfy chair" was definitely a stretch, the office chair was only slightly better than the dining chairs.

Mike stares at you for a moment before swiveling back to the monitors. "No." He says, completely dismissing you.

It's quiet for a moment, before you let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine." You state, with a small shrug before shoving between Mike and the desk and unceremoniously plopping down in his lap.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Mike asks loudly, raising his hands up to avoid touching you. You've already gone back to work, idly flipping through the monitors like this is normal.

"You won't move, so you have to share." You say simply.

Mike stares daggers at your back, slowly placing his hands on either side of the chairs arm rests. "You're crazy." He mutters, but the last thing he's going to do is get up and let you win this weird ass game you've decided to challenge him to.

He tries his best to ignore you, he really does, but after a while he can feel his heart start to beat ever so slightly faster. Mike's not proud enough to admit that you're definitely attractive. He'd always thought that, even though you drive him crazy 90% of the time. You have a gorgeous face, and an amazing figure. Of course he would never tell you any of this, you would never let him hear the end of it.

So he doesn't, but on his lonelier nights, he lets his mind run rampant with visions of you on your knees, mouth open and waiting for his release. Or you on all fours, moans pouring out of your mouth uncontrollably as he thrusts in and out of your dripping cunt, hitting the spot inside you that makes you light up like a Christmas tree. Or you on your back, hands gripping his hair so tightly because you can't handle how good his mouth feels sucking on your clit.

Those nights are becoming more and more frequent these days, and he can never refrain from shoving his hand down his sleep shorts and fisting his hand over his hard cock furiously until he ruins his boxers.

Mike's brought back from his thoughts running rampant in his head by the mortifying realization that currently, with you mere inches away from his crotch, he's hard as a rock. It's not helping that all he can see is your silhouette directly sitting in front of him. Your curves fully on display, in your form fitting shirt and tight jeans. He can't help the way his eyes scan down your body. Greedily raking from your shoulders to your waist that tapers down to the swell of your ass sitting pretty inches away from his growing bulge.

Worst of all, you just won't stop fidgeting. Tiny, unconscious movements that jostle Mike just enough to make him feel his dick scrape against the zipper of his jeans. All he can do is stare, sweating bullets basically white-knuckling the chair in order to stay still, scared to even breathe too deeply.

Then it all goes to shit in a matter of seconds. You knock the water bottle off the desk trying to switch monitors, and when you go to pick it up you scoot back just the tiniest bit, but it's enough to grind your ass directly over his dick.

Immediately Mike has his hands tight around your hips, jerking you back up into a sitting position as quickly as he can. His whole body going rigid against the chair in embarrassment, eyes wide and mortified.

You're still too, back sitting up straight as a board. He's waiting for you to say something, to laugh at him, but you're silent. There's an apology on the tip of his tongue, when suddenly you push the chair out from the desk, sending you and Mike flying backwards. In a flash, you flip to face him sitting directly over his thigh. Slotting your knee between his legs and the chair.

Your pupils are blown, eyes swallowed almost entirely by black. "How long?" You ask, softly. It takes Mike a second for your words to break through the fog clouding his brain, but he's just confused. He tilts his head to this side in question, not trusting his voice to sound anything but fucked.

"How long were you sitting here with this," You specify what you're saying by pushing your knee more firmly against his hard dick, making Mike's hands spasm on your hips and choke out a soft whine. "Before you planned on doing anything with it?"

Mike can do nothing but blink up at you slowly. You look almost predatory, staring at him so fiercely he swears you can see his soul. You still haven't moved, he can feel the warmth radiating between your legs against his thigh. His hands jerk almost unconsciously, trying to get you to grind forward. You smile, looking down at your position splayed over his lap and back up to his face.

"What do you want?" You ask sweetly. "Do you want me to move, Mikey?"

Your words hit him like a truck, he moans loudly, nodding his head frantically. "Yeah? You want me to move?" You ask again, tipping into his personal space, hands flat on his chest. You lean forward, breath puffing out over his ear.

"Move me then." You hiss, directly into his ear.

Mike lets out a guttural groan, eyes snapping shut tightly. He wants to, so badly but he just can't.

"Come on Mikey," You goad, your eyes glassy. "Move me."

Mike opens his eyes, looking down at his grip on your hips. Ever so slightly, he shifts you forward. Your eyes flutter closed, lips parting to let out a small moan. Turns out that's all the encouragement Mike needs. He grinds you backward before roughly dragging you forward again. It's absolutely lewd.

"Fuck, Mike." You say breathlessly, chin dropping down to your chest, going completely pliable in his hands letting him move you. He can only stare incredulously at you, beyond shocked that this is really happening. He's waiting to jolt awake home alone in bed with a soiled pair of boxers at any moment.

But he doesn't, you're actually here. Sitting on his lap grinding a wet patch into his jeans. Mike hardly knows what to do with himself. Your body is warm between his hands, alive in ways he never thought to be possible. "Jesus," He whispers to himself, sweat dripping down his brow. “Fuck…!” Mike grits out, wrenching his head up to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t look”

He feels you falter the slightest bit, hips slowing down a fraction. “Why not?” You ask softly, a hint of insecurity puncturing your tough exterior.

“It’s too much,” Mike admits breathlessly, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I can’t look or I’ll come in my pants.”

You let out a small shocked laugh, but it’s quickly drowned out by another moan. Your body trembles with pleasure. "Shit, faster…go faster," You mutter, taking it upon yourself to speed things up. Hips moving frantically on his thigh. Your knee is still slotted tightly to his now aching cock, he can feel every move you make. The friction feels amazing, it's taking everything in him not to hump up against your leg like a horny dog. The heat from your body feels scalding.

The absolute vision you make sends Mike's nerves quivering. He needs more. He brings his hands up to your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb gingerly. Your eyes open, looking back at him, not ceasing your movements.

"Can I?" He pants, hoping to god you understand what he's asking. It takes you a second, but eventually you nod. He tips forward and seals your lips with his. His fingers sliding into your hair to hold your head in place as he kisses you.

He takes control of the kiss, tongue brushing against your bottom lip. You part your lips willingly for him, letting his tongue explore your mouth. He greedily swallows your moans, groaning all the while.

You break the kiss first, only a string of saliva connects your lips before breaking under the pressure of gravity. Your lips are swollen and red, glossy from kissing.

“Oh god…” Your whimpers ghost over his lips, forehead resting on his. “Oh, god, Mikey…”

“Yeah,” Mike replies, voice deep and scratchy from lack of use, he rolls his hips up the tiniest bit. “Yeah that’s it…Fuck you look so pretty, so pretty for me.”

You nod, hips moving even faster than before, losing the rhythm you’d built up. Your hands fumble down to furiously unzip his hoodie, tearing the zipper down to reveal his plain white tank top underneath. Your hands greedily rake down his chest, nails brushing over his nipples making him whimper out moan.

“Fuck Fuck Fuck, Mike,” You whine, grip tightening into the meat of his chest. He can tell your close without you even saying it.

“Fuck yes, come, come on my thigh.” Mike begs, gripping your hips so tightly it could border on painful.

“Shit! Mikey, I’m gonna come,” Your eyes are screwed shut, sweat making your hair stick to your face.

“Do it.” He pleads, not taking his eyes off your face.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Mike can feel your nails digging crescent moons in his chest as you careen over the edge. Hips stuttering as you ride out your orgasm, he can almost feel the way your pussy trembles as you work yourself through the aftershocks, cut off little moans forcing their way out of your mouth. Your body finally gives out, tipping forward to lean on his chest, wet breaths puffing against his neck.

Mike follows suit, eyes dropping closed as he unloads into his boxer shorts making a second wet patch seep into his jeans. Hips twitching up every other second. He moans loudly into your hair, trying and failing to muffle his noises.

When you both come back down, it’s silent for a few moments as you both wrack your brains for what to say. As always, you’re the first one to speak up.

“So…” You say between panting breaths, he can feel you start to smile against his neck. “Same time tomorrow?”

Mike chuckles up at the ceiling, pinching your waist lightly.

“Fuck off.”

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taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @mfdxz

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