#mike’s face is red for the rest of the night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diedoverahat · 6 months

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A Different Kind of Compensation.

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part two!

pairing: mike schmidt x fem!reader

prompt: you’ve been babysitting abby for mike nearly three months now. he constantly apologizes for not paying you yet, you constantly tell him it doesn't bother you. one night he comes back from his shift at freddy’s and has a different idea on how to compensate you for all of your hard work.

warnings: 18+, oral (fem receiving), vaginal fingering (kinda???), munch!mike.

word count: this was supposed to be a short dirty work that somehow turned into a 2.2k monster. told you i love to ramble.

authors note: remember when i said i might write smut if i was just so moved by an ask? well turns out my very first ask moved me. y'all are nasty, i love it. mike, of course, is a munch because why would he be anything else? i never, with a capital N, write smut so please bear with me if it sucks. i hope whoever requested this loves it! i wrote it instead of finishing my scientific article for bio so it better be decent hehe.

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The sound of the front door opening followed by heavy footsteps woke you up from where you were dozing off on the couch. You gazed at the clock on the side table near you and sure enough, 6:10 blinked back at you. Mike was finally home. You heard him shuffling around in the kitchen, most likely shedding his work vest and hanging his keys on the little hook by the door.

You yawned, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes as you sat up on the couch. The blanket you used to cover yourself falling to pool around your waist. Mike finally made his way to the living room, sitting on the couch with a soft grunt.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice rough from lack of use. “Abby eat anything?”

“Yeah, a little,” You mutter back through a barely concealed yawn, head lolling to rest on the back of the couch. “You know how she is.”

He hums in acknowledgement but stays silent apart from that, keeping his gaze trained on the infomercial playing on TV. A comfortable silence settles over the two of you. You sit up even further on the couch, leaning against the arm rest facing Mike. The blue/green hue of the TV bathed him in light, his hair was unruly with curls sticking out at awkward angles. He had deep bags under his eyes. Just as you thought about getting up to take off, he spoke up again.

“I promise I’ll get you the money,” he says softly, not taking his eyes off the TV, “I…I just need some time.”

You scoff in mock annoyance, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Mike, you know I don’t care about the money. I don’t mind doing this for you.” You reply, nudging his knee with your foot softly then just leaving it perched on his lap.

Mike finally turns to look at you, there's a strange look on his face that you can’t quite place, but you give him a small smile all the same. He stares at you for a few beats, you can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“You deserve something,” he whispers, his brows furrowed in frustration. “You do so much for me, it’s only fair.” As he speaks, he slowly moves his hand off the couch to your ankle still resting on his thigh, he starts rubbing slow circles over the skin there. His eyes never left yours as he touched you, a very obvious question in them. Asking if you wanted this.

Heat instantly rushed to your belly, cheeks turning a light shade of red at his touch. You’d always thought Mike was attractive, but you never would have imagined he’d want to be anything more than friends. Since he was already so busy with taking care of Abby and his hellish new job.

You swallow once before speaking, your throat feeling dry all of a sudden. “What are you suggesting?” You ask so softly, wondering if he even heard you. Mikes’ fingers stop in favor of trailing his hand up your calf in a featherlight touch, disappearing under the blanket to seek out more of your soft skin. Your heart is beating so fast you think you might die, the sound of it echoing in your ears loudly.

Mike's big brown eyes stare into yours with a newfound intensity, visibly shocked that you're reacting so viscerally to his touch, his pupils are blown to hell. Chocolate brown being swallowed by black. His tongue coming out to sweep over his top lip.

“How about you,” he says slowly, scooting closer to you on the small couch. He crowds into your personal space like he belongs there. Mike’s lips inches away from yours. He smells like old leather and dust from being cramped in the security office at Freddy’s. Your chest heaves as your eyes flit back and forth from his eyes to his lips. Seconds drag by like hours as you painstakingly wait for him to finish his sentence. “Stay right there while I make you feel good.” He finally says, his breath fanning over your face hotly. You can’t even speak, afraid of how desperate you might sound, just nodding your head roughly, not looking away from his hungry gaze.

Mike’s hand runs up your leg quickly after you give him the green-light, slipping further under the blanket and higher up your leg until he reaches his destination. He rubs you gently through your shorts, your breath hitches sharply at what should be just a simple touch, but you’re still so worked up from earlier that it feels ten times more extreme. You grasp the blanket still strewn over your lap tightly in your fists, it's the only thing keeping you from seeing Mike’s hand at work between your legs.

Mike reacts to touching you for the first time like he can feel it too. His breath stutters out of his chest, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your already wet folds through your thin cotton sleeping shorts. “Fuck.” He breathes out quietly, so quietly you doubt he even meant to say it out loud. He opens his eyes again, breathing slightly rougher as he stares at you through his arousal induced haze and heavy eyelids.

Seeing your face must spur him on because he starts rubbing with more fervor than before, his clever fingers applying more pressure making you moan softly. You cut yourself off quickly, eyes darting down the hall to Abby's bedroom door. It's still closed, there's no light leaking through the crack between it and the floor.

"Shit, Mike." You whine quietly.

Mike groans softly at the sound of his name leaving your lips, body trembling slightly with the feeling. Suddenly he wrenches his hand out from under the blanket, and rips it off your lap frantically. You gasp sharply at the cool air breaking through the bubble of warmth the blanket provided, involuntarily closing your legs.

Mike pushes up from his position on the couch next to you, knee walking over so he's kneeling in-front of your clenched thighs. You're still slightly sprawled across the cushions, leaning on the arm of the couch.

"Do you know how crazy you make me?" He asks roughly, putting both his hands on your still closed knees. It takes a second for your brain to catch up to answer him, after a few moments you finally manage a faint shake of your head.

"No?" He asks, tilting his head to the left slightly. "Let me show you then."

Mike grabs your wrist, tugging you closer to him, and leads your hand down into his lap. Your breath catches in your throat when he places your hand directly over his clothed erection, but it gets drowned out by Mike's louder whine thanks to you touching him for the first time. You drag your eyes downward, his dark grey sweatpants leave little to the imagination. He got more worked up touching you than you first thought, if the wet patch forming near the tip of his hard-on was anything to go by.

As soon as you started to rub him with purpose, Mike grabbed your wrist, halting your efforts. "No," He said breathlessly, practically panting. "No, this is for you tonight. Just wanna focus on you."

He let go of your wrist, turning his head in your direction. Both of you failed to realize how close you'd gotten when he dragged you to him. Your noses practically touch when he turns, catching you both off guard. His eyes travel down to your lips, staring at how red and puffy they'd gotten from you biting them to muffle your moans.

"How sweet of you, Mike." You whisper, leaning in just a tad closer. He lets out a guttural groan and closes the distance between your lips, claiming your mouth with his own. He leans forward, gently guiding you to lay back on the couch. His body completely covering yours as the two of you makeout, his arms on either side of your head and his hips slotting against yours, letting you feel the hard length of his cock against your cunt. You moan into his mouth, your hips bucking up to meet his.

Mike breaks the kiss with a whine, trying to muffle the noise by shoving his face in your neck. You bring your hands up to tangle in his curly hair, yanking it roughly as he starts littering kisses all along your collarbones. Nipping and sucking in-between his gasping little moans as you twist and pull his hair in your grip.

He tears his mouth away to stare up at you through his lashes, his lips are swollen and red. “Please,” He gasps out, his hips unconsciously grinding down into your thigh. “Let me eat you out. Please. Tell me I can, say I can.” He babbles, hips rutting faster every second you don’t answer him.

“Yes.” You exclaim as quietly as possible. “Do it, Mike. Eat me out.”

Mike’s whole body shudders at your words, eyes falling closed for a second before he quickly slides down your body, leaving an odd kiss here and there as he goes. He brings his hands up to grip the waistband of your shorts, pausing to take a single steadying breath, then he tugs them down along with your panties and tosses them aside. He stares down at you in awe for a good few moments before he lays on his stomach, right in front of your dripping cunt.

Mike kisses along the inside of your thighs for a bit, licking everywhere but where you want him to the most. “Thank you.” he mutters, tone way too earnest for the situation at hand but you don’t have much time to think about it before he’s diving face first into your thighs.

“Fuck!” You let your voice get way too loud in the quiet atmosphere of the house, but you can’t help it. You didn’t think Mike had lots of experience because of some late night drunken talks before, but he was either lying or holding out. He works his tongue expertly along every inch of you. Every swirl, flick, or suck has you catapulting to the edge way faster than you’d imagined.

It doesn't help that Mike keeps letting out these noises. Small needy whines or deep guttural groans that you can feel. He’s moaning like he’s the one getting head, unashamed and authentic. It’s so fucking sexy.

“Shit Mike, I’m close. I’m so close.” You whisper too quietly for him to hear with his head trapped between your thighs, but it doesn’t matter. Mike brings his thumb up to lightly circle your clit as he laps against your entrance, and you're gone.

Your thighs shake as you release, grabbing on Mike’s hair for dear life as you go through the most intense orgasm ever. He moans into your cunt, working you through the aftershocks. He laves his tongue along you until the overstimulation gets to be too much and you drag his face away by his hair.

He sits up, the bottom half of his face covered in spit and slick. That visual alone is almost enough to get you ready for round two. It’s silent except for the heavy breathing coming from you both.

After he catches his breath, Mike retrieves the blanket from behind his back somewhere to cover the lower half of your body. Your thighs are still shaking as he lays next to you, it’s a tight squeeze but neither of you seem to mind. He kisses the side of your face sweetly, throwing his arm around your waist to pull you in even closer.

You finally regain enough conscience to speak. “Are you sure you don’t want to get off?” You ask, “I mean I can’t feel my legs but I’m sure we could think of something.” Mike only laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Maybe next time, this was about you.” He said, beginning to rub his fingers back and forth on your hip. “Plus I, uh, I already sort of…” He trails off, a flush forming on his cheeks.

It took you a second to realize what he was saying, but when it clicked you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your mouth. You lifted up the blanket covering the two of you, and sure enough Mike had an impressive wet patch seeping through his sweats.

He pinches your hip lightly, offended by your giggling. “Don’t laugh at me,” He complains with a smile, yanking the blanket back up. “I couldn’t help it.”

You stifle another laugh to the best of your ability, though your shoulders still shake ever so slightly. You turn your head to press a kiss to his lips. It’s different from the previous kisses you shared tonight. It’s slower and softer, full of a new emotion that you both feel, but know that it can wait to be talked about later. For now you’re both just basking in the afterglow.

You break the kiss first, pulling back only slightly to lean your forehead against his. You both smile at each other for a second.

“Okay,” You give in, brushing a strand of sweaty hair away from his face. “But believe that tomorrow is all about you.”

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unfinishedslurs · 1 year

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gay bar (steddie)

“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”

Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar.

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.

The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“

As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”

It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!

Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.

Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”

“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”

“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”

Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”

He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos.

Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”

What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”

“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?

Eh. Doesn’t matter.

“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”

He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”

“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”

“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”

He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”

“Which one?”

“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”

“How do you even know about that?”

Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”

“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”

He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt.

Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then.

Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole.

“That can’t be right.”

“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out.

“You were Prom King.”

“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh.

Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”

Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”

Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?

Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks.

“What?”

“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.”

Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve.

No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time.

He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country.

He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here.

“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”

What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”

“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn.

Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears.

“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken.

He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening.

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”

“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone.

Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”

“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”

Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”

“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”

“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”

“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”

Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”

“Oh, so you’d call him because…”

“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”

“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”

“…Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”

“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him.

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone.

“I just talked to you yesterday.”

Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Steve.”

“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”

“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”

“Munson?”

“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”

“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”

“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs.

“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”

“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”

“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone.

“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“

“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt.

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters.

“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”

“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”

“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”

“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car?

“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho. And that was before the melted flesh monster.”

Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”

Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”

“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”

Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”

“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”

Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute.

“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is.

“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“

“That was him?”

“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”

“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”

“Don’t kill me,” Steve says.

“Oh, god, did you punch him?”

“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”

He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums.

“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”

“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish.

“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”

“Dude.”

Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham.

“Well, Harrington?”

“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”

Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.

He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.

He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.

“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else.

“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.

“Ugh. Who would want that?”

Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“

“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”

Eddie turns beet red in record time.

“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”

“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”

“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again.

Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles.

“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”

Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”

“The what?”

Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”

“…oops.”

“When?” Eddie demands.

Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut.

Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”

Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest.

Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”

Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”

“Steve!”

“You do!”

“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”

His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses.

“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”

“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”

“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”

“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”

“I do?”

“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees.

Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink.

“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”

“You could leave.”

She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.

“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”

“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before.

Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt.

He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips.

Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful.

From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message.

The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out.

The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.

Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.

The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall.

Robin has been similarly affected.

“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“We’re not that bad,” he says absently.

“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”

“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”

She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it.

Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them.

“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”

Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock.

“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex.

Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner.

“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity.

“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head dumbly.

“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!”

With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd.��

“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”

“I dunno, I think it might be working.”

“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument.

“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve.

Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“

“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”

Steve stares.

“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”

“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”

Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder.

“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”

“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”

“Thought I was fucking you.”

“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”

“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”

“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”

“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.

#gay bar au #steddie #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #featuring robin as the worlds worst wingman #i'm never not going to bully eddie for walking on those tables #'why does everyone here hate me🥺' mf it's bc you keep putting ur nasty ass shoes where people eat #i've said it before and i'll say it again. someone should have yanked on his leg and made him faceplant. he would have deserved it #we stay billy bashing 💪#in this au the byers didn't move to california #jonathan still goes to school there tho #why? bc he and argyle are soulmates and time and space moved for them to make sense next question #i need u to know eddie does not have sex magic and steve isn't actually as smooth as eddie thinks. they r just obsessed with each other #that one person who was in my notes truthing ab a stoncy threesome. i was excited when i saw that bc i had this written hope u see it <3

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sameschmidtdiffname · 3 months

Text

What's One More?

Mike Schmidt x AFAB! Reader

Summery: The house is all to you and Mike, which is a strange feeling to Mike as he begins to realize how things are changing. But change isn't always a bad thing, is it?

Tags: Porn with plot barely, no use of Y/N, Reader has female pronouns, set after the events of the FNaF movie, pre-established relationship, breeding kink, dirty talk/talking through it, oral sex (fem recieving), face fucking, vaginal fingering, pet names, possessive sex/actions, marking, hair pulling, mentions of drinking, multiple rounds, aftercare, multiple orgasms, teasing, dumbification, overstimulation, this is possibly filthier than Princess imma be fr.

Notes: Yes I'm working on requests. Yes I'm working on part II for 'Easy Money.' Yes I'm working on 50 million different projects + writers block that's preventing me from posting as much as I'd like. But in the meantime, *rattles can* COME GET Y'ALLS DICK.

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The front door opened at the same time it does everyday, Mike slipping in quickly to evade the cold, bitter Febuary air that has turned his cheeks red while he called out his usual 'hello' to the house. His easy smile instantly appeared as soon as our eyes met, me standing at the stove giving the large pot of chilli its final stir just in time for his arrival home.

"Hey!" I said cheerfully, looking up from the boiling pot briefly before setting the lid back down, crossing the floor quickly to come collect his coat.

"Hey," he returned, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to my cheek as I undo his buttons, his hands coming to rest on my silk covered hips. "Never seen you in this before," he mumbled, pulling away slightly to get a better look.

"You like?" I ask, pushing the jacket off of his shoulders and folding it over my arms. "I've had this since freshman year. Found it in one of my boxes from the move." The robe is simple, thrifted but It'd been new when I'd gotten it. Emerald green and made from silk, if not silk like material- I'm no expert on fabrics, -reaching down to my ankles and showing off my curves, drawn tight around my waist to accent my figure. Simple floral patterns sewn into the collar decorate the robe, slightly darker than the rest of the fabric. His eyes wandered over my body, taking in the sight as he slowly removed his items from his pockets.

"You look nice," he said, almost sounding as if he was in a trance.

"Just nice?" I tease.

"The word 'motherly' comes to mind," he said. "Not- not in a weird way," he quickly added, blushing slightly. "Just- you cooking, dressed in that. Just kinda...." He's flustered, scratching at the back of his head as he tried to clarify what I already understand.

I smile at him, leaning closer. "Well, it's fitting," I teased.

It had been about a year since I moved in. Mike and I had met during a night out, our friends recognizing each other. Initially I thought the blonde he had been with- Vanessa, I would later learn, -had been a bit more than a friend. But after spending the night round a table, laughing and getting up one by one for drunken karaoke, Mike and I had made eye contact enough times to warrant my request for his number after I confirmed she wasn't.

"Seriously?" He asked when I'd passed him the notepad specifically meant for numbers that I kept in my purse.

"Yeah," I'd laughed, slightly- okay, maybe more than slightly -drunk. "You're hot."

I was three beers and one shot of straight tequila into the night when I'd asked, everyone beginning to debate who would call a taxi and who would ride with who. I felt rather confident.

His eyes narrowed, his cheeks red most likely from alcohol. Although he'd only had the one beer.

"Oh shit," I giggled stupidly. "Did I read things wrong? Because I thought-"

"No! You didn't," he quickly said, cutting me off. He scribbled his number down quickly, scratchy enough that I could barely read it, and he could sense that.

"You want me to write it again?" He asked sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"Maybe," I giggled. "Or I can have my friend ask Vanessa if I get it wrong."

I got it wrong. Twice. But that was my fault since I called as soon as I'd gotten home, bleary eyed and claiming to just be checking to see if he got home alright, which wasn't a total lie. Then he asked if I wanted to get Chinese the next day. And how am I supposed to say no to an offer like that?

When he first brought up his sister I think he expected me to run for the hills. God, no. Not a man committed to caring for his baby sister. Please.

When I'd met the girl she was sly, simply saying "Oh, you're who he won't talk about." Mike seemed ready to throttle her, and I was ready to step in and help take care of her however much they needed me to. Who could say no to a kid like that?

Three years in and Mike had been nervous asking for me to move in. We'd both had the idea, but we both were terrified that the other would immediately shoot it down. But it was almost ridiculous to worry about such a thing. Mike had visited me all the time with Abby in tow, I visited Mike. Eventually we were at the point that I was at his house more often than I was at my own apartment. And with Abby getting older and beginning to have a life of her own, one that I could tell Mike was anxious about her having, it was about time a serious talk be had about the future of our relationship.

"You know, married couples have better taxes," I said casually one day while huddled around the kitchen table, papers strewn all over the place and some even on the floor while I punched numbers into a calculator. I think that nearly killed Mike, who shot out air through his nose hard enough all of his coffee covered his face and hair.

Then a week later he'd flipped through channels lazily, commenting on how awful the channels were before landing on the one of the marketers selling jewelry for prices that could make you shit.

"That's a nice ring," he commented. "Don't you think?"

I looked up from my book, narrowing my eyes to focus my vision. "Ooh, it is," I agreed.

"What kind of rings do you like? Like, what's your favorite?" He asked.

"Subtle," I deadpanned, smiling. "I'm coming with you to pick it out."

We picked up a new set of housekeys first.

"Get a room," Abby groaned, wandering in to flop onto the couch.

"Don't flop, you'll hit your head," Mike and I both scolded, smiles growing as we heard the other. Abby simply groaned louder, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, that's punishment enough," I muttered, giggling slightly. I moved to the coat closet, hanging up Mike's jacket. "How was work?" I asked him.

Mike shrugged, leaning against the wall. "It was good. Long. Shop gets cold this time of year," he said.

"Well, dinner will help. It's done, by the way. Timed it just right," I said with a wide smile. Mike returned it, stepping closer to wrap his arms around me once more and say a soft 'thank you' before pressing his lips to mine.

"Seriously, a room," Abby groaned.

"There's one right there with a table that needs set. Go on," I said to her, gesturing towards the adjacent room. She rolled her eyes once more, getting up off the couch and grumbling as she made her way to the cabinets.

"Wow," Mike chuckled. "She's got attitude."

"She's fourteen, we should be lucky she hasn't killed us in her sleep," I said into his ear, laughing.

"Don't you mean ours?"

"No."

The dinner is nice. A scene right out of a book, all of us gathered around the table eating the warm food as we discuss our days, Mike and I shooting each other glances here or there when we think Abby, who's in the middle of some long story neither of us are truly able to give our attention towards, won't notice. Eventually his hand found mine under the table, grasping it gently and squeezing as I hold his gaze, smiling in the same idiotic manner he always brings out of me.

"It's tonight. I know it's short notice but all of my friends are going and her parents will be there," Abby said quickly, inturrupting our mental conversation with her pleading eyes.

"Wait a minute, back up. What's happening?" Mike said, blinking and refocusing.

"The sleepover," Abby said emphatically. "I didn't find out about it until today and my friends invited me. Can I go?"

Mike opened his mouth to respond, his eyes worried and glancing over to me.

"Who is this?" He asked.

"Lisa."

"Lisa?"

"Lisa Browning," I reminded him.

"Oh. And this is at her house?" He asked.

"Yes," Abby moaned in frustration, clearly impatient for her answer.

Mike and I glanced at each other. His eyes are unsure, looking to me for my thoughts.

"She visits them all the time, I don't see why not," I said. I turn to Abby. "Is her mom picking you up?"

"She can," Abby said quickly.

Mike is still unconvinced, I can tell by his grasp on my hand.

"You have that phone we bought you for Christmas?" I asked her. She nodded. Since recieving the cheap, purple Motorola she hadn't let it out of her grasp. "If you go, will you call us when you get there, when you guys are going to sleep? Any location change you'll run by us first?" I asked. Abby nodded again, her eyes shifting to Mike once more, wide with teenage desperation.

It was hard for Mike watching her get older. It would scare any parent, but take a man who'd watched his brother be kidnapped and his parents wilt away leaving him to step up? There were days Mike would wake hyperventilating, terrified something would happen to her if he didn't do something. It took convincing, but over time I had convinced him to relax, told him she was smart. Once I'd told him all the trouble I'd survived, he finally learned to catch his breath before jumping into several questions about how I was still alive with a new panic.

With a squeeze of my hand, he nodded.

"Check in. If you don't, I'll call her mom."

"Unnecessary, I'll call," Abby said, leaping from her seat and already dialing a number.

"Wash your plate!" Mike tried to tell her, but she was already gone.

"I'll get her plate, let her go," I chuckled. Mike sighs beside me, wiping his face with his hand.

"You think she'll be okay?" He asked me.

"I think fourteen year olds spend their days watching scary movies and MTV, nothing she won't do here," I said, taking a spoonful of chilli into my mouth. After I swallow I add, "Besides, it gives us the chance for some alone time."

That solidified the decision in his mind.

Much to Abby's embarrassment, Mike reminded Mrs. Browning to have Abby call us to check in, and with her reassurement he finally relaxed, walking back into the house once they're out of sight.

As I finish drying the dishes, I feel his hands settle on my hips, warm and large as he sinks his head into the crook of my neck.

"Where did the time go?" He mused, moreso to himself than to me.

"Feeling old?" I teased.

"Yes."

"Hot."

"Shut up," he groaned, laughing into my neck.

"'Oh my God, get a room,'" I groan in a fake voice, my laughter joining in.

"Are we gross?" He asked, wrinkling his nose.

"A little," I concede. "I mean, imagine how you're gonna feel when she brings home a boyfriend."

At that his eyes widen and he groans. "I don't wanna deal with teenage boys," he moaned, pulling away to lean against the counter in front of me.

"Oh, they're coming. Just you wait. I was this age when I got my first boyfriend," I warned him.

"Teenage boys are idiots," he said.

"Teenage girls are terrifying," I add. At that he nods, eyebrows raised in agreement. "Oh, she could bring home a girl instead!"

"You know what, I'd prefer that. Less trouble actually," he decided.

"You'll survive," I tell him, shaking my head as I set the dish inside the cabinet with a small clatter. He sighed, smiling to himself in thought.

"I remember when she was a baby. So tiny," he said softly. "You should've seen her. So cute. Smelled good, too."

"You've been smiling at babies a lot, you know," I teased, shutting the cabinet and putting away the dishcloth. "Something on your mind?"

Mike blushed, waving his hand. "Nah." He paused. "...kinda," he admitted. I chuckled. Every time we'd passed a couple our age walking through the store with a baby in tow, Mike was instantly softened. His usual automatic glare giving way to a little smile as he'd wave at the tiny human, maybe even making a face to make them laugh. It'd been entertaining when ones mother once caught him with his cheeks puffed out and eyes crossed, the baby letting out a huge shriek of laughter at the sight. He hid in the soup aisle for awhile after that while I tried not to cry from laughter.

"We still have plenty of Abby's old baby stuff in the garage, you know," I said. It wasn't a new conversation, we had both agreed it was something we wanted when the time came. "Spare room, stable jobs, great sex."

Mike's wide eyes watched me as I slowly trailed closer. "Good genetics," he mumbled.

"I don't see any reason we couldn't put any use to those things," I mused, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and leaning into him.

"I can't tell if you're serious," he said, his eyes narrowing.

"Even Abby would like it. Said we're taking forever as is," I said cooly. He laughed at that.

"No she didn't," he said.

"She did!"

"Abby, the one who can't even see us in the same room without threatening suicide?"

"Listen, babies are different," I laughed, shrugging. He eyed me carefully, looking me up and down before saying anything.

"You'd like that?" He asked finally, wrapping his arm around my waist.

"I'm living in your house, wearing a ring and making dinner for you and your little sister that I've been helping you raise for four years. What is one more commitment?" I asked.

"It's a human being," he pointed out.

"Oh, fuck that then. None of those shits are gonna live in my house," I deadpanned. He laughed, leaning in to catch my lips in a kiss.

"Be our human being," he said softly.

"That means it'll be funny," I said just as soft.

"It could have your eyes."

"Could have your nose."

"Yours is better."

"You're right."

He smacks my ass gently, chuckling as his eyes darken pleasantly. "Should we give it a try?" He asked, his voice low and rough in my ear.

"I'd say it's about time you asked."

Mike hiked me onto his shoulder, carrying me through the house and pushing open the door to our room as I giggled wildly, feeling the bed underneath of me as he flung me down, fingers searching for the ties of my robe.

"You're sure about this?" He asked, eyes watching me carefully. "This isn't just some sex thing?"

I laughed, feeling him struggle with the knot.

"Not a sex thing," I clarify. "Although admittedly hot. Do you need help?"

"The fuck did you do to this thing?" He asked, laughing but brows furrowed in frustration. I reached to pull on the string and give it one simple tug, making it come undone to reveal my simple underwear underneath.

"I like coming home to this," he said, his voice deep and husky. "You look so comfortable here. So perfect. House is so much brighter with you in it. Just so perfect."

His lips wander on my chest, first working on the valley between my breasts, his teeth nipping at the band of my bra. He tugged it upwards, snapping it against my skin harshly. A soft moan escapes me, and I allow my legs to fall open to offer him better access. He takes the opportunity, settling his body perfectly against mine as his lips begin to trail upwards to my throat.

"I love waking up next to you in the morning. I sleep so much easier with you here, feeling your breath against me as soon as I wake up. You've got creative methods to keep me up too when I don't want to be," he teased. His hands find my hips, squeezing them as he thrust our clothed hips together, making us both groan. "Are you already wet?" He asked me, nipping at my throat.

"Gotta have something to think about while I cook," I teased. He chuckled. His lips find purchase and begin sucking on my skin, creating a dark mark on the front of my throat that will only be properly covered by a sweater. I moaned slightly louder, rocking my hips slowly against his. His lips moved slightly higher, creating another, then repeating until a dotted line of dark hickies lay upon my throat, marking me all the way to just under my chin. As he sucked on the edge of my jawline, I let out a high pitched whine, digging my hands into my own hair as I tried to not rush through this.

"You sound so pretty like this," Mike said against my skin, his breath warm. "Only thing prettier is how you look." His warm hand cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking my cheekbone softly.

"Talk to me," he said softly, staying still aside from the gentle stroke of his thumb. His eyes are soft, black in the dim lighting from his blown out pupils. He looks so sweet, so ready to please. If I said the word he'd do anything so long as it made me happy.

I cup his face with my hands, pulling him towards me to capture his lips in a soft kiss. His lips are warm against mine, wet from his own spit from creating the dark marks against me. He moaned softly, his tongue swiping at my lower lip to ask permission for access. I grant it, parting my lips slightly and gasping as his tongue quickly slides in, deep in my mouth and dominating the kiss as his grasp on me tightened. It felt as though he was desperate, like a dying man trying to experience his last contact with another human being ever in his life. I tried to return the kiss with as much frenzy, but his hands on either side of my face, his grasp firm yet careful, his hips pinning me to the mattress made my mind begin to slip into a world of pleasure, not able to focus on anything except how good it felt to not be in control.

I could feel his breathing through his nose, still kissing me and exploring my mouth. It lasted a minute, two, three. When he finally pulled away, several gossamer threads of spit still connected us, disappearing into thin air as he looked down at me, his hand carefully stroking my forehead.

"I'm going to ask one more time," he said carefully. "This is your last chance. After this I'm not checking," he stressed. His breath is hot and heavy against me, and my hips roll against his in an attempt for friction. "Are you one hundred percent positive?" He asked, his eyes wide and eager as he placed carefully kisses along my cheeks. I nod quickly, desperate for more. Mike shook his head, pulling away slightly.

"Say it," he said. "Be clear."

I blushed, suddenly feeling shy for no real reason. "I'm completely sure," I said gently. "I want this."

"This as in sex or a kid?" He asked.

"Both," I answered.

"You're completely sure? Because if you want to back out that's completely-"

"Michael, I swear to fucking God if you don't hurry up and fuck me I'm gonna get you pregnant, see how you like-"

Mike scrambled off the bed, grabbing my ankles and pulling me roughly to the edge. I let out an involuntary yelp, giggling as he spread my legs wide and high, his lips and teeth pressing against my left ankle before quickly trailing downwards, biting and sucking quickly as he moaned wantingly.

"Eager?" I asked him lightly. He shoots me a look, biting down particularly hard on a spot almost under my knee before beginning his work on the inside of my thigh. His hand trailed up and down my right thigh, grazing his nails against my skin to make me shiver while he focused his mouth on the other.

"You taste delicious," he moaned, teeth sinking into my thigh as his nails dug in harshly, raking down until his hand came near my hips before raking back up to my knee. "Whatever soap you're using, keep using it."

I blush, moaning gently. My hips rolled towards his head, making him chuckle.

"Be patient," he chided.

"I am patient," I said defensively.

"Since when?" He asked, biting down on a new spot. I moan again, squirming against him as I felt a surge of warmth shoot from my head straight to my cunt. "Anytime I so much as look at you, you beg me to fuck you."

"That's not true," I said. His hand slaps my thigh, grabbing it roughly as he bit down once more, lower.

"Made me fuck you on the table last night just because you couldn't focus on your book," he tisked. "Now you're making me fuck you because you want a baby."

"You want one too," I reminded him.

"I want anything with you," he moaned against my skin. "Especially anything that makes you mine."

My hands stretch above my head, my fingers woven together. Mike's eyes caught on something, staring at my hand as his mouth drew closer to where I wanted it.

"Your ring looks so pretty," he moaned. "Love seeing you wear it. So glad I bought it. Love seeing people notice it on you."

"Yeah?" I asked. I tried to squeeze his head with my thighs, but his hands keep me open, even spreading my legs wider after my attempt.

"Remember that kid at the bar?" He asked, chuckling. The 'kid' in question had been in college, clearly drunk as he leaned against the bar next to me while I'd waited for Mike, who'd watched the interaction curiously from the window outside, asking if it hurt when I fell from heaven. A simple flash of my ring and the response of having someone catch me before I hit the ground sent him stumbling away to disappear once more into the crowd. "Poor fucker looked so disappointed," Mike said, sucking a dark spot into my thigh, making me squirm and throw my head back in pleasure.

"You like being possessive," I teased him. His hand smacked my thigh once more.

"I'm not the one who came and shoved her tongue down my throat when the bartender got a little too flirty for her taste," he said. His eyes sparkled, fingers massaging the spot tinged red from the abrasion.

"I did not shove my tongue down your throat," I said defensively.

"You pulled my hair like I was a bitch," he laughed. His hot air blew against my clothed cunt, making me gasp from stimulation. He picked up on this, blowing cold air against me before saying "She was just trying to get tipped."

"I know," I moaned. "I'd had a couple."

Mike licked at my covered pussy, flattening his tongue wide against me as he licked a long, hot stripe from bottom to top, sucking at my clit through the wet cotton once he reached it. I moaned into the pillow beside me, muffling my cries. His hand reached up and snatched it from me, throwing it off the bed as he repeatedly licked, gaining speed as his dark eyes watched me.

"Okay, maybe we're both possessive," I conceded, bucking my hips against his face. He hummed happily, his large hands cupping my asscheeks and lifting my hips higher off the bed as he squeezed the cool flesh.

"I like it," he said. "Like that I won't even have to do anything to show you're mine now after this."

I feel my stomach flutter at his words, a blush dusting my cheeks.

"It may take a couple tries," I tell him.

"We've got all night," he said breathily.

"Until Abby calls," I reminded him. He groaned at that. "She's not gonna call, we both know that," I laughed.

"Not my problem right now," he said. His fingers hooked around the band of my underwear, pulling them away from me harshly. "You are."

"A problem?" I said in mock offense. "Well, I guess if that's what I am, I'll take my goods elsewhere." I huffed haughtily, twisting away from him and turning onto my stomach. The motion helped Mike bring my underwear to my ankles as I began to crawl away. He tugged them off fully, then grabbed my ankles once more to return me to the edge of the bed. I yelped once more, grabbing at the sheets and dragging them down with me. Mike spread me open once more and immediately shoved his tongue as deep inside of me as he could, holding my hips up and legs open as he tongue fucked me in earnest. I cried out, grinding my hips against his face. I clutched a pillow to my face, crying and even screaming into it when his lips wrapped around my clit, sucking harshly at just the right spot to make me cum with barely a warning. Mike had been pleased as punch when he figured out just the right angle the very first time. It was his favorite, throwing me into orgasm without any preparation to strike me dumb and overstimulated. There were times he'd focus on my clit for what felt like hours, tugging and licking to figure out what made me cum the fastest, the hardest, sometimes even managing to make me paint his face, and once his hair. He grinned so wide I almost thought his face would split open when he accomplished that.

He pulled away from my cunt for just a moment, his voice deep and commanding. "Let me hear you," he said. He buried himself in my cunt once more. I could feel his jaw moving, his bottom lip moving against my clit as his tongue slipped in and out, creating lewd, nasty noises that filled the air. I moaned into my pillow, hardly able to think. His hand smacked my ass hard before he pulled away once more. "Don't make me ask again, woman."

I raised my head to say something, but the words escaped me as I felt his tongue dive in once more, curling to scoop my slick into his mouth. He moaned at the taste, his hand roughly grabbing at my ass. All that spilled from my mouth were long, broken moans as I fucked his face, gutturally pleading for more. He flipped me onto my back roughly before spreading the lips of my soaked pussy apart, attaching his lips quickly and sucking at that perfect spot. I screamed, shrill and high as though I'd been stabbed while he giggled in excitement against me. The vibrations of his voice against my clit sent me higher, my head digging against the sheets as my back arched high away from the bed. My hands slapped against the bed, my legs trembling as I rode his face. Lost to the world, Mike is the only thing that grounds me, his fingers gently tracing patterns against the insides of my thighs while he watched me come undone with nothing but love and pride in his eyes.

He didn't relent, releasing my clit to lap up my glistening cum eagerly before returning to the bundle of nerves, flicking his tongue against it before sucking it once more, bringing me back to the same edge as I begged for mercy.

"Gonna scream, gonna scream, gonna-" my harsh whispers turned into a scream once more as I cum again, my hands finding his dark curls to force him to stay against me, my hips grinding harshly to fuck my clit into his mouth properly. His eyes relaxed, looking completely lovesick as I muttered rapid praises to him, tugging on his hair hard enough to make his eyes water. He moaned seemingly with no control against me, face red as he obeyed with no complaint.

"So good," I tell him. "Taking me so well. Letting me fuck your face like I own you. Fuck my face."

I felt his fingers find my entrance, slipping two inside of me with no hesitation as cum dribbled out of me. I clenched around his digits, my voice breaking as he massaged my top wall, searching inside of me to help me find a new peak. He moaned against my clit, eyes wide and begging for more as he watched me carefully. When his fingers brushed against that perfect spot, the one that makes me fall silent, he knows he's struck gold. His fingers begin slamming into my g-spot, curling and fucking me until I screamed out one more time, my body going limp as my eyes rolled to the back of my head. It's like I speak in tongues, the only language I'll probably ever be able to speak again after what he's done to me. I shake terribly as he sucks a few more smaller orgasms out of me, milking me for all I'm worth before pulling away, standing tall and chuckling as he slipped his middle and ring finger into his mouth, cleaning them with his tongue. His face and chest are covered with me, the shine of his gold ring dulled from the dried cum. He pulled his soaked shirt off of himself, flinging it into a corner before walking around to the side of the bed, gently sitting down next to my head to stroke my forehead.

"You okay?" He asked gently, smiling proudly. I moan in response.

"Need some water?" He asked, leaning closer to press a kiss to my cheek. I can smell myself on him, thick and heady. I moan again, trying to nod but unable to. "Maybe a snack?"

At that I grab at him, pulling him closer to press his lips against mine. He allowed it, humming happily against me as he gives me a gentle kiss, loving and careful as though I could break easily. I probably could.

I whined when he pulled away, but I'm instantly sated as he scooped me into his arms, pulling me against his chest to rest us properly against the headboard of our bed. He leaned over to open a drawer on his nightstand, pulling out one of the water bottles we kept in there. Carefully he moved me into a better sitting position, then opened the bottle and held it against my lips.

"Drink," he said softly. I accept it, gulping the cold liquid as my senses begin to return to me one by one. "Good girl."

Once I finished he placed it on top of the nightstand, then held me to his chest once more to lay against the bed.

"Good warm-up?" He asked me.

"Not entirely sure that didn't do the trick right there," I said. My voice is rough, threatening to break with each word. Mike laughed loudly, his chest rumbling against my ear.

"That good?" He asked, smiling widely.

"I'm ruined for anyone else," I told him. His fingers grazed my jaw, tilting my face to meet his eyes.

"Good."

His lips are gentle as they guide me back into a kiss. It's me who deepens it, grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck, silently pleading for him to continue. He takes the hint, one hand holding the back of my neck to keep my mouth close, the other trailing down my chest, fingers making quick work of the clasp on the front of my bra. He pushes the item away, cupping my right breast gently as his thumb gently strokes across my nipple, making it harden underneath his calloused touch, making me gasp.

"So sensitive," he remarked, smirking. "Could do anything to these and you'd be my willing bitch. Such a pretty girl."

I moaned eagerly into his mouth, tugging at his hair and pressing my chest against his touch. He adjusts my body, guiding me to straddle his lap properly as he guided the robe off of my shoulders, letting the material fall to my elbows. He pulled away from the kiss, admiring the hickies adorning the column of my throat.

"So pretty," he mused. His finger trailed from under my chin to the valley of my breasts, then back up again. "Do you know how pretty you are?"

"You tell me every day," I laughed softly, blushing. He hummed, his arms moving to support my upper body as he leaned me back.

"Doesn't mean you know," he said. He sucked new dark spots onto my chest, continuing his trail until it ends at the bottom of my ribcage. "Dressed so pretty for me, wearing nothing under your pretty robe. Keeping yourself easily accessible like the pretty girl you are."

It was easily his favorite nickname for me, calling me 'pretty girl' more often than my own name. Sometimes I think he only calls me by my name just to remind me he does know it, although I won't lie that I'm disappointed when he does it. The first time he called me by his favorite name was the first time we had sex. He was balls deep and panting, desperate for air as he pumped in and out of me. I think it had slipped out by mistake, based on the way his eyes widened after he said it. He was so shy in the beginning, his inexperience obvious but not damning. It was cute.

His lips trailed from the bottom of my ribcage until he found the bottom of my left breast, accenting it with little marks wherever his mouth landed.

"You want my cock?" He asked me, breath fanning over my breast. I nodded eagerly. "Use your words," he reminded me.

"Yes please," I said quietly. He laughed against my skin, nipping close to my nipple.

"Aw, she has manners," he said sweetly. I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Don't be a brat." He chided at my response. I smiled at him.

"Or what?" I asked innocently.

"Or I'll find something else to do," he said.

"Like?" I pressed.

"Like fuck myself until there's nothing left for you to take," he said smugly.

"You're no fun."

"I'm very fun, that's why you're going to behave."

"It's more fun if I don't."

At that he latches onto my hard nipple, biting and lavving his tongue over it while moaning greedily, watching me through his dark lashes as I leaned back, pressing my chest against him as much as I could, rocking my hips against his as I lost all other thought.

"There she is," he said, his voice low and gravely. "There's my girl."

He layed me down gently, spreading my legs wide open for him. He undid his jeans, taking out his cock and stroking it while he admired me from above.

"Tempted to just watch you," he said, his hand slowly trailing up and down his throbbing length. "You look so perfect, all red and dazed."

I whined, reaching for him and wrapping my own hand around his cock, stroking him at a slightly faster pace.

"There you go," he crooned. "Get it ready."

I pumped with more vigor, watching his face as I felt him twitch under my grasp. Deciding he was satisfied he gently grabbed my wrist and pinned it above my head, then guided himself to my entrance.

"How do you want me, sweet girl?" He asked softly, smiling above me.

"I don't wanna remember my own name," I said quickly. "If I can walk across this room by the end of it, you need to try again."

He raised his eyebrows, smiling down at me. "Eager?" He teased.

My response is a sudden moan, my cunt clenching around his thick cock as he sinks into me, burying himself to the hilt and making me feel as though he'll split me in two.

"You're tight," he groaned in my ear. "You want it fast?"

"Yes."

He grabbed the back of my knees, pressing them to my shoulders as he pistoned in and out of me rapidly, moaning at the feeling of my cunt swallowing him eagerly, clenching at every vein, every inch, slick and desperate for his seed.

"It'll take better like this," he moaned. His jaw is slack, panting as his balls slap against my ass, heavy and making me clench with each thrust. "Been thinking about this so long.'

I tried to respond, but all that escapes me are the tongues from earlier, moaning gibberish as all I can focus on is him fucking me into stupidity.

"You'd look so pretty with a baby on your hip. My baby," he groaned. His tip finds my g-spot, making me cry out loudly.

"Right there," I chanted quickly, eyes rolling to the back of my head.

"Yeah? That the spot?" He asked. "Can you hold this knee for me, baby?"

My body automatically obeyed, quickly holding one of my knees right against my body as he moved his hand to settle on my lower stomach, pressing down as he fucked me hard enough to make a small bulge whenever he slammed his dick fully into me.

"So cute," he praised. "Such a pretty fuckin' pussy. You know that?" I moan, my vision and thought completely fucked.

"I keep telling you to use." Thrust. "Your." Thrust. "Words." His third pointed thrust tears a scream from my throat, making him smile. "Does this sound like a suggestion? Because I promise you that it's not."

"I have a pretty pussy," I moaned without second thought. My voice is soft and frail as I chant the phrase over and over, not stopping even as he cooed sweet praises in my ear.

"Gonna look so pretty with my baby," he said. The smacking of our skin is loud, echoing through the room with each new thrust. "Maybe I'll give you another." His balls stick to my skin, tacky from my cum that drips out of me onto the newly washed sheets. "Just keep giving you my kids until I can't anymore. God, I hope this fucking takes."

I'm still chanting the phrase, stupid and willing to do anything so long as it means I will be rewarded with his cock. He smiled down at me, his eyes fluttering shut as my pussy swallows him whole again and again.

"Need you to cum baby," he said, his voice strained. "It'll take better if you do."

"I'm close, Mikey," I whined. It was a nickname I only used in times like these, too stupid to say his name properly.

His hand shifts lower on my belly, thumb snaking down to rub tight circles onto my hard, pulsing clit.

"Gonna make you mine. Gonna make you a mother." He is completely lost to the world, eyes shut in bliss as his thrusts grow deep and shallow, making me begin to grow quiet as I focus on my orgasm. "Jesus Christ, I love you."

A loud cry escapes me as my muscles contract around him one final time, hard enough I can tell it almost pushes him out of me completely. At the feeling of such a strong grasp Mike comes undone too, painting the inside of my cunt a pretty, pearlescent white as he unloads right next to my cervix, burying himself as deep as he can before resuming his pace with newfound vigor, moaning with every new thrust.

"Again," he moaned. His chest presses against mine, our bodies intertwined into such a tight mating press it's hard to tell where I end and he begins. "Wanna make sure it takes. Wanna make sure it takes."

I can't help but laugh in pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of my head as I nodded happily, taking as much as he was willing to give me.

"I'm not gonna last long," I said, the overstimulation already turning my face red as I felt the knot in my stomach begin to tighten once more.

"Good," he growled. "I'm not gonna stop until I fucking break you."

His words send me over the edge again, my voice louder this time as I begged him to break me, to fill me, to-

Much to our immediate frustration, it turns out Abby did remember to call, making Mike yell into the bed in frustration before he slipped out of me to race to the living room, making quick work of the conversation before almost slamming the phone down in excitement, rushing down the hall once more to return to the immediate task at hand.

"Where was I?" He asked me, mischief sparkling in his eyes as he quickly climbed back on top of me.

"You were telling me you want like six kids right before damning the one we're already raising," I teased, smiling.

"Well, maybe not six," he admitted. He glanced down to my aching cunt, admiring the sight of our mixed cum leaking out before sliding his dick back inside to plug the hole. "But what's one more?"

¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

This was fucking filthy. I have no apologies. Take your problems up with God, he's the one who put me on this earth.

Taglist:

@jhutchissupercool @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support! <3

Masterlist ▪︎ Read the spinoff!

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fnaf #jhutch #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader smut #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x you #mike schimdt x reader #mike schimdt smut #mike schimdt x you #mike fnaf #josh hutcherson x you #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson fnaf

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hushedlover · 4 months

Note

Can i request a Mike Schmidt who actually got good sleep but his baby sitter/new found crush looks like she was hit by a train and he’s like “just sleep here” and his own thoughts come in with “take my bed.” (Which she tries to deny)

The sound of the front door closing and keys landing in the dish on the foyer table woke you up. You peeked your head over the back of the couch to look at Mike. He’s peeling the security vest off but for the first time ever he looks like he’s slept a full night.

“Hey. Abby still sleeping?” He calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah. Too early for her to be up,” you call back. Something in your voice sets off alarms for Mike. He glances back at you and sees you staring off into space, unfocused eyes blankly settled on the back of the couch. There are deep bags under your eyes and your hair is a hot mess, looking like you’d been tugging at it all night.

“You okay?” He calls tentatively. That gains your attention. Your eyes snap up and focus on his face. Immediately you send him an unconvincing smile as you stand from the couch. You begin gathering your things, keys and bag, while heading for your shoes.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just- just tired. You seem well rested though,” the smile you shoot him this time is genuine, a softer version of your usual one. “I’m glad. You need the sleep.”

You drop your keys as you’re getting your shoes on, cursing and bending to grab them. Some part of the action through you off balance, and the next thing you know your butt is firmly planted on the hard wood floor. A dull pulsing pain emanates from the point of contact with the surface and you drown, looking down at the floor accusingly.

“Okay, come here,” Mike grunts as he slides his hands under your armpits. With a quiet groan from both of you, he hoists you to your feet. You stumble and regain your balance before looking up at Mike.

“Thanks,” you mutter as heat floods your cheeks.

“No problem,” he says, his brows furrowed slightly. You go to reach for your keys that are seated in his hand, but Mike pulls them back. “Listen, you’re exhausted. I don’t really want you driving home right now. Why don’t you sleep here?”

More heat rises in your face and you shift on your feet nervously. His face is close, almost too close to yours, his brown eyes demanding your focus and attention. His light scruff is distracting, so are his lips, and you almost get lost in them before remembering to respond.

“Oh no, Mike. I’m fine, really. I wouldn’t want to intrude, plus I’m sure Abby will want to watch TV and I don’t want to take over your couch,” You stutter and trip over your words as you try to rush them out.

“What do you-? Oh! No, no I meant like,” you swear you can see red tint his cheeks as his eyes dart away from yours for a second. “I meant sleep in my bed.”

Both of you go silent and stare at each other with wide eyes for a second. You distantly wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest. Or maybe see your pulse jumping in your neck. Suddenly, Mike snaps out of the stupor.

“Not like that! I mean- No, I um, I mean I’m not gonna be using it since I’ll be up and I just washed my sheets and stuff so-“

You choose to save him from his own suffering.

“I would actually really appreciate that.” Just on cue, you yawn softly. “I think I’d be a hazard on the road and I don’t want that to be on your conscious.”

You send him a sheepish smile, hoping he detects the humor in your tone. He must, because his face lights up in a grin. You squeak in surprise when Mike suddenly squats in front of you, gently grabbing your foot and slipping off the one shoe you managed to get on. He stands and helps you shrug off your jacket.

You distantly register the sound of your keys crashing into the tray as Mike leads you down the hall and towards his room. His hand on your elbow is a warm comfort as he guides you to sit on the mattress. He tugs the blanket loose and gently pushes you down. You blink up at him sleepily as he pulls the blanket up to your chin.

“Stay as long as you need. Really. You do so much for us. Just… rest. Yeah?” He smiles down at you and right now you could swear he’s an angel. You feel your lips quirk up out of reflex and your hand reaches up, but you stop yourself before you can brush his cheek.

“Thanks,” you whisper softly. It’s hard to keep your eyes open now. The pillows, the sheets, the blanket, everything smells like Mike and it’s making you delirious. It’s a weird comfort, like Mike is actually holding you in his arms. The smell gets stronger and you want to open your heavy eyes to see why, but the feel of slightly chapped lips against your forehead tells you why.

That’s the last thing you register before sleep drags you into its clutches.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #micheal schmidt #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x y/n #mike schimdt x reader #mike schimdt smut #mike schmidt x fem!reader smut

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eiightysixbaby · 5 months

Text

i’ll be home for christmas

PART ONE: Last Christmas

series masterlist || next part

word count: 5.8k

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you feel like you’ve been floating through life since eddie left town last christmas. what are you supposed to do when everything reminds you of him, and christmas doesn’t feel the same anymore?

cw: switches between past and present tense, angst angst angst, reader’s nickname is ‘sunny’.

author’s note: i cannot express how excited i am to finally be sharing the first part to this story! i have truly poured every possible ounce of my energy into this and i really hope it shows. thank you in advance for reading, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it.

Present Day: December 17th, 1989.

Snowflakes swirl around your face, dancing in front of your nose before being whisked away in a flurry of cold air. It’s not snowing hard — just enough to make Hawkins feel more magical. You stuff your hands into your coat pockets, eagerly awaiting the steaming cup of coffee you’re headed for. Behind you, Nancy pleads with Mike to put a hat on because his ears are bright red from the cold, and of course he doesn’t listen. Stubborn as usual. Steve calls him a little shit, and you roll your eyes to yourself as they bicker. You can’t quite bring yourself to laugh, though, and you don’t turn around to join in on the teasing like you usually would. Your eyes are angled down, watching as your boots press imprints into the dusting of snow that coats the pavement beneath you.

“I always thought Hawkins looked its prettiest when it’s snowing,” Robin’s voice says from behind you, getting clearer as she jogs to catch up to you.

Your shoes scuff against the frosty sidewalk, a little hum leaving you as you glance around at the town center. The storefronts are all decorated for the upcoming holiday, strings of garland and pretty green wreaths with red ribbon hanging on every door. Cheery window displays with Santa Claus and artificial Christmas trees liven up the shops. Shiny red and gold baubles hang from bare trees, string lights wrap around ornate light poles and coil up until they kiss the big red bows that are tied around the tops.

Robin’s right. It is pretty. The snow makes everything even more picturesque, like you’re living in a town inside of a snow globe. This could be the setting of a holiday movie, as far as you’re concerned. You’ve always loved Christmas, it’s always been the happiest time of the year for you. This year, though, is different. The warmth and joy you usually feel every December is gone, left behind on a snowy night last year. Robin senses your sadness, of course she does, because she’s sensed it just about every single time it’s crept up on you over the course of the last 12 months. Ever the empath, that one.

“Hey, I know it’s hard for you this year, kid,” she says, softer now, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder as you walk side-by-side. Her vibrant blue eyes catch yours, studying you carefully. “You know we’re feeling it too. And we’re all here for you,” she adds, nodding in the direction of the rest of your friends.

Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, and the kids all trail behind you, spread out on the sidewalk. You know they’re all feeling the difference of this holiday, too. In their own ways, they’re hurting too. You know you’re not the only one. You almost feel selfish, but you know that’s not what your friends would want, so you try your best to shove it down.

“I know, Rob. Thank you. I promise I’m not trying to be a downer,” you say, taking a shaky inhale. Crisp, cold air fills your lungs, the icy chill almost burning.

“No, hey, don’t do that. You’re not being a downer. We’re gonna have you all merry and bright in no time,” she says with her signature pretty smile, but you feel like she’s trying to reassure both you and herself as she says it.

You hope she’s right. You long to break free from the shackles of the numbness that’s clung to you this entire year. A certain someone’s absence that’s left you feeling hollow.

You reach the coffee shop, holding out a gloved hand to open the door for your friends. You trail in behind everyone, warm air hitting you in a comforting wave, like a blanket wrapping around your frame. The entire place smells like fresh coffee grounds and hints of vanilla, and you inhale deeply, letting it envelope you.

You vaguely hear Dustin and Max arguing about whether hot chocolate or coffee is the better hot beverage, before your ears tune in to the Christmas music playing over the speaker. “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” rings out in the small space, and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the gut as the soothing voice croons through the sound system. What should be a happy, comforting song only adds salt to your wounds, and if you had any say here you’d turn it right off. It reminds you of all of the things you wish you could forget, reminds you that you won’t be spending this Christmas with the person you should be. Longing coils its way around your heart, squeezing tight enough you feel it could shatter.

“What’re you gonna get?” Jonathan asks from beside you, bringing you out of your head as you realize you’d been staring aimlessly at the menu.

“Huh? Oh, um, probably a vanilla latte. Boring, I know,” you give him a little smile, the best you can muster, which he returns.

“Nah, it’s a classic. Can’t go wrong,” he says, walking towards the waiting cashier to go and order.

He orders his drink and yours, paying for both before you can get a word in edgewise. “Jonathan—” you start as you both move to the side to wait for your items.

“Don’t offer to pay me back. It’s my treat, okay?” he insists, giving you a knowing look. It’s his way of trying to cheer you up, to bring that holiday spirit back to life inside of you.

You and Jonathan had been friends for years now, he’d been a part of the group since the beginning, but only in this past year did you become especially close. He’d been such a big support system for you, letting you vent when you needed to and only offering advice when you explicitly asked for it. He’s an exceptional listener, the perfect confidant, and you’re grateful for his friendship. You’re grateful for the whole gang — their warmth and consistent companionship making everything easier for you.

Jonathan tells you to go sit with the others, assuring you that he’ll collect the drinks and bring them over to the table. Coats and scarves and gloves are discarded, hung on the coat rack that’s nestled in the corner right behind the two tables Nancy chose for you all. She sits next to Robin, the taller girl draping an arm over the back of Nancy’s chair, fingertips brushing her shoulder affectionately through her fluffy sweater. You sit across from Steve, opting for the seat closest to the window so you can look out. Max, Dustin, Lucas, Will, and Mike all sit at their own table, animatedly chatting about the Secret Santa gift exchange they’re doing. You giggle lightly when Dustin accidentally reveals that he’d drawn El’s name, the table immediately grilling into him and roaring with laughter.

Jonathan sits down beside you with the drinks and you immediately grab your cup, the warmth from it soothing your hands. You slip into easy conversation; talking about what Christmas gifts you all still have to buy and coming up with a plan for the group Christmas party, discussing your jobs and all of the usual things.

“And so I’m banging on the bathroom door, right? Yelling at Steve to come help me with this customer,” Robin rambles animatedly, her hands flying as she tells a story from work. “He comes out of the bathroom, and the fucking button on his pants pops off. His pants literally fall down around his ankles in the middle of the bakery. I’m peeing myself laughing at this point, the customer is still angrily waving his fist at me—” she keeps talking, you know she does, but your attention is diverted elsewhere in the midst of her anecdote.

A car horn honks outside, making you turn your head towards the commotion just in time to see a van pull up at a stop light outside of the coffee shop. A van that makes your heart feel like it’s plummeted to the bottom of your stomach. A Chevy, a deep burgundy in color with a cream stripe running along the side. You feel your mouth go dry as you’re plagued with a flood of memories. You vaguely register Jonathan and Nancy’s laughter towards Robin, you know you should be laughing too, but your mind is already far away from this moment — transported somewhere else. Back to a year ago. Back to Eddie.

Christmas Eve, 1988.

You hoist yourself up into the van, a smile on your face as you sit down, instantly pressing your hands to the air vents to try and warm them up. You’re buzzing from the party at Steve’s, waving enthusiastically to the host in question as he closes the front door to his house. Eddie had insisted on warming the vehicle up for you while you said your goodbyes to everyone, and he watches you from the driver’s seat as you buckle your seatbelt.

“So, where are you taking me, handsome?” you ask, barely able to contain your joy.

“You’ll see,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze. He shoots you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, but you shake it off easily, assuming he’s just getting tired. You know you were.

Snow flies sideways in the beams of the headlights, those big, fluffy flakes that have always been your favorite. You drive past houses decorated like something out of a scene from a movie; rainbow lights coiled around bushes and pine trees, white bulbs lining rooftops and candles glowing in windows. Every door seems to don a wreath with a big red bow, and even some snowmen wave at you with their stick arms, mittens held high in the air.

It’s magical, that’s the only word you could use. Your heart feels like it could burst out of your chest, giddy like a child again. Christmas music plays on the radio and Eddie hums along to it beside you, making you want to grab him and kiss him and just never let go. What you two had going on was unlabeled, at the moment, but the tension between you was tangible. Your seemingly upcoming relationship had become the butt of the affectionate jokes in your friend group, the gang being less than subtle about what they expected from you and Eddie. And they didn’t even know about the kiss yet…

Being with him felt like everything good in the world, wrapped in a tiny package and sealed with a bow. Sometimes he would look at you like he loved you, and sometimes you felt like you loved him. There was no rush, no hurry, no deadline with Eddie. You let things flow naturally, progress gradually as you enjoyed getting closer and closer with one another. You’re feeling like tonight might be the night, like he might finally ask you to be his.

The van drives across snowy backroads, a dense layer of trees on either side. You know exactly where you’re headed now, hands rubbing on your thighs in an absentminded fidget. It’s not long until you pull up beside Lover’s Lake; your usual spot, your special spot. There’s a lonely dock leading out to the water, a dock that you’ve spent many a night sitting at while you gazed at the stars with the curly haired boy. It, too, is decorated for the holiday now, strands of lights twisted around the railings, illuminating the surrounding frozen water.

Eddie puts the van in park, killing the engine before his door swings open with a reluctant creak. You open your own door, only to be met with him extending a hand for you to take, helping you down onto the icy ground. You tug your hat further down over your ears, slipping your gloves out of your coat pocket and onto your hands. Eddie’s grabbed a blanket from the back of the van, tucking it under his arm. You can see your breath with every exhale as your boots crunch through the dirt and grass, walking to the dock with Eddie right in front of you.

The blanket is laid out on the old wooden planks, serving as a buffer between you and the cold, frozen surface of the dock. You gaze out at the vast expanse of the lake, a few lights twinkling on the opposite shore. You reach for Eddie’s hand, giving his fingers a squeeze before just holding them, your gloves providing him with some extra warmth.

“I have something for you,” he says then, taking you by surprise.

“Eddie, I thought we were exchanging gifts tomorrow—” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“This couldn’t wait,” he insists, and his eyes hold an emotion you can’t place.

Is this it? Is he going to ask you to be his girlfriend?

His hand fumbles around in his coat pocket before he finds what he’s looking for, retrieving a tiny velvet box. A dainty ribbon is wrapped around it, tied with a bow on the top, and you gasp a little when you see it. He hands it off to you, watching as you delicately pull the knot loose, setting the shiny ribbon in your lap. You open the box with so much care, a hand flying to cover your mouth when you see what waits for you.

A beautiful gold necklace with a heart pendant rests on the silky bunch of fabric inside the box. You lift the pendant with a finger, noticing an engraved ‘E’ in the center of the heart. The whole thing is dainty, not flashy, not too much, but yet more than enough.

“Eddie—” you breathe, tears pricking in your eyes as you meet his stare.

He looks nervous. He’s not smiling.

“I want you to have that so you never forget me, and how much you mean to me,” he says, scooting closer to you.

He pulls you to him, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I could never forget you, what do you mean?” you ask, clutching the box close to your body.

“Sweetheart, there’s something I need to tell you. And I need you to try and understand,” he says, and the words immediately make your stomach flip. You feel ill, and he hasn’t even told you what he needs to tell you yet.

You close the box, holding it even tighter, as if it could freeze this moment in time.

He pulls back just slightly, enough so he can look you directly in the eye. One hand rests on your cheek, the shockwaves of his touch reaching the deepest parts of your soul.

“I’m leaving Hawkins. Tomorrow,” he says finally, a shuddering breath leaving him.

And that was the moment your whole world shattered.

Present Day: December 17th, 1989.

You’re torn from your memories at the feeling of Jonathan’s hand on your arm, his voice calling to you through the fog you feel floating in your brain.

“Sunny, hey, you okay?” he prods, concern evident on his face when you turn to look at him.

Nancy, Steve, and Robin look expectantly at you from the other side of the table, worried about where you’d drifted off to.

“Yeah, I— I’m fine,” you say, giving a smile that’s less than believable. “Sorry, just… thinking. Lots going on for the holidays, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan says, squeezing your shoulder as if to let you know he’s here for you.

He gives you that look he always gives you when he knows there’s something you aren’t telling him, he knows you too well. You feel bad lying to him, but you don’t want to bring up Eddie in front of the whole group right now. Robin was telling a funny story. Your friends deserve to laugh, to be happy. They don’t need your anguish. Saving face is the easiest option.

To your appreciation, they simply ease back into the conversation at hand. Your hand reflexively reaches up to your chest, grabbing at the small pendant that rests there. Your thumb runs over the engraving that you know is the letter E, your breath leaving you shakily. You take one final look out the window, the van from before now gone — much like the man it reminded you of.

You end up making an excuse to leave your friends early that day, no longer feeling able to force a positive attitude. You know they must be worried, know that they see through your facade, and guilt gnaws at your insides. All they’ve done is try and try to keep your spirits up, to help you move past everything, and you’re just stuck in the past. You haven’t exactly been easy to help, either. You miss Eddie, but every time he’s called you decline speaking to him. You can’t — certain that you wouldn’t even know what to say and that you’d just cry helplessly into the phone. And nevertheless your friends persist, always there when you need them and always willing to cheer you up. Plans are made with Nancy and Robin to bake Christmas cookies sometime soon — an offer you couldn’t possibly refuse at the way they so excitedly ask you to join them — before you bid everyone goodbye and part ways.

You stomp your snow-covered boots on the doormat just inside of your apartment, kicking them off haphazardly as the icy sludge begins to melt on the ground. You float around the space as you hang up your coat and remove your gloves, hat, and scarf, your body physically completing the actions but your brain residing somewhere else entirely. You curl up on your couch, wrapping yourself in your favorite blanket as you stare blankly at the black screen of your tiny television. The glow of your Christmas tree does nothing to soothe you — where it used to be a comfort, it now feels like a headache. You have half a mind to tear down all of your decorations, but you know it wouldn’t truly make you feel any better.

As if you weren’t sad enough already, as if the past eleven months haven’t been torturous enough, you really can’t get Eddie out of your head now. Seeing a lookalike van to his shouldn’t bother you, nearly a year later. Something so commonplace shouldn’t phase you. You press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes, willing your tears not to fall, willing yourself to forget him and forget it all and leave him in your past. You know it’s hopeless, you know you can’t possibly forget him, and it only makes you more frustrated.

One hand grips the pendant of your necklace, pulling roughly on the chain and making it snap. You toss it onto your coffee table, sobs wracking through your entire body now. Your fingers rest where the necklace once was, feeling the loss of him, something tangible. Laying down on the worn cushions, tears blur your vision as you cry, left alone to remember. And you remember everything.

Christmas Eve, 1988.

Your brows furrow, your brain not comprehending what he’s saying. “I don’t.. I don’t understand. What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I found a place in Chicago. I can’t be in Hawkins anymore, Sunny, I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t belong here. I need to go out on my own and make something of myself,” he says, wincing as if it pains him to speak about. You don’t have the grace in this moment to see that it does pain him. More than he can say.

“No…” you say, tears welling up in your eyes as you shake your head furiously. “No, this is a joke. This has to be a joke,” you try to convince yourself, moving to stand. Your chest feels tight, like all the air has been stolen from your lungs.

“Sweetheart—” Eddie says, standing with you, reaching an arm out to steady you when your boot slips on the icy dock.

“Don’t touch me!” you shout, louder than you’d ever wanted to be with him. “You can’t—” your voice breaks, your lip wobbling. “You can’t leave me.”

“I have to. You’ll be better off without me, okay? You have Nance and Robin, and Jonathan and Steve.”

“What about them?” you ask, voice quiet.

“What?”

“What about them? Did you tell them that you’re leaving? Did you tell the kids?”

“I… no. I need you to explain everything, okay? I didn’t want to ruin the Christmas party,” Eddie says, his eyes averting your gaze, shifting on his feet.

“Oh, but it’s okay to ruin my night? It’s okay to ruin my life?” you hiss. Eddie’s visibly taken aback by this, his eyes impossibly sad. You know the last part may have been too much, but you don’t care.

“You’re going to be fine without me,” he says, puffs of fog leaving his mouth with each word against the cold wind.

“What about us, Eddie!?” you cry, your throat raw with the way you scream it. “You’re going to act like this is nothing? Like we have nothing!?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He stands maybe two feet away from you, silent, his figure illuminated only by the string lights wound around the railings to the dock. His silence rings in your ears.

“So that’s it. You’re just going to go away, leave me here and forget about me,” your voice trembles, your feet stepping backwards as you start to distance yourself from him.

“I could never forget about you, I don’t want to forget about you!” he emphasizes, moving towards you. “You’re the only person I’ve told this to besides Wayne! Because I care about you far too much to just go,” he says, his voice breaking as he steps closer still.

“Oh, my hero,” you scoff, shaking your head as you wipe tears from your cheeks.

You turn on your heel and start running towards the van, your heart feeling like it’s being wrung out in your chest. The wind hurts your face, every snowflake that hits your skin pricking you like a needle.

“Sunny. Sunny!” he shouts after you, his shoes crunching on the frozen ground as he tracks you down. Hearing the nickname he’d so fondly given you ages ago — because you’re always ‘a ray of sunshine’ in his words — simply feels like he’s driving a knife through your heart now. “Please, I need you to understand—”

“How could I? How could you ask this of me!?” you sob, your defenses raised high. “I could’ve gone with you!”

“No! You need to be here, you’re happy here! You have friends and family and a job that you love — here.”

“You have friends here. You have Wayne, and you have me,” you say through gritted teeth, sniffling hard.

“I need to go. I need to get away from this town,” he says softly, mournfully. “Please…”

“Take me home, Eddie.”

“Baby—”

“Take me home! I don’t want to be near you any more, take me the fuck home!” you grit, pushing him away when he tries to hold you.

“Okay,” he sighs, defeated. “I’ll take you home.”

The ride to your place is alarmingly silent, your mind hazy as you stare blankly out the window. The happy hugging families and Christmas lights and snowmen mock you as you drive past, every joyful scrap of the holiday feeling like a sick joke now. Your stomach is in knots, your heart breaking inside of your chest with every passing second. You feel like you’re in a daze, like you aren’t even real.

His van finally pulls into the parking lot to your apartment, the snow swirling harder now in the glow of his headlights. It doesn’t look light and delicate as it had before, it doesn’t shimmer the way it used to. It looks foreboding, plummeting to the ground in fast, aggressive streaks.

“Sweetheart—” Eddie starts, and you scoff before he can keep going. Tears slide down your face as you shake your head, your lip wobbling.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t you dare call me that if you’re really about to leave me,” you say, voice thick with the bile that rises to your throat.

“I have to go. I’m so sorry. You’ll be better without me, I’m so sorry.”

“Goodbye, Eddie,” you say, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it.

You open the passenger door, hopping out of his van for the last time. You’d climbed into this van a mere hour ago so hopeful that tonight he’d make you his, and instead he’s ripping it all away. You chance one final glance at his face, the defeated and empty expression that sits on it. It makes you want to crumble, fall to your knees right there on the snowy concrete and wail until your throat is raw. But you don’t give him the satisfaction, and you slam the door shut instead. The sound of it reverberates in your ears, making your head throb. The little velvet box sits in your coat pocket, your hand clutching it as you walk quickly to your building.

You barely process the fact that you reach your door, that you unlock it and step inside. You only process the hard floor beneath you as you sink down onto it on your knees. Sobs wrack through your body as you hunch over, gasping breaths making your chest shudder. Taking the little necklace box out of your pocket, you stare at it for a moment. Chest heaving, tears streaming down your face, you open the box. You take the necklace out, fumbling with it through your blurred vision. It somehow feels right to put it on, it feels like you need to put it on. It’s the only piece of Eddie that you have.

The pendant rests above your heart, your hand grasping it and clutching it tight. Through all of your anger and your hurt, there’s an unspoken love for Eddie, and there’s a part of you that clings to his gift like it’s a lifeline. Like maybe wearing the necklace could make him change his mind, like you could summon him. And so you sit, still in your coat and your scarf and your hat, curled in on yourself on the floor of your apartment as you cry. Letting yourself feel every ounce of emotion, cursing Eddie’s name for how alive he made you feel and how he’s taking it away in the blink of an eye.

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

The next morning comes with a blanket of heavy snow, the sun rising over the sleepy streets of Hawkins and making the white powder sparkle. You’d hoped, nearly taken up some faith and prayed that after some sleep you’d feel better. That your problems could be washed away with the morning’s light.

Naïve? Maybe. Probably.

Because as soon as your alarm clock blared in your ears and you opened your tired eyes, you felt honestly worse than you had the night before. You feel as though someone has scooped up your insides, tossing them out and leaving you hollow as you lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

The promise of coffee and the obligation of work is what gets you out of bed, your head instantly pounding when you stand up. Your feet slide into your cozy slippers as you trudge down the hallway to your kitchen, getting a pot of coffee started before moving to your living room. You go to pick up the television remote when something shiny catches your eye. The light reflects off of a gold pendant, making it sparkle.

Eddie’s necklace. Your necklace.

At least in your sleep you’d been able to forget that you had taken the necklace off. And in your post-sleep still-tired haze you’d been able to remain unaware, if even for a short while. You stare at it for a moment, tempted to put it back on. But then your puffy, sore eyes from last night’s sob-fest and the snot-covered tissues that litter the floor encourage you to leave it off.

All Eddie’s done in the last year is make you cry, so why should you wear his necklace every day? He doesn’t deserve it.

Or that’s what you try to convince yourself, at least, as you stomp into your room and hide the necklace away in your jewelry box. You can’t stomach looking at it for too long, desperately trying not to cry again. You’re not even sure if you have any tears left, or if the reservoirs have run completely dry. Shaking it off, you return to your living area, clicking the TV on and turning it to the news station.

“We sure got quite a bit of snow last night, and we’re definitely not the only ones!” the weatherman says, too perky for this early in the morning. “I was just recently in Chicago and, let me just say, be thankful that’s not us. Talk about a lot of snow!”

Chicago. Your eye twitches at the mention, and then the TV is promptly clicked off. Way to start your day strong.

You were hoping things would improve when you got to work, as your current job could barely even be called a job. Your front-desk position at the school was on hold for the winter break, but this year Hawkins Middle was sponsoring an ice skating event. A temporary ice rink was installed in downtown Hawkins, and you had offered to help run it. You’d mainly been in charge of skate rentals and serving up hot chocolate or coffee, and it was actually really fun most days. Chief Hopper had even been convinced to dress up as Santa, showing up on Fridays and Saturdays to greet the eager children.

Today, though, of course the world has to test you. You can hear kids shrieking and throwing tantrums before you can even fully see them, and as you walk in to the worker’s trailer you hear Vickie, one of the teachers at the middle school, getting royally bitched at by an impatient mother. Wincing, you put a hand on her shoulder when the woman leaves, signaling that you’re here to take over and rid her of misery.

“I’m warning you,” she says. “It’s crazy out there today.”

To make matters worse, on your drive here the first song you found on the radio was one of Eddie’s favorites. You had changed the station only to find another one of his favorites before turning the damn thing off entirely. Then, on the short walk from your car to the ice rink, you’d been walking behind someone who looked exactly like Eddie. The curly hair, leather jacket, white sneakers… it made your stomach turn. You were more disappointed than you wanted to admit when you saw his face and it, of course, wasn’t actually him.

It’s like Eddie was everywhere you went, an inescapable constant.

You just wanted to not be sad anymore. Your heart was tired of hurting, and you truly felt as though Christmas couldn’t be over and done with fast enough.

You try to put on a chipper attitude as you greet families, politely helping them get their skates and giving the kiddos your best tips and tricks for the ice. There’s a larger crowd than you’d expected today, everyone in town seemingly flocking over to grab some hot cocoa and go skating. You expertly maneuver between skate rentals and drink-making, insisting your other helper keeps an eye on the ice rink itself. It keeps you busy, at least, your brain pleasantly distracted by the chaos. In brief moments of downtime, you watch as wobbly children try to stay upright on the slippery rink, parents following close behind with outstretched hands, ready to steady them.

You’re putting skates back in their respective places when the door to the little trailer opens and shuts, a strawberry blonde head of hair lingering in your peripheral vision.

“Hey, Chrissy!” you greet her, setting out cups for the next round of cocoa orders. “How’s break been going for you?” you ask, smiling at her as she pulls off her earmuffs.

Chrissy was one of the cheer coaches for both the middle and high school, and you’d become friendly with her through school events and the like.

“Oh, you know, it’s going fine I guess….” she says, biting back a smirk as she stretches her arms out, hands splayed flat where she holds them in front of her.

You glance down, instantly clocking the sparkly diamond ring on her left ring finger. Eyes widening, you gasp, taking her perfectly-manicured hand in yours.

“No way. Jason proposed!?” you ask, watching as a pink lipgloss smile breaks out on her face and she nods.

Her and Jason had been the it couple for the majority of your high school career, and they’d still been going strong since graduation a few years back.

“Yes!! Can you believe it!? I had no. idea. he had this planned!” she squeals, her ponytail bobbing as she bounces slightly on her feet.

For some reason, it makes your heart feel like it’s about to crack beneath your rib cage. It shouldn’t, this isn’t about you, but the air is whisked from your lungs regardless.

“I— I’m so happy for you,” you say, stammering a little as you try to feign happiness. “Congratulations.”

“You okay?” she worries, her brows furrowing as she tilts her head at you. Her perky demeanor is gone, concern taking over her features.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, sorry, I just feel a little weird. Haven’t eaten much today,” you lie, forcing a smile on your face. “Seriously, congratulations,” you say again, sighing in relief when she thanks you and walks back out of the trailer, going to check on everyone skating.

You slump against the counter, a lump forming in your throat. As much as you wish it didn’t, this only makes you think of Eddie. Again.

You can’t help but let your mind wander to what could’ve been if Eddie had stayed, if maybe in a couple short years he could be proposing to you. Last December you’d been so hopeful that the two of you would make things official soon, and when Eddie gave you that necklace you were nearly certain of it — for a moment, at least. What if he had been here, in Hawkins, this entire year? Surely you’d be spending Christmas together, decorating together and baking together and simply existing together. It feels like you’ve been robbed. All of your feelings for him have had no place to go, the adoration you boxed away clawing at your heartstrings desperately.

There’s a part of you that’s so envious of what Chrissy has, and there’s another part of you that feels guilty for that. It’s not her fault you’re broken, not her fault you’ve been a shell of your former self for months now. You’re too in your head, and before you know it you’re turning away from the service window, furiously wiping at the tears that have started to fall down your cheeks.

The rest of your day is spent the same way it started — the same way all of your previous days had been spent; thinking about Eddie Munson, and what could have been. If only you could change what happened last Christmas.

taglist: @hellfirenacht @writethrough @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @trashmouth-richie @succubusmunson @likedovesinthewnd @tlclick73 @mrsjellymunson @idkitsem

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #support banner by cafekitsune #i’ll be home for christmas

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fayesia · 6 months

Text

Date night — husband!mike schmidt x reader

a/n: Hi everyone!! So this is a continuation of one of my husband!mike schmidt blurbs.

Warnings: nsfw 18+, p in v, unprotected sex, sexual acts in a public area, praise kink, fingering, dirty talk, lmk if i missed anything!!

Summary: husband!mike schmidt who takes you out to a restaurant for date night and proceeds to finger you in the enclosed booth, later rewarding you for keeping quiet by pounding into your dripping pussy in the backseat of his car.

“we’re gonna be late babe” Mike calls out as he rifles through your shared closet for his suit jacket. You roll your eyes as you slip on your silk dress struggling to reach the zip resting just above your tailbone, cold hands brush across your skin hearing the slow noise noise of the zipper reached your ears. Mikes hands rest on your hips, lips ghosting over your neck whispering “you look so good…maybe the reservation can wait”

you giggle at this “no mike, you waited months to get this booking and we finally got a good babysitter, let’s go, quick put your shoes on”. He huffs behind you watching you bend over to put your heels on, god at this point your just teasing him and he’s not gonna allow that tonight.

You reach the restaurant in record time stepping out the car as mike holds the door open for you. Glancing in the reflection of the car window he senses your hesitance to enter the fancy establish.

“you look perfect honey, now let’s go inside”

He gently grabs your hand as you walk up to the waiter, he brings you both to your table handing out menus and explains how his name is ‘James’ and he will be in charge of your table for the night. He leaves to let you both decide your orders but not before letting out a remark about ‘being there whenever you call’ followed by a smirk in your direction, leaving you sat there with a sour grimace on your face.

“what a fucking dickhead. can he not see me sat right here with you” looking up at mike you try to give him a comforting smile “you know in yours mikey i don’t care about that guy whatever his name was”

Mike pulls you closer to his side in the reclusive booth specifically requested for the two of you, finally getting a night out to yourselves. His hand resting on your thigh tightening as James returns to take your orders. “i’ll just have one steak special” mike responds not even glancing in the waiters direction, “and for the beautiful lady?” you frown a little at his comment shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, as he eyes you up and down lingering at your chest for a moment too long. you open your mouth to respond glad to hear mike cut in “my wife will have the same” he curtly replies. James simply nods unimpressed by mike.

“and what drink will you both be having tonight?”

“just the red wine”

“ok well, we should have your order ready soon”.

Mike doesn’t even regard his presence absolutely fuming next to you, so you put on a fake smile and respond with a polite “thank you” as he collects your menus and walks away. “God did you see the way he was looking at you, who does he think he is!!”

“it’s ok mike don’t let this ruin our night out” you rub your thumb reassuring against his hand that’s still tightly gripping your thigh through the open slit of your dress.

“i love you, you know that”

“i do know, i love you too mike” he lowers his head connecting his lips with your plump soft ones, you pull away remembering where you are softly breathing. Mike holds eye contact with you, lips a centimetre away from yours “you know we’re pretty hidden. Chose this booth specifically”

“For wha-“ you barely get the question out before you feel his hand glide up your dress’ slit and onto your panties.

A single fingertip traces over your panty covered clit as you breathing picks up, panicked eyes meeting his mischievous ones. You’re fighting hard to not let a moan slip out, a tasks only becoming increasingly difficult as he insert his hand into your panties and expertly explores your wet folds he’s grown to know all to well. He places soft kisses up and down the side of your neck, pausing for a second to think and then continuing to harshly suck a mark right where everyone can see. His tongue soothes the sting as it traces over the now red hickey positioned on top of your right collarbone. You think the slow almost voyeuristic torture is over until his pointer and middle finger insert into your dripping sex. The wet squelch easily heard by the two of you over the gentle classical music playing over the restaurants speakers. He rubs and curls them against your g-spot bringing you closer and closer to orgasm until he stops.

Your eyes shoot open a look of need replacing the one of pleasure you had before. However you know it was not done as punishment or to be a tease as you see James walk out of the kitchen with a bucket of ice containing a bottle of wine and two glasses. You think mike will take his hand from out beneath your dress but to your utter dismay he continues his previous actions. Struggling to sit upright you provide a small smile to James as he places down the glasses and pours you both an adequate amount, briefly glancing over at your freshly marked collarbone and leaving with a reminder that the food will be coming soon.

“you heard that hun, you gotta cum before the food does” mike whispers in your ear with a shit eating grin on his face. You want to scoff at his words but trying to control your moans are already proving to be hard. With his two fingers harshly dragging you to climax the final straw is drawn when his thumb applies pressure to your clit. You arch your back unsure of what even hold on to as your grip his wrist to stop you reaching the point of overstimulation. You coat his fingers with your cum and attempt to catch your breath watching him bring them to his lips, open his mouth and suck any remnants of your orgasm clean off them.

“just in time baby” he exclaims with delight at the sight of your overpriced meal being brought over to the two of you. James places the plates down and walks away leaving you with a wink after a quick “enjoy your meal!” you know he’s accustomed to say no matter who he’s serving.

Mike and you finish the meal, pay the mortifyingly expensive bill and return to the car. but before you can get into the front seat Mike is pulling you back against him whispering against your ear lobe in between kisses “i think you deserve a reward for your behaviour in the restaurant tonight don’t you think honey” you nod your head almost in a trance feeling his hands everywhere all at once. Opening the back seat he’s thankful he parked in the corner of the lot away from the lamplights illuminating the interior of many other cars.

He crawls over you in the cramp space kissing you with a ferocious need, you finally release your moans into his mouth missing his touch. His hand drag down your zipper, pulling the dress off you absolutely enthralled at the matching lingerie you’re wearing underneath. He unclips your bra and begins his attack to your breast, lips coming against one sucking and nibbling while his hand works on the other one. “mm fuck missed these, god it’s been too long” you moan gripping onto his hair pushing his mouth further onto your tits, slowly lowering your hands down to his pants. You unbuckle his belt pulling his pants down and reaching for his cock. He moans at the pressure of your enclosed fists moving up and down his thick throbbing dick, hips thrusting into your hand, encouraging you to pick up speed.

He pulls away, dragging your panties down your legs as a thin strand of your wetness breaks. He positions his dick against your pussy rubbing up and down to lubricate himself, before entering you in one swift go. He leaves you completely breathless pounding in and out blinded by his need for you. “oh ye just like that baby best pussy in the fuckin’ world…hmm so wet for me, such a good slut taking me so well”

you moan at the filthy words leaving mikes mouth, the noises of the two of you and your body’s connecting bounce against the cars windows, but nothing will stop people passing by from seeing the utter force the car is shaking from. Any adults experienced in this world of pleasure would be well aware of the exact events taking place beyond the fogged up windows of the this car.

And maybe its the thought of this—or mikes finger against your clit—that bring you just that little bit closer to the edge. “fuck mikey i’m gonna cum please, god harder i’m gonna fucking cum”. His thrust increase speed, the noise of his balls slapping against your ass is louder than ever but easily covered by the loud moan you both let out as you cum. Your pussy clenching around mikes pulsing dick, drenching it in a coating of your climax, the last thing mike needed to prompt him towards his own orgasm.

“oh yes yes just like that baby clench around me so warm, shit always so fucking tight no matter how much i fuck you, christ, your so perfect, i love you so much” the words never end as he pulls out and strokes his cock. His cum squirts across your stomach, even reaching your neck, finally the onslaught of cum stops with the last few droplets dripping from his cocks ferocious red tip and onto your wet pussy almost the exact same shade of red.

He wraps his arms around you pulling you on top and against his chest, caressing your hair and kissing your forehead.

“i think we should go on date nights more often”

#mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt #smut #fnaf movie #fnaf #fnaf smut #josh hutcherson smut #josh hutcherson

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pantherxrogers · 5 months

Text

A Long Night - Mike Schmidt x Reader (18+ ONLY)

Content warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY), oral (m receiving), dom/sub elements, degradation, explicit language, p*rn w/o plot, established relationship

A/N: Love this movie and love this man fr 😪 No one asked for this, but he's sexy so I had to write it 🫦 This is a little more intense than what I usually write, so read trigger warnings plz!

Summary: Mike gets home from work. The reader sucks him off. That's literally it, but it's hot! (Also, we're pretending that Mike & Abby have a much better relationship with Aunt Jane and that she's still alive 😀).

You've got him by the balls. Literally.

Mike is all you can see, hear, and feel. His head rests against the back of your couch, eyes squeezed together in pleasure. It takes all of your concentration to keep sucking his dick and not get lost in his pretty face.

"Fuuuuuuuck..." Mike mumbles out, his hips bucking into the warmth of your mouth. You use one hand to cup his balls, feeling them tighten when you gag around him. You take in the way his body reacts, a shiver overtaking him.

"Does that feel good, baby?" Your voice is slightly hoarse when you pull off of him. Shifting on the pillow below, you've been on your knees for him since he got home. He lifts his head, peering down at you.

You squeeze your thighs together, needing some sort of pressure on your clit. His dark brown eyes sweep over your frame, slightly hooded from the pleasure you've given him. He's still wearing his vest, with tousled hair and an unshaven beard. His veiny hands grip your couch cushions, needing something to ground himself.

"I asked you a question, baby" You tease, using one hand to stroke his cock, your saliva acting as a lube. His dick stands proudly, thick and hard in your soft palm.

"Shit-, yes, feels fuckin' amazing," he pants, hips bucking, pre cum bubbling from the angry red tip. You can barely fit your hand around him, wetness seeping out of your pussy, imagining his veiny cock inside of you.

You lock eyes with him, leaning down to place soft kisses around the tip. He groans out, the sound adding to your arousal. Gathering spit in your mouth, you hold his gaze, before letting the saliva drip out onto his dick.

"Fuck, such a dirty girl," he groans, bucking his hips up into nothing. You smirk at his desperation, loving the way he's falling apart in front of you.

"C'mon baby, wanna feel your lips back on my dick," he whines, before you put him out of his misery.

He lets out a guttural moan when you take him back into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. You're lost in the taste and feel of having him in your mouth.

Your eyes water slightly, taking more of his cock in your mouth until you feel it hit the back of your throat. He lets out a steady stream of moans, littered with profanities. You breathe through your nostrils, looking up at him while you massage his sensitive balls.

"You're so fuckin' sexy," he murmurs, bringing up a hand to cradle the back of your head. You love the feeling, relishing in the control he has over you. Relaxing your throat, he fucks your mouth, gently gripping your head with both hands.

"Look at you, on your knees before I can even take a shower," he punctuates the words with sharp thrusts, making you gag around him. Warmth spreads over your body, loving the way he talks to you.

"Such a fuckin' slut, aren't you?" he mocks, a smirk taking over his face. Your eyes light up at the words, loving when he gets like this. So close to the edge and just a little mean with you.

You do your best to nod your head, humming in agreement. The vibrations cause his dick to stir, pushing him closer to the edge.

"Fuck, 'm gonna cum," he huffs, locking your head into place while he sloppily thrusts into your warmth.

You babble around him, helping him chase his orgasm. He's lost in pleasure, jaw slightly agape. You're grinding down onto the pillow below, unable to control yourself.

"Fuckin' take it," he groans, more wetness pooling into your panties. "'M gonna cum in your mouth, then fuck that tight pussy," he mutters, your low moan adding to his pleasure.

The vibrations cause hot spurts of cum hit the back of your throat, salty and thick. You lift your head slightly, trying to relax your throat against the steady stream.

"Shiiiiiiiit," Mike huffs out, arms slumping to his sides. You stare up at him in awe, sliding off of his cock.

He looks down at you, raising an eyebrow. You feel your cheeks burn, sticking your clean tongue. His answering smirk makes your pussy throb.

"Such a good girl," he mumbles, reaching down to shove his cock back into his pants before he helps you up. You settle into his side on the worn couch, nestling into his warmth, pressing kisses along his neck.

He turns his head to capture your soft lips, forcing his tongue into your mouth. His rough vest brushes against your sensitive nipples, your skimpy pajama top doing little to act as a barrier. The way his tongue invades your mouth makes your head swim.

Peppering kisses down your throat, his strong hand reaches across to knead your ass through your pants. Goosebumps follow everywhere he touches, your heart still beating out of your chest. He starts to slip his hands into your pants, before a knock sounds at the door.

"Damn it," he groans, the disappointment in his voice making you giggle.

"Open the door!" You both bristle at the sound of his aunt's voice, likely bringing Abby home for the night. The thought of the sweet girl makes you smile, untangling yourself from your boyfriend.

"C'mon, Mike, answer the door," you tell him, almost laughing at the disappointed look on his face.

"Babe, c'mon, we'll finish later," you giggle, as he untangles himself with a scowl on his face. He presses a firm kiss on your lips before he stands.

Your heart thuds when he bends down, hovering over you, both arms trapping you in your spot on the couch.

"Say hi to Abby, and then go wait in my room until I get there," he commands.

You squirm, subtly grinding your clit against your heel, before nodding. He chuckles, pressing one last kiss to your lips before heading to the door.

It's going to be a long night.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #michael schmidt #mike schimdt smut #micheal schmidt #vanessa afton #william afton #william afton x reader #𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⊹ ˚˖⋆｡ ra ra fics

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aweina · 5 months

Text

౨ৎ. UNDER HIS HOODIE ( suggestive ) ; mike schmidt

tags fem reader. established relationship. possessive + jealous behavior. awkwardness. implied sex + 1.1k words.

mike never let’s you answer the front door, not anymore at least. it was that time when he heard a striking knock on the door — giving your neck a soft kiss before lazily mumbling for you to get the door for him, barely registering the sight of your bare legs and the purplish hues on your skin.

you quietly complied with a dazed smile, rubbing your cold thighs together as you pattered towards the door — halfheartedly tugging at the hem of mike’s hoodie over your bruised neck as you threaded your fingers through the teased strands, rubbing off inky tear stains from your flushed cheeks with another hand.

the door opened slowly, revealing a blonde woman in an officer uniform. the buzzed feeling of after sex transformed into a state of alarm — the aching slouch on your back straightened within a blink of an eye.

it was her. the officer who likes to pry in your boyfriend’s business.

the tapping of her dirty leather boots seemed like she was on a time crunch. arms defensively crossed over her chest, a deadpan look in her face. then her bored blue eyes widened, lingering at your lustrous appearance. the jacket you sported was dark and baggy, blotches of bleach stains dispersed around the thick sleeves and edge of the hood. the smell was familiar too. fresh linen with a hint of herbal cologne. it was his jacket, mike’s.

with the cold zipper pulled down, the peak of your pink bra and cotton underwear was shown beneath the baggy fabric. blossoms of purple and red marking your neck and even sprinkled between the plushness of your bare thighs. your hair was frizzy and tangled, the light smudge of melted makeup painted your face. vanessa couldn’t help but chuckle, her guard faltering.

you looked up and down with a suspicious look, tucking your hands into the warm pockets of his jacket — leaning against the painted cracked doorway. there was an awkward stare down, until vanessa finally spoke up.

“i’ve never seen you before.” she says it like it’s a fact, smiling with a tinge of annoyance.

“neither have i,” you merely replied, shrugging your shoulders with your lips pressed into a flat line.

vanessa raised a brow at that, shifting towards one foot over the other — sensing the tension and maddening heat radiating off your body.

“well … it’s just mike never told me about a girlfriend.” vanessa explains further, a slight strain in her words. you rest your head on the doorframe, a snarky laugh escaping your smudged lips.

“is there any reason he would need to?” if it was possible, your eyes would’ve been glowing with crimson anger.

vanessa shook her head — her blonde locks swaying as she did.

"no, just a little surprised," she admitted, her gaze darting between your defiant stance and your bra strap slowly sliding down.

the silent air hangs thick once again, the standoff between you and vanessa alerting mike from his restless cooking — muttering curses as he wipes his sauce-coated hands before fixing his messy curls.

with an exasperated laugh, mike swoops in between the two of you — covering your exposed form with his clothed body as he tosses an awkward smile to vanessa.

“h – hey vanessa. what’s up?” mike can feel the burning glare on the back of his head, but he simply grasps your hand with a soothing warmth.

“had fun last night?” vanessa quips, watercolor eyes lingering towards the lipstick smudge on his neck and the deep bite marks trailing underneath the loose fitted shirt. she couldn’t even ignore the streaks of red staining his wrists, obviously clawed by your sharp nails.

mike opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed too shy to utter a word. yeah, he’ll admit, it was obvious the both of you had sex.

finally finding the courage to project his voice, mike slowly nods, scratching the back of his marked neck nervously. "uh, yeah, it was ... eventful."

you quietly peered over the tense scene, tugging away from his restraint to wrap your arms firmly around his waist — resting your head teasingly against his shoulder. there was a sly smile plastered on your rosy lips, hearing mike’s quiet groan from your sudden embrace.

“mike is busy, can you please leave officer vanessa?” you added a playful pout to your venom-laced request, casting an exaggerated look of annoyance at vanessa.

mike shifted uncomfortably under the weight of menacing stare down, trapped between your flush, bare body and the half opened door — under the judgment of vanessa’s knowing gaze. he feigns a small cough, an apologetic smile forced on his blushing face, silently mouthing a “sorry” towards the officer.

vanessa nods in assurance, noticing your rogue touches lingering beneath mike’s waistband. he stumbles a bit, holding your hands in place with a firm grip.

“a – alright. i will.” she holds back an amused laugh as she peers up at the blush ridden mike then to your cold glare, immediately turning towards mike. “so mike … i’ll see you tomorrow around —”

before vanessa could finish her sentence, the door was forced shut with a loud slam — your foot being the culprit for the disruption.

mike cringes and turns around, meeting your sparkling eyes and forced smile — the corners twitching with aggression. he cannot help but chuckle at your possessiveness, wrapping his own arms around your neck as he gives your jaw a soft kiss.

“seriously?” mike mumbles as he leans in to add another mark, tasting your honeyed perfume while he tugs your tight skin between his teeth. your aggression seems to melt under his mouth.

“she’s nosey.” you whine in his ear, scrambling to grasp on his curls when he suckles on a sweet spot.

“she’s harmless … i think.” mike mouths against your freshly marked jaw, ogling down at your soft breasts and thighs — spilling out the tightness of your revealing garments, shadowed by the wrinkles of his jacket.

he pulls away, a sheepish look on his face. mike brushes through the thick knots of your hair — a little reminder when it was threaded between his fingertips, every tug sent you whimpering and singing his name through the night.

“but just don’t … don’t open the door without any clothes this time.” he begs, zipping up his jacket to preserve last night’s activity — a little too late to feign modesty. “or answer the door at all.”

you smirked as you turned towards the kitchen, continuing mike’s cooking routine that was luckily not smothered in flames and spiced smoke.

“no promises mikey.” your smug answer left mike grinning, defeatedly locking the front door with a loud click.

#.୨୧ ina writes #.purple mark #mike schimdt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x y/n

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bunnybunbun0 · 6 months

Text

Currently getting off on the idea of loser!Mike touching a boob for the first time ever. (and of course its yours!)

You were just out for a midnight walk and thought "why dont i go bother mike at his new security job?" You were sitting in a random table along with him,a teasing lolipop in your mouth,flirting with Mike and getting his flustered over nothing was too much fun,you couldn´t get over it.

"So youve never been on a proper date?" He asked regarding the topic of your crappy dating life "Like no flowers or a nice dinner?" His eyebrows were raised,he always disapproved of the sketchy man you went out with,and he thought a nobody like him would never get a chance with a girl like you.

"Dinner and flowers?" You looked into his eyes and chuckled amusedly "Please,i showed my tits for way less!" you took the sucker out your mouth with a loud pop.

The blush on Michael´s cheeks were nerly comic,like a cartoon character getting a kiss on the cheeck,his eyes went everywhere trying to avoid yours,and you could swear that for a moment he just stared at your lips.

"So those men they just...saw your chest?" His voice was heavy in embarassement,face so red he looked like he had a nasty fever.

It was too much of a good teasing chance to just let it pass.

"Oh that and much more..." You popped the candy back into your mouth smirking teasingly "What? You never touched a boob?"

You knew the answer to that question already,Michael´s non existing date life was material for endless late night phone calls and a fuel for your relentless teasing.

"N-no i havent..." He said shyly

You were´nt expecting him to actually answer that,let alone with such honesty,a million things ran through your mind in that minute and the one you chose to listen was the fact you couldnt let your best friend be the type of man who never felt a woman´s breasts.

"Well,lets cchange that shall we?" Your smile was growing bigger by the minute. As you took of your jacket revealing the low cut top you were wearing that oh so nicely hugged your breasts,his eyes were glued in them.

He was taken aback by your actions,not sure what to do next,but that smirk of yours and that top that left little to the imagination were stirring something in him.

"What...What are you implying here?" He twiddled his fingers nervously and you took a step closer to him.

"Well...What are you waiting for? Be my guest!"

He could swear his heart never pumped any faster. He approached you slowly,shaky hands being raised to the point where they were rested on top of your chest,he looked into your eyes for any kind of reaction,hands still and face red like some kind of trance.

"Well dont be shy! get into it!" You stirred him on dancing the red lolipop around in your cheecks.

"A-am i doing this right?" He asked worried and out of breath as he moved his hand slowly,small circular moves from the entirety of what your push bra could expose to him.

"There is no way of doing this wrong,as long as you enjoy yourself..." Your tone was flirtarious as ever,and the growing tent on the front of his jeans proved he was indeed enjoying himself.

His eyes wandered between you and his hands on your boobs,he was slowly getting the hang of it,being ever so delicate and liking the feel of your body on his palms. But it wasnt enough for you,not until he really let himself go.

"Come on! really get into it!" You stirred him on one more time,going further this time.

You put your hands on top of his over your chest and gave it a nice firm squeeze,wanting him to really feel you. You thought his eyes were gonna pop off with how big they widened.

His shock however,didnt forbid him from keep on squeezing and massaging your boobs,the confidence growing ever more at every little gasp that you let scape and at the way he could feel your nipples harden under the fabric.

He couldnt believe his luck! He was actually touching a girls boobs! One that he has been attracted to for a long time as well! He didnt want this moment to ever be over.

"Are you liking it?" he asked without ever stoping the motion of groping your tits.

you hissed through grutted teeth at the way he teased your nipples,mike was always a quick learner and this time it wasnt any different.

"Youre not bad for a first timer" you smiled at him teasingly.

You took a few steps back,chest feeling cold without his preying hands,you ignored the temporary feeling of loss knowing what was to come would be way better. You slid your hands beneath your shirt pulling it over your head,staying in front of him in only a bra and jeans.

"Ready to learn the real deal?"

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mxchxelschmidt · 6 months

Note

A Mike schmidt x reader where neither of them sleep but he comes home from work early one night and they both go to sleep together 😭💕

the sleep deprived power couple! ty for this!

You and Mike worked well together. You had similar habits and shared interests. You also both had a bad habit of being insomniacs. Whether it was due to your own problems or the fact that the only job he could get was on night shift. Your sleep schedules were opposite. So when you were at work, Mike was supposed to be sleeping. While Mike was at work, you were supposed to be sleeping. It never seemed to quite work out that way.

Mike always found himself staring at the ceiling with his hands folded on his stomach, not sure what to do with his hands. He would lay there like that for hours before giving in and getting up. Abby was at school and you were at work, so it’s not like you would ever notice he wasn’t sleeping.

For you, it was laying in the bed rolling around and missing the weight of Mike in the bed next to you. You tried cuddling his pillow to pretend it was him. It never quite worked out the way you wanted it to. So you would go to the living room and watch tv knowing Abby was knocked out cold and would never know the difference. You would always get back into bed about 30 minutes before Mike got home so he could tag you out for the day to collapse into bed and go to sleep himself.

Tonight was no different for you. It was 3:30 am on the alarm clock when you heard the front door open. You simply rolled over pulling the blanket up over your shoulders and closed your eyes lightly. You heard the creaking in the hallway and the door opened a few moments later. All you hear is the rustling of Mike shedding his coat, pants and shirt. Moments later you feel the weight shift on the bed and an arm slides under your pillow and head, then an arm snakes around your waist and you can feel the sleepiness coming.

Mikes warm, and you immediately feel cozy in his arms. You roll over to face him and you can just make out his eyes in the dark room, ever so dimly lit by the red light of the alarm clock.

“Hey there stranger” he says quietly.

You would laugh if it didn’t feel like the truth with how little of each other you saw recently.

“I missed you.” You say and bury your face in his chest.

He holds you close and wraps his arms tighter around you. He rubs a hand across your back slowly and buries his face in your hair inhaling deeply, “I missed you too. Haven’t been sleeping so good recently.”

Your voice is muffled slightly, “Me neither..”

When you pull your head back from his chest he takes the hand around your waist and tips your chin up connecting your lips softly. They just brush every so slightly against each other and you let out a happy sigh. You missed this so much.

Mike soon rolls onto his back and leaves his arm resting under your head. You move to rest your head on his chest and he lets his arm tighten around you holding you close to his side. That’s how you two sleep for most of the night. Pressed together like a puzzle that fits just perfectly.

Another sleepless night turns into the best sleep you’ve had in weeks and instead of tagging you out in the morning, you wake up together and start making breakfast for Abby to have before school.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt fanfic #fnaf movie fanfic #Mike Schmidt needs a nap #the reader needs a nap #just let them sleep peacefully in each others arms

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augustjustice · 4 months

Text

Children Behave (That's What They Say When We're Together), 1/2

AO3

It’s just after 10 pm on a Saturday night when the Party find themselves standing out on the edge of the forest surrounding Lover’s Lake, summoned by the “Code Red” Dustin had sent out half an hour before on their walkies.

“Dustin, seriously…what are we even doing out here?” Max demands with an exasperated flap of her arms as she hops off the back of Lucas’s bike, the pair of them stopping a few feet from the two others already dropped into the grass.

They approach the figures at the treeline quickly, the silhouette of one of Dustin’s many rotating ballcaps and Mike’s black curls–grown out so long they nearly brush his shoulders now–easy to recognize, even in nothing but moonlight.

It’s just the four of them these days, at least until the Byers manage to pack up their house in Lenora and move the family back to Hawkins. The party has been impatiently waiting out the days until summer begins as a collective, Dustin even rigging up a countdown clock that he updates them on every morning before school.

“Yeah, I really wish I knew,” Mike mutters in answer to Max’s question, the pair of them sharing an equally exasperated look, a rare show of solidarity.

“Reconnaissance,” Dustin interrupts, simple and curt, pointing from his position squatted down amongst the greenery. “Look.”

As one, Lucas and Max turn to follow the direction of his finger–where Steve’s familiar maroon BMW sits, about a stone's throw from Reefer Rick’s place.

“That’s…weird,” Lucas admits. “What’s Steve doing out here?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Dustin explains. “Steve wasn’t answering his walkie. He always picks up, he knows the Rule of Law.”

“How’d you even know to look for him out here, then?” Max asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Through the powers of deduction, my dear Mayfield,” Dustin replies, voice purposefully affected. “Something’s afoot. Of the Upside Down variety.”

Even the mere suggestion is enough to make the other three teens stiffen, casting wary glances at the darkened forest around them.

“Vecna’s dead,” Mike says, voice threaded through with sudden tension.

“And El closed all the rifts in Hawkins,” Lucas insists.

“She did,” Max agrees immediately, coming to the defense of both Lucas and El simultaneously.

“How many times have we said that before?” Dustin asks.

Max, Lucas, and Mike all share a cowed, anxious look.

“I’m just saying, it never hurts to stay hypervigilant. Especially around here. Don’t forget, Steve and the others tried to leave us behind, in this very spot, the last time.”

“Yeah, but…it wasn’t like we didn’t know what was going on then,” Lucas says defensively. “They would tell us, if Vecna was back.”

“That’s because we,” Dustin gestures emphatically between himself and Max, “were the ones to figure it out in the first place!”

“Come on, Dustin, he’s probably just…with some girl.” Mike’s face twists in a way that makes it clear exactly what he thinks of that. “I mean, it is Steve.”

“He’s not on a date, Mike,” Dustin rolls his eyes, his snippy tone implying the very suggestion is absurd. “Because if he was on a date, he would have told me. You think he would have missed the opportunity to brag about some hot Saturday night out he had planned? No. Besides, Steve tells me everything.”

“And yet…” Lucas holds up a finger, with the gravitas of someone interjecting in a court of law, “you still continue to insist he and Robin are dating, despite the fact that Steve’s told you a thousand times they’re not.”

“That’s not the same thing. It’s not my fault Steve’s too emotionally stunted he can’t recognize his own feelings for what they are,” Dustin waves a hand dismissively.

“They’re definitely not dating, dude,” Max says with a certainty that makes the boys’ heads swivel in unison to look at her, like she possesses some secret knowledge none of the rest are privy to yet. She ignores them, instead taking the binoculars from Dustin without so much as a question.

“It’s called Lover’s Lake,” Mike points out petulantly, “it’s literally a make out spot!”

“And the exact location of a former gate,” Dustin argues with just as much fervor. “Which Steve knows. Why would he be out here if it wasn’t because of something connected with the Upside Down?”

“I hate to break it to you,” Max interrupts, still peering through the binoculars, a slight smirk unfurling across her face, “but it looks like Steve’s definitely on a date.”

“What the fuck?!” Dustin squawks. “Let me see!”

As Max and Dustin begin a spirited game of keepaway with the binoculars, Lucas cranes his neck curiously.

“Ew,” Mike’s face screws up in exaggerated disgust.

“What?!” Lucas’s shoulders scrunch up towards his ears, defensive. “Don’t act like you don’t wanna know.”

“I definitely don’t, dude.”

“Admit it. You’re just mad because he didn’t tell you.” As she continues taunting Dustin, the corner of Max’s mouth tilts into a teasing grin. “Busybody.”

“Listen to what your boyfriend is saying, Max, and see reason. We need to find out if Steve and Robin finally got their shit together!”

“I already told you, they are so not dating,” Max rolls her eyes. “Besides, whoever he’s got in there with him? Has dark, curly hair. That sound like Robin to you?”

“Curly?” Lucas’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, you don’t think it’s–”

“Nancy?!” Mike gasps, completely scandalized.

“No, but I thought–Jonathan,” Dustin darts a confused look at Mike. “Unless…I was right, and they’re out here investigating something! I mean, come on, it’s Steve and Nancy. That sounds exactly like the kind of guns blazing thing that they would do.”

“It didn’t look like they were investigating,” Max mutters, “at least…not anything that wasn’t already inside the car.”

Whether it’s that last comment that sets him off is unclear, but from one blink to the next, Mike is suddenly charging out of the woods towards the car.

“Wait a second, Mike!” Max shouts, on his heels immediately.

One fleeting look between Dustin and Lucas is all it takes to send them rushing after the pair.

None of them is fast enough to catch up to his gangly gait, however, especially not with Mike Wheeler on a mission. In moments, he’s right on top of the Beemer, slapping an open palm impatiently against the window.

“Steve? Nancy?!” he shouts in petulant, disbelieving teenage outrage as the two figures inside spring apart. “Holy shit, is that you? Open the door!”

The question is followed by the sound of muffled cursing, and, apparently deciding the pair isn’t moving fast enough, Mike yanks repeatedly at the handle on the passenger side.

He’s nearly knocked backwards into Lucas, the other three having caught up, when the door finally pushes open under his hand.

"Nancy?!" he repeats in a screech to rival even Dustin’s loudest as the dark, disheveled curly hair they'd already spotted comes more clearly into view.

"Uh…" a deep, familiar voice pipes up, "sorry to disappoint, but–I'm definitely not Wheeler."

"Oh my God, you guys have gotta be fucking kidding me," Steve’s voice pipes up, and then he lets out a full-bodied groan, leaning across the console and pinning them all under his glare.

He's wearing his 'seriously pissed off' face, which is about two shades more intense than his 'pretending to be pissed off for the sake of saving face and riling them up' face. And at his side sits none other than…

Eddie Munson, who blinks over at them with wide brown eyes.

Part 2

#stranger things #steddie #dustin henderson #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #steve harrington #eddie munson #brotp: babysitter's club #my writing #my stuff #my things #have something silly #fair warning: the party are meddling in this and everyone bickers constantly #but that's their love language #no beta we die like my braincells since i'm writing this while sick lol

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libraryofgage · 9 months

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Saw the Barbie movie the other day and Billie Eilish's "What Was I Made For" (click the song title to listen to it lol) hit so fuckin different good lord. Anyway, it's perfect for Steve angst with a dash of platonic Stobin and romantic Steddie fluff so ;)

---

Steve is five when he learns that he was made to keep his parents together. At least, that's why his mother made him.

He learns it one night when his father is staying late at the company (before his mother started accompanying him all the time, leaving an empty house and Steve behind; Steve can confidently say his presence did, in fact, fix their relationship: it gave them something to unite against). His mother is three large glasses of red wine in, draped inelegantly on the couch and slurring her words with a glassy film covering her eyes.

"Steven, you were supposed...supposed to make him stay," she says, her fourth glass of wine dangerously close to spilling across the white rug. "An-and he's still gone! What did we do wrong?"

Despite the use of "we," Steve knows very well (even at the age of five) that his mother means "What did you do wrong?" He doesn't have an answer for her--he never will--and that seems to be just one more thing she holds against him.

Steve is seven when he learns that he was made to keep the family name strong and respected. At least, that's why his father made him.

He learns it when his father brings him to work, his stern expression and tense shoulders telling Steve to behave himself, to be seen and not heard the entire day (he did, and it worked a little too well; after falling asleep on the couch, his father had forgotten him at work, leaving him to spend the night in the locked office). His father is sitting at his desk, expensive pen in hand and phone just hung up after a tense conversation that ended with the most genuine smile Steve has ever seen from him.

"Steven, I hope you've been paying attention today," he says, placing the pen on the desk and fixing him with a suffocating gaze. "You'll be working here one day, and I expect you to make something of yourself when you do. You're to be a model man, someone I can proudly introduce to others."

When his father says proudly, Steve knows he means that he can't do that now because Steve has yet to make something of himself. Steve nods once, says a firm but not too loud, "Yes, sir," and his father goes back to work.

Steve is sixteen when he learns Nancy made him her boyfriend for...for a distraction? Because it's what was expected of her? Because she was curious? At least, that's what Nancy seems to be saying.

Honestly, Steve isn't sure she knows, either. But she definitely knows that he wasn't what she wanted, that he wasn't what she expected, that he couldn't live up to the expectations she had made for him.

Either way, he learned it over the course of their relationship, but it all hit him at the very end, when fights and names (idiot, asshole, and dick, to list a few) compounded into a breakup that left him aching, angry, empty, hurt, and desperate to know what he did wrong.

Maybe then he'd be able to save himself from making the same mistake over and over. Because it must be him, right? It must be something he's doing; if only he could figure out what that is.

Steve is seventeen when he learns that maybe he was made to be a shield. At least, that's how he understands the plan Dustin comes up with wherein he calls Steve their tank.

He learns it when they're huddled together at some point, readying to face demodogs and whatever else the Upside Down has decided to throw at them. Dustin is explaining the plan, his eyes bright as he throws around terms Steve can't recognize. "And Steve is going to be our tank," he says.

"What's a tank?" Steve asks, at least certain they don't mean the military kind of tank.

"Like a meatshield, duh," Mike tells him, the explanation short and quick and then disregarded in favor of the rest of the plan.

Maybe Steve should have felt hurt, but part of him is more excited by the fact that he could do well as a tank, a meatshield. He could, in fact, be made for that role. He's great at taking a punch, great at jumping back to his feet, great at putting himself between the kids and whatever wants to kill them.

The only way he could possibly fail at being a shield is by dying, and he doesn't plan to die just yet.

Steve is eighteen when he wonders if maybe he's made to love. At least, that's a realization he has after befriending Robin, getting tortured together, and learning he doesn't need romance to love someone. It's a realization he throws himself into wholeheartedly one day when he looks at Robin and sees her trying to drink a slushie with a Twizzler.

"I think I love you," he blurts out, unable to hold the words in and feeling bad for it when Robin subsequently chokes on Twizzler and Cherry slush.

She spits out the slushie, tosses her Twizzler into the cup, and spins around to look at Steve. "We've definitely talked about this, dingus," she says, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "You got amnesia or something?"

Steve rolls his eyes and pushes her. "Not like that. I mean, like, a friend. I love you, Robin. You mean a lot to me, and I hope we're still friends when we're 80 so we can make fun of other people in our nursing home."

Robin breaks out into a grin that she quickly suppresses. "Ugh, affection," she sneers, turning her nose up. It lasts all of three seconds before she glances at Steve from the corner of her eye and adds, "I love you, too, dingus."

Steve is nineteen when he decides that he's made for love, to give and receive and bask in its warmth. At least, that's what he decides when he's with Eddie, sprawled across his bed and listening to the mixtape he made for Steve.

They've been dancing around each other for a while up to that point: obnoxiously obvious flirtations, finding any excuse to brush against each other or share space or lean together, creating reasons to hang out with some as simple as "I'm just bored." Steve has been enjoying it; they both seem to understand what's inevitable, and they're just taking their time getting there.

And right now, listening to Eddie sing along to Metallica, Steve thinks that he wants to stop dancing around each other and dance together, instead. So, he turns onto his side, places a hand on Eddie's arm, waits until Eddie is looking at him with a bright smile and curious eyes, and says, "I was made for loving you."

Instead of the joy Steve was expecting, Eddie just looks confused. "How'd you know that was the next song?" he asks.

"What?"

"On the mix tape. I Was Made for Loving You by KISS. That's the next song," Eddie explains.

Steve blinks and frowns. He sits up, throws a leg over Eddie's hips, and settles on top of him. Eddie doesn't look surprised, since it's not the first time Steve has done this. Usually, it just means Steve wants him to pay close attention. "I didn't know it was the next song, Eds."

It takes a few moments for Eddie to fully understand what he means. And Steve gets a front-row seat to the confusion that morphs into understanding that morphs into amazement. "Oh," Eddie breathes, pushing himself up to rest on his elbows. "Could you say it again? I don't think I heard you the first time, Stevie."

Steve snorts but humors Eddie anyway. "I was made for loving you," he says, softer this time and leaning closer.

"Yeah, much clearer that time." Eddie's grin is wide and blinding before he closes the distance between them. "I was made for loving you, too, sweetheart," he whispers back, his words pressed against Steve's lips and searing into his heart.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steddie fluff #platonic stobin #stranger things #stranger things fic #Barbie movie soundtrack hits different ngl #can we also talk about Steve just being barbie?#like #he starts as a Ken and becomes a Barbie #tell me i'm wrong you can't #also I'm realizing Steve is a character that turns in my mind at supersonic speed #and Steddie by extension cuz gosh those boys could be so good together

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gaiathemexicanbeauty · 6 months

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your latest mike fic actually has me squealing stop. can you please write something cute about him for the festive season? i don’t mind how long it is, i just wanna cuddle into his itchy christmas sweater and eat gingerbread and drink hot chocolate and watch love actually (despite him insisting he’ll hate it)

mr. grinch | mike schmidt x reader

word count: 904

warnings: none! this is just some nice little christmas fluff for the holidays! thanksgivingdoesnotexisttomeok

all of you are keeping me so well fed, any time i see a mike request, i have to take a second to get excited

he is probably such a grinch, he is so dear to me

I LOOOVE writing christmas stuff, i hope that this did the holiday justice

mike sighs tiredly when he finally enters his house, about to announce his arrival before stopping in his tracks. he closes the door behind him as he knocks some of the snow off of his shoes, eyeing the rest of the house with an almost comedic sort of suspicion: he swore the house hadn't been this festive when he left.

his once dull looking living room was littered with boxes, ropes of garland and tinsel peeking out of some them. the most noticeable thing, however, is the obvious christmas tree in the corner of the room that remains undecorated. the kitchen seems to be the most decorated for now, a quaint centerpiece in the middle of the table and some christmas lights hanging on one end of the room. mike looks up when he hears footsteps from down the hall, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the sweaters he sees on you and abby who is following behind you. your sweater is decorated with all kinds of red, white, and green patterns, a cat poking its head out of a stocking on the front of it. abby's sweater is less in your face, a deep blue with various colored christmas lights decorated onto it.

"you're back! how was work?" you say with a sweet smile, putting down the box in your arms to pull mike into an embrace that he gladly accepts. "same as always, boring. did you do..?" mike says with a smile, raising an eyebrow as he gestures to the rest of the house. "WE decorated the house." "oh, yeah?" mike says with another smile, letting abby take his hand and lead him over to the living room. "we wanted to do the christmas tree with you. i'm gonna put my ornament from school, you put on your sweater." abby says, not missing a beat as she hands mike a sweater hanging off the couch and running back to her room. you give mike a knowing smile as you lean against the couch, watching him unfold the sweater: the colors are the same as yours but have a cartoonishly decorated christmas tree on it. almost immediately, he lets out a laugh of disbelief. "no way."

"oh my god, where's your christmas spirit?" you giggle as mike shakes his head, already trying to abandon the sweater that you're trying to put back in his hands. "you and abby have enough christmas for the three of us, thank you very much." he says as you hold the sweater up against him, scrunching your nose at him playfully. the two of you have a moment of silence, looking at each other expectantly to see who will break first: you, of course, have no shame at all. "pleeease? for abby? and totally not for my own enjoyment?" you say as you bat your eyelashes at mike, folding the jacket over your arm so that you can cup his face in your hands. his eyes remain focused on yours and seemingly uninterested despite the smile tugging at his lips, your hands squeezing and pinching his cheeks in an effort to further crumble his resolve. "for me?" mike looks over at abby standing in the hallway with a sheepish smile, giving her a look that says 'really?'. when the two of you nod at him with fake-innocent looks, he lets out a sigh before giving a defeated yet amused "fine."

and with that defeat, mike is wrapped up in christmas festivities for the rest of the night. abby insists on everything there is despite how little time it takes for her to get tired; it's only 10:00 pm by the time you and mike are sitting on the couch, your legs hung over his lap and his hand rubbing slow circles into your back. quiet christmas music plays in the background, your cheek rested against his shoulder as you bring your mug of hot chocolate to your lips. "tree turn out alright for you?" mike mumbles softly as he looks over at the now decorated tree, making you smile warmly as you nod. "yeah. it's perfect. abby's ornament really ties the whole thing together." you say with a soft laugh, looking over at the small angel that was nearly in the center of the tree. "thank you, by the way. for all this, i mean. we don't do this all the time." you smile up at mike when he looks at you, his hand moving from your back to your hair, brushing it away from your face as your cheeks redden.

you press your forehead against his, feeling your heart start to soar in your chest: before you can get closer, you gasp softly as a thought comes to your mind. "wait!" mike watches you scramble away to the kitchen for a moment before you come back with something cupped in your hand: as soon as he sees the mistletoe, mike can't help the laugh that leaves him. "hey, don't laugh! not only are you going to wake up abby but you're also not embracing the spirit of christmas." you say with a fake tone of pride, making mike roll his eyes. "so you're saying that christmas is-" before mike can even finish his thought, you close the gap between the two of you with a giggle against his lips, knocking the two of you backwards on the couch as a grunt of surprise leaves mike.

I WAS SOOOO GIGGLY WRITING ALL THIS, thank you anon for requesting this right after laufy dropped several christmas songs

I HOPE THAT TO ANON, THAT YOU ENJOYED THIS AND THAT IT MADE YOU GIGGLE AS MUCH AS THE LAST ONE I WROTE

i hope to everyone reading this that you all also enjoyed this and are having a good rest of your day/night/afternoon! :3

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt fanfic #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #fnaf #oneshot #x reader #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson #michael schmidt x reader #fnaf x reader #fnaf x you

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deathbecomesthem · 2 months

Text

Anything We Want

Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

WC: 3.4K

Warnings: None, really. There are implications. Mention of scars.

Summary: A day at the beach, but with a lot of yearning.

Fic inspired by this song right here:

*This is a re-upload. Enjoy, friends. I consider this a special one.

Distracted. It’s been like that for the last few weeks, truth be told, but worse since you felt his eyes rake across your body earlier. Now you know, he wants you as much as you want him. It was unmistakable when he walked into your bedroom expecting you to be ready for the day at the lake with the kids. He stood too long looking at you with your bathrobe tied loosely around your body, hair wet, water rivulets running down your legs, chest, cheeks.

The rest of the world seemed to fade into the background, just you and him seeing. If not for the sound of your front door being thrown open, you’re certain the distance between the two of you would have shrunk until –

“Hey, where are you guys?” It’s Mike. Not just Mike, you’re sure, because it’s too much noise. They’re early, but so is Eddie. Of all the days.

“Uh, I’m coming, hold up.” Eddie’s stumbling over his own feet as he turns to try to head of the boys from barging into your bedroom. You take notice of the red blooming high on his cheeks, because it’s undeniable. The moment happened. You both felt it.

When you enter the kitchen, you find the boys play fighting and digging through your cupboards while Eddie sits at the kitchen table with a glass of water. He’s unusually quiet. You’ve got your bag packed, and you push past Dustin to get into the fridge to get the sandwiches you made last night for everyone.

“Are we all ready? Suits on? Towels? Sunscreen?” You answer is a chorus of yes moms. You hate the nickname. It’s why they still use it. You can’t help the way you want everyone to be happy, be safe. How could you not after everything?

“Eddie –“ he starts, his name pulling him out of the daydream he was having. You know what he’s thinking about, his hand on your skin, his mouth on your neck, your smell in his nose, you’ve got to bring him out of that, “You ready to get going?”

He clears his throat, knocks back the rest of the water, and nods. “Let’s get moving, everyone’s gonna wonder what’s taking so long.” His attempt to save face, act like he wasn’t the reason everyone was still standing around waiting to leave, brings out smirk on your face.

The boys are shoving and pushing their way through the front door, you yell at their backs, “you little shits pile in the back, I’m riding shotgun,” they all groan in response to your demand. They’ll concede, but it’s easier for them to know the score before they even try it.

“How are we doing, Ed?” You loop your elbow in his while you steer him to the door, “do you need me to drive? You seem a little out of it.”

Your good natured and knowing ribbing seems to give him the courage he may have otherwise lacked. As you step to move your way through the front door, he pulls you back and pins you against the wall – out of sight of the rest of the crew.

He touches your still damp hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “What have you done to me?” As if you’ve done anything, you have no response to the question. You see the crease in his brow, the concern. He’s questioning his feelings, and it makes sense. You both have become something of parent figures for the kids in the last few months. So much pain and loss, you and Eddie have been the constants for them. You two are an unlikely duo, for so many reasons, but you’ve worked so hard to be consistent for everyone. Mutual sacrifice and mutual dependence on each other. This is the first time either of you have really looked at each other.

“What are you doing to me, Ed?” Your eyes are searching his. His lips are parted, as if he has something to say. Your mouths are drawn together, as if each set is magnetized to attract the other. His nose is rubbing against your own as he angles his mouth to meet you, the heat of his breath fanning across your lips –

*Hooooonk* *Hoooooooooonk* The sound of the horn from Eddie’s van has you jumping apart from one another. Two heads shaking away the fog of desire. What is going on with you two?

“I’m gonna kill those little assholes.” Eddie grabs the cooler and beach bag before slipping on a pair of flip flops at the door. He looks like a dad ready for vacation in his self-altered jean shorts while the bottoms of his sandals slap against the soles of his feet with every step. You feel giddy watching him like this. It’s a rare thing, Eddie being comfortable enough to shed his leather, his second skin, and you wonder when it happened. When he decided you were safe. It must have been when I wasn’t paying attention.

The sounds of Eddie berating Mike Wheeler can be heard over the roar of the van’s engine starting, and the blare of Iron Maiden cranking over the speakers. You grab your sunglasses and keys, before stepping into the heat of the summer day. You take your time locking the door, thinking about how just a moment ago you were lost in a moment with Eddie.

The vinyl passenger’s seat in the van sticks to your skin the moment you make contact with it, you turn to see your driver for the day’s adventure, ignoring the sounds of teenage boys bickering in the backseat. “Ready, Eddie?” You give him your best smile, and this time when he smiles back, you see that flush return to his cheeks.

“Born ready, baby.” His cheesy grin and teasing tone succeed in making you laugh hard enough to let out an indelicate snort. You feel giddy when he throws the van in reverse and slaps his hand against the steering wheel.

With the windows rolled down, the warm summer air beats against your arm as it hangs out of the window. You don’t mind the heat, the warm embrace welcome after the cold winter and spring at the edge of hell. The beach has been calling to you, and Eddie answered it by providing a reason to leave.

“I feel like this place is going to suffocate me,” you’d spent the first half of your day working at the community center and the last half sat at a desk at city hall fielding phone calls concerning revitalization plans for Hawkins.

Eddie sat with his legs splayed in front of him, tray of weed on the table in front him while you lay flat on the shag carpet of your parents’ living room, fingers weaving between the pieces of soft material.

“We can’t have that, you’re too important.” He’s concentrating on his task at hand, providing you with something to keep the nightmares at bay. It’s been bad, and like he said, you’ve become important to the community. It was unfair and exhausting.

“So, I guess running away would be considered bad form on my part, hm?” You angle your neck up to catch his reaction to your thought. You almost felt like if he told you to, you’d pick yourself off the floor and run out into the night, getting lost somewhere without the constant ringing of a telephone. Without the desperate needs of so many broken people filling your mind.

“No, probably not a great idea,” he sees your face fall, and it pings his heart, because he knows it’s not fair. He wants nothing more than to tell you to fuck this place and run off, but he’s on the list of the people that need you, “well, not a good permanent idea. How about for a day?”

It hadn’t taken much for you to be excused from your work for a day. Your boss and the volunteer coordinator could see the exhaustion on your face dragging your features lower with each passing moment. You weren’t just a hard worker, you’d lost everything and turned your pain into a gift for everyone around you instead of wallowing in your grief.

Right now, with the wind whipping through the cab of the van, the boys in the back laughing, Eddie drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, you feel alive. More alive than you have in a long time. The hours on the road move languidly, you spend the time watching the way the curls move with the air. The way the muscles of the arms flex with each turn of the wheel. The way lips move in sync with the words sung by the musicians on the cassettes playing in the tape deck.

He catches you several times, and you feel no shame. There has already been an unspoken acknowledgement between the two of you. Now that you could see, there was no going back. His eyes were better used on the road in front of him, but you could see him trace along the curve of your neck when you used a finger to draw your attention to the places you want him to kiss when you get some time alone.

It’s the crunching of gravel under the van’s tires that draws you back into the present moment. The halting of the brakes, the wind no longer moving his hair around his head. The sparkling sun high in the sky. You could hear the waves and you knew that as soon as you crossed over the top of the dunes, the wind across the lake would cool your skin already dampened with sweat.

You hand the heavy load of beach items to the 3 younger boys and share the task of carrying a couple of umbrellas with Eddie. You’re both slow, letting the boys get ahead and pick their spot. Even now, you’re both too caught up in each other, stealing looks and grins while your sandaled feet sink into the soft sand of the path laid out before you.

“How long do you think they’ll keep us here today?” Eddie’s asking, but his eyes are pleading with you. You haven’t even found a spot yet, and he’s already ready to shake the rest of them off his back. As if it wasn’t his idea to bring them along in the first place.

“Oh, I think we have at least a good 6 hours out here, Ed.” You knock your shoulder into his, “remember I packed lunch and dinner for us. You insisted we take our time and not rush back home.”

He answers you with a resigned groan, “I’m just full of great ideas,” he stops and turns you. Sweat was already beading on his neck, and under the bangs that hid his forehead, you’re sure. Without thinking, you reach into a pocket and pull out a hairband. On tiptoes, you reach up and tie his hair back into a low bun, hoping it provides him with some relief. It’s not until you look back into his face that you see the expression of yearning he has as he takes in your look of concentration.

This is bad. Unbelievably bad. The kids would pick up on this before you and Eddie even know what’s happening. You need to find a way to cool his jets, and your own, before you find the boys’ spot on the beach.

“Eddie, you can’t keep looking at me like that.” Your own eyes are pleading with him now.

“I can’t help it.” Exhaling a sigh, he brings a ring clad hand to his face, raking it down from forehead to neck as if he could wipe away the need he has written all over it. “Sorry, I’ll try. Stop being so fucking sexy and maybe we’ll get through this in one piece.”

Without letting you respond, he jogs ahead of you. He thinks I’m sexy. The thought alone makes you feel lighter and taller. The thought alone sets your skin on fire, and you’re sure you’ll both burn before the sun sets on the lake today.

Coming over the hill you see Eddie making his way to the spot, a little way from the shore. Robin, Nancy, and El should be here soon. The family. Your only family.

Towels are lain on the soft ground, umbrellas create a blanket of shadow, and you are opening the big beach bag that holds snacks, water, cans of soda, and sunscreen. You line the boys up in a row and help them get their hard to reach places before shooing them away from you. Eddie’s up last, and you can see the hesitancy he has as he reaches down and pulls his faded Metallica t shirt over his head.

He’s pretty, ink speckled skin with the still red scars scattered across his torso. You focus on the work, taking care to spread a thicker layer of lotion over the scars and his tattoos. The spots that are most sensitive to the harsh rays of the summer sun. His breath is ragged while you run your hands across his sensitive skin. You make mental notes of the places where the brush of your fingers makes his breath catch in his throat. For later.

“Hey!” Robin’s shouts from down the beach pull your thoughts back to the present, again, and you give Eddie a soft slap on the back indicating you’re done with him for the moment.

“Go play with your kids, I’ll be here.” You can feel the girls getting closer while Eddie stands stock still in his spot looking at you. His breath is still heavy, his chest flushed, and it’s enough to send a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

“Promise? I’m afraid if I take my eyes off you, you’ll disappear.” His brows are knitted together, and you understand what he’s feeling. Like this might slip away from both of you if you let it. You give him a half shy grin and nod just as El barrels herself into your back for a sneak attack hug.

He’s off, with a wave backwards, he runs down to the edge of the water. The new additions set up their own spots next to your own, while you watch Eddie and Will wrestle in the wet sand at the water’s edge.

The hours drift by lazily, the water is too cold for you to spend more than a few moments at a time letting it cool your too hot body. The heat of the sun dries your skin quickly, pieces of sand stuck to every piece exposed to summer air. Today, this is the only place that exists. Everything else has fallen away, it’s just you with your toes dug deep into the cool sand.

It’s late afternoon when you catch him staring again. Nancy and Robin are in the water, splashing each other while the rest toss a giant beach ball back and forth trying to keep it from getting caught in the wind. Your paper fan doing its best against the heat. You give up and grab some ice out of the cooler sat next to you, running it along your collarbone and up the back of your neck. When you look up, Eddie is standing a few yards away, apparently frozen by the scene in front of him. He’s watching you, and now you’re watching him back. You close the fan and rest it against your forehead while you dip the ice, down the valley of your chest.

“Not fair.” He throws his hands up in the air in frustration, while you laugh. He’s approaching slowly, looking over his shoulder to ensure that no one’s coming up behind him. “You’re doing this on purpose, and I fucking know it.” He’s standing over you, casting the shadow of his form across your body. You think, you wish, it was his own body draped across you right now.

“I don’t know what you mean. It’s hot, Eddie.” You bat your lashes at him, and he throws his body down next to you. He’s all arms and legs most of the time, and now is no different. The rest of the group is distracted, and he takes the opportunity to drape his chest, sticky with sweat across your own. As if he read your mind just a moment ago. It could be read as his typical playful wrestling, Eddie could always be counted on to make any of his friends his unsuspecting victims.

His hands find your sides, and he squeezes firmly, not a tickle. His face mouth is close to your ear, and he barely whispers, “I can’t wait until I can spend some time alone with you.” You feel his desire pushing against the outside of your thigh, and you gasp a little. You can see Mike look back over to the two of you, and you wiggle under him as a warning.

“Eddie.” You huff out as his nose nuzzles at your neck. He breathes you in deeply before adjusting his shorts and climbing off of you before he lumbers back down the beach.

The sun is a little lower in the sky now, and you know it’s time to start a fire, it will be no time before all of the gear is packed back up and everyone drags their tired bodies back to the parking lot. So, you get to work. And Nancy joins you, her eyes watching your face more than you’re comfortable with. She’s always been more perceptive than you appreciate, she always knows what you’re thinking.

You work silently with your closest friend. She lets you keep your secret. You call the rest over and settle in, it’s an easy beach dinner that takes no real effort to setup. Each person with a metal roasting fork for their hotdogs, with sun kissed cheeks and sand dusted legs. Your eyes can’t stop watching him, though. You’re both devouring each other with your eyes while the rest of the group devours their dinners.

Nancy must know, because she does something you never would have expected when the meal is over and everyone begins slowly clearing away their garbage. You might be the mom of the group, but Nancy is the manager. Nancy knows how to get everyone working together, she knows how to run an efficient ship.

“Hey, everyone,” she’s slapping her hands together to get the attention of Dustin and Mike – they started an argument about something you couldn’t even begin to comprehend – “you two, hey! Mike, Dustin, and Will are all riding back with us, we’re gonna squeeze in, and everything else can go in Eddie’s van. You’re all spending the night at my house anyway, and I’m sure those two won’t mind a quiet ride back after dragging your annoying asses out here for the day.”

The way she orders everyone around brokers no room for argument, and she gives nothing away about her true intentions. You could kiss her, but that would remind everyone that Eddie only lives a little ways from the Wheeler’s and Nancy’s plan doesn’t completely make sense, so you just shrug in agreement and try to tamp down the adrenaline surge coursing through your body. Your mind flashing to scenes of lips on lips, hands roaming across sweaty skin, your teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder –

“Hey, you with me?” Eddie’s standing next to you now while you watch El and Will dragging the cooler down the beach. You’ve been standing here too long, lost in thought. He must have said something.

“Sorry, too much sun. What’s up?” His cheeks are tinted pink and you feel guilty for not telling him to add more sun screen at some point. He’ll be sore tomorrow.

“I said, let’s get the van loaded up, get them on the road, and we can, uh, stay for a little while. You and me?”

You put your arm through his elbow, something you do often, and you lead each other behind the rest of the gang. As they climb the top of the hill, and the tops of their heads disappear behind the dune, you stop in your tracks.

“Look, Ed.” You draw his attention back to the water. The sun’s slow descent in the western sky turning the water to a deeper blue, almost black color. It’s then that you decide, while the others load up the van, that this is alone enough. You draw his mouth to your own and close the gap between you. A prelude to the evening ahead. To the days and months ahead.

#eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson lives #eddie munson imagines

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