Damn, What A Difficult Decision

Damn, what a difficult decision

At last. Make more fanfic with a male reader, please.

U Malatu - Mike Schmidt x M! Reader

Summary: Mike gets a call back on the ad he had sent out for a new babysitter for Abby. While they were interested in the job, Mike was more than interested in them.

Warnings: NSFW content (masturbation), and mentions of murder.

Word Count: 1.55K

Notes: Consider this a gift for the gay Mike simps!!

-

Mike had expected nothing of it, really. He had paid a newspaper company a few dollars to display ads for a babysitter in their daily papers; a last ditch attempt before starting his new job at a local pizzeria. He was working the night shifts, and with his office being in the middle of a highly dangerous, abandoned building, he hesitated in bringing his little sister along. Abby was only ten years old– who knows what she would get into?

So, when his phone rang with a call from an unknown number, Mike immediately answered, “Hello?”

Radio silence from the other end. His mother always had warned him about spam. 

His finger hovered over a red button, ready to end the call, when a noise froze any movement, “Um… are you Mike Schmidt?”

“Yeah, this is him.”

The caller cleared their throat, “Okay, so, I’m calling about a babysitting ad I saw at a local diner; I’m interested. Is it possible for us to meet there to discuss details?”

“Woah, hold on. What’s your name?” Mike questioned, folding his jacket over a chair.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll meet you outside of Sparky’s at four o’clock. I’m looking forward to it!”

“Wait–” That was the only thing he could respond with before the line cut out, and his home screen went back to normal.

Suspicious. Maybe he should have gone a different route than dropping the opportunity of watching over a vulnerable child into just anyone’s hands, but it was too late to turn back now. Sparky’s was a public place, at least, so this person would not be able to hurt Mike without getting caught. If he got any weird feelings from them, he’d immediately call it off and go home. 

Mike glanced at the oven clock, ticking away at time like it was nothing. Currently, it was only three, and the drive to the popular diner was only fifteen minutes away. Well, shit. He was too desperate to pass this up, not with the court constantly watching his back. Mike groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, dreading his first shift already.

He ended up needing that extra time to get Abby comfortable enough for him to leave, and oh, how stubborn she was. Mike had to carry her over his shoulder just to get her into her bedroom, where she had plenty of sensory toys and items to occupy herself with. Additionally, Mike had put extra care into making sure she had the opposite too, such as noise canceling headphones in case the neighbor decided to mow his lawn again. The last time he saw her, she was huddled up on her desk again, using crayons to draw scribbly pictures of her imaginary friends. Yeah, imaginary. They weren’t real, as much as Abby claimed they were.

By the time he had gotten in the car, started it, and driven to Sparky’s, he was five minutes late. Yet, from his windshield, he could see a man in a quirky uniform sitting outside the main doors. Mike couldn’t see the details of the stranger– he needed to get his eyes checked– but he witnessed them flinch at the sound of his car door slamming. As he approached, the man jumped up with a sparkle in their eye, and held out a hand.

“Mike Schmidt?”

He didn’t shake it, causing the hand to fall awkwardly to your side, “Yeah.”

“Uh, anyways, I saw your ad. The diner hands out a paper full of ads with their menus, you see, and yours caught my eye.”

“You mentioned that.”

The man had a lopsided grin on his face, and you chuckled; the sound sent a spark up Mike’s spine, “Yes, yes I did. I make decent money, but I’m also looking for a bit of a side job too. Babysitting was on the top of my list, ‘cause I love kids.”

“Do you have any actual experience with it?”

“I was a babysitter for my first job in highschool,” he rambled, “my favorite kid was a little boy from a local daycare. His mom said he got diagnosed with autism and she needed extra help taking care of him during the evenings. He was a delight!”

“Why did you stop?”

“Ah, it’s a shame. Fritz, the little guy, was one of the kids that went missing at a pizzeria a while back. His mom was never the same after that, and I felt guilty that I wasn’t there.” You shuffled closer to the doors, shoulders tense.

“A pizzeria?”

You shrugged, “It got shut down soon after that. I guess when a couple of kids disappear into thin air in a restaurant, parents aren’t keen on bringing their children there anymore.”

Mike opened his mouth, ready to ask another question, but you stopped him, “Listen, I gotta go, this was my break. You have my number, right?”

He nodded, and you replied with your pinky and thumb sticking out of a fist, held to your ear. Mike watched as you disappeared into the diner, curiosity and another, more unknown feeling creeping up his chest. He remembered it so well, looking back on it.

-

Nowadays, Abby loves you. Mike could lean on the doorway, and a smile would tug on the corners of his lips as he watched you make shapes with your hands. A light was set in her room specifically for this purpose, as the shadows cast would mimic whole storylines. His little sister would view it in glee; the tales always accompanied by voice acting, your doing. Mike even started, in the back of his mind, to prefer the idea of spending the night like that instead of in front of a collection of security cameras. He observed your hands, how your body moved, your face, and more embarrassingly, your lips.

Mike studied how gentle and sickeningly sweet your voice was when you praised Abby, but also the stern expression that played in your eyes when she misbehaved. You would glance up at him sometimes, the manner still stained, and a heady feeling would slam into his brain. The experience always only lasted a few seconds, when his little sister would grumble again, and you were pulled back towards her. Frankly, there were times when Mike wished you would continue, though he’d never admit it. He pushed it down with everything else.

Alas, that can only work for so long– a man has needs. Those needs surface at the worst possible time, and for Mike, that was on his endless night shift at the pizzeria. He cursed under his breath, feeling his dick straining against his jeans. The feeling of your hand manhandling him out of his own front door was imprinted on his shoulder, even if his uniform vest covered it. Just thinking about it sent a shiver down his spine, and he closed his eyes as his eyebrows scrunched together.

“F-fuck.” He whispered. 

His seat shook as Mike shifted in it, fidgeting, unable to focus on the bright screens on his desk. The more he tried ignoring it, the more depraved thoughts infected his head. A finger trailed up the seam of his pants, his breath hitching, where it finally landed on the button holding it all together. Mike bit his lip and unbuttoned it, a whine escaping him as he palmed himself. 

He imagined it was you that was doing it, your strong palm cupping his crotch as easily as you did a mug at home. He snaked fingers into his boxers, sliding himself out of the top, and rested his forehead against the wood under the cameras. His dick twitched at the movement, and he brushed against the tip. Mike huffed as he slid his hand down, and then up, repeating; spreading precum as it came out. What else could you do with that strength?

Could you manhandle him on his hands and knees? You could, he knew, and you would trail your hands down his body. So very gentle, so very kind, for what you were about to do. You could hold his hips still to prevent him from thrusting up into your hand, as he whimpered in complaint. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he felt the stickiness grow in his hand; you could call him the most pathetic things and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. A pet, a slut, a little whore.

Mike let out a quiet moan, “Please…”

He’d face away from you as you thrust your own against his cock, not even earning the privilege to look at you. You would treat him as only a toy to use, whenever, and however you wanted. His ass would be red from how hard your skin slapped against his; the sting only sending down zaps of pleasure. You wouldn’t even bother taking off your own clothes, only his. 

“That’s it, that’s a good boy,” you’d grunt.

That same heady feeling slammed into Mike again, but this time was different– this time it was accompanied by a white flash in front of his eyes. His body seized upwards, drool smearing against the desktop. The guard felt warmth drip down his palm, onto his pants and the floor. For the first time in what felt like forever, he let out a deep, shaky breath. 

The stain was going to be hard to explain.

-

The gods

Por favor, hagan más contenido sobre Male_07 y Male_09, literalmente son los patriarcas de Skibidi Toilet, maldita sea, están muy subestimados.

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In fact, a friend blocked me after I told him that I was a fan of Skibidi Toilet, but the good thing is that another friend reacted in surprise because he has an interest in Tv woman lol

Showed someone else skibidi toilet. I need to be put down like a dog.

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