I Cant Let This Thought Go And Want To Request This To All My Fav Mike Schmidt X Reader Fic Writers But

i can’t let this thought go and want to request this to all my fav mike schmidt x reader fic writers but i LOVEEE the idea of reader standing and mike wrapping his arms around their torso while he’s sitting and leaning his face into their stomach—— AAAAHHHH im going insane.

flew too close to the sun on this one im compromised

i NEED a thirst of mike walking in on shy!innocent! reader trying to get off and she gets so embarrassed when he catches her and he teases her while helping her!!

there's about another hour before you're required to peel yourself from the wrinkly warmth of mike's unmade bed and wake the slumbering girl down the hallway up for school. the red of the alarm clock's numbers cast an eerie glow over the tangled sheets, and you use the dim lighting to find the knotted ties of your joggers. once you wriggle your fingers underneath the band without the worry of a constricted wrist, you nearly fumble with the cotton hem of your panties, until your fingers are able to find the dewy slick that clings at your tired pussy.

with goodnight kisses smeared against your temple, mike had draped his body over yours the night prior, chest sticky against your back. hot breath in your ear, pelvis clapping against your bottom as he bottomed out with each forced thrust inside your cunt. promises of the next morning were fleeting when he scrambled to get dressed, already running out of the bedroom with unbuttoned jeans, and with his spend oozing lazily out of you.

you're quickly reminded with the sticky remnants that coat your fingertips, and with a breathy groan you use the lubricant as means to reveal your clit. you rub heavy-handed circles against the aching nerves, sometimes delving down between slick folds to gather more semen.

your chest heaves from the mattress when the fingers find a permanent spot against your hole, one digit first to ease the rigid muscles into their practiced, relaxed state, and then two when the pressure against your g-spot isn't satisfactory.

your palm is flat against your mound, fingers messily scissoring against your gummy walls, rubbing against sensitive zones until your toes are curling into the navy blue sheets.

"oh mike," you trill in a breathy moan, grinding down against the slight application of pressure that the heel of your hand provides against your clit, other hand creeping up to twist at a clothed nipple.

your fingers squelch inside your cunt as they move faster, messy in their uncoordinated thrusting, and your thighs nearly clamp down over your hand when a throaty chuckle echoes from the doorway. "g'morning, baby."

your mouth goes desert-dry, but the thought of removing your hand from between your thighs isn't present. "hi.."

mike makes sure to keep his footsteps quiet as he glides over, discarding his uniform first, and then pulling at his belt. "you okay, over there?"

you lick over your lips, jaw clenching as you slowly creep your hand away from your cunt, a trail of moisture slicking across your abdomen. "um.. yeah?"

"couldn't wait for me, could you?" he taunts, climbing onto the bed until he's looming over you, weight braced with two sturdy arms bracketing your midriff.

he leans in for a kiss, which you reciprocate with warbling lips, gasping onto his tongue when he sinks his teeth into your lower lip. "didn't know what time it was." you fib.

"6:25, babe," course fingertips ghost over the wet mess between your thighs before he finds your clit, applying a delicate pressure. "but that's alright, i know you couldn't do it without me." another kiss. "i'll help you, now."

i always thought this scene where maeve walks around in her transparent shirt after going for a swim so hot and aspirational lmaooo this just feeds into my fantasy 😼😼

It's Flawless, Really Something

Roy Kent x Teacher!Reader

Warnings: Language, flirting, a pervy parent, non-academic activities in the classroom

2.6k words

Teach Me Tonight Masterlist

“Did you save me that biscuit?”

Roy Kent leaned forward, hands on the plastic table, and smiled at you. His eyes were bright, and his black leather jacket hugged him deliciously; he was perfect, you thought. Stupidly, ridiculously, wonderfully perfect.

“Only if you’ve got exact change,” you managed to joke, holding out your outstretched hand.

Roy looked surprised at your teasing reply. Surprised, but also pleased. After your talk with Leanne, you’d made the terrifying decision that you were going to flirt with Roy Kent. You liked him, you knew that much. He clearly liked you, at least a little. And if he was ever going to ask him out, he, like any other man, needed a little encouragement.

With a content chuckle, the coach reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of quid, definitely more than the cost of one chocolate chip cookie. He pressed the money into your hand, curling your fingers into a fist as his warm grip lingered.

Despite your immediately wavering bravery, you held his gaze, not caring that he could probably see the way you gulped at his touch. “That’s a little too much, Coach,” you hummed.

“Consider the rest a tip,” he answered, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go. “For exemplary service.” He tilted his head at you. “How long’re you here for? Do they let you take a break, or do I need to call the union?”

“Maybe another half hour and then I’m pretty much done.” You smiled, not caring that there were students, and parents, and other teachers flittering around. “Why? You want to buy me a lemonade or something?”

He shrugged and picked up a chocolate chip cookie. “Or something,” he echoed with a wink. “Have fun.”

You watched unabashedly as he walked away, to where his sister and Phoebe were waiting for him. He handed the cookie to a bouncy Phoebe, while his sister waggled her eyebrows at him. Roy gave his sister a shove before glancing back at you, his smile widening when he caught you staring.

As you were wondering whether Leanne would kill you if you left her alone, Mrs. Seling rushed over mischief all over her face.

“Teresa’s dog got sick,” she said in place of a greeting. “We need someone in the dunk tank, just for twenty minutes until it’s Mrs. Halpern’s turn. Can you do it?”

Shit. The damn dunk tank. Every year, teachers brokered deals and offered bribes to avoid having a shift on the stupid thing, treating it like the torture chamber it was. The water was gross and weirdly warm. The air was freezing cold when you were soaked. Students lined up in droves to try to dunk their teacher into the water, and, worse, dads lined up to see the results.

Of course, Lee chose that moment to absolutely betray you and busy herself with selling brownies to a student’s grandmother, leaving you only able to smile weakly at Karen and mumble, “I guess.”

So, there you sat, hating the fact that you’d chosen today to wear a light-colored shirt to go with your jeans, but thankful for the fact that your students had terrible aim. Phoebe O’Sullivan stood among the gaggle of children who were desperate to see you fall into the tub of water that you tried not to think too hard about; her uncle stood not far, eyebrows raised in amusement, trying not to think too hard about how you’d look once you got dunked.

Normally, Roy thought of you as cute, pretty, adorable. An absolute distraction. But the thought of you in a soaked shirt, material clinging to your body… fuck, he needed to get his thoughts under control. After all, he hadn’t asked you out yet, hadn’t kissed you yet. But fucking hell, his mind was racing as he tried not to turn into a teenage boy with fantasies of a beautiful teacher in a wet t-shirt.

“Uncle Roy, you should try!”

Phoebe’s little voice dragged him out of his increasingly adult thoughts. “Hmm?” He stared at the ball in his niece’s outstretched hand, quickly comprehending what she’d just said. “Oh. Sure.”

He stepped up after watching one of Phoebe’s classmates throw a very wild pitch. Your eyes found his, carrying a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. He knew he could hit that stupid red target; he was a retired athlete, after all. A flick of his wrist, and you’d be soaked from head to toe.

But he saw the way Jack Price’s dad was leering at you, the way that fucker always did when his wife wasn’t around. And he felt that tightness in his chest again, the tightness he’d had that day at the zoo when he watched that skeeze put his hand on your shoulder. No way was Roy going to let slime see his personal fantasy.

Besides, you’d probably appreciate Roy not dunking you, right? It’d be rather gentlemanly. And you seemed like the type that wanted a gentleman. And Roy wanted to be what you wanted.

So, he gently tossed the ball, shrugging at you when it hit the backboard instead of the target.

“Thank you,” you mouthed, warming away that tightness in his chest. The relief and gratitude on your face was worth looking like he couldn’t throw a damn ball, as well as the fifty pence the ball had cost.

As he pondered how he could leverage his chivalrous gesture to finally ask you on a date, someone tapped his shoulder.

Jack Price’s dad smiled at him, that stupid, sharkish smile, tossing a ball up and down. “Guess you’re not as good at pitching as kicking, hmm?” he joked, as if they were the kind of people who joked with each other. “Watch and learn.”

Your gasp was sharp as you felt the bench disappear from under you and were instantly underwater. Dammit. You’d almost made it the full twenty minutes dry as a bone. Fucking Mr. Price and his fucking cricket hobby. You came back up rapidly, cheeks burning as the kids cheered on the sight of seeing their beloved teacher soaked.

To add insult to injury, Mrs. Halpern stood beside the dunk tank, ready to take your place. You clambered out of the dunk tank, shivering in the approaching evening air. All you wanted to do now was go home, shower, and put on your warmest pajamas. Never mind letting Roy Kent buy you a lemonade. You were cold, wet, and, admittedly, a little embarrassed by the way your shirt clung to your skin.

But you grabbed your things and put on that fake smile for your students who giggled over your misfortune and tried to make a speedy exit. Unfortunately, Mr. Price slowed down your plans.

“No hard feelings, right?” he hummed, eyes everywhere but your face. “It’s for a good cause, after all.”

Instinctively, you crossed your arms, attempting to hide as much as you could. “Of course,” you murmured, making a pathetic attempt to sidestep him.

He blocked your path, eyeing your figure. “Need help with those wet clothes?” he whispered as his hand landed on your shoulder, the way it had at the zoo.

“Oi.”

As you shrugged off Mr. Price’s hand, Roy Kent approached, peeling off his leather jacket. “You must be fucking cold,” he mumbled. Pointedly ignoring Jack’s dad, he wrapped the jacket around your shoulders. “How about that lemonade?”

“Thanks,” you sighed as Mr. Price scampered away. “But I should probably head home. Need a shower after being in that thing.” As you spoke, you did your best to ignore the feeling of Roy Kent’s jacket hugging you, enveloping you in the scent of whatever wonderful cologne he was wearing, a cologne he’d picked out in the hopes of bumping into you today.

“Sorry the jacket’s not more comfortable,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “But you can just give it back to me Monday. Keep you warm on your way home.”

You shook your head. “I have a sweatshirt in my classroom. I can just throw that on.” Seeing the slight disappointment in his brown eyes, you swayed forward slightly, batting your eyes at him- something you weren’t sure you’d ever done. “Walk me to my classroom?”

There was that smile. That fucking smile, the one that was bright enough to make you forget Roy Kent’s infamous rage, the perfect smile you wanted to kiss right off his bearded face. He kept on smiling as the two of you slipped away from the fall festival.

He liked seeing you in his jacket. It was just big enough to look cozy wrapped around your shoulders, and he cherished the way you tugged it tightly around yourself. Admittedly, he was a big jealous of the way his jacket got to be wrapped around you. He wondered if it would smell like you when he got it back; probably like the dunk tank water, unfortunately. Maybe he could offer it to you again sometime. Maybe even after a date.

You quickly unlocked your classroom and led Roy in, trying not to flinch when you heard the door close, silencing the already distant sounds of the festival. Neither of you bothered with the lights, instead letting the last of the sun softly illuminate the classroom. Roy followed you to your desk, wondering if you wanted him to leave or stay, and hoping beyond hope that it was the latter.

“Oh, here.” You slipped off his jacket and handed it to him. “Thanks again, Coach. Very chivalrous of you.” Your smile was probably the most confident he’d seen, playful and teasing. It was probably his favorite smile.

“Any fucking time,” he breathed. He was fighting so fucking hard not to stare at you. He knew he wasn’t a married dad like Mr. Price or the others, and he was pretty sure you liked the way he stared at you- but still. He didn’t want to be grouped with them, a creep who ogled you like a piece of meat.

But fuck, you were making it hard. That shirt clung to you like it wanted you even more than Roy did, flaunting the body you usually covered with cute dresses and jean jackets- a body Roy really liked. You pulled your dripping hair up in a clip you found on your desk, exposing a neck that Roy was sure would look great with a few marks on it. And you gazed up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, as if you were going to ask him a question.

He cleared his throat. “You headin’ home after you grab your sweater?”

You nodded absently. “Probably.” You took a tiny step back, hitting the edge of your desk. “You sticking around?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m with, uh, my sister and Pheebs.” Despite his best efforts, his eyes wandered. Fuck. “Sorry,” he muttered, wincing when he realized how obvious it was; he might as well be drooling.

You cocked your head at him. “For what?”

He shook his head, ears burning with shame and, if he was being really honest, desire. “For fucking…. Staring.” He made himself look you in the eye, which was somehow worse. “’m sorry.”

To his surprise, you smiled. “Don’t be. I… I like it when you stare.”

“Do you?” His voice was quiet, as if he thought being any louder would scare you off. “Why?”

You shrugged and hopped up onto your desk. “Because it’s you,” you said simply. Feeling dizzy from the way Roy looked at you, you reached out and touched his hand, grazing his skin with the tip of your finger. “You’re… you’re the kind of guy a girl likes to have staring.”

There it was. Since the first day of school, when he saw you in your little white sneakers and jean jacket, he’d been waiting for a clear sign that you were just as infatuated as he felt. And now, in your dark classroom, with your eyebrows raised and your hand on his and your lip caught between your teeth, Roy finally had his fucking sign.

He took a step forward and settled himself between your knees. Watching you carefully, he put his hands on your waist, digging his fingers into the soaking material of your shirt. You tilted your face towards him, finally giving him permission to do the one thing he’d been desperate to do since the moment you met.

Your lips were soft, even softer than Roy had let himself imagine. He had often wondered what kind of ChapStick he watched you apply on warm afternoons; cherry, he realized. Fucking cherry. For the rest of his life, he knew, whenever he tasted cherry, he’d be thrown back to this moment, kissing the pretty teacher in her classroom, amazed that someone so sweet would kiss someone so fucking miserable.

And kiss him you did. You brought your hands to the back of his head, pressing your chest flush against his. His hands fisted at your shirt, tugging it up a little so his fingertips could brush over your soft skin, still wet from the dunk tank, but quickly heating up as you deepened the kiss. Roy let you take the lead; he waited until your lips parted to open his own mouth, and your tongue was the first one to tentatively flick against his.  

He groaned softly into your mouth and let one hand cup your face, thumb caressing your heated cheek. He could get used to this, Roy thought. Used to your cherry-flavored kisses and hands in his hair and body pressed against his, and used to your sweet smiles and shy giggles and bright eyes. He wondered briefly what other things he could look forward to getting used to.

“We,” you huffed into the kiss. “We should go before-” Your breath hitched as Roy’s mouth wandered to your jaw. “-before someone sees us.”

He sighed against your skin. You were right. Roy knew you were fucking right. This was a school. You were in your classroom. As exciting and tempting as it was to keep going, he needed to respect that. After harshly pressing his lips to yours one more time, he pulled back.

“Let me take you out,” he all but begged. “On a fucking proper date.”

Your smile was brilliant. “That would be lovely, Coach.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, the hand on your waist giving you a gentle squeeze. “I think you can call me Roy now.”

“Right.” You giggled, that adorable bashfulness returning, somehow even more endearing now. “That would be lovely, Roy.”

Fucking hell, his name sounded good coming out of your mouth. It sounded so good he couldn’t help pulling you in for another kiss, a slow, tender one.

“Any chance you’re free tonight?” he breathed.

You nodded. “I just need to go home. Shower away the dunk tank.”

Roy did his best not to let his mind wander to that shower. “Right. Right.” He cleared his throat. “And I’ve got to drop my sister and Phoebe at home. Think I could come around at eight?” He kissed your jaw. “We could go get a drink. I can stare at you some more.”

“Sounds perfect.” With a teasing shove to Roy’s chest, you hopped down from the desk and grabbed your sweatshirt from where it hung over your chair, quickly pulling it over your head.

The two of you ambled out of the classroom wearing matching grins and blushes. It was a good thing your classroom was clear across campus from the festival, because it was painfully obvious that the two of you had just been pawing at each other.

“Be ready at eight,” Roy hummed, intertwining his fingers with yours. “And get ready to be stared at all night.”

“Looking forward to it.” You leaned forward and kissed his lips quickly. “See you in a bit, Coach.”

Roy growled at you, a playful, sexy sound.

Your laugh warmed his chest. “Roy,” you corrected as you squeezed his hand. “See you in a bit Roy.”

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I personally think we need more scenes of Will Byers pacing and going on a little rampage and bitching about stuff

Let him speak his mind pls!!

suggestive ahead !

basorexia. mike schmidt

mike always chases after your lips when you pull away from him after long minutes of making out, lips plump and swollen looking for yours. mike who will never, and i mean ever, pull away first, not caring if the air from his lungs disappears, not caring if he chokes and coughs and turns red. he’d gladly let the air drain out if it meant staying attached to your lips forever.

his clinginess only accentuated as your relationship went on, makeout sessions ensuing daily, the second his hand sneaked around your waist to pull you in. it often went on longer than it should, meaning you frequently arrived late at work or dropped abby off to school a few good minutes after closing, having to discuss with her teacher and make up dumb excuses.

mike was notorious for losing sleep. it was no unusual thing to see him walking around the house with eyebags under his beautiful brown eyes that threatened to close at any second. but if one night, as you both lay on the couch watching tv, kissing ensued? he’s set on spending hours in your arms, kissing every inch of skin on your face, neck and chest, often trailing them down your figure and down between your legs.

“mikey..” you whisper shakily before his lips attack yours again like he’s a man starved. with each press of his lips, he spilt his affections into your mouth, marking his love into your skin and mouth, leaving it in the form of a sweet flavour for your tongue to taste. he doesn’t respond, humming softly against you as he deepens the kiss.

“mike” you changed your tone, barely escaping him. no use. it was as if his mind abandoned his body, leaving it on autopilot to do what it does best: worshipping you. you couldn’t lie and say you wanted to pull away. you understood him completely, it was quite addicting. however, it was pretty hard to concentrate on him as your lungs gave out. you tap his shoulder repeatedly, making him pull away with half-lidded eyes.

“you okay?” his eyes bore into yours, soft and staggered breaths spilling away from his spit-covered lips. his curls fell lazily on his head, stubble growing on his face and coffee-coloured orbs checking you out shamelessly, going over your lips again and again. you decide to close your eyes, trying to catch your breath. you knew you had no chance of doing so if you continued to stare at the man before you.

“yeah.. just.. can’t breathe” you let out a tired sigh as mike chuckles, a low chuckle that makes your skin tingle. his hands find their way under your clothes, under the hoodie you had yet again stolen from him (not that he complained), the cold of his fingers clashing with your hot skin. he counters that by pressing more warm, loving kisses to your neck and jaw, not wanting to pull away.

“have you eaten today?” your own stomach rumbles signalise you to stare at the clock. 10:35 pm. mike doesn’t reply, only humming dismissively before your hand goes to his back, caressing it. “has abby?”

“mm.. don’t think so.. says she doesn’t want to” he clarifies between kisses as you sigh, shutting your eyes. you knew with everything going on, as much as mike loved his sister it was hard for him to keep pressing her to eat. you were determined to take on that role, palms slowly pushing him away so he faced you. disappointment lies in his features.

“i think…” your hands soften his shirt, fingers stopping to graze the skin of his neck “we should order a pizza” you give him a small smile, earning another in return as his fingers tap the sides of your waist.

“sure” and he’s back on your lips again, pushing his tongue into your mouth and tasting it like he hadn’t done it in weeks. it was hard to have him pull away, after all, he was the one on top of you, not the other way around. his grip on your waist tightens as he feels the touch of your hands on his shoulders.

“mike, the pizza isn’t gonna order itself” and there goes the look of disappointment, once again. there were two things you couldn’t pry mike away from: his sister, whom he always strived to provide for and keep by his side and now you, who comforted him in his hardest times, which resulted in him not being able to pull away from you even if he tried.

“nononono, come back, baby.. please…” he drags you back down with a desperate plead, just as you try to push him off. you sigh, defenceless, giving in and letting yourself get pulled in again. you hated the idea of parting from his embrace, yet you also wanted to take care of him and abby, or, as she recently had called it, your new family. after 5 long minutes of kissing you tap his shoulder again. mike pulls away in a haze once more, dragging your bottom lip slightly between his teeth.

“i’m serious, mike. i need to order that pizza” mike sighs, rolling his eyes a bit and stealing a few more pecks. you smiled as you felt his hard-on poke at your thigh. the extra-desperation was now explained.

“be quick…” he begged as you got up, dialling the number and starting to order. there was a new kid at the pizzeria, one that made sure to take his time while jotting down your order and repeating it to you. that being said, it’s no wonder you soon felt mike’s grabby hands on your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he pressed his ear to the phone.

he frowns, annoyance in his eyes as he whispers “come on.. he got it, let’s go back….” you shush him, trying to focus on the phone call. the second you put it back into the receiver, mike’s lips chase after yours.

“slow down” you giggle as he groans, pressing his forehead on yours and gently pulling you closer, taking another quick taste of your lips. his hands play with your clothes, twisting and pulling at the fabric. your fingers tangle into his curls, smiling against his lips. but the moment you feel him becoming touchy, however…

“woah, there! not now” mike pouts, going limp into your touch. he looks like a puppy who got yelled at “the pizza’s going to be here soon and abby is a few doors over. not yet” your reassurance doesn’t work as he buries his face into your neck with a needy sigh.

“we can be quick…” he whispers, digits drawing circles on your back. you shake your head in dismissal.

it’s not long after that abby bursts out of her room, ready to show you some new drawing of hers featuring you three as the main characters. the pizza delivery follows quickly after and you raise your eyebrows convincingly to mike as you both lay the table. he responds with a scoff, rolling his eyes with a small smile.

you sit at the table, chatting with abby as you stuff your empty stomachs with some savoury pizza, emptying the three boxes with ease. mike’s hand lingers on your thigh, rubbing it silently as the dinner passes. you could feel his longing stares burn into your skin, see his bottom lip disappear between his teeth as he watches you.

you were sure that the second you both tucked abby into bed, you were not going to get any sleep. after all, aren’t you mean for pushing him away for so long? you definitely need to make up for the minutes lost by giving him the attention he craves the entire night. and he’s determined not to let go of your lips this time.

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