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stop-talking · 5 months ago

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Happy Accident

a little NSFW Mike Schmidt imagine :3

MDNI 18+

This was just going to be a blurb, but I'm losing my mind over the thought of a touch starved, depraved, horny, & slightly perverted Mike Schmidt... so enjoy 2.4k words of filth <3

(gender neutral! reader ❤️)

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• You'd been babysitting Abby for a while, but when Mike got that new night shift job... well, you weren't sure it was going to mesh with your schedule. Still, he needed you. And how could you say no to those big brown eyes?

• So, you started spending your weeknights at the Schmidt house. Mike would get home right as it was time for you to leave for school/work, so you had to get ready at his house, too.

• That meant bringing a change of clothes, usually thrown carelessly into an old blue duffle you used as an overnight bag.

• Coincidentally, Mike's work bag was strikingly similar to your own. If it wasn't just a tad bit dirtier, well... it might be easy to get them mixed up.

• Or... maybe the slight physical differences don't matter when you're both running on hopes, prayers, and caffeine. Hey, it's not easy adjusting to a new schedule. Especially one that requires Mike to leave when he should be going to bed.

• It only took a few days for him to slip up. You were running late that night, and while he couldn't blame you (you get what you pay for, and he hadn't paid you at all) he also didn't have time to stop and chat like normal.

• Instead, he hiked (what he thought was) his bag up on his shoulder, gave you a curt goodbye, and left for another shift at Freddy's.

• At first, everything was normal. He did a quick lap around the building, tried to ignore the creepy shuffling noises coming from shadowy corners, and checked the monitors once or twice before settling down into his chair for the night.

• Mike reached into his bag for his prescription, medicine to help him sleep. Or... perhaps a snack. Maybe even a hoodie he could bunch up on the desk and use as a pillow. Something like that. What his hand actually came back up with made his mind go blank, and he immediately forgot what he'd wanted in the first place.

• In his hand, he held... underwear. And not his own. Definitely not his own. Mike froze, heart pounding as he tried to make sense of what he was holding.

• You. You'd starting bringing a change of clothes for babysitting now, hadn't you? In a... a bag that looked nearly identical to his own. Oh. Oh no.

• Mike dropped the article of clothing, face flushing a deep crimson. Then, feeling guilty at leaving your clothing on the grungy pizzeria floor, he quickly tossed it back in the duffle bag and zipped it up.

• He kicked the whole thing under the desk, trying to hide the evidence further. Who from? He had no idea. Mike felt extra grateful today to be in the one room in the whole building without a security cam.

• Yeah. That's right. No one had to know about this. That he'd... well, it was an accident anyway. How could he have known it wasn't his bag?

• Taking a deep breath, he started to come up with a plan. He'd say he realized it wasn't his bag, but only after getting to work. Once he'd noticed it was yours, he left it in the car and didn't touch it. There. That would work.

• Relieved, Mike lay his head down on the desk to try and get some sleep.

• Unfortunately, sleep never came. He still felt bad about taking your bag, even if it was an accident. What would you wear to work? You always left right as he came home, even if he brought your bag back after his shift you'd still end up leaving late.

• It also didn't help that Mike didn't have his sleeping pills. Or his cassette tape with "sounds of Nebraska" recorded on it. All he had was a stupid Nebraska poster, and a bag that wasn't his. Mike tried staring at the poster, but without the accompanying music and medicine, it did nothing but annoy him.

• Stupid trees. Stupid Nebraska. Stupid job. Stupid Mike. How could he make such a dumb mistake? Surely you'd be angry with him. He hadn't paid you in weeks, and then he goes and makes things even harder for you?

• With his stomach in knots and his mind and heart still racing, Mike resigned himself to not sleeping tonight. Instead, he pushed himself up from the desk and started to pace around the abandoned pizzeria.

• Part of him just needed to relieve some nervous energy, and the other part needed a distraction. From the guilt he felt, yes, but also from that goddamn bag of yours.

• Well, not the bag so much as your clothes. The... intimate ones. Mike slapped his palm to his forehead, trying to physically force out the disgraceful thoughts plaguing his mind. You weren't interested in him like that. This was so fucked up. He was so fucked up.

• A few more slaps to his forehead later, Mike halted in his pacing around the dining room. It had suddenly occurred to him that if anyone did happen to be watching, he'd look pretty silly smacking himself and muttering under his breath like he was.

• Mike turned and eyed the nearest security cam with suspicion, until a soft scraping noise drew his attention on stage. Had Bonnie always been looking this direction?

• Feeling the same level of nervousness and guilt, now accompanied by fear and paranoia, Mike retreated back to the safety of his office. There, he faced the same problems as before, a spike of excitement running through him as his foot brushed your bag under the desk. Maybe he'd take a quick peek at your things?

• No. He couldn't. He shouldn't. It wouldn't be right.

• Still... what else could he do tonight? Mike glanced at the digital clock on the edge of his desk, the flashing red numbers seeming to taunt him as he realized he still had five more hours left in his shift.

• Fuck. With a grunt, he slammed his head down on the desk and covered it with his arms. Just because he couldn't sleep through work tonight didn't mean he had to do his job. No, Mike had decided the very first night that he wasn't paid enough for this bullshit. So he simply worked as little as possible.

• He wasn't going to watch the monitors. And he certainty wasn't going to think about you. Nope. He was simply going to sit here and do nothing. Think about nothing.

Think about nothing.

• His strategy seemed to work for all of two minutes, repeating the same phrase in his head over and over until he couldn't stand it any longer. Images of you kept popping into his mind. Your smile, your eyes, and that sweet expression of pure warmth you gave him whenever he came home from work. Like you were genuinely happy to see him.

• Nobody else had ever treated him as well as you did. That's why he had to keep these feelings buried, stomp the embers into ash and blow those ashes into the wind. He couldn't afford to lose you.

• Still, Mike couldn't help but wonder. What if the feeling was mutual? Something in his chest stirred, and suddenly all he could imagine was seeing that warm smile of yours underneath him in bed. Would you still be able to run that cute mouth if he pinned you down to the mattress, legs thrown over his shoulders? Or would you find a way to tease him, like usual?

• Shit. Was it getting hot in here? Mike sat up to remove his jacket, then stupidly started for the duffel back to put it away. Right. Not his.

• Mike closed his eyes and suddenly, the piece of clothing in his hand wasn't his at all, but yours. Your underwear. Mike was considering removing his jeans too, as they were rapidly becoming too tight.

• Breathe, Schmidt. Mike took a few deep breaths, but nothing was helping. His blood grew hotter, his pants tighter, and his mind more muddled.

• This was usually the point where Mike would pop on his headphones, listen to the familiar sounds of his tape recorder, stare at a poster, and think "Nebraska" thoughts.

• Unfortunately, without his equipment... this wasn't going to work. He couldn't make it through another ten minutes without some kind of relief, much less an entire shift. Mike dropped the jacket and his hands went to his belt, undoing his pants and immediately dropping those to the floor as well.

• Yeah... maybe a little "stress relief" was all he needed. A distraction. Something to take his mind off you.

• Mike couldn't help but let out a chuckle at that thought. Take his mind off you? As he was palming his hardening cock through his boxers? As if.

• If anything, this would only make him crave you more. But, as he freed himself from the (slightly sticky...) confines of his underwear, he decided that would be a problem for future Mike. Currently, he just wanted to cum. Preferably in you, but all over himself while thinking about you would have to do for now.

• He tried to start slow, he really did. But in a matter of minutes, he was fucking fervently into his hand, hips bucking up off the chair slightly. He kicked off one shoe and wiggled a foot free of his discarded jeans, spreading his legs for stability as he sank back into the seat.

• Precum dribbled down his cock, coating his length and providing some much needed slick. Mike held his breath without realizing it, growing closer to the edge but still not quite there. Damnit.

• After what felt like an eternity of effort, Mike pulled his hand away with a rather pathetic whine. Panting, he scowled down at his still-twitching cock. This was exactly why he didn't often... well, take matters into his own hands.

• It wasn't enough. It wouldn't ever be enough. Not without your warm body wrapped around his. Hand, mouth, anything. Mike would take absolutely anything you were be willing to give. Especially in his current state.

• But he wasn't going to get that, was he? Not now, and probably not ever, if he was honest with himself.

• Mike's heart and cock ached in tandem, frustration bubbling to the surface and drowning out all other thoughts. How could he have been so stupid? Now he'd have to sit here half-naked and even more worked up then when he'd started. Mike bit his lip at the realization that he'd just checked himself into the next circle of hell.

• No, no. He could finish the job. He had to. There was no way he could endure this all shift. Even if he managed, what then? Go home to you and try to muster up an apology while on the verge of creaming his pants? Absolutely not.

• Mike worked his cock again, faster this time. His eyes scanned the room, subconsciously searching for something, anything to help. He was aching. The pressure built and built inside him, his stomach muscles clenching and unclenching in soft ripples as he threatened to spill. It didn't come. He didn't come.

• Finally, his gaze landed on something that made him shudder in excitement. Thinking with his dick and not his brain, he reached for the duffle back under the desk. He just needed a little something to help fuel his imagination. A nudge, that was all. Just a minute. He could return it back to it's spot in your bag after, and you'd never even have to know.

• Shaking, he brought your underwear to his nose with his free hand. The other was gripped tightly around the base of his cock, his mind and senses too overwhelmed by frenzied lust to do anything more than inhale deeply.

• Fuuuuck. It smelled like you. Well, that much was obvious, but never in his wildest wet dreams had he expected you to smell so completely delicious. His mouth watered almost as much as his poor weeping cock as he gave it a few languid strokes.

• In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to put his face between your legs and feast. Lick and suck and fuck you with his tongue, swallowing every drop of your cum until you had nothing more to give.

• His tongue peeked out to lick at the cotton-y fabric of your underwear, imagining the damp spot was from your arousal and not his own mouth. That small taste of you is what finally sent him hurdling over the edge, inhaling sharply and getting one last whiff of your scent before frantically cumming into the closest piece of cloth... your underwear.

• Rope after rope of pearly white release soaked the fabric, again and again until he'd emptied his balls... and then some. Mike fucked into his hand until it hurt.

• When he eventually re-gained enough of his mental capacities to realize his mistake, he let out a groan. Gingerly, he peeled the sticky fabric from his softening cock, whining at how his sensitive damp skin was now exposed to the cool air.

• As he peered at the ruined garment in front of him, Mike came to the conclusion that his situation was not salvageable. He was completely and utterly fucked. In more ways than one.

• He gently tucked himself back into his boxers with a shudder, still reeling in the aftershocks of his intense orgasm. Okay, step one, get dressed. Step two, skip town and never look back. No way in hell he could face you after this, even if he could miraculously get the cum-stains from your clothing.

• But... he had to, didn't he? He couldn't abandon Abby. Or his home. Or you, even, as much as he wanted to crawl into a hole and die right now.

• So, Mike spent the rest of his shift using an ancient bathroom sink and hand soap trying to scrub the evidence away. Maybe... maybe he could salvage this after all.

Or maybe when he looked at you from now on, he'd only be able to see a sick, twisted fantasy, and the shameful result of his indulgence.

Probably the 2nd one. oh well.

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Author's note:

Hi!! Hi!! Hi hi hi hi hi!!! 😁 I'm so happy to finally be able to post something again!! 🥰

It's been almost a year now since I posted a fic, I hope this was a decent comeback!! This one's dedicated to all you peeps who love this pathetic, tired little man as much as I do <3 (Also, I've made a side-blog where I will be reposting all my fics. If you're only here for fanfic and not my shitposting, I completely understand! Or if you just want to follow me on both but only turn on notifications for fanfic, that works too! The account is @stop-talking-vtwo )

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kennahjune · 2 years ago

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Steddie

I’m joining the s3 steddie train :D

…

Steve was late. He was so late and so dead. Robin was going to kill him— he’d never make it out of Scoops Ahoy alive.

This was his thought process after dropping Will Lucas and Max off at Mikes. This was also his thought process the entirety of the way to Scoops while he shoved his way through the mall.

The moment he entered the small shop Robins eyes locked on him in a glare. Steve barely gave her a second before he was going to the back room to get ready for his shift.

He heard the back room door open behind him.

“You’re—“

“24 minutes late I know,” he said as calmly as he could while trying to relax his breathing.

“Yeah and—“

“And you get an extra 25 minutes for your break, yes Robin I know!”

Steve finally closed his employee cubby and turned to look at Robin. “Look. Im sorry I was so late today but Will, Lucas and Max are assholes when they’re being petty and they needed a ride to Mikes cause all the others were busy! I’ll take closing shift today to if you’re really that mad.”

Robin stared at him angrily from the doorway. “Fine.” She uncrossed her arms. “And yes, you will be taking the closing shift tonight. I have a study date with a friend that I can’t miss.”

“It’s summer vacation?”

“Shut up!”

Steve shrugged when the door closed.

He closed the door to his employee locker with a little more force than necessary. He had a migraine building and the bright, florescent lights of the mall weren’t helping in the slightest.

He walked out and began his shift.

…

Eddie wanted to enjoy his day off. Preferably by himself. But Gareth and Jeff decided that his personal life was their personal life. So here they were.

He had wanted to spend the day away from the mall, considering that that was where everyone seemed to be nowadays. But the guys were insistent.

So they were walking around. It wasn’t too bad, considering Eddie had gotten himself a new record and tape with his newest paycheck. They were sitting at the fountain when Gareth shouted right in Eddie’s ear:

“HOLY SHIT!”

Eddie just about punched him with how hard he jumped. Jeff spit out his Pepsi all over Eddie.

While Eddie was worrying about getting the sticky drink off of his skin, Gareth continued with; “is that HARRINGTON in Scoops?”

Well. Now he has Eddie’s attention.

Sure enough, just in Eddie’s line of sight, was Steve Harrington in a sailors uniform and a dorky hat.

A dorky hat that was soon snatched up by his current customer, Billy Hargrove.

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder and leaned over him to get a better view. “Is that Hargrove?”

“Yep.” Eddie popped the P.

“It looks like he’s messing with Harrington.”

“Yep.” Another pop on the P.

“And Harrington looks like he’s gonna fucking explode.”

Eddie agreed. Harrington was red in the face and not in the cute blushy-way he usually gets (don’t ask why Eddie knows that). He was talking back to Hargrove, probably something bitchy and sarcastic in typical Harrington-fashion based on the way Hargrove seemed to recoil for a moment before jumping back.

“Should we do something?” Gareth asked skeptically. Jeff shrugged where he was pressed against Eddie’s back.

“I’m going in.” Eddie stood and nearly knocked Jeff down in the process.

“Hang on—“

“Nope! Wish me luck, boys!” Eddie yelled over his shoulder while he dashed over. He heard them both get up and follow him.

…

Steve wanted to cry.

His head hurt so fucking bad and his back was killing him and he had ran into a shelf earlier and had a killer bruise on his arm and leg from it and everything was too fucking much.

Then, in all his asshole and dick glory, in came Billy Hargrove.

At this point, Steve would rather take another plate to the head then have to deal with his annoyingly aggravating voice. Hargrove came in, probably expecting Robin to be there, but got Steve instead. And honestly Steve would rather deal with him then leave Robin with him.

So he’s been enduring it, giving his own comments and comebacks but overall hating his life and just wanting to curl up and die.

Then his savior showed up. In all his black leather and chains, Eddie fucking Munson.

Hallelujah.

Hargrove seemed to back down the moment Munson showed up. Which wasn’t too strange considering that Munson supplied over half of Hawkins’ weed supply. Including Steve’s own for a while. He hasn’t bought in a while cause of the brat brigade.

But not the point.

Hargrove nodded to Munson. “Munson.”

Wow. Real cool, Billy. Steve held back a snicker.

“Heeyyy, Hargrove!” Munson cheerily greeted. But there was something about his smile that was off, to Steve. It seemed tighter than usual, his eyes not crinkling with the motion like normal. Don’t ask why Steve knows this.

Munson’s eyes seemed darker, too. Like he was angry. Maybe Hargrove didn’t pay him? Steve couldn’t bother to care with how bad his head started to pound.

He shouldn’t be at work with this migraine. He knows that. His doctor’s told him this multiple times. But he owes it to Robin for being late so much and he needs to prove to his dad that he can take care of himself.

“So what brings you here, Billy?” Munson asks casually, stepping farther into the shop. Steve seems to finally be forgotten about, and he places his head down on the counter. The cooled surface definitely helps with the spinning room.

He hears Hargrove say something back, but he isn’t paying attention anymore. His eyes are stating to go blurry and he really needs to sit down. But then Munson says something that catches his attention:

“Just leave Harrington alone, man. Last I checked he did nothing to you.”

What the hell? Steve wished he could lift his head and see what Munson was doing. What he looked like when he said that. If he looked as mean as he sounded.

Steve only lifts his head a few moments later when he feels a hand on his back. He shoots up quicker than he intends, and nearly falls back down if not for the hands still holding him up.

“Shit,” he grumbles quietly to himself, whining even quieter at the sudden rush of pain and the black dots in his vision.

“Easy there, your highness.” Munson.

Steve blinks slowly, letting Munson set him down in a booth. He doesn’t remember walking over but he’ll take it. He puts his head back down and intertwines his fingers behind his head. He groans quietly again, the pounding slowly receding.

“Hey man, is there something we could do? Do you need anything?” He heard Munson ask.

We? Steve wants to ask, but finds himself not caring. “Water, and my bag from the back please,” he rasps out. Talking makes the pounding worse.

He hears someone rush off to the back and a moment later a hands on his back again and is helping him sit up.

“Here ya go sweetheart.” Munson slides the glass of water and bag over to him.

Steve silently reaches into his bag and pulls out his small “to-go” med-kit. He carries it around mainly for the kids. Mike tends to be clumsier than he comes off as and Max is always trying out some new skateboarding tricks. From inside the kit he pulls out a pill bottle and swallows 2 with the water and goes for another 2 before a hand stops him.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to take more than 2.” This voice is new but familiar. Steve squints past the blurriness and makes out someone he recognizes from school; Gareth Emerson.

“4,” Steve manages past the lump in his throat. Munson, Emerson, and someone else Steve doesn’t quite know look at him. Munson continues to hold Steve’s hand on the table, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. It weirdly intimate but the comfort is very welcome.

“4 what?” The other guy asks.

“4 pills. I usually take 4.”

Munson and Emerson both wince. The third guy looks at him like he’s insane. Steve finally recognizes him as Jeff,… something. He actually never got his last name.

“Dude— are you trying to overdose!?”

Steve winced at the sudden loudness, whining quietly. Munson shushed Jeff and Steve heard him rush out an apology.

The bell over the door dinged at that moment, and Steve found himself face to face with Max, Mike, Will, Lucas, and— for some reason— Jonathan.

“Uh— hi?” Steve attempted for a greeting.

“‘Hi!?’” Mike yelled. “Hi yourself man! We called your walkie at least 4 times!! What the hell?”

“Are you ok? Why didn’t you answer?” Will asked in a much quieter tone.

Lucas and Max wasted no time before slotting themselves in the booth with Steve. Munson remained across from Steve, and Emerson and Jeff now hovered farther away, but Lucas slid right in next to Munson and Max next to Steve.

“What the fuck, Harrington?” Max demanded. But she clung to his shirt tightly.

“Language, Mayfield,” he reprimanded quietly.

Mike paused where he stood. “Why are you talking so quietly? Shit— do you have a migraine?”

Suddenly 4 pairs of little eyes were gazing at him with unmasked concern. Holy shit was this overwhelming.

“Guys—“

“Why didn’t you say that, Steve?” Lucas asked.

“Are you ok? How long has it been going on for? Asked Will.

“Why are even here if you’re not able to function properly?” Mike reprimanded in his own caring-ness.

Max clutched to him tighter. “Why aren’t you at home? You could’ve called in sick or something!”

“Shhh!” Mike shushed her.

“Don’t shush me—“

“Shut up!” He whisper shouted. “You have to be quiet and try to control your temperature while resting in a dark, quiet room to try and help with migraines. Pain killers help to but no more than 3.”

Everyone stared at him. He went a little pink under the sudden attention.

“Nancy gets migraines a lot from reading in the dark.”

Jonathan came over right then. Steve was suddenly overwhelmed by all the people surrounding him.

“Uhm—“

“Hey,” Munson called. Steve forgot about him for a good moment. “This is cute and all, but maybe we should not surround him? Poor boy looks like he’s gonna cry.”

Everyone turned to look at him. Tears had— in fact— sprung to his eyes.

“Sorry!” All the kids rushed out quietly at the same time. Max climbed out of the booth and Munson and Jonathan both assisted with helping Steve to the break room. Jeff and Emerson stayed with the kids, but Mike came with them since he seemed to know what he was doing better than the 3 of them.

On their way back to the room though, Steve’s legs nearly gave out from under him. Shit. It’s one of those days. Munson just barely managed to catch him under the armpits while Jonathan got him by the waist.

“Woah there, sweetheart.” Munson grunted.

“Careful, Steve,” Jonathan said quietly.

��Sorry. Spinning.” Steve exhaled shakily.

Mike came rushing back after realized they weren’t with him. “Damn. Spinning? Are you able to walk? Or are they gonna have to carry you?”

Jonathan looked up at the mention of having to carry Steve. “Yeah— I’m not able to carry him. I am so not strong enough for that.” He had the decency to look apologetic.

Munson chuckled quietly and the sound reverberated through his chest where Steve’s head was. It was soothing.

“Don’t worry Big Byers. I’ve got him no problem.”

Steve was given no warning before he was being picked up in a bridal carry. He winced sharply and laid his head on Munson’s shoulder. Jonathan whistled lowly from somewhere beside them and Steve blindly kicked his leg in his direction, scoring in kicking him in the arm. Jonathan snickered.

…

When Munson chased off Hargrove he didn’t expect for Harrington to all but collapse in on himself and try to fucking overdose on like 5 pain killers. He also hadn’t expected to be bombarded by 4 kids and 1 Jonathan Byers. Least of all did he expect to be carrying Harrington bridal style to the break room of Scoops Ahoy.

Somewhere behind him, Gareth turned the sign on the door to closed. Eddie silently thanked him.

The kid— who he vaguely remembers as Nancy Wheeler’s younger brother— opens the door and startles a half asleep Robin Buckley.

“Hello,” Jonathan throws her way before pulling a chair out for Eddie to sit on.

“Uh— hi? What the hell—“

Eddie takes the seat with Harrington in his lap. Robin looks dumbfounded.

“Migraine,” Jonathan helpfully supplies.

“Really, really bad migraine. Vertigo included. Full package tonight, folks.” Mike adds.

“Ok— um, is he ok? He doesn’t look ok. If it was so bad why didn’t he just call in sick?”

“That’s a good question,” Mike retorts quietly while rooting around in a freezer.

“What are you looking for”, Robin asks.

“Ice pack. The dumbass has everything in that first aid kit of his except a damn ice pack.”

“Language,” Harrington reprimanded quietly from where his cheek was against Eddie’s chest. Eddie chuckled quietly when Mike retorted with a half-assed “sorry”.

Eddie couldn’t help but admire the now sleeping Harrington in his lap. He bent in half like a shrimp, his knees just about to his chest, and his hands gripping tightly onto Eddie’s still-Pepsi-soaked t-shirt. But he looked so at peace while asleep. Like he hadn’t just had the worst migraine Eddie’s ever seen and wasn’t just about to pass out on his feet. Eddie smiled.

Mike comes over silently, managing to sneak up on Eddie and make him jump slightly and causing Harrington to whine. He’d been whining a lot today. And under “different circumstances” Eddie would’ve found it hot as fuck.

“Sorry,” Mike whispered. He seemed to be able mellow out a lot when he actually tried. He seemed like such an asshole out at the booth but now he seems quieter. These kids really cared about Harrington, huh?

“Here.” Jonathan helped him out and gently picked up Harrington’s head. Eddie caught Harrington actually kind of leaning into his touch. A strange but endearing friendship. Mike placed the ice pack— now wrapped in a cloth— on Eddie’s chest where Harrington’s head lays.

Harrington lays back down and is out like a light soon enough.

Eddie zoned out until there’s a very, very soft knock on the door. When he looks up, Jonathan is letting the other 3 kids in while Jeff and Gareth stand in the doorway.

“Is he ok?” Asks Jonathan’s little brother.

Jonathan nods and pats his head. “He’s ok, Will.”

The redhead walks over and takes a silent seat next to Eddie so she’s next to Harrington. She takes Harrington’s hand in hers and proceeds to just sit there and hold it.

“He’s ok, Max. Just a migraine,” the third kid, Lucas he thinks, reassures with a hand on Max’s shoulder.

“That’s what he said before. And then he was in the hospital.”

Woah, what?

“Hm?” Lucas looks at him.

Oh. He said that aloud.

“Wait what?” Robin asked quietly.

Jonathan’s whistled lowly. It seems to be a bit of a tic for him. “Yeah uh— funny story. Hargrove broke a plate over Steve’s head last year and nobody realized how bad it actually was until he passed out after claiming it was only a migraine.”

“He ended up in the hospital for like 2 weeks,” added Lucas.

“He needed several stitches on the side of his head.” Max unhappily supplied. Lucas squeezed her shoulder.

“It was a stage 4 concussion,” muttered Will and Mike put his head on his shoulder.

Eddie caught Gareth and Jeff’s eyes across the break room. Huh.

The Will kid came up to Eddie suddenly. “Thank you. For uh— helping with Steve. It means a lot to us. He means a lot to us.”

Mike, Max, and Lucas all nodded.

“Hang on,” Lucas piped up. “Who are you?”

…

So uh— set myself up for a part 2 there :’D

Part 2

#stranger things #steve harrington #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #eddie munson #robin buckley #will byers #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #corroded coffin #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie hcs #steddie fics #steddie #steve harrington whump #steve harrington gets killer migraines #the boy has 3 and counting concussions

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retiredkat · 2 months ago

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YES!!!!!!

Here are ‘Interview With the Vampire’s’ 24 Emmy category submissions for Season 2

Anne Rice's Interview With the Vampire will submit in 24 categories at this year's Emmy Awards for its second season.

Besides drama series, AMC will enter Jacob Anderson in lead actor and Sam Reid in drama supporting actor. Delainey Hayles, who replaced Bailey Bass as Claudia, will run in supporting actress.

The gothic horror series will submit two episodes in directing: "Don't Be Afraid, Just Start the Tape," the fifth installment, directed by Craig Zisk, and "And That's The End of It. There's Nothing Else," the season season finale, helmed by Levan Akin. "Don't Be Afraid, Just Start the Tape," written by Jonathan Ceniceroz and Hannah Moscovitch, will be the show's only submission in writing. Less is more when it comes to these categories — you don't want to over-submit too many episodes.

Among its below-the-line categories are period or fantasy/sci-fi for makeup and hairstyling, prosthetic makeup, period costumes, period or fantasy production design, and visual effects.

Despite great reviews (and a very passionate fan base), Season 1 of Interview With the Vampire received zero Emmy nominations in 2023. Season 2 premiered last May and concluded in July. It earned Critics Choice Awards nominations for Best Drama Series and for Reid.

SEE Anne Rice's Interview With the Vampire showunner Rolin Jones on creating a 'grittier, dirtier' Théâtre des Vampires

See the full list of Interview With the Vampire's Emmy submissions below. Emmy nominations will be announced Tuesday, July 15.

Outstanding Drama Series

Outstanding Lead Actor an a Drama Series — Jacob Anderson

Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Drama Series — Sam Reid

Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Drama Series — Delainey Hayles

Outstanding Directing for a Drama Series — Craig Zisk (205), Levan Akin (208)

Outstanding Writing for a Drama Series — Jonathan Ceniceroz & Hannah Moscovitch (205)

Outstanding Individual Achievement in Animation — Paul Barritt (Animator, 207)

Outstanding Production Design for a Narrative Period or Fantasy Program (One Hour or More) — Mara LePere-Schloop & Kimberley Zaharko (Production Designers)

Outstanding Casting for a Drama Series — Kate Rhodes James (CDG CSA, Casting By), Maya Kvetny (EU Casting)

Outstanding Cinematography for a Series (One Hour) — Earle Dresner, ACS (206), David Tattersall, BSC (208)

Outstanding Period Costumes — Carol Cutshall (Costume Designer)

Outstanding Picture Editing for a Drama Series — Mike Phillips (207), Yuka Shirasuna (208)

Outstanding Period or Fantasy/Sci-Fi Hairstyling — Francesco Pegoretti (Hair Designer)

Outstanding Period or Fantasy/Sci-Fi Makeup (Non-Prosthetic) — Vincenzo Mastrantonio (Make-Up Designer)

Outstanding Prosthetic Makeup — Howard Berger & Tami Lane (Special Make-Up Dept. Heads)

Outstanding Music Composition for a Series (Original Dramatic Score) — Daniel Hart (Composer)

Outstanding Original Music and Lyrics — Daniel Hart (Composer)

Outstanding Music Supervision — Michelle Silverman & Ryan Kattner (Music Supervisors)

Outstanding Sound Editing for a Comedy or Drama Series (One Hour) — Harry Barnes (Supervising Sound Designer)

Outstanding Sound Mixing for a Comedy or Drama Series (One Hour) — Michal Holubec (Production Sound Mixer), Howard Bargroff (Re-Recording Mixer)

Outstanding Special Visual Effects in a Season or Movie — Ted Rae (VFX Supervisor), Glenn Kelly (VFX Producer)

Outstanding Special Visual Effects in a Single Episode — Ted Rae (VFX Supervisor), Glenn Kelly (VFX Producer)

Outstanding Stunt Coordination for Drama Programming — Scott Ateah (Stunt Coordinator)

Outstanding Stunt Performance — Scott Ateah (Stunt Coordinator)

#emmy awards #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #sam reid #lestat de lioncourt #jacob anderson #louis de pointe du lac #delainey hayles #claudia #eric bogosian #daniel molloy #assad zaman #armand #anne rice #for your consideration

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valend · 2 months ago

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Unaired 1985 interview with The Smiths’ drummer Mike Joyce. Originally recorded for an American music segment, the tape was shelved after apparant concerns it revealed too much about the band's internal dynamics — especially the nature of Morrissey and Marr's relationship.

The video is from @/meatismybf on tiktok who took the time to post the full video, I definitely recommend checking them out they have a lot more unaired/rare smiths interviews!! At some point before Joyce mentions how Marr and Morrissey were constantly sneaking off somewhere and they’d come back giggling

#the smiths #morrissey #johnny marr #marrissey #mike joyce

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2222bad · 2 months ago

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LOVE ON TAPE

(michael loves his new camcorder) | 400+ words

WARNINGS: fem!reader , sexual themes , filming sex , fingering , riding , exhibitionism

[1993]

im imagining mike with this new camcorder he bought. one he’d been eyeing & so excited to capture all of his memories with you on

like on nights out for events he’d post up in your full body mirror, scanning his suit

i’m recording he smiles, the camera following your strut from the closet

you look stunning. he marvels. absolutely gorgeous…and beautiful…and—

please, baby, we’re so late you chide him with a loving smile and tug of his hand

your lips, perfectly made-up, float behind the camera

a hum seals your kiss

i can picture him wanting to also record other things……

in front of the same mirror, the camera picks up the glimmer of gold that curls around, frames the glass

he has you record the two of you, naked, the view angling just below your chest, a mist of fuzzy bodies in the viewfinder, your legs multiplying as you stand in front of his

in the low light you look like two statues in a museum, the standing lovers

soft kisses spur behind the camera

and his hand slides across your breasts, skin supple from your shared bath and oil

slips, achingly slow, just so the camera sees it all,

like a serpent down your belly, reaching between your legs

he was an artiste that way…

middle finger circling, deeper than the rest, into the dip where your sweetness pools,

shakily you breath in , a motion on the camera, your head falls back onto his shoulder. a kiss is heard again

does that feel good?

mhm…

are you getting it?

mhm…

zooming in, he cups you with his whole hand

on camera, his wedding band glimmers

your gasp shakes the vision

knees quaking

and his dick is absolutely solid behind you, stiff against your skin where the bone dips in your hip, curves you like a violin

your teeth bite into your smile

let them see

there was no them but it got you wetter to think so

you guide the camera into one hand, holding it steadily as you spit into your palm, curve your arm back and wrap around him, your body moving sideways to get a better look for the lens

his breath is trembling, the effect magnetic

his fingers still caressed you, you both moan gingerly

his eyes watch you in the mirror, yours swing between the camera and his arm reaching around to play with you, the veins appearing in your view

you can’t tell which was sexier

you kiss his bicep, gasping louder now

you’re gonna make me…

mhm

the camera drops low as you come undone and michael chuckles, his fingers still rocking you mercilessly.

and maybe he’d record you in the dark, riding him feverishly, his hips melding into yours, his being so deep, his thumb sweet and methodic on your clit……….your moans……..oh he’d praise you like his life depended on it until you both shake with climax

the camcorder falling beside him on the bed

behind the camera, a symphony of panting and the lovers’ satiated giggling

screen cuts to black

#this feels freakier than i usually am but like guys hear me out #michael jackson x reader #michael jackson imagine #michael jackson oneshot #michael jackson smut #michael jackson fanfic #applehead #moonwalker #2222gospel #era: dangerous

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54625 · 3 months ago

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If you hate seeing meaningless AI "art" everywhere then I humbly offer you read through this massive list of all of the symbolism I poured into a MCYT AU fanart that took me 70+ hours to make and is still the most beautiful thing I've ever made and maybe it will restore your faith a little

Image 1

In the first photo, they are all very close together and they are evenly spaced; to represent not only their closeness at the time, but also how there is no imbalance present in the dynamic yet.

However, even in this first image, their future is foreshadowed. Both of Fit's hands are visible - one above Tubbo and one above Pac - however he is only touching Pac, not Tubbo. Neither of Tubbo's hands are visible and his left shoulder is slightly raised, implying that he is lifting/adjusting the heavy camera - quite literally carrying all the weight, doing the heavy lifting, holding them up.

Also:

• Pac has a plaster on his cheek where his cubito had a scar.

• Fit has both his hands, obviously, but bites the nails on the left hand (the same one he will be missing in the future).

• The date written on the polaroid is a reference to the 3 out of 3 morning crew joke. Literally 3/3.

• Tubbo is on the far left side of the image. Not the centre.

Image 2

Not only are they stealing a coffee machine from the teacher's lounge, the fact that you are seeing this (diegetic) recording from a camera to begin with implies they also stole the tapes that caught them doing it.

They are still fairly evenly spaced, even if Tubbo is the tiniest bit behind, and Pac is almost tripping on Fit's shoe. However, Pac throws an enthusiastic glance back at Tubbo, clearly including and appreciating him. Tubbo has his eyes closed, and wouldn't have noticed.

Also:

• This is the last image we see without Fit's arm in a cast, implying he fell and broke his arm during this heist.

• The leg Pac will lose later in life is slightly scratched up.

• Fit is carrying the coffee machine, but Pac is holding on to the lead. This creates a direct line connecting them that Tubbo is not part of.

• Tubbo is on the far left side of the image. Not the centre.

Image 3

While they are setting up their headquarters, it's pretty clear Tubbo is doing most of the work. He has a work belt full of tools around his waist, and a tent peg in his hand. Pac is helping, pulling up the tyre swing, while Fit helps the least.

While Fit and Pac stand in the full sun, Tubbo is in the shade under the tent.

Hard to make out against the background of the bushes, all three of them have a butterfly near their heads. Above and to the left of Tubbo, a bright yellow butterfly with orange patterning that almost looks like sunglasses. To the right of Pac, a cool yellow butterfly with a green patterning that almost looks like a tick logo on a sports shirt. Above Fit, a white butterfly with a black mark that almost looks like a moustache.

On the tyre, they have all written their own names themselves. Fit's handwriting is straight and rough, in all capitals. Pac's handwriting is curved and italicised, in all lowercase. Tubbo's handwriting is round, in an inconsistent case. If you look at the sign that reads "Morning Crew HQ", you'll see that the writing is round, and in an inconsistent case. Tubbo made the sign all by himself.

Also:

• Fit's left arm is now in a grey cast, to mimic the prosthetic he will one day have.

• On top of the mini fridge is the coffee machine they stole. They were, in fact, able to cover their tracks well enough to keep it.

• In the fridge are cucurucho cookies and a cup of purgatory tea.

• There is a bottle of happy pills hiding in the grass.

• On the shelf there is a golden carrot (potato cannon ammo), as well as goggles and sunglasses.

• Pac has another, different plaster in the place of the scar on his face. His leg is still grazed badly, and on his knee he has one blue and one green plaster (Pac e Mike wow wow).

• Fit is wearing those military inspired cargo shorts, in army green. Which could mean anything.

• Even in the little stick-man drawings of themselves on the tyre, Tubbo is still sidelined, off to the left. He is also drawn smaller (less significant) than the other two.

• Tubbo is on the far left side of the image. Never the centre.

Image 4

(Image 4 is probably my favourite individual piece of all of these. Something about the mottled light on their skin coming through the trees, the subject matter and the colour choice I find really cosy and nostalgic.)

It is evening, and they are having a stick fight. Right at the bottom of the image between the grass, you can see a thin sliver of a slab/step, the same ones as in the previous image as they both take place at the HQ. Pac has his back against the same tree that the tent is on.

The date is November 9th, the same day that Tubbo (and Bad, but he's not relevant right now) fought and killed Fit in purgatory while Pac watched. This is a reference to that.

This is the last of the video tapes, and it is paused. Whoever's eyes you are looking through, whoever was watching these videos back, has stopped, and put them down.

Also:

• Fit's stick is shaped like a trident.

• Fit has a green cardigan tied around his neck, as a reference to his cubito's cape.

• Tubbo is on the far left side of the image, sidelined, never in the centre.

Image 5

While sitting and eating together, Tubbo is talking away to Fit and Pac, the former of which being too distracted to pay attention.

It is the first time a split really becomes visually obvious between the three. Between Fit and Pac there is zero negative space; within the image itself, they are overlapping. However, there is a large amount of negative space between Tubbo and Fit. Fit and Pac sit as a unit, Tubbo as an outsider.

Pac, despite being on the other side of the image, is engaging with Tubbo. Fit, however, is only looking at Pac, ignoring the other one, and his cheeks are ever so slightly flushed.

While Tubbo still has a lot of his baby fat, the other two's faces are slightly slimmer than they were in that first photo, and Fit is visibly lankier than he has been. This is symbolism/ foreshadowing for the other two growing up faster than Tubbo, and Tubbo lagging behind, but it's also literal. They're getting older.

Also:

• Pac's leg is yet again, still grazed, and this time his foot is in an ankle strap. (Some children are just very accident prone I guess, lmao). He also still has his cheek plaster, and his Pac e Mike wow wow plasters.

• The polaroid is marked with the date 4.1, the date of the confession. Which could mean anything.

• This particular photo is in worse condition than the first, implying present Tubbo (who owns all of these) has taken a lot more care in protecting that one than this one.

• Tubbo, left, sidelined, never central.

Image 6

(Image 6 is a very close second favourite. I am very proud of the marbled sky and I think you can really feel the wind in this one.)

The last photo from their childhood. The polaroid is marked with 26.7, the day after the first date, and the writing reads "a change in the winds".

Pac wheels a bike that has never shown up before, and it is in the same bright red as the roses in the basket. The bike is a physical representation of him and Fit quite literally "carrying something new" with them, something the colour of a rose. In case that metaphor is lost on anyone, it's a crush. You can see it in how flushed both their cheeks are. (And they will carry it until they are much older, and only then will it become something official, cause even AU hideduo is the slowest of slowburns).

Also:

• In previous photos, Pac would be the one including Tubbo, helping him, and paying attention to him. But now, even Pac is turned completely away from Tubbo, not even looking in his direction, preferring to look at Fit.

• Not only is Tubbo far away from the other two within the context of the image, but he also takes up a very tiny portion of the photo itself.

• Tubbo is waving, calling, but no one is responding.

• Tubbo was always on the left, always sidelined. He was never in the centre. Never the centre of attention. Never centred by his friends.

Image 7

A harsh pull back to the present. All of the colour is gone. All of the fun and non-literal shapes are gone.

You are seeing through Tubbo's eyes. You have been this whole time. He paused the video. Each photo and video you just saw was him looking back on those memories, after receiving the invitation got him reminiscing again. After looking back on it all, he pins the invitation, an invitation to Fit and Pac's wedding, onto the corkboard.

The memory board is old. It was made and put up when they were still kids. You can tell by the very old, worn writing at the top of the board, reading "morning crew 4ever!", in Tubbo's old, round, case inconsistent handwriting.

The three polaroids we just saw are up there, as well as an old drawing of their plans for the HQ, drawn/written by Pac. However, one of the slightly newer (still several years old) additions is a letter from Fit to Tubbo. The letter starts off friendly and kind, before in the mid section, a large portion of the writing is crossed out. Looking closely, you can see that that section is crossed out because the letter begins explaining that Fit and Pac started dating. Tubbo had received the letter, removed the parts that he didn't like (that made him feel left out), so he could pin a letter from Fit saying a bunch of nice things to his wall. He desperately wants a return to the old days. He has been left behind in the past, wishing for glory days that won't come back, and his friends have raced off into the future without him. By censoring half of the letter, he can delude himself into thinking nothing ever changed.

However, him pinning the wedding invitation onto the morning crew board symbolises him partially accepting defeat. He can't pretend this isn't happening anymore. Their relationship is part of morning crew whether he likes it or not.

Also:

• Tubbo has very clearly been picking at his nails, a sign of anxiety.

• The writing on the invitation that reads "Dear Tubbo" is in the same blue ink as the crossed-out portion of Fit's letter. It wasn't originally written by the couple. Tubbo wrote it there himself, to make it feel more personal.

• The wedding is on August 25th, the day of the first date.

• The way Tubbo is pinning the invitation to the board, he is covering up a lot of what is already up there. This represents how he feels about Fit and Pac's relationship; like it is stomping on and cancelling out their childhood, and covering up/ruining the way things used to be.

• On the wedding invitation, the names "Tubbo", "Fit" and "Pac" all form a line, top to bottom. Just like that first photo. However, Tubbo's name is still at one edge, not in the middle, and is leaning ever so slightly to the left.

Image 8

So after pinning the invitation up, he goes for a walk.

He goes back to where their HQ used to be. It seems so different now. Everything is so dead. A tiny scrap of the sign hangs on, held in place by one remaining screw. (The sign that read "morning crew HQ" being almost completely missing is a very obvious metaphor for morning crew being dead). The mini fridge is barely visible in the back, turned over, long since claimed by the grass. A tiny scrap of the rope that once held up their tyre swing now sways in the breeze.

This whole time we have been seeing everything from Tubbo's perspective. We've been seeing through his eyes as he looks back on all of his tangible memories. But this is the first zoom out. This is the first non-diegetic image here.

It's just him. His hair has darkened now, no longer his childhood blonde. His clothes almost completely obscure him. He hugs himself. He's cold.

It's just so different now.

I hope you enjoyed reading, I greatly appreciate you if you did, I hope you found it at least a little interesting :) I put so much thought into all of this way back when

#qsmp #fitmc #pactw #tubbo #morning crew childhood friends au #morning crew #qsmp morning crew #54625art #artists on tumblr

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trevlad-sounds · 11 months ago

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For the Birds 9

12.07.2024

Intro 00:00 Lee Hannah-Thermal Pool 00:08 Runaway Horses-Condensa 04:01 Mike Dickinson-Wreckage 06:54 Willebrant-Inlet I 11:20 Darren Harper-Trickle 21:01 Time Rival-Mill St. + Offset Sequencers (Prairie Trail 6-21-23) 22:27 Ruby Singh-Lost in the Grasslands 26:09 Bethany Ley-Cycles Renew 32:21 Simone Gatto-Living In The Paradox Of Consciousness 36:45 Hans Kammerer and Marston Mortaine-Species 44:35 lofield-internal whisper 50:32

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apomaro-mellow · 4 months ago

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The Road to You 2

Part 1

As far as Doug, Jeff, and Gareth knew, Eddie was simply running from the police and Jason’s mob. The less they knew about monsters he had faced, the better. They visited him in the hospital once they had heard where he was. All three were surprised to see that Steve Harrington was in the room. They were even more surprised to find that this was a regular thing from Eddie’s uncle. Then they learned from Dustin that apparently Steve had been with Eddie during all of this.

It made a solid rock of guilt settle in their stomachs. Jeff was the only one who had said anything outright to Eddie about it though.

“I wish you hadn’t been alone”, Jeff had said.

“I wasn’t alone”, Eddie replied. “I had a whole party with me.”

Jeff scoffed. “I love Dustin, but the rest of them? Especially Steve?”

“Steve was…”, Eddie chuckled. “He was the MVP, man.”

“Not the way Henderson says it. If you let him tell the story, you saved the whole world.”

Eddie smiled. “Let’s call it a team effort.”

It was an odd new status quo to get used to. But there wasn’t much to do about it but getting used to it. Anytime they wanted to visit Eddie, Steve seemed to be there. Eventually, someone had to say something about it. And that someone was Gareth.

“So can we talk about how weird this is?”, Gareth said, in between snacking on chips.

“Look, I get it”, Eddie said. “But if you knew him like I knew him…” He shook his head and smiled. “Harrington’s actually kind of a dork. He’s not…” Eddie was about to say Steve wasn’t like he was in high school, but that wasn’t true. Eddie didn’t truly know Steve back then. It took the end of the world for him to see him as he was. “He’s not what I thought he was. He’s cool. Case in point, he got me this tape recorder”, Eddie gestured to it, sitting on the floor.

“What for?”, Gareth asked.

“Song ideas. One great thing about near death experiences - inspiration”, Eddie grinned. He had felt inspired since he’d awakened. But one of the not-so-great things about near death experiences was losing control over your body, even if it wasn’t permanent. Eddie had been unable to write down his ideas. He couldn’t even doodle. Dustin was the one to bring up recording his voice. But it was Steve that bought it for him.

“Can’t believe you got me this. Wait. Am I dying? Do I only have three months? Oh say it isn’t so, Steve!”

“Yeah, yeah just don’t make me regret it”, Steve rolled his eyes.

Now whenever the feeling struck Eddie, he could record them, whether it was lyrics or a hummed melody. He was slowly regaining his fine motor skills, so it would happen someday. But for now, this helped.

-----------------------

Mike, Will, and Dustin started clearing their stuff, packing it away. Eddie blinked, then he looked at the clock and just barely held back a sigh. Visiting hours were just about up.

“You nerds got any plans tonight?”, he asked conversationally.

“Yeah, we’re having a movie night at Mike’s”, Will said.

Eddie knew who was included when they said ‘we’. Their whole crew usually turned up to these things. And that included Steve. Eddie found himself almost wishing he could go. What was Steve like when he watched movies? It was odd but he wanted to know. He got the next best thing though - talking about it with him the next day.

“Of course, Dustin thinks he could totally beat the Thing”, Steve said, legs crossed, magazine over his lap.

Eddie snorted and rolled his eyes. “Didn’t he raise one of those monsters in his turtle tank?”

“Exactly! Everyone else had to remind him too.”

“Do you think you could figure it out?”, Eddie asked.

“I guessed who it was and was right every time. I’m pretty much an expert on the Thing”, Steve said.

“It’s pretty crazy how it got MacReady so early.”

“....What are you talking about? MacReady wasn’t a Thing.”

---------------------

Doug heard shouting from Eddie’s room and it didn’t raise any alarms until he realized it was Steve Harrington’s voice he was hearing. He picked up the pace and thrust the door open, only to see Steve pacing around Eddie’s bed, gesturing wildly.

“It was Childs! It was goddamn Childs!”

“It got MacReady when he was leaving that message!”, Eddie shouted, arms moving stiffly but still conveying his frustration.

But Doug knew when Eddie was arguing, versus when he was debating. Eddie argued when he felt he was in the right and someone was trying to tell him he was wrong. His temper would rise, his voice would start cracking, and he looked almost mean enough to scare small children. But sometimes Eddie liked to argue for the fun of it. Debating. He’d still get loud, but there was no irritation in his voice. And he smiled. Like he was doing at Steve right now.

Steve looked frustrated but wasn’t backing down. If Doug didn’t know any better, he’d say that Harrington was enjoying himself too.

----------------------

Eddie wasn’t better, but he was well enough to be discharged at last. Solid foods were no longer off limits. He could stand for short periods of time. And his mobility had improved. And there was also the fact that he’d been cleared of all charges. Eddie had grown sick of that room in all this time. The same plain ceilings, floors, and walls. But now that he was being pushed towards the exit in a wheelchair, he felt nervous.

Wayne put a hand on his shoulder. He knew his uncle could sense his apprehension. If it were anyone else, Eddie would hate how they were able to see right through him. But he knew Wayne would never use it against him.

“Ready to go back out into the world?”

Eddie took a deep breath before nodding. Wayne brought him outside. And there was Steve. Leaning against his uncle’s car. Suddenly the outside world didn’t seem as scary. Eddie tried tamping that feeling down but it won out and bubbled up when Steve saw them and smiled.

“Hey.”

“So uh, your uncle asked me to come and take your chair in my car. Said his didn’t have enough room and with your van totaled…”

“Harrington’s moving service, you’ve really diversified.”

“Shut up”, Steve smiled.

Steve took the chair and put it in his car once Eddie was situated in Wayne’s. They took off then, but Eddie was confused to see them pull up to Steve’s house and not the little place Wayne had gotten for his troubles. But Eddie figured it out when he saw a small face (possibly Erica’s) in the corner of a window. She disappeared, presumably to tell the others that they had arrived. It was the best surprise-not-surprise party ever thrown for him.

The party lasted hours and at times Eddie felt overwhelmed. He didn’t think there were enough people in his life that cared this much. And he certainly never thought police chief Hopper would ever attend a party in his honor. It reminded him that he still had to learn about his part in all of this. Eddie had learned bits and pieces here and there, but it was hard to really string the story together like that. He’d save that for later though. Right now, he could use some air. He asked Wayne to wheel him outside and he sat by the pool. He lit up and was able to get a few drags in before Steve came out to join him.

“Here to lecture me at Buckley’s behest?”, Eddie teased.

“No, I’m here to bum one off you”, Steve said. He pulled up a lawn chair right next to him. Eddie handed a cigarette to Steve, then his lighter. Eddie averted his eyes, pretending to be interested in the treeline. For some reason, watching Steve felt like too much right now.

“God what I would do for some weed”, Steve breathed out.

“You and me both”, Eddie said, bringing the cigarette to his lips. “But Rick’s still in jail. And my stash went through the Earth’s crust.”

“Shit, don’t remind me. I could use the weed for that too.”

“...The memories?”, Eddie ventured to ask.

Steve lied back on the chair, eyes to the sky. “Don’t you wish you could forget? Even just a while?”

“Yeah. Yeah of course I do. Shit the nightmares I get…” Eddie’s hand went to his side. Sometimes he still felt the teeth in him. There were nights where he swore there was a hole that went through his stomach. He’d wake up in a sweat, afraid to touch and find that his hands went all the way through. “Does it ever get easier?”

“I don’t know”, Steve answered honestly. “Never gone that long without the next crisis.”

Eddie didn’t know how to feel. There seemed to be this finality with things but also everyone still seemed on edge. Like it was the end but…was it? Even Eddie felt like that was too good to be true. But the thought of having to deal with this all over again before a full year had even passed… Eddie didn’t want this to happen again in ten years, let alone ten months.

“What if it’s really over?”

Steve blew smoke out of his mouth before replying. “I don’t know.”

Eddie let that hang in the air. Because he didn’t know either. Every single plan, idea, and dream he had back in March seemed like nothing now.

“Your agenda’s open then. Good”, Eddie nodded.

“Good?”, Steve raised a brow.

“Yeah. It means you can be my manservant now that I’m discharged. It’s gonna be a lot of work, but I think you’re up to it.”

“I don’t come cheap, Munson.”

“Rick’s not my only plug”, Eddie winked.

“Deal.”

Part 3

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie

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michaelsfavgirl · 1 year ago

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in the studio

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Synopsis: After weeks of no intimacy due to his demanding schedule you decide to pay Michael a visit at the studio in a short skirt. Oblivious to the effects it has on him you face the consequences.

Tags: dom!michael, sub!reader, slight exhibitionism, doing it standing up, against a wall, oral (fem receiving), fingering, pussy slapping, p in v, rough sex, creampie, orgasm denial.

Word Count: 3.9k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: Sorry for not being very active these last couple of weeks, uni has started again and it's kicking my butt.

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

As you walk through the bustling halls of the studio, your heart swells with anticipation, eager to reunite with your husband amidst his intense recording sessions for his latest album. Despite the excitement, a tinge of concern lingers in your mind, a nagging feeling that something has shifted in his demeanor lately. The late nights and early mornings, the relentless pursuit of perfection—it's all taken a toll on both of you.

You've noticed the change in him, how he's become more distant, more consumed by the music than ever before. It weighs heavily on his conscience, knowing he's neglecting the one person who means the world to him, you. But amidst the chaos of the studio, with deadlines looming and pressures mounting, finding time for each other has become increasingly challenging.

Determined to lift his spirits and offer some semblance of support, you've made the decision to surprise him at work, hoping to inject a bit of joy into his day. As you approach the door to the recording booth, the familiar sound of his voice washes over you, filling you with warmth and reassurance. Inside, you catch a glimpse of him through the slightly ajar door.

“Alright, Q roll the tape again, let’s move on to the adlibs now,” you hear Michael call out to Quincy Jones, the legendary producer, from the booth. His voice seems slightly strained from being in the studio before the sun was even up.

You watch as he readjusts his headphones on top of his head and clears his throat. The melody starts to play throughout the room and he begins to let the music overtake his body. His passion and dedication is evident in every note he sings. His curls bounce with each movement, his expression focused yet illuminated by the sheer love for his craft.

While he does so you look around the room and you spot a familiar face: Janet, sitting on the couch along with a few more people, Michael's colleagues you assume. She suddenly catches your eyes and smiles warmly, gesturing for you to come in and make yourself known. Gently pushing the door open, you enter the room with cautious steps, mindful not to disrupt the creative flow. Taking a seat beside Janet, you exchange greetings and exhale softly, allowing yourself to sink into the comfort of the couch.

"I'm surprised Mike didn't tell me you were coming," Janet whispers, her voice tinged with curiosity as she leans in closer to you, her words barely above a whisper in the bustling studio.

A wistful sigh escapes your lips as you gaze across the room at your beloved Michael, his figure immersed in the creative process, unaware of your presence. "I wasn't planning to, I just... needed to see him," you confess, longing evident in your voice as you speak of him.

Janet's expression softens, her hand finding its way to your arm in a gesture of comfort. "I know he's been a little distant lately. He's like that with all of us too. Hasn't even called Mom in a while, she's starting to worry," she confides, her concern mirroring your own.

You nod in understanding, your gaze still fixed on Michael, unable to tear yourself away from him. "You miss him, don't you?" Janet's voice interrupts your reverie. she looks at your outfit, immediately noticing the short skirt you’re wearing. You finally take your eyes off Michael and knit your brows in confusion. Before you can respond, she nudges you lightly with her knee, drawing attention to the tantalizing view of your legs. Heat floods your cheeks as you glance down at your exposed thighs.

“Oh- it’s, it’s not like that” you feel your cheeks heat up as you protest weakly, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your skirt in a futile attempt to cover more skin.

A mischievous glint dances in Janet's eyes as she smirks knowingly. "Oh, spare me the excuses. It's obvious you two haven't fucked in a while," she teases, earning herself a playful swat from you.

"That may be true, but it's not why I'm wearing this, okay?" you retort, a hint of defensiveness creeping into your tone. "It's just a cute skirt," you add, though the words sound feeble even to your own ears.

Janet rolls her eyes in mock exasperation, but the teasing light in her gaze softens into understanding. "Whatever you say," she concedes with a knowing smile, letting the matter drop for now.

With a shake of your head, you try to refocus your attention on Michael. When you turn your head towards the booth you find his deep brown eyes already looking at you. A soft smile curves your lips as you wave at him, feeling a flutter of joy in your chest at the sight of his chuckle in response.

As Michael announces a short break over the microphone, Janet nudges you once more, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. Taking the hint, you rise from your seat, your heart racing with anticipation as you make your way towards the soundproof booth, eager for a moment of intimacy with your beloved husband.

Passing by Quincy on your way, you exchange a polite greeting which he returns automatically before whipping his head back quickly, his surprise evident as he realizes you've managed to slip past him unnoticed.

As you slip into the soundproof booth with Michael, the outside world fades away, leaving just the two of you cocooned in a bubble of intimacy. With a flick of his wrist, he turns off the microphone, ensuring that your conversation remains private. “I’ve missed you,” you whisper and wrap your arms around him, your head snuggling into his chest.

He returns the affection, feeling how much you’ve been craving his attention that he's unpurposefully depraved you from. Michael returns your affection, pulling you closer, his head resting atop yours as he breathes in the scent of your shampoo, a comforting reminder of home amidst the chaos of the studio. "I know, baby, I'm sorry for neglecting you these past few weeks. You know how hectic it gets here sometimes," he murmurs into your hair, his hand tracing soothing circles on your back.

You nod in understanding and exhale. The tension of your separation melting away in his arms. "I'm happy you came," he adds, his voice filled with genuine warmth, and you can't help but smile at the sincerity in his words.

"Good, I was worried. Didn't want to distract you too much," His response is a playful squeeze of your waist, accompanied by a tsk. "You could never, sweetheart," he counters, his affectionate gaze lingering on you.

"Although your little get-up might distract somebody else here," he remarks, his voice dropping to a deeper, more suggestive tone. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion as you lean back slightly, meeting his gaze. His eyes trace over your body, settling on your short skirt, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you realize his intentions. You can see his pupils dilating even in the dim space. You try to release yourself from his arms to pull down your skirt but before you can do that, he tightens his grip around you, preventing your escape.

"Not so fast, baby. You'll have some explaining to do when we get home," he teases, a playful glint in his eyes. "I knew how desperate you can get after not being touched for a bit, but I didn't expect you to prance around here in your tiny skirt, trying to make me jealous," he continues, his tone sending shivers down your spine and causing you to press your thighs together instinctively.

"What? No, no, Michael, I'm not—" you begin to protest, but he cuts you off by cocking his head to the side.

"Shh, didn't you notice how they were looking at you?" he murmurs, tilting his head toward the glass window. Your eyes follow his gaze, catching the embarrassed glances of his producers before they hastily avert their eyes, and you flush with embarrassment, realizing the unintended consequences of your outfit choice. “Practically drooling over you like perverts.”

As you turn back to face Michael, his gaze pierces through you, sending a shiver down your spine. "Thought you could rile me up, hm?" he challenges, his voice dripping with a potent mixture of authority and desire. You open your mouth to respond, but your mind is too preoccupied with the overwhelming sensation pulsing between your thighs. God, you’ve missed his touch so much. Missed him fucking you spineless on your shared bed over and over again. Your mind drifts and you can almost feel the weight of him atop you, stretching you on his meaty cock. You can practically feel his tip rubbing against your clit deliciously.

Reality snaps you back to the present as Michael's strong hands grip your hips, pinning you against a secluded corner of the booth, a blind spot hidden from prying eyes. "I asked you a question, didn't I? Or have you forgotten your manners?" he demands, his fingers firm against your jaw as he lifts your gaze to meet his.

Stuttering, you struggle to gather your thoughts, your arousal evident in the flush of your cheeks and the erratic beat of your heart. "Aw, poor baby," he coos, his tone teasing yet tinged with a hint of affection, "can't even string a few words together." You whimper in frustration, attempting to focus amidst the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, but the slickness between your legs betrays your desire.

"...Didn't wear it on purpose," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible. Michael grins, bringing his face tantalizingly close to yours, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "Speak up, sweet girl. Can't hear you," he taunts.

Your gaze drifts to the exposed skin of his neck, the unbuttoned collar of his shirt a tempting invitation for your hungry eyes. You repeat yourself once more, this time slightly louder for him to hear which satisfies him. "What am I supposed to do with you, hm? I thought you were my good girl, wanted to spoil you for being so patient, but you've ruined that for yourself now," he muses, his tone laced with a mixture of disappointment and arousal.

you look at him with needy eyes as you hear the word spoil. “I’ll be good, I promise,” you plead.

"Of course you will, or else I'll worsen the punishment," he warns. Before you can react, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall and hiking up your skirt to your waist. Gasping at the sudden change, you look over your shoulder but he groans and twists your head back towards the wall. “Be good,” he commands and sinks down to his knees.

Michael's breath hitches as his gaze falls upon your panties, dampened by your arousal. With a knowing smirk, he nudges your legs apart, revealing the tantalizing fabric clinging to your folds. "So predictable," he muses silently to himself, his thumb pressing against your clothed clit. A whimper escapes your lips, followed by the urgent bucking of your hips, desperate for more friction. He grumbles in response, delivering a firm spank to your pussy, eliciting a yelp from you as you jolt forward, your face pressed into the wall.

"Don't be greedy," he admonishes.

Hooking his fingers at the sides of your panties, he slowly pulls them down your trembling legs, stuffing them into his pocket without hesitation. Leaning closer, he spreads your cheeks, his gaze fixated on your soaked cunt. He licks his lips in anticipation before planting heated kisses on the skin, tantalizingly close to where you crave him most. You fight the urge to beg for more, knowing it will only lead to the opposite of what you need.

Without uttering a word, he wraps his full lips around your throbbing clit, sucking it into his mouth with precision and pulling away with a pop. A whimper escapes your lips as you press your palms against the wall, your body trembling with anticipation. Praying that nobody’s trying to sneak a peek.

Michael watches intently as your sensitive nub pulses under his ministrations, his own desire threatening to consume him. He dives back and flicks his tongue against the slick bundle of nerves. He sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, your breath hitching with each exquisite sensation.

Lost in the bliss of the moment, Michael savors the taste of you on his tongue. Lapping at your glossy folds with his eyes closed. The sweet yet tangy flavor makes him dizzy and for a moment, he entertains the thought of forgetting about the naughty little skirt, abandoning all restraint, and indulging in the primal urge to make you cum over and over again.

But the sound of your sweet whines snaps him back to reality, reminding him of the delicate balance between pleasure and control. Reluctantly detaching his mouth from your throbbing clit, he shifts his weight onto his calves.

"Please... fuck, please, Michael," you plead, your words tinged with desperation and arousal, the fear of being discovered only adding to the intensity of the moment. Making you unable to string coherent sentences together.

"What did I say, hm?" His voice is a low growl. "Is it that difficult to follow simple rules, or are you being bad on purpose?" Another sharp slap lands on your drooling cunt, eliciting a cry of both pain and pleasure from you.

You shake your head, unable to trust your voice as you struggle to maintain your composure. Your legs tremble involuntarily, aching to close, but you know better than to disobey so you keep them spread. Michael, ever the attentive lover, notices the tension in your body and grins in satisfaction.

With deliberate care, he brings his right hand to your twitching inner thighs, his touch soft and soothing against your heated skin. The gentle caresses help to calm your racing heartbeat, even as the anticipation continues to build. Meanwhile, he palms his hard cock through his trousers, the friction adding to the heat of the moment.

His fingers move with practiced ease, scissoring against your warm, gooey walls, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your eyes roll back into your skull as your pussy greedily sucks his fingers deeper, desperate for the long-awaited stimulation it craves.

Oh, how much you've missed this. While you've tried to satisfy your desires in the past weeks, desperately rubbing your clit raw, nothing compares to the feeling of being touched by him. And now that your poor neglected pussy is finally receiving some much needed attention you can’t help but gush around his fingers. The wet squelching noises only serve to heighten the euphoric sensation.

You bite your lip to suppress the filthy noises threatening to escape your mouth, determined to maintain your composure. Despite the overwhelming pleasure, you resist the urge to look back at Michael, to look at his face as he pleases you, so you try to be a good girl, you keep your eyes fixed on the wall in front of you. Your hand trembles as you contemplate whether or not you’re allowed to play with your puffy pearl that’s aching for some loving.

As his gaze locks onto your wandering hand, inching dangerously close to your center, he delivers a stern warning: "Don't even think about it." You whimper in frustration, complying by bringing that hand under your shirt to play with your tender breasts, seeking some form of relief from the overwhelming arousal coursing through your body.

He continues to revel in the moment, his eyes glued on your glistening cunt, betraying the depth of his desire. Despite his stoic exterior, he's missed you more than words can convey. Countless times, he's found himself excusing himself from the studio to silently relieve his pent-up longing, imagining the sensation of stretching your pretty hole. Yet, afterwards instead of the satisfying sight of his release dripping out of you, he was met with the sight of his sticky cum on the floor.

Glancing down at his stiff cock, straining against the fabric of his trousers, he realizes he's reached his limit. He’s been holding himself back from ripping your clothes off from the second you walked into the booth with that adorable smile. With your slick coating his palm, he decides he can't wait any longer.

Though you pout from the sudden lack of stimulation, the sound of him rising to his full height, his warm minty breath tickling your ears, sends shivers down your spine. Then, the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone and shuffling fills the air, followed by the sensation of his leaking tip at your entrance.

You gasp as his precum smears across your folds, mingling with your own juices in a tantalizing blend. His hand wraps around his fat length and guides his bulbous tip up and down your slick slit with agonizing slowness. With deliberate care, he pulls back his foreskin, revealing his sensitive cockhead to your needy heat, a silent promise of the pleasure to come.

His palm presses against the wall in front of your face, a silent command for you to lean into it. It's not the first time he's taken you against a wall like this, but this time feels different, more tender, knowing how fervently he's going to take you in just a moment. The juxtaposition drives you crazy. He steals a quick glance at the window, ensuring that no prying eyes are watching, before returning his full attention to you.

With a swift, fluid movement, he invades your tight hole, burying more and more of his meaty cock inside you without giving you a moment to adjust. As he fully sinks into you, his coily pubic hair brushing against your cheeks, he snakes his other arm around your middle, pulling you closer to him in a possessive embrace.

In no time, he's slamming his hips against yours with a fervor that leaves you gasping, your mouth hanging open in a silent plea for more. Your hands scramble to grasp onto him for support, seeking some anchor amidst the overwhelming sensation of being filled to the brim with his massive cock. Each thrust sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, the slight sting of his size stretching you to your limits mixing with the electrifying pulse of desire. Heavy balls slap against your clit as you hold onto the last bits of your dignity, before turn into a moaning mess for him.

"Missed me, sweet girl?" His gravelly voice whispers right behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine and making your eyes flutter. You nuzzle your face against his hand, lips brushing against his skin in a tender gesture of affection, even amidst the raw intensity of your coupling. With each snap of his hips, your body surges forward, surrendering to the pleasure that threatens to consume you entirely. As you trail kisses up his forearm, he smiles at the gesture, goodness you make it so hard to stay mad at you.

With his front pressed firmly against your back, he continues his relentless assault on your eager body, his cock plunging into your slick walls with a merciless rhythm that leaves you powerless to resist. Uninhibited, pornographic moans spill from your lips, echoing in the dimly lit room as he drives you closer to the edge of ecstasy. His movements grow more animalistic, his groans mingling with yours as he presses kisses to the nape of your neck, stoking the flames of desire that threaten to consume you both.

"Of course you did," he taunts, his words laced with a mixture of amusement and arousal as he notices your legs beginning to give way beneath you. "Look at you…can barely stand on your own two feet."

Your high pitched whines ring in his ears, the unmistakable scent of sex hanging heavy in the air as your pussy clenches around his thick cock, craving release. his veins dragging deliciously against your warm walls, molding your cunny back to his shape. Whilst he pounds his shaft in and out of you with each roll of his hips his round balls slap against your pulsing nub. intensifying the stinging sensation that drives you closer to the brink of orgasm.

"Mi-Michael, I'm close…oh god, fuck, gonna cum…" you manage to choke out between ragged moans, your entire body trembling with the impending release. Your eyebrows furrow, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the overwhelming pleasure threatens to consume you entirely, your nails digging into his skin in a desperate attempt to ground yourself amidst the ecstasy.

"Gonna stuff you full of my cum, is that what you want?" His voice is deeper now, laced with a primal urgency that matches the frantic pace of his thrusts. You nod eagerly, your breath coming in short gasps as you cling to him, your entire being consumed by the need for release. "Yes…yes, please…"

Before you can fully comprehend what's happening, you feel the hot spurts of his cum painting your walls, each thick glob of creamy seed filling you up completely, leaving no empty space as his essence dribbles out of you and down his balls, creating a sticky mess. “God…such a pretty pussy, yeah, that’s it baby, take it.” His groans of pleasure echo in the room as he sloppily thrusts, your cunt milking him fully before he finally pulls out, his cock softening.

As he pants behind you, his breath tickling your neck, you squeeze around nothing, whimpering in confusion. Ignoring his cum oozing out of you, you finally dare to turn your head around. You watch in a daze as he stuffs his wet cock, your slick still clinging to his skin, back into his boxers and pulls up his trousers.

"...What...I-" you stutter, trying to clear your head, only for him to cut you off with a mocking pout and chuckle.

"What, baby? You thought I was gonna let you cum?" He smirks and fixes his hair. Looking so infuriatingly composed as if he hadn't just rocked your world while leaving you a disheveled mess with his seed leaking down your inner thighs.

"But, but you-" you start again, but he interrupts, turning you around carefully and pulling your skirt down lower than it was previously.

"None of that, don't be ungrateful. You're gonna tell me you didn't like getting your sweet pussy stretched, hm?" His tone is teasing yet firm as he tries to make you look as presentable as possible.

"I did, I just thought you'd...you know..." Your words trail off as you struggle to ground yourself, your gaze meeting his through half-lidded eyes.

"Thought I'd let you cum?" You weakly nod in response, swallowing hard.

"Foolish girl," he murmurs, his lips quirking into a small frown as you squeeze your thighs together, still feeling your clit throbbing for release.

"Come on now, let's go. I'll teach you a real lesson when we get home." He wraps his arm around your body, patting his pocket to check for your panties, not wanting Quincy to find them again and scold him like last time.

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#kate's writing #michael jackson #michael jackson x reader #michael jackson x fem!reader #smut #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #michael jackson imagine #king of pop

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