#mikes eyes just lines up with the nose

[chloesimaginationthings]

Mike’s POV during the FNAF movie

[upsidedownwithsteve]

29 for Steve?

29. kisses when they’re mad

Steve was scowling, an over the top, dramatic kind of expression. It made his lips look soft and pouty, his brows furrowed enough for a little stitch to appear between them.

The kids hadn’t shut up the entire way home from the arcade, first complaining about Steve picking them up a whole six minutes earlier than agreed despite the impending storm, and then, the clambered into the car with enough noise for Steve to yell more than once. Consistent arguing about who was going to be dropped home first, who had actually won the last Dig Dug game and why was Steve so grouchy? Didn’t he have better music in the car? What did he mean he wasn’t going to take them for milkshakes?

By the time the car was empty and he’d returned you both to his empty home, he was barely talking. You knew he wasn’t mad at you, he just had a headache, something you understood considering you too been trapped in the car with six kids who all thought they knew best.

It wasn’t your fault that Steve looked just as pretty when he was mad as he did when he was smiling. He was quiet, still sullen as he slouched in the corner of his sofa, aimlessly flicking through the TV channels as he tried to find something to watch. He wasn’t ignoring you, not really, he had one leg bent on the cushions, his knee knocking yours but it wasn’t enough, you’d decided.

Not when he was looking like that.

So you clambered over to his side of the couch, not very gracefully, but you draped yourself over his lap, knees knocking until you were comfy and Steve’s lips quirked up just slightly. Just a little.

He wasn’t watching the television anymore.

“So moody,” you told him, voice soft and playful as you took his jaw in one hand, your fingers and thumb pushing into the stubble on his cheeks. His lips popped, pretty and pink and ready to be kissed. “What have I gotta do to cheer you up?”

Steve made a noise, huffy and rough and before he could roll his eyes, you swiped your thumb over his lower lip, a fleeting touch that made him forget why he was mad at all, if not just for a second.

But then, “you could tell Henderson that he needs to use something called an inside voi—”

You moved in, confident, bringing your lips to Steve’s in a kiss that still gave you both butterflies. It was slow enough that you could feel the sharp inhale of his surprise against your mouth, the low gasp as he let you press your bottom lip between his own. It was fast enough that he chased you as you pulled away.

“Still mad?” You asked, your voice nothing more than a low drawl, a murmur against his cheek as you stamped another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Or did Mike spilling his slurpee on your seats ruin the whole day?”

Steve huffed, sighing at the reminder even though his hands had found your thighs, bare under your dress and warm, wrapping roughly around the fat there as he held you close. As if you had any intention of moving from his lap.

“M’gonna have to pay someone to get that stain out,” Steve told you, petulant and with raised brows. “It’s bright red, as if those kids need fuckin’ E numbers—”

Another kiss, this one longer and a little rougher, your nose pressed to Steve’s cheek and he grunted at the surprise of it, his words lost between your lips and you swallowed his sounds and complaints. You traced the seam of his lips with your tongue, coaxing for only a second until he parted them for you happily, sighing against you as he leant back, letting you take the lead.

It was easy to push him into the couch cushions, his head falling back as you followed, your hands holding his jaw so you could kiss him deeper, longer, lazier. He was making pretty sounds now, no more huffs of annoyance, his eyes closed and no longer rolling, and when you tried to pull away, he pulled you back, shaking his head in disagreement as your mouth met his once again.

By the time his hands had moved to your ass, tracing the line of your thighs and moving upupup under your skirt to find the line of your underwear that curved over you, you were positive he wasn’t mad anymore.

[aweina]

HI CAN I REQUEST MIKE SCHMIDT X FEM READER?? MAYBE SOME FLUFF I JUST- UGH I NEED HIM. anyways. PLEASE? THANKS! REMEMBER TO HYDRATE!

ᥫ᭡. winter heart , mike schmidt ( fluff )

you and me, hugging ? if you want …

tags fem + gn reader. pining. friends to ( redacted ). mike tries to be a meanie but he can’t. special abby cameo.

“cold?”

mike quirks a brow at your shivering form, the lack of warm layers and no sign of any other winter accessory made him visibly cringe.

“o-obviously.” your teeth clattered with heavy pronunciation, clinging to yourself for some ounce of warmth. “t-the forecast are liars, i’ll never trust them a-again.”

he huffs a laugh at your retort, his breath condensing into the winter air — swirling aimlessly into the filtered blue atmosphere. mike was extremely amused, he could tell you that. during the coldest seasons, you decided to only wear a sleeved shirt constructed with the thinnest fabric he’s ever seen.

you play dumb games, you win stupid prizes. he believes wholeheartedly.

at the same time, he grew concerned. your reddened nose sniffled in the cold air, shakily clinging onto your shirt like it could get any warmer. your brows were furrowed in discomfort, the moisture of your lips stolen by the crisp breeze. even in this condition, you stayed with him to watch abby — who was bustling in the frozen playground with her new friends.

instinctively, mike tugs down the zipper of his oversized fleece hoodie — the bulky layers he wore combating the bitter cold. he turns to your shivering form, suddenly feeling shy about his decision, but seeing you in such a vulnerable state for his own sake made him feel guilty. mike bites back a self-encouraging sigh, shaking his head in an attempt to get rid of the fluttering feeling inside his core. with his gloved hands snug in his pockets, he widens his arms to open his furry jacket — coughing dumbly to catch your attention.

you turned to him and tilted your head in confusion, darting your eyes towards his flushed face to the baggy graphic t-shirt and the oversized jacket that cling to his body, somehow it felt like a mockery to your cold state.

“haha … nice jacket, i know you’re much more warmer and smarter than me. you don’t have to rub it in.” you jested through a freezing hiss, rolling your eyes at his attempt to push your buttons.

“w-what? wait no! just come here, please.” his voice sounded a bit more desperate than he intended it to be, but he usually doesn’t offer this treatment to anybody.

still confused, you shuffled towards him with caution. you silently gasped when you got closer, feeling the comforting warmth radiating off his body.

mike gulps nervously, feeling your panting chest grazing his. it was a strange feeling, how in sync your heartbeats were — they danced in the rhyme together, the tempo seemed to quicken as you approached him closer and closer. finally, he finds the courage to wrap his fleece jacket around your quivering body, hesitantly hugging you through the thick fabric.

your eyes widen in realization, he’s hugging you. mike schmidt is hugging you. he felt so warm and cuddly, all the lousy layers of old t-shirts he forced himself to wear felt like laying on soft pillows. the fur threaded in his jacket brushed its warmth against your frozen skin. but the thing making you burn up was the fact you’re so close to mike, shyly wrapping your arms around his frame while your head is nearly tucked into the nape of his neck — but you hesitated to go any further.

“are you warm?” mike’s voice was gentle in your ear, the flush of his body melted your bitter coldness in an instant.

you slightly nodded, still a little disoriented from this predicament.

feeling more comfortable, mike takes his gloved hand out of his pocket, assuring your stiffness as he petted your head, guiding you to rest in the nape of his neck. his warm pulse tapped softly against your forehead. you could hear his life line — every breath he takes. this felt like heaven, being held in mike’s arms. then he’s not protesting, his melting grip was tighter — protective like someone could snatch you away from his arms. he loved the way you smelled, delicate perfume and fresh laundry. if he could keep this close and take in your scent, he would if it wasn’t so creepy for him to do.

there was a comfortable silence between the two of you. the childlike chants and laughter faded into the background, the bitter cold didn’t feel so bad anymore. it felt like your hearts were clinging onto each other, feeding the aching starvation of touch and warmth. he needed this, you needed it too.

“are you guys finally dating now?”

a youthful voice forced you both out of a love trance, eyes widened and heads snapped towards the smaller figure. it was abby, a huge grin on her flushed face — half covered with a comically large knitted scarf.

“abby … don’t.” mike winced at her bluntness, but he still held you in a warm embrace.

you allowed him to cling onto you, equally flustered at her words but much more comfortable, even playful at the weird circumstances.

“i’m still patiently waiting for your brother to ask me out.” you teased the younger schmidt, earning an excited giggle and an exasperated sigh from the older schmidt.

maybe he should’ve just offered you his jacket if you were going to embarrass him in front of his younger sister.

add. note : hope you enjoyed some fluff anon !! and thank you, stay hydrated too because we’re all thirsty for grumpy security guard mikey ㅜ ㅜ

[redcoralpot]

U Malatu - Mike Schmidt x M! Reader

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

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

Word Count: 1.55K

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

-

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, this is him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mike Schmidt?”

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

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

“You mentioned that.”

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

“Do you have any actual experience with it?”

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

“Why did you stop?”

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

“A pizzeria?”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

“F-fuck.” He whispered. 

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

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

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

Mike let out a quiet moan, “Please…”

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

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

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

The stain was going to be hard to explain.

-

[bettysupremacy]

hc that mike has the world’s shittiest immune system because his terrible sleep schedule has just absolutely wrecked him

This is actually killing me cause this is so true and I can’t decide wether he’d be like very stony don’t touch me while I’m sick or like whiny baby please heat me up some soup.

I feel like on one hand he is a very stony boy, and we can definitely see that in the movie. But his nicer side definitely peaks through when he’s with Abby. Maybe he’s both..?

“Don’t touch me,” Is coughed out of his mouth along with. “Can’t get you sick.”

He’s been like this since last night. Inconsolable over his quick fever and chills. You drew the line at him drawing away from you in your bed.

“I don’t care if I get sick.” You say breezily, swatting his hand away to feel his forehead. “Not if it means helping you.”

“I can’t afford it.” He laughs at your crumpled face. He bursts into wheezes, arm in his elbow rattling uncontrollably. You frown, rubbing his back consolingly.

“Is Mike dying?” Abby rests her arms over the back of the couch, concern pulling her brows together.

“No,” you laugh, looking up to the frightened girl. She wears a medical mask securely over her mouth and nose, gift of the elderly neighbor. “Mike’s not dying.”

“Yet.” He whines. Her eyes widen in horror.

“At all.” You correct, squeezing his shoulder lightly.

He rolls his eyes, sighing pathetically into the couch cushion. He’s so mopey you can’t help but to smile. “Can you make me soup?”

You shine like he’s just confessed a secret, popping up from the couch. “On it.”

Abby gives him a once over, then hops away from the couch towards you, throughly convinced that he’ll be alive if she comes back in a minute.

“Y/n.” She whispers creeping up on you. “Y/n.”

“Yes, sweet thing?” You turn around, swinging her up to sit on the counter.

“I’m sick.” She whispers close to your face (lying through her baby teeth.) “Can I have soup too?”

[bleedingoptimism]

You Are Mine part 1

When Eddie decided to come out he thought it’d be funny to do so with a music video, so he wrote a song and presented it to the band. The boys loved it and the song was declared the first one of their next album, the third one.

And then it was time to shoot the video.

They hire their personal friend and favorite director, Argyle. Just Argyle, like Cher.

Between him and Argyle they come up with a cool script. The band is going to act in it, they just need two extras, so they hold auditions for a couple in their twenties.

On the day of the auditions, Argyle tells them the interviews are mostly for show, the band can pick whoever they feel the most comfortable with, and the boys tell Eddie he should pick since it’s his song.

The five of them sit at a long table like it’s fucking American Idol or something and just stare at the couples waiting in line through a one-side glass mirror whispering among themselves and watching amused as the couples start getting progressively nervous.

There’s a couple that immediately grabs Eddie's attention when he does a pass-over, a pretty tall dirty blonde and a brunette with big soft-looking hair. 

The guy is absolutely gorgeous, with big kind eyes, a straight cute nose, a square jaw, big shoulders, a small waist, and tan skin that seems to be covered in beauty marks.

He just strikes Eddie as someone that would make Michelangelo cry with his inability to capture his perfection.

‘Oh, that’s good. I should write that.’ He thinks.

He and the girl are talking in hush tones and Eddie watches as she fixes his hair while he jabbers nervously and then, evidently says something that makes her angry because she pokes him in the ribs. The guy giggles cutely and loudly enough to carry over to their room and then blushes furiously when heads turn toward them, hiding behind his friend. The woman in question snorts and chuckles as he chastises her.

Eddie stands up, crouches behind Argyle’s chair, and tells him, “I want that one.”

“What?” he answers, so Eddie points at the couple, “I want him.”

Argyle looks at them considering and clicks his tongue and Eddie insists, “Please Argy, please, I love him, I want him, I want that one, pleaseee”

“Eddie, we need to at least consider the rest of them. This is my job we are talking about here. Please, take it seriously” Argyle says in a calm voice and Eddie deflates,

“Dude...I’m sorry I-”

“Nah man, I’m kidding!” Argyle cuts him off, “Couple number four! Please step forward!” he yells into a mike.

The blonde and the brunette look at each other and walk in nervously as Eddie goes back to his seat at the end of the table and Argyle does a small flourishing move with his hand inviting them to introduce themselves.

“Hi! My name is Robin, and this is Steve, pleased to meet you!” The girl says smiling kindly at them. She nudges Steve on the side and he does a little finger wave at them.

Eddie has to bite his lip not to smile too much because they are really fucking cute. 

Argyle returns the wave enthusiastically, because nothing ever faces him, and looks at the list he has in his hands, “Any experience acting Robin and Steve?”

Robin says yes, something about drama club in high school and Steve just shrugs which amused Eddie to no end, and frankly makes him really curious, for all intent and purposes, Steve doesn’t seem to be interested in the job.

“How did you find out about this job?” Jeff asks them, and Gareth nods like he was just about to ask the same thing.

“A friend of ours told us about it?” Robin answers “He’s a photographer but I don't want to drop names, especially in case we embarrass ourselves,” she says jokingly and looks relieved when she gets a couple of chuckles from Argyle and the band.

“And you were interested because…?” Frank inquires.

Robin starts saying some carefully prepared speech about learning experiences but is interrupted by Steve saying, “We needed the money”

“Oh my god! Shut up!” Robin suddenly turns to him completely red in the face.

“What? You told me to be myself!” Steve tells her frowning. 

“This is exactly why I always talk in interviews”

“What does that mean?” 

“You suck at this Steve! Just as much as you suck at-”

Gareth clears his throat loudly making them stop and look at him sheepishly, “So tell us, do you know the band? Are you fans?”

Eddie takes a moment to look at his bandmates and to his relief they all look as amused as he feels, especially Argyle. The couple of newbies is clearly a mess but in an endearing kind of way.

“Well…” Robin starts but doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“Never heard of it,” Steve says looking apologetic. 

“Wait, Really?” Robin asks him, once more ignoring the director and the band, “They are like, Mike’s favorite band, man! You never heard of Corroded Coffin?”

“Oh well,” Steve shrugs, “I mostly tune out when Mike is talking so…”

Robin snorts and is about to reply but Argyle raises his hand and they both look at him, flinching a little when they realize they had started talking among themselves again.

“Ok.” Argyle tells them clapping once, “Unfortunately for me, I love your energy my dudes, but I’m going to get serious for a second here: I need you two to be professional ok? We have a budget and a schedule and only three days to shoot and I can’t hire you and find out in the middle of the shoot that you are not okay with making out with someone-”

Robin visibly takes a step back and Steve snorts, “Yeah no, I’m not making out with my sister.”

Eddie, who was wondering what kind of relationship they had, does a little happy dance in his head at that.

“No, I meant one of the members of the band” Argyle answers amused.

Robin takes another step back and actually looks a little disgusted and Eddie tries not to find it offensive, “Me?” she asks unsure.

“No,” Frank answers and points at Steve, “Him.”

Surprisingly, they both relax at that, “Oh!” They exclaim in unison and it’s kind of creepy but again, in an endearing kind of way.

And then Steve looks at them one by one, he’s unmistakably and unashamedly checking them all out and Eddie swears his eyes linger on him the most before he smirks and says, “I’m okay with that”

Eddie immediately pushes the contract laying on the table toward Frank, who pushes it to Gareth, who pushes it to Jeff, who pushes it to Argyle and gives him a pen.

Argyle laughs loudly and shakes the sheet of paper, “Well shit, I guess you are hired.”

“We are?!”

He stands up and shakes their hands, hands them the contract and another paper, “This is the script, not that it has any dialogue but just in case you have any questions.” 

They push their heads together and read the script at the same time.

The story is about the band being on tour. Robin and Steve would play as their roadies and the video is supposed to show them in concert, traveling, working, and hanging out. The whole video hints that Eddie is sneaking out with one of them and it ends with the band plus Robin opening a curtain on the tour bus to find Eddie and Steve making out.

The song is called You Are Mine.

When they are done reading, Steve smiles and says “Cute”

And Robin asks, “So which one of you is Eddie?”

Eddie lifts his hand lazily and winks at them.

And Steve, still holding the script, lifts it enough to cover his face but Eddie can still see the tip of his ears as they turn bright red.

‘Oh, he’s gonna eat him alive.’

to be continued

part 1: is this

part 2: ♫ 

part 3: ♫

part 4: ♫

☕ cafecito?

[greenfiend]

What Letter to Willy tells us…

Two scenes. One song. How both scenes tell us a lot in hidden details…

Letter to Willy… interesting title, no? Not “letter to Billy”, no, the “W” needed to be added to clue us in on how this is about Will.

Not just about Will, but about November 6, 1983.

To begin, let’s talk about both of these scenes. The first one is of Max in the episode Dear Billy. She’s seen at his grave reading her letter to a deceased William. She reads out her feelings and regrets.

The second scene is in the next episode The Nina Project. The song begins playing when Mike and Will catch each others’ eyes while digging and have a heart to heart on top of a car. During the heart to heart, Mike expresses frustration and regret.

Both scenes feature someone who has passed away and their headstone.

Both scenes feature characters dwell on the “what if”s.

Here’s where things get interesting…

Mike referencing someone giving a number… notice how both scenes here involve a car? In fact, it’s almost like we’re viewing the scene on the left from a different perspective (through the car) on the scene on the left. Don’t believe the callback here? Well…

Look at what Mike is holding. 7up. Yup. This is absolutely intentional.

It seems like to me that they’re showing us Mike’s guilt over what happened to Will that night. He has regrets. Possibly because Will actually did die. At least in some timeline.

A little hint to that here too. Associating the “last day of life” with “Mike Wheeler’s basement”…. Can’t really get more on the nose than that. Mike Wheeler’s basement… aka the last place Will was before he “vanished”?

As a writer, he likely wished he could explain himself through writing… in a letter… to Will. Perhaps hoping that an explanation could somehow prevent a tragedy from occurring?

This line makes me suspicious that there’s some sort of time loop 🔁 on the day of Will’s disappearance.

And of course… this all leads back to…

And of course, another possible Back to the Future reference.

For those unaware, Marty saves Doc’s life by writing him a letter and giving it to him in 1955… preventing his death in 1985

What I’m getting at is this: this letter is more significant than you might think. Yes, it is a love letter, but it also is what likely ends up saving Will’s life.

[stevie-petey]

stug stug stug pleaseee i would LOVE to see something where bug is comforting steve maybe he had a fight w his dad or j in general. i’m so excited for season 4! but obvi take your time j know that we’re all very excited bc we just know that you will blow us away with your writing!!

really missin happy steve and bug so im writin this <33

enjoy !

"i dont think it looks that bad."

"youre a terrible liar, y/n."

"im not lying!" but the way your voice pitches gives it all away, and steve knows it.

"im ruined." he drops his head into your lap, burying his face in the flesh of your thigh. partially because hes mourning the loss of his hair, but mostly because he adores your thighs and revels in them whenever he can.

steve is in mourning. he can be as selfish as he wants when it comes to your thighs. its his god given right as your boyfriend.

knowing what hes doing, you shove steves face away from your thighs, though not unkindly. youre still shy around him, his touch against your bare skin foreign after only a month of dating. steve is gentle and patient with you, he understands that youve never really been in a relationship before, so he takes his time with you.

secretly, you adore how gentle he is. how cautiously he skims his fingers over your waist or how softly he breathes against your neck. it makes everything easier, lighter, for you. to be loved so tenderly without any falsehood behind it.

lost in your honey warmth of love for steve, your fingers tangle through his hair. that is, whats left of it. steves chest faces you, the hem of his shirt has lifted slightly during his complaining. soft skin spills out from underneath, revealing a plush tummy. with a mind of their own, your eyes draw down the lines of his abdomen. a low hum stirs in your own stomach.

"are you seriously checking me out right now?" steve taps your nose with his finger, snapping you out of your daze. "i mean, here i am, the love of your life, mourning the loss of beautiful hair that was taken from us too soon, and youre drooling over me."

you flick his forehead, he scrunches his face, and its familiar and lovely. "i wasnt drooling, i just wasnt listening to your dramatic despair."

steve gasps, hand over his chest. "my hair was murdered!"

"honey, only like, two inches were cut off."

well, more like three, but you wont tell him that.

somehow one of the kids, almost certainly mike, left their chewed up gum on the counter top of family video when they visited earlier today. they came in like a storm, turning the place upside down before you, robin, or steve could even stop them. apparently dustin had wanted a new movie, will was bored, lucas wanted max to go outside, and el forced mike to join because shes never seen a movie store before.

the wreckage they left behind for such simple reasons for even entering the store in the first place had astounded you.

then, because steve is always perpetually suffering the consequences of the partys actions the most, had dropped his head down onto the counter top in exhaustion as soon as they left.

right in the same spot the gum had been left.

never before have you ever seen steve crumble to the floor quite so suddenly. it was comical, really. the way he shrieked in horror while you and robin watched, neither having any idea what had just happened.

which leads you to now: consoling steve as you comb through his newly cut hair.

"what, are you implying two inches isnt a huge amount of length?" steve raises an eyebrow at you, teasing, and you blush furiously. sparing you, he doesnt point it out and instead changes the topic. "i hate those little heathens, i really do."

"how do we know one of them is the gum culprit?"

"because theyre cursed little shitheads who always mar my appearance one way or another." then, as an afterthought, steve adds, "plus that wheeler kid has a weird obsession with watermelon gum."

again you try to defend the kids, even though you know it was most definitely mike. sure, he shouldnt have left his gum on the counter, but it was funny. "and how do we know it was watermelon gum?"

"i could smell it when robin was cutting all my hair off, angel."

"and yet youre as handsome as ever!" you press a purposely messy kiss atop of steves head, blowing slightly into his face and making a dramatic kissing sound when you pull away. anything to distract him from realizing it was all mikes fault.

gotta protect the little shithead somehow.

steve shrieks, reminiscent of the shriek from earlier, and shoves you away as he wipes at his face. "ew!"

"how dare you wipe my kiss away, steve harrington."

"you spit on me!"

"lovingly."

steve rolls onto his stomach and throws himself onto you. now its your turn to shriek as he throws his weight on top of you, tackling you onto his bed. luckily his parents arent home, otherwise theyd have some very horrified questions.

"steve!" you land with a soft thud on his pillows, and he smiles up from above you. hes all proud, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and his eyes shine with adoration for you.

hes beautiful. you cant believe hes yours.

"youre supposed to be comforting me, angel!" steve presses himself down even more, rendering you unable to move and wiggle away from him. you squeal when his hands find your sides, fingers digging into your skin as he tickles you. "i mean, im wounded here!"

you squeal with laughter as his hands attack you, mercilessly, yet gentle nonetheless. "s-steve! stop!"

"not until you apologize to my hair."

"your hair?" more laughter rips from your chest, ribs aching.

"mhm, tell my hair that its still handsome. his feelings are hurt." steve buries his nose into your neck, causing you to giggle even more, and the sound encases his body and reminds him of everything good and lovely.

you try to pull away, but steve has you pinned. "youre-ah! youre such an-an idiot!"

"that doesnt sound like an apology, y/n."

finally giving up, you force out an apology in between breaths of laughter. "i-im sorry! your-your hair is handsome!"

steves fingers leave your sides, but he pulls you deep into his chest and collapses upon you. he nuzzles into your neck, wraps his hands around you, tries to meld the two of you into one. "much better," he mumbles into your skin.

"your hair really is handsome, you know." you draw circles into steves back, breath slowly returning to normal. fingers finding his hair once more, you play with the strands and massage his head with your nails. "youre handsome. two inches lost or not.”

"really?" steve lifts his face, looks down at you, preening at your words with an unusual shyness.

you bring your hands to his face, holding it with all the love you have for him. "the handsomest."

lips find lips, and soon the two of you get lost in each other as you inevitably always do.

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 26 - seduction

price x f!reader | 1.4k words cw: alcohol, flirting, bad pick up lines, Mr. Blobby, the cowboy hat rule a/n: liberties? taken. smut? look elsewhere. a silly time. my type of seduction. summary: john never saw the appeal of halloween. then he met you. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

What John would do for the quiet of his room.

There’s another hour to go. Another hour of shit beer, stilted conversation, and sweating more profusely than when he was last in Urzikstan.

Heaving a sigh, John pours the dregs of his drink onto the ground, pulls the mask over his face, and returns indoors to the Twilight Zone: Gaz and Soap’s Halloween party.

“Looking goood Michael,” a nun with a crooked habit croons, looking over the shoulder of a familiar mohawked head, its face buried in her neck. “Y’wanna take the other side?” 

Beneath the mask, his nose wrinkles. Handy thing about Myers, his silence. He doesn’t feel a lick of guilt ignoring chatter.

He nearly collides with Simon around the bend. The big man leans against the wall, arms crossed, the distressingly realistic machete clutched in a mitt. His head angled toward where John just passed.

“Are you…?”

From behind the shadow of the hockey mask, Simon huffs. “Yes, sir.”

“Right. Behave.” A chuckle follows him around another corner. 

In the main thoroughfare of Kyle’s home, John hugs the walls. His other sergeant is occupied on the makeshift dance floor, four bodies deep on every side. The younger man’s got a nurse in the front and a Beetlejuice in the back. Ambitious.

He pushes toward the kitchen, stopping short at the sound of cheering. A sigh rattles out from his chest. He swore he’d stay until one. Gave his word. But pulling an Irish goodbye grows all the more enticing. With the men thoroughly distracted, it’s not as if they’d notice his departure.

“You look like you could use a drink, Mike.” A voice chirps in passing, coming from the rear.

His head swivels and his breath catches. Pretty. A feast for the eyes disguised as a cowgirl. A cow print shirt with nacre buttons tied loose in the front, exposing ample skin above and a sliver below. A bandana knotted at her throat. Deep brown leather chaps worn over jeans with a big buckle. Topping it all off is a cowboy hat, tilted slightly, casting a shadow over the top half of her face.

“Gruesome work by the way. The IV bag? Brutal.” She grins, walking right on by.

Her outfit has no lasso, but John feels her tug anyway.

It’s chaos in the matchbox-sized kitchen. A group of men egg on a lobster necking a boot, whose face matches the shade of his costume. A man’s slotted between the legs of a woman perched on the counter, their faces melded together by spit. He locks eyes with the lone ranger as she hip-bumps the refrigerator shut, two longnecks in hand, before she slips through another archway.

He follows.

She winds through a cluster of people, not once glancing back to see if he’s behind her. Works for him. Her jeans hug her arse perfectly, the chaps creating the perfect frame for its lovely shape. A more animal part of him disconnects, wandering off to imagine her with only the leather on. He swallows a pool of saliva as he crosses over into the sitting room. He finds her hovering beside a bookcase. He closes the distance and yanks off the mask.

“Beer?”

His eyes fall to her hands. “Yeah, let me–”

“I got it. Hold this.” She relinquishes a beer then fixes the other bottle to her belt buckle. With a metallic clink, the crown finds a groove, and the cap pops off with a twist of her wrist. Her free hand snaps out to catch it before it falls, but John doesn’t look away from her waistline. Without a word, she exchanges the bottles and repeats herself. A small, triumphant smile breaks across her face. “There.” An introduction rolls off her tongue as she taps their beers together.

Christ.

“Thanks.” The back of his neck is damp, as is his hair, something he didn’t think to mind until now. Sheepish under her obviously appraising gaze, he rakes a hand through his mussed hair in an attempt to tame it. His eyes dip briefly to her belt again, stuck on the patch of skin below her navel. Looks like a nice, soft spot for a kiss. His name sticks to the roof of his mouth briefly. “I’m John.”

“John.” she echoes. Best he’s ever heard his name sound. “Well, John, you’re welcome for the beer and for doing you a favor.”

The wry smile on her face is infectious. His mouth twitches. “And what favor is that?”

Her lips shine from a sip. “You were gonna bolt and miss out on the show.”

“The show.” He repeats, squinting. “How did you…?”

“I’ve pulled enough French exits to see the signs. With or without that mask,” she points to his face. “You radiate I don’t want to be here energy. As for the show, everyone knows the best shit goes down after midnight. Especially on Halloween.”

 Doubtful. Yet, who is he to refuse such company?

“I didn’t realize I was that obvious.”

“Most people are open books without realizing it.” A smirk forms on her face, her voice light but pointedly cheeky. “You know, I read palms, too.”

It’s a bit. John plays into it, returning the expression. “Yeah? You want to try mine?” 

She swallows a drink and sets the bottle on a shelf, gesturing for him to give her a hand.

He chuckles, obliging her. 

With a waggle of her brow, she steps closer and turns his palm up, immediately inspecting it as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. She’s silent the first few moments, and though the party buzzes around them, he’s glued to the feigned expression of severity. Focused on the soft pressure of her fingers gliding across his skin, tracing its lines and the calluses.

“Hmm.” she hums knowingly, tapping one juncture of lines. “Your career line. Says you’re doing well, that you’re on an upward trend. Similar story for your travel bug line,” she recites the platitudes for several minutes, eyes flicking up to meet his as she goes. She’s gorgeous, better up close, and funny. She effortlessly riffs off his comments, cracking the both of them up over her more far-fetched predictions. Admittedly, the plunge of her tied shirt tempts his focus once or a dozen times.

A playful lilt teases the edge of her words. “We can’t forget your heart line, John.”

“Can’t imagine it’s very interesting.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Something impish glints in her eyes. “In fact, I see an encounter or two in your future.”

The air goes thin—charged, electric, each syllable dangling like a worm on a hook. “Is that so.” he angles closer, fingers slowly closing to catch hers. “These ‘encounters’…Anything you can tell me about them?”

She abruptly flattens his fingers again, smoothing over his palm without looking down. “Something about taking a cowgirl home to put her in cow—What the fuck?” Her eyes break away, widening in a mixture of disgust and disbelief.

He turns just in time to see a Mr. Blobby barge into the room, purposefully trip, and fall down onto a coffee table. The wood cracks and splinters beneath the monstrosity’s weight, while whatever psychopath inside the costume does his best impression of the creature’s demonic voice. There’s an accent to it. Vaguely familiar, but ultimately unplaceable.

Gaz appears in the doorway, Beetlejuice face paint smeared on his cheek. His mouth hangs open, then shuts in a snarl. “What the fuck—”

John swears, his hand slipping free, and abandons what might’ve been the ride of his life to interject.

It takes some doing to wrangle the diseased yam outdoors, with Simon and Soap hauling it by each of its arms. John lingers in the doorway, watching the pitiful man be dragged off by his lieutenant and cursing sergeant. The latter’s sore about missing the good word from his girl in the veil. Somewhere in the house, Gaz plays the aggrieved host, surely seeking the comfort of his nurse. A dejected Beetlejuice tosses one back in a corner.

John slowly oscillates through the rooms in a loop, his expression carefully neutral, but his eyes dart past every shoulder and over each head, searching. He returns to where he left her, but the cowgirl’s nowhere in sight. Probably left with the small group scared off by the disturbance. His hand twitches at his side, feeling the ghost of her fingertips. 

A slight weight touches his head as he turns to finally make for the exit himself. He catches his surprised look in a mirror on the wall, then the cowboy hat on his head.

And her sly grin poking over his shoulder.

“You still interested in a roll in the hay, or did I misread that?”

[leossmoonn]

imagine mike waking up in the middle of the night of his day off because reader got riled up by a dream and now shes grinding on him and kissing his neck trying to wake him up

18+ below the cut (includes somnophilia, dub con)

usually if you had a sex dream, you’d either use your vibrator or just sleep it off. but tonight you had mike and you wanted to take full advantage of that.

you’re embarrassingly wet and needy. you’ve been this way from the moment he told you he had the night off. you stayed the night in, relaxing and catching up on some episodes of your favorite tv show. sex crossed your mind a few times, but mike was so tired, you knew he needed the rest. but you two haven’t had sex in, let’s be honest, a few weeks. the moment you two got into bed, your mind started racing. you left him alone, wanting him to get sleep, but you just couldn’t take it anymore.

your hands tremble as you sit up in the bed, peering over at mike who appears to be sleeping soundly. his lips are parted, soft snores coming from the back of his throat. your squeeze your thighs together, your cunt throbbing as you imagine his mouth on you. one of his arm is under his pillow, the other reached out in the middle of the bed. it had been in your hip most of the night, not helping the dirty thoughts that crept into your mind.

you flip to your side so you’re now facing him. you curl up into him and his arm wraps around you, pulling you in. his hand is resting on the small of your back, making your body feel all tingly and warm. you place your hand on his chest, fisting his t shirt in your hand. you wrap your leg around him, placing yourself so you’re resting against his thigh.

“mike?” you whisper. you watch his eyes flutter. you’re thankful he’s not a heavy sleeper. you start to grind yourself on his bare thigh, your panties catching your clit. you stifle a moan, pressing your face into his pillow. god, you feel so pathetic, but you’ve been aching for him for what seems like centuries.

his hand that’s under his pillow slides down and wraps around the back of your thigh. you peek at his face. he’s still asleep it seems. his fingers are so close to your pussy, you feel like you’re going to explode.

“mike,” you say again now in a whimper. you whine helplessly, your hand tugging on his shirt weakly. your lips come up to his nose and you peck the side of it, trailing down to his cheekbones. “wake up, mike, please,” you beg. your kisses are sloppy, leaving a trail of saliva from his mouth to his jawline.

“mmmm,” he stirs. his eyes are fluttering now. you can’t help but move faster against him. “wake up, i need you mike,” you whisper.

he doesn’t say anything. his hand moves up to your hips and he scoots down the bed, placing you against his cock. it’s hard and his boxers are a little damp. you whine loudly and he slaps a hand over your mouth. he’s definitely awake now.

“be quiet if you want to come,” he grumbles.

butterflies flutter in your tummy and you nod, screwing your eyes shut and biting your lip in attempt to stay silent. your shirt begins to ride up and he latches onto your breast, sucking on your nipple.

“mikey,” you whine against his hand. he lets out a small groan, his hand that’s on your waist moving to your ass as squeezing the flesh.

you bury your face in the pillow as you come. he comes shortly after and you feel it pool on your lower tummy. you can’t help but sign in relief.

mike gets up and to clean himself off, changing underwear and hopping back into bed. he looks at you with a little teasing grin and you shy away.

“sorry,” you say. he shakes his head, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close. “don’t say sorry. did you get what you wanted?”

you nod with a small smile. he begins to kiss your neck and his hands slip under your shirt. he trails down your stomach, lining kisses along the seems of your panties.

“mind if i give you something else?” he asks. without a word, you spread your legs as an invitation.

[steddiealltheway]

Eddie is a touchy person, and Steve knows it. Hell, he likes it because he's a touchy person, too. But when your friends are literal children, these forms of touch come out as ruffling their hair to annoy them or pats on the back. And Robin, she's great, but not too big on physical touch, especially from guys. Which is understandable really.

But Eddie... well, Steve's allowed to do whatever he wants with him. He gets to hug him, rest a hand on his back, and, shit, sometimes he even gets to hold his hand whenever they do a movie night. And yes, if there's hand-holding, there's also cuddling.

But they're both touch-starved so it doesn't really mean anything... right?

He's mainly wondering this because of their current position - cuddling on the couch face to face. Steve's hand is on Eddie's face, tracing over his cheekbones, his nose, his eyebrows, his jaw... his lips. Honestly, he feels like he's trying to memorize his face by touch, feeling out which areas are soft and which are rough with stubble.

He's never been allowed to explore this before, but Eddie lets him. Plus, he's pretty much a pile of goo under his touch - smile soft, eyes closed, and all around relaxed.

Then, Eddie's hand comes up to run through Steve's hair, and Steve closes his eyes against the touch. God, he loves when Eddie plays with his hair.

He knows that Eddie likes the same thing, but he doesn't like Steve's hand running through his curls because sometimes his fingers get caught and accidentally pull. So, Steve's hand comes up to his scalp, gently massaging and scratching the way Eddie likes.

A movie drones on behind them. Steve's not really sure when he turned completely around to face Eddie, but he doesn't mind. Sometimes this happens. Sometimes Eddie pulls him close and doesn't let him turn, telling him to focus on the movie while he runs a hand up and down his arm.

Steve really can't complain.

He leans his head forward, pressing his forehead against Eddie's, focusing on the way their breath mix together, warm and damp. Steve likes the way it ghosts over his lips.

Eddie shifts in front of him, head coming up slightly so his nose brushes against his as his breath becomes much heavier on Steve's lips. The hand in Steve's hair tugs slightly, pulling his head back so Steve's lips get that tingling sensation alerting him that there's something almost within touch that he could press against with just the slightest movement.

Steve opens his eyes, noticing how close Eddie is, eyes searching Steve's as if asking something that he can't read. But the breath between them changes, becoming more rushed - nervous.

Then, Eddie shifts again, letting their lips lightly brush in a way that could be registered as an accident. But Steve finally gets it when Eddie's eyes search his as he pulls back again.

And shit, yeah, he wants to kiss him too.

So, he shifts his left hand, bringing it out of Eddie's hair, letting it rest against the back of his neck, ready to pull him in.

"Okay, movie night is over!" Dustin yells.

Steve startles back, only being saved when Eddie's hand grabs him by the waist and pulls him in.

He reluctantly turns, noticing everyone's eyes on him - or rather, him and Eddie.

"We can handle the weird PDA, but we draw the line at making out in front of us. Jesus, you two are such a clingy couple," Dustin says, rolling his eyes.

Steve's heart thuds in his chest. "Couple?" he asks.

He feels Eddie tense against him at the question.

"Yeah, we know you've been dating for weeks now. Don't act so surprised," Max says, arms crossed next to El who mirrors the same position.

"Weeks?" Steve asks, feeling weird about the whole thing since he's literally spooned against Eddie.

"It was kind of obvious when you first started holding hands," Will pipes in.

"Plus, everyone knew about Eddie's crush on you, so it wasn't hard to put the pieces together," Mike says.

Crush?

Eddie shifts behind him, sitting up in the small space, putting distance between them. Steve turns to lie on his back, glancing at him as Eddie puts his head in his hands. "We're not dating," Eddie grumbles.

Why does the truth hurt so much?

"Really?" Lucas asks. "Because we wouldn't be against it if you were. At all."

Steve stares at Eddie whose hands flex in his hair. "Really," Steve says. He clears his throat and looks at the kids. "Why don't we finish the movie tomorrow? You all rode on your bikes here, right?"

All the kids nod, looking at each other in a mixture of disbelief and guilt. "We should go," El states. "We will see you tomorrow."

With that, all the kids rush out of the house without another word, giving the two all the space they need.

"I'm sorry," Eddie says, voice quivering a bit. "I-I should've told you. Shit, I didn't think it would get this far, and I didn't, like, try to feel you up or anything. And I got carried away earlier and forgot this is different for you than it is for me. Christ, I am so sorry, Steve."

Steve sits up and runs a hand over Eddie's back, glad that the movement has Eddie looking up at him, scared, with tears in his eye. Steve lays back and opens his arms wide. "Come here," he says.

Eddie stares at him, not moving.

Steve sighs. "This is always what we do when you're upset and that's not changing, so come here."

Eddie's tongue rests against the top of his lip for a moment before he moves to lay slightly on top of him, head resting in the crook of Steve's neck.

Steve lets his hand travel up and down his back, slightly gliding into his hair as it comes up. He thinks.

When they were first friends, Steve would mostly go for casual touches - a pat on the back, a shoulder squeeze, sometimes throwing a hug in there when he really missed him. Somewhere along the way, it became impossible to not be near him. And Steve had never felt so drawn to someone before.

He had brushed it off for a while, blaming it on him being touch starved - which he was. But usually, he resolved those feelings by having meaningless sex with some girl. Which he hasn't had since he and Eddie started becoming practically glued at the hip. God, he hasn't had any urge to even flirt with anyone really. It's like Eddie has filled all his relationship needs without Steve noticing.

Except for the kissing part. Which, now he's noticed the need for that, he can't stop thinking about it.

Shit, he really wanted to kiss him - still wants to kiss him.

Why isn't he kissing him?

Rather, why isn't he dating him?

He turns toward the mess of curly and swipes them back, trying to look at Eddie, but his face is still buried in his neck.

"Eddie," Steve says. Eddie hums against him, not lifting his head. Steve smiles. "Lift your head up a bit."

Eddie slowly shifts and rests his head in the corner of the couch away from Steve.

Steve snorts. "Lift your head up, not to the side, Eds."

Eddie reluctantly lifts his head up, looking down at Steve.

Shit, he's gorgeous. How did he not notice this before when he was literally memorizing his face? ...oh, maybe that's why he was doing that.

Steve lifts his hand up and swipes Eddie's hair to the right before cupping his face. "What if I told you that I wanted to date you?" Steve asks.

Eddie's eyes widen then shut as he shakes his head. "Don't pity me, Harrington."

"Eddie," Steve says sternly. "What if I wanted to date you?"

Eddie's eyes open and stare down at him. "Steve, you don't mean that."

Steve brings both his hands up to cup his face. "Stop arguing with me. I want to date you, and I want to kiss you, and take you on proper dates, and tell the kids how crazy I am about you to the point that they start complaining about it. Eddie, I'm sorry that it took me so long to realize, but I like you. Shit, I think we've been dating for weeks now without either of us realizing it. So, can you stop arguing with me so we can finally make this official?"

Eddie stares at him, letting his eyes flick back and forth between Steve's as if trying to figure out if he's lying. "You want to date me?" he asks.

Steve groans. "Yes, Eddie."

"Actually?" Eddie asks.

Steve carefully guides his head down to rest against his forehead. "Yes, Eddie."

"You're sure?"

Steve's hand presses into the back of his neck, so his lips brush against Eddie's. "Yes, Eddie."

Eddie sighs in relief. "Can I kiss you now?"

"Yes, Eddie."

They both move at the same time, finally relieving that tingling sensation as their lips push together.

Steve only wonders how he didn't realize he needed this sooner.

[barnxsromanxff]

That Night | Josh Washington x reader

| Do not repost any of my writes without credit to me

Pairing: Post prank Josh x f!reader

Prompt: The real events of that night start to reveal themselves as Josh is tied up.

Warnings: implied smut, make out sesh, cussing, crying, slut shaming, emetophobia warning, mentions of death

A/N: So this is kinda angsty? i never really write sad stuff but i wanted to try something new. This one is a bit short, let me know if i should add a part 2! remember requests are open through my inbox, comments or dm me! i hope you enjoy!

Also i’m sorry if it’s not the most game accurate depiction! I tried my best :,)

His hands traced every curve and line on your body, his tongue worshiping your skin. His lips grazing your own. You felt like a goddess as he let your name fall from his lips as a prayer.

His voice, his scent, his body, everything about him was overwhelming your senses. Even with the lights off he had your figure memorized, touching every sensitive spot you had.

His drunken mumbles began to form into a cohesive sentence, “I love you.”

~

You held onto your coat trying to keep any warmth in, shivering to regulate your temperate. Your gaze rested on his erratic form, his breathing irregular as he screamed out,

“You pussy!”

His exaggerated scream making you roll your eyes, your fingers found there way to the bridge of your nose with you pinched tight.

You pretty much ignored the entire argument, it was getting you all nowhere. You only started paying attention when he mentioned you again,

“Excuse me! Am I boring Miss righteous over here?”

You dead panned at your best friend, no evidence of a smile at all. You stood up and came closer to him,

“Josh, I think i’m speaking for everyone here, shut the fuck up.”

Your sudden outburst shocked the boys but Chris and Mike nodded in agreement. You began pacing the shed, your mind spinning rapidly,

“Why are we even here? This was so stupid,”

You let out a shaky laugh and continued your rant with it slowly turning from an angry cry out to sobs leaving your lips.

“We shouldn’t even be here.”

You repeated, over and over, your hands raking through your disheveled hair. The boys all watched your every move intensely, finally there was silence in the room.

You believed what you said, you were still in denial. Your two closest friends were gone, and it was time for you to realize this.

“Fuck! What the fuck.”

You kicked over a box of old tools, the noise clambering against the wall. You held your body tight, trying to find any form of comfort. Everything was wrong, this wasn’t how it was suppose to be.

“Hey, Come here.”

Chris pulled your body close to his, the heat from his build enveloping yours. He stood there silent, knowing no words would bring any comfort to you.

Everyone knew you were right, but no one had the energy or need to agree.

As he held your body you could hear snickers coming from tied up Josh, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as you prepared for his next verbal assault.

“I’m just saying, one heck of a performance. You don’t think I know what really happened that night?”

Your eyes squinted in confusion, for once you wanted him to continue. You stepped away from Chris and felt desperate to hear what he was going to say, you internally slapped yourself as you gestured him to go on with his rant.

“Josh? What are you talking about?”

He scoffed, the look in his eyes full of hatred. He thrashed his body attempting to get out of the tight constraints.

“Whoring yourself for a prank? Pretty low if you ask me, just as bad as good ol’ Mike here.”

Your stomach sank as you begin to realize what he was implying.

“I remember every. single. second. of that night. Too bad I wasn’t there for Beth and Hannah, instead with you.”

You shook your head, your tears continued and you yelled out a ‘No!’

“You took me back there just to distract me, fucked me real good huh? Should’ve known it wasn’t real, out of everyone that night,”

He paused before finally meeting your eyes, the look sending shivers down your spine.

“You, you disgust me. You hurt me the most.”

Mike and Chris exchanged confused looks. No one knew what that night had looked like for you and Josh, that being the one secret you had the power to hold. The one thing not distorted by that evil memory that night holds for you.

It went silent, your mind recalling the events of that night

~

“Shhhh Josh, they’ll hear.”

You held his hand as he led you away from the group, both stumbling and trying to find your way through the maze of his lodge.

Finally he jiggled with the door knob of his room, letting you in first just to whistle as you entered.

“Been hiding that all this time?”

You hit his chest and immediately went in for a kiss, your hands holding into the chest of his shirt clinging to be as close as possible.

Your kiss deepened, somewhere along the way both your clothes had been quickly discarded as an afterthought.

Josh let out an airy moan as you suckled on his neck, his hands wandering over your naked body.

You giggled and kissed him all over his face, wanting nothing more than to live in this moment forever.

~

“Josh…”

You sighed and despite the guys disapproving looks you moved closer to him, sitting down on the cold floor near him.

Josh ignored you, his eyes avoiding your ever knowing stare.

“What we did that night, what we said, I haven’t forgotten it.”

You bit your lip trying to find the words to say to this broken man, your eyes watering as you continued barely above a whisper ,

“That night, I wish it could’ve gone differently. I regret almost everything about it,”

You pause as he stares up with you, his eyes flooding with hurt as he took in your words. All the hatred he had for you was gone, and instead heartbreak.

“I don’t regret what we did, I would never regret you. Don’t think I have. I regret not being there for Hannah and Beth, for keeping you away from them. But I don’t regret what we shared.”

Josh kept quiet, but his expression had changed. It seemed like he didn’t know what to think, his mind continued to play tricks on him, he didn’t dare to speak after that.

You wiped the stray tears as you stood up and looked at the boys,

“Now what?”

You three argued over a plan, trying to figure out who would stay to watch Josh and who would go. Finally the decision falling onto you. You look back at Josh who seems defeated, his eyes devoid of emotion.

“I’ll stay here with him. Go with the others.”

Despite their push back the eventually leave, reassuring you they’d be back for you.

Once they leave it’s just you and Josh left in a pitiful silence, almost missing his screaming from earlier,

“Josh, I’m sorry,”

It had been the first time you had said those words to him, saying sorry would just confirm the worst.

“For everything, you didn’t deserve all of this pain. I don’t know why this happened, why they disappeared. I don’t know why you are hurt so badly, and i’m sorry that I don’t know.”

“It’s not your fault, I know that.”

His words were barely audible, but you understood him clearly. Finally, he looks back up to meet your eyes. His eyes were filled with tears, he was breaking down in front of you.

You desperately wanted to untie him, to hold him, but you knew better than that. He was off his medication, unpredictable, and you didn’t want another thing to go wrong tonight.

As the night continued your mind wandered back, replaying the events of that night.

~

The fire cast a warm light on your bodies, his skin looking like a bronzed gold, his chest rising and falling with every breath. He looked beautiful, just perfect.

“Like what you see?”

You smiled and hummed a yes, planting a kiss on his jaw. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly close to him, not wanting to let go.

“Y’know, I meant what I said. Wasn’t just being crazy romantic for no reason.”

He confessed with his eyes still closed. You blushed recalling his words earlier, thankful it wasn’t just a drunken mistake.

“I know.”

It was his turn to hum in response, pinching your side making you laugh.

“Not gonna say it back?”

You both knew it, you had been smitten for years. His teasing was just because he yearned to hear those words come from you,

“I love you too, Joshua.”

~

“Every day without a doubt, I remember that night with you,”

Josh’s sudden announcement made your ears perk up, letting your attention turn to him.

“I remember everything about it, your laugh, your voice, your body. I even remember the smell of the tequila that came from you as we ran off together.”

You smile and nodded in agreement, recalling exactly all he was saying.

“It was disgusting, had to keep myself from vomiting during the party.”

For the first time in a long while you heard his hearty laugh, it was different then the one he had been putting up all night. This laugh was all him.

“When we get out of here, we’re gonna help you Josh. I will be there for you.”

Josh nodded as he let the idea creep into his mind, maybe he wasn’t a lost cause? Maybe a future with you would be his saving grace,

~

“No! Where is he!”

You shoved Mike as he dragged you out of the mines, wincing at every contact you made.

“We have to go back, please. Please Mike!”

You screamed as he ignored you, your eyes being coated in a familiar substance.

“I love him! You have to do something!”

Your pleas go unheard, completely ignored as you’re forced out towards the lodge where you are the rest of the group are rescued.

Everyone in a complete shell shocked state, no words spoken.

The paramedics and police eventually seperate you all, taking you into different rooms for questioning.

“Have you found Josh? You have to be looking for him, in the mines.”

“No miss, we have no other confirmed bodies as of now.”

Bodies. They don’t expect to find anymore survivors, do they? Your face drains of any color as you feel the need to vomit out of disbelief.

~

He held you all night long, your bodies molded together in perfect unison. You felt safe in his arms, his body warmth lulled you to see as you listened to the best of his heart.

You had waited for this moment for years, pining over Josh. Little did you know, Josh had fallen in love with you long before you, his affection growing day by day.

It was perfect, the entire night was everything you could ever ask for .

As the morning light crept through the windows a knock at your door with a frantic Chris yelling woke you both out of your slumber, changing the rest of your lives forever.

[tinycozycomfort]

some quiet evenings

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: If he wasn’t so far away all the time, working and worrying and wracked with undeserving guilt, you’d disassemble him completely—down to the fucking marrow.

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, sub!mike, the tone? they're in love, underwear play, c*ck grinding, finger sucking, pet names (baby, honey, etc), the socks stay on, criminally gratuitous descriptions of how good-looking this man is

word count: 2k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: huge thank you to @cupofjoel for these amazing fics that were a direct contributor to me watching the movie (and then subsequently falling into a lore hole) and to @pascalisbaby for listening to me fumble my way through this!!

main masterlist

Mike is always tired when he gets home. 

Tired like the weight of his body is too much to bear, eyes wet and just-open like a seam that’s freshly split. He hangs at the end of his own rope, slumped on the line of his spine, damp across his brow as he sits and undresses at the corner of the bed. 

You don’t question him when he says it’s nothing, when he mumbles something about work being a lot of pressure and just needing to make it through the end of the week. For something so mundane—watching unwanted property—it seems off; still you kneel at his back to help him shrug off the lip of his vest and hoodie and creased t-shirt with nothing more than a sigh.

“Didn’t mean to put this on you. I know you work as much as I do—more, even,” his head lolls down towards his lap, fingers sweeping his face as he shrinks with guilt, “I just need to figure out some money for another babysitter so I can actually sleep and you can actually see me and—” 

“It’s okay. Don’t know how many times I’ll have to tell you before you believe me.” 

He works at the clasp of his pants before you can—another thing he feels the need to take responsibility for, right now—bending at the waist enough to pool them at his ankles, socked feet tapping the ground inside their halos. Nervous, like always, high-strung and erratic for reasons you can’t begin to pull out of him. 

“And everything with Abby, she just… I worry about her.” 

“She’s asleep down the hall. Got her to eat and everything. You need to worry about yourself, too, y’know.” You widen your thighs, straddling the base of his hips, left hand curling to cradle the strip of skin between his shoulder and neck. He’s warm there, too, tacky and tense when you tuck your pointer up against his jaw. “Look at me, Mike.” 

He refuses at first, pushing back against your guidance, reserve strong in the face of shame.

In return, you press harder into him, doubling down, dimpling the underside of his chin in an effort to halt his retreat.

“No,” he whispers, insistent. 

Something hot swirls in the core of your spine at his defiance, as small as it is loud, the corner of your lip tugging up in response. He can’t see you, hiding like this, but it’s like he can feel it, knocking a shoulder up to shield himself even more. 

He likes this game, you’ve realized—where you let him have his fit just to reel him back in, to prove to him he’s wrong. That special kind of attention to detail—the laborious care of taking the time to peel back his doubts to get to the tender meat of his heart, just to string up your favorite pieces of him as you go. Declarations is maybe the most correct way to put it; he likes to earn the kind of love he can hang on the fridge.

You lean in behind him, cheek brushing the hair at his temple, and his guise falters, body unfurling on instinct. What a sweet man he is, naked save for the rings of fabric on and at his feet, the thin veil of his boxers—the latter failing to hide his own interest. Opening for you like he needs to.

You drag your nose across his lobe, the flesh there raising in little welts, “You do know how much I worry about you, right? How much I want you to relax? Don’t you want that, too?” 

He swallows hard, wrist twisting in his lap—restraint, you think, or warning; Mike, ever-courteous, letting you know he’s reached his threshold, fizzing over the top. 

“What do you think I could do to make you feel better, honey?” You run the bend of your free hand along his inner thigh, chest flush to his back so you can reach the fold of his knee. 

Mike shudders, short puffs of air jutting out of his open mouth. The grip you have on his neck tilts, wrapping your thumb over the knob of his jaw, longer fingers spreading out so you can curve one between his lips. He licks at it, tongue soft where he sucks you in, skipping the gentle work-up to get to his favorite part—more tired than you thought, then.

“I don’t want to have to choose for you, but I will.” You rub the inside of his cheek like you can coax the words out, “C’mon.” 

“You could—I want, fuck. I want to be inside you.” 

The papery t-shirt clinging to your back stretches, looped material around your hips tacked down by the trickle of slick that seeps out at his words. You were ready for bed when he arrived,  more thankful than ever to have nothing else between you and his body, now that he’s ready for something else.

You drag your wandering hand across where he’s straining, hot and heavy, his only reaction a gentle tug of teeth on your knuckle, a too-deep inhale that inflates his chest. Mike’s hands sit limp where they’re glued to his thighs, waiting patiently for your next instruction, seeing if you’ve decided to grant him his request. 

It’s not until you wedge your hand free to toy at the waistband of his boxers that he sets into motion, raising off the sheets and letting you strip him of his last shred of modesty, just the slouched cuffs of his socks left clinging to him.

His cock is hard—angry—coming down on his stomach with a dull thud, a sticky pull of precome following in its wake. The muscle under his torso jumps at the impact like he forgot it was even there, too focused on what’s coming next, sold on the prospect of something better. 

You guide a leg down the slope of the bed, planting yourself on the floor by his side. He takes the hint, pushing himself higher up on the sheets and resting his weight on the flat of his elbows behind him, quick to obey.

You take your time climbing along him, bracketing him from the front this time so you can take in the full image of his want. He’s flushed across his cheeks, his neck—even the little reliefs in the skin under his eyes are touched by pink. Lips shining, hair clumped with wet at the root—he’s the kind of beautiful he doesn’t even know he’s capable of, sleepy and misty and shaky when you run your fingers against his jaw—still damp from his own mouth—marveling at the rounded edges that find their way in his angular face. 

If he wasn’t so far away all the time, working and worrying and wracked with undeserving guilt, you’d disassemble him completely—down to the fucking marrow. Clip him off at every joint just to piece him back together. 

“Pretty,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, but you know he hears it when he preens, eyes fluttering and chest squeezing tight in a long exhale.

You loop a thumb through the center of your underwear, swinging it out to fit his cock in with you, settling into his lap more firmly so that the split of your cunt presses against him. He’s trapped there, between your heat and his belly, the whine that slips out of him involuntary but solid. 

When you start to move, working up a rhythm, he spits out something like fuck, fuck yes and you nod to feign understanding.

“Oh, is this what you meant? You wanted to be inside here?” You rock into his hips with purpose, the thick shape of him rubbing at your clit like it’s all he was made for, like being inside you wouldn’t even be an idea if he couldn’t take care of you in every other way first. 

“No.” 

“First yes, now no? You have to make your mind up, baby. You’re not giving me enough to work with, here.”

“Yes. This is–yes.” 

He starts to meet you halfway without thinking, grinding up into the cradle of your body in search of a better way to communicate than words. 

“So you don’t want to fuck me?” 

Mike whines at that, the breakout of red reaching the very edges of his face, bleeding down into his collarbones. He regains some sense of his own body, then, hands fumbling up until they slot above the crease of your thigh, rubbing firmly at your hip bones. Pleading.

You tuck your knees into his side to help him along, ribs stinging where your efforts begin to hurt, happy anyway to push him closer to the edge. A thick lick of heat rises in your chest, the seat of your pelvis, flaring white when you watch him fight for something to say.

“I do—I did, I just. This is perfect. You’re perfect.” He’s panting in between each word, pressing himself to you to punctuate his point, “I’m going to come just like this, if you’ll let me.” 

It’s not so spelled out, but he is asking for permission—as he always does—and it sounds like an apology more than anything else. For being selfish, you know he’ll say; for taking his pleasure exactly like you’d asked him to.

You swipe at the curls that are starting to twist at the base of his neck, both for leverage so you can match his pace and to point out another facet of him that falls perfectly into your liking, the glide easier with how much you’ve coated him in that same favor. 

The hand you’d hooked into him earlier finds his lips again, slipping in with no resistance, passing harshly against his molars and tongue. 

Mike is eager to glean as much fondness as he can off the skin, closing his mouth and sucking fervently. 

“Go ahead, then. Said you needed to relax, didn’t I? We’ve got all morning.”

Something flashes in his eyes that reads horribly like but what about work?, as if now would be the time to worry over your schedule—as if anything could be more important than the way his cock swells in anticipation despite the thought. 

You redirect the anxiety, not wanting his orgasm to fall flat after all the convincing it took to lead him here, “You have all morning to make it up to me.”

His grip around your middle tightens, suffocatingly so, brows drawing tight, tilting his head so he can take in more of your fingers to slide his tongue against the underside of your palm as he comes in warm threads of slip. 

He makes a mess of your chests and the already soaked-through film of your underwear, legs shaking under you as he breathes his way down. 

You release yourself from him with a pop, squeezing lightly at his cheek as he cracks a meek smile. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, freshly shy like he hadn’t been aware of what just occurred, so inside his mind he’d left his body, “I didn’t mean to not be able to, um—” 

“Fuck me?” 

He’s fully glowing by now, this time because of the weight of your accusation, loosening a little only when he sees you grinning back at him. You lean in, pecking at the corner of his mouth to not interrupt his irregular breaths, allowing him just a moment of error before appealing to the side of him that rids him of his nerves, “Get to it, then, if you’re so worried about it.”

[upsidedownwithsteve]

i've always loved the idea of a sunshiney/hippie reader with grumpy metalhead eddie, possibly involving her crystal collection or a tarot reading lol

Eddie was used to finding things in his van, his trailer, his bag - shit, even his pockets - that weren’t his.

It was collateral damage from running a bunch of preteens around, sharing babysitting duties with Steve, playing taxi cab and breakfast club. He’d find DnD die that weren’t his, old batteries from walkie talkies, sticky candy wrappers and lost baseball hats, trading cards and half empty bottles of pop that El wasn’t really supposed to drink.

And every time, he’d fuss about it, pretending to be meaner than he was, but fuck, sometimes it got a little too much. His trailer wasn’t big enough for him and Wayne as it was, and finding Lucas’ basketball uniform in his laundry only added to the list of things he needed to get done.

(He always washed it.)

So he’d chew everyone out and throw back their belongings to them like grenades, ranting about personal space and how his van wasn’t a trash can on wheels.

(“Yes it is,” Mike would always interject.)

And then you came along. Bright and bathed in colour, a pop of sunshine beside Eddie’s black and silver get up, always smiling even when the boy was scowling. It took a month, maybe two, of dating when Eddie started finding your things amongst his. It wasn’t anything overwhelming, like a toothbrush at his sink, or your clothes in his wardrobe - no, it was too early for that.

But he’d work a shift at the garage and sneak out the back for a unauthorised smoke break, hand shoved in his pocket to search for his lighter. He’d come up with a handful of rocks instead, pretty, colourful crystals that shone in the sunlight.

He didn’t need to ask to know that they were yours.

And when he drove home, his van rattling and the music blaring, another shiny thing caught his eye. Tucked amongst his cassettes, a lump of something smooth and dark, so black it was almost purple, hints of blue in its depths. He ran his thumb over it, smiling, and tucked it in his pocket with the rest.

By the time he saw you the next day, he’d collected a dozen of the things, scattered around his room, a tiny purple stone that looked like glass in the corner of his shower, a sky blue rock under his pillow.

He held them out to you like a handful of candy, pretty, shiny and colourful, dazzling in the sunlight - just like he thought of you. Eddie smiled when you scrunched your nose at him, looking a little embarrassed. But he took your hand in his free one, helping you clamber onto the bed beside him, your back to his chest as you sat between his spread legs.

Your pink dress clashed with his red shirt, an angry skull logo on the front of his, tiny daisies on yours.

You watched Eddie line up the crystals by size, a neat stripe of bright colour on his dark blue bedsheets. The boy hooked his chin over your shoulder and you could feel the smile he pressed against your cheek, one he’d saved up all day, just for you. He kissed your jaw, nuzzled his face into the crook of your shoulder, stubble scraping your skin until you squealed and laughed.

“These are pretty,” he finally said and you hummed, agreeing. He pointed to the black stone he’d found in his van. “What’s this for?”

“It’s obsidian,” you told him, picking the crystal up and turning it over in your hand. “S’meant to help with protection.”

Something inside Eddie’s chest bloomed, a pretty warmth that he was quickly associating with you. He smiled, hid it in your shoulder and tried not to turn as pink as your shoulder.

“Yeah? That’s awesome.” He pointed to another one, glittery and jagged and lilac coloured. “What about this-?”

[alwaysformike]

can i request where reader and michael are in rome in 1988 for the bad tour and they go to a museum on a little date and end up getting a little riled up in public because of michael's tedious tour schedule that prevents them from having any "sex time"?

ִֶָ𓏲࣪ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐄, 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐄 🫐༉‧

in which tedious tour schedules force sweet sighs of bliss to fill the sound of people-filled museums.

content warnings: public sex, fingering, p in v, fem! reader, MICHAEL BEING SO SEXY???!

my first request omg??!!! 😣 okay anyways enjoy mls

THE SPRINGTIME AIR OF MAY FILLS YOUR NOSE, DRENCHING YOU IN A WARMTH NEVER FELT BEFORE. Cars zoom past, blowing your hair into your face. Your hand, wrapped thinly around your lover, squeezes.

You are glad people in Rome know how to mind their business, save for the couple of people that clearly don’t get the memo; you and Michael are alone for a reason.

Though, you will admit, you couldn't be sure if the feeling of eyes staring at you in every direction were any better than the constant clicking of paparazzi cameras.

"Well, my love, where to next?" The voice rings through your ears, sending that funny feeling to your tummy again. You blush slightly, ducking your head.

You and the former Jackson 5 member are out for a day on the town, exploring all there is to see in Rome. This, you think, may be the best part of Michael's fame; being able to tour the world with your love.

"Hm," you hum. Of course, it had its downsides, like the schedule that made it almost impossible to see him. "I heard there is a museum just a way down, perhaps we could go there?"

He grins down at you. "The fact you think you even have to ask is blasphemy."

There it was again, that fluttering feeling in your stomach that just would not go away. The two of you make your way down to the Museum, hands still interlinked like chains.

As you walk, it is impossible not to stare at him. Him, with his curly black hair fanning around his face. Him, with his dark eye's cautiously observing as you two cross the street.

It is a crime that you have became so lucky, a sin that he has ended up with you of all people. Because, truly, he was a piece of art that deserved to be in the Museum. Him, with his sharp and chiseled jaw, his lanky but tall figure, his long seductive fingers.

Him.

It is so unfair, the way he floats so gracefully, dancing around with a small quirk of his lips. Your breath catches in your throat.

"Michael." You whisper feebly. The museum was just up ahead, you could see the line following out through door.

"Hm?" He half-heartedly answers. His attention is on moving you through the crowd of people and into the Museum. No lady should stand in line for that long especially not his.

Your throat goes dry and suddenly words have escaped from your list of skills. Your brain, fuzzy and now blank. He pauses in his step, waiting for you to say something. Michael turns, looking at you . Your eyes are staring up at him, those big round eyes that could have any soldier fall to his knees and retreat in seconds.

He was the soldier and the heart was his battlefield.

"Doll?" He questions. It is unlike you to be so quiet, typically yapping about anything that remotely catches your interest.

Your breath hitches. You two are now inside the Museum, statues and paintings lining each wall. "Mike," you whisper. "Something is wrong."

It does not take more than a millisecond for Michael to have you in his arms, hugging you tightly. He cannot help but to worry. "Has something upset you, is the museum too small, was the line too long?" He is throwing questions after questions to you.

Your brain is still fuzzy and woozy, but you mange to peep from his arms and stare deep into his onyx eyes. "Michael, listen. Something is wrong with me."

That does not help. You are back in his thick arms once more, and he is questioning you again. You peel from his arms one last time. You glance up at him, then to his long and vein-covered fingers. Had he always been so sexy? Stupid question, of course he had.

There was something about not seeing him for weeks on end unless it was on stage that made you so feral, so weak in the knees. If it was possible, he looked so much more handsome. Small eyebags rested underneath his eyes but it did not take from his beauty, only added.

You realize now that you sre utterly fucked.

"Michael. Bathroom." You croak, nodding towards the restroom. In seconds the two of you are shoving into the family one and the door is locked behind you.

Michael is frowning, but you can tell he is slowly starting to understand your dilemma. "Need you," you whine out. A smirk unravels onto his face.

"Oh," he nods in understanding. "This is what had my pretty girl all worked up." You agree desperately, hands roaming his t-shirt covered chest.

His fingers wrap around your thighs, picking you up and setting you on the sink. Within seconds his lips are hungrily fighting yours. They dance, a tango of dangerous lust. His hand comes up to hold your jaw, forcing your mouth open so his tounge can slide into your mouth.

You grunt into the kiss. He pauses, pulling away. "Patience, love." You whimper at that, grinding onto the sink.

You would look back and cringe at that, you were sure, but for now, you were desperate. So utterly desperate for anything. You can feel a pool begin to clog your lacy panties. His fingers wander down, they are snakes that slither their way to your garden of eden. Your breath comes out in panted huffs as the snakes constrict your thighs, squeezing with a pain so lustful.

"Michael." You beg. "Please."

"Well, if you insist." He rolls his eyes, bringing his breath closer to your heat. In seconds, the snakes that were once his hands is now his tongue, twisting and twirling around your aroused clit.

You moan, hips rolling against his face. Your hands are white from gripping the sink. He pulls away lustfully and you whine. "Not enough."

He frowns, wiping his face off. "You really are the prettiest idiot, hm, doll? You really think i'm that cruel as to leave my sweet baby so needy, all alone?"

Your doe-eyes peak up at him, and they shine with words you will not say; "but mike, you would do that."

Michael Jackson was infamous for teasing. It'd be no surprise for him to leave you in the dust once again. But after weeks, almost months, of barely seeing him, you know he needs it just as bad as you do.

His mouth is back on you now, and its twisting and twirling everywhere you need. He sucks on your clit, holding there for a couple seconds. Your voice is resonating through the restroom, and reaches it's peak when he pinches your clit with his long fingers.

It hurts so good, and you whimper once again when he pulls away. He chuckles cruelly, turning you into the sink so you can see your fucked out face. Your pigtail braids with bows, now messily drenched with sweat.

"Mike, hurry." You whine.

"God," he groans, unbuckling his fancy pants. "You're so fucking needy. My little needy girl."

He's shoving inside you in a mere second, no room for preparation. It hurts, his thick and veined cock just being pushed into you; though, you don't wuite mind.

Your pretty eyes roll back. Hes moaning into your ear and it's all too much—not seeing him, being so public, your smeared lipstick from all the smooching.

Pleasure hits you like a wave on the ocean, your toes curling in your pretty little mary-janes, hands white from gripping the sink. You feel your orgasm push over you and he presses your cheek into the mirror, letting you watch how his hips snap vigorously into you.

The raw and slutty sound of him over-stimulating you until he finally releases with a grunt is overpowering.

You spend a couple minutes cleaning up. "So good for me, lady-bug. Good girl." He whispers to you sensually, his big hand cupping your cheek.

The two of you exit, eyes widening as the sight of a line fills your vision. A woman is in front of you, her face pulled back in both anger and digust.

"Get a room!" She mutters. As you two walk away, giggling, she yells again. "And not the restroom!"

You and Michael make eye-contact, giggling once again and continuing on your museum date—though you spend the rest of it limping—.

masterlist

[strangererotica]

Just Tell Me When You’ve Had Enough

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Sub!Mike Schmidt x Dom!Fem!Reader • Includes edging, queening, oral, squirting, cum eating, bondage

His soft doe eyes gaze up at you, wide and hopeful. Mike wants two completely opposite things, at the same time: for you to finally allow him the orgasm you’ve been edging him towards for hours now, and conversely, for you to keep teasing and provoking him with no relief in sight…

Mike never realized how much he enjoyed submission, till he began dating you. He’d always fallen easily into the dominant role during sexual encounters; it simply came naturally to him. You opened Mike’s eyes to a whole new way of experiencing sex, and although he’s still learning, he couldn’t be a happier student.

He’s painfully hard, naked from the waist down, a white t-shirt plastered to his chest with sweat, wrists bound by rope to the posts of his bed. This is Mike’s idea of paradise now; there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than under your complete control.

You lean forward and swipe your tongue over the head of his cock; Mike convulses like an electrical current has just passed through him. You can’t help but find it amusing. He’s so cute like this, helpless and absolutely desperate, and all for you. A sweet little tied-up toy for you to play with and cuddle and torment in the most delicious ways.

You make yourself comfortable on the bed, moving a hand between your thighs, spreading your wet, puffy lips apart for Mike to see. He flinches forward, his lips a tight line, every muscle in his body tensed. Fuck he wants to touch you, to taste you. But he’s tied up like an animal, and maybe for good reason. Maybe if Mike wasn’t restrained, he’d lose control. If you continue touching yourself like that in front of him, close enough that he can smell you…fuck he’s losing it-maybe he’ll behave like the animal your bonds have reduced him to. Mike hates this-it’s destroying him. He doesn’t want it to stop.

You blow a little kiss of air against his pink, leaking tip. A hungry groan rolls up from Mike’s chest. “Does it hurt?” you taunt, grinning up at him from between his legs. Mike growls back in response, his forehead tight. It’s more than obvious that the pleasure he’s experiencing shifts continuously between pleasure and pain. You glide your fingers between the folds of your pussy, savoring the look of frustration and pure sex on Mike’s face as his eyes hone in on the space you’re touching yourself.

His jaw goes slack, lips parting in a subconscious effort to taste you. His white t-shirt is soaked through with sweat, the dark hair on Mike’s chest and belly visible through the fabric. His cock is standing erect and pulsing, bobbing over his stomach. Fresh beads of pearlescent arousal leak from his tip, dripping down Mike’s cock and drying on his neglected balls.

His head falls back, defeated. In a small, pathetic voice, Mike begs you to please let him come. Lucky for him, you’re feeling generous. Spreading your legs around his waist, you crawl up Mike’s body (still avoiding his cock) and sink your bare cunt over his face. Mike whimpers into your heat; the vibrations from his grateful little sobs go straight to your core. You thread your fingers through Mike’s curls, holding his head in place while he eats you to climax. Mike moans like a bitch into your cunt as he ejaculates untouched, his cock twitching behind your back and spilling cum all over his stomach.

He’s coming down from his release, rutting his nose between your lips, unwilling to release your cunt till he’s made you come as well. Mike fucks his tongue in and out of your sopping hole, lapping your guts like he’s starving, greedy, hungry thrusts that have your hips bucking and thighs clamping around his face as you ride it. Mike savors the sting in his scalp as you tug his hair into fists, the burn of your feet kicking bruises into his chest, the gush of your orgasm running down his neck and soaking his mattress.

Mike eases his tongue from inside you, gazing up between your thighs as you lift yourself off his face. You leave him tied up a minute or so more, just long enough to let him watch you lick his cum off his stomach (after forcing him to make a mess all over himself, a little cleanup is the least you could do…). He watches you in awe, wondering how the hell he got so lucky, finding you? And he’ll never stop wondering, either… 💋