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carolmunson · 7 months

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you get me closer to god | kas!eddie (dark)

entry for my fall frenzy requests. this request comes in from @edsforehead: 'something with kas!eddie in a graveyard.'

a/n: y'all, i don't know. i kind of snapped with this one. sort of canon compliant. inspired by a post that i saw that said that after vampires feed they have an insatiable desire to breed afterwards. steve also makes an appearance cause i love him.

tw: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, dub-con, dub-con (reader does get into it). use of hypnosis, coercion. blood play, blood drinking, biting. very obvious power dynamics at play here. death of minor character mentioned. p in v smut, rough and sensual. oral (f-recieving), monster-type-fucking. mild chasing trope. some religious elements if you squint??? anyway i listened to closer by nine inch nails on a loop for this if you wanna know the general vibe. let me know if there is anything i missed and need to put on here!

October 31st, 1998

Your niece had a better haul than you ever did at this age, it seemed like every house on the fancy side of Hawkins was giving out full size candy bars. No one ever gave you full size candy bars. The Harrington's had outdone themselves this year, hoards of kids picking out wrapped caramel apples and passing out spiked cider to the parents. Humming and smiling while the adults hugged their parkas to their chests, kids running up and down the stairs of the cul de sac of Hawkins Mansions. Decorated to the nines -- you were happy that most of the street would tire her and all of her friends out. "Auntie!" she calls out, hurrying over to you while her pink and purple puffer coat swishes with her. Alycia glitters against the lights of the houses in the dark of the night, the red sequins on her leotard making her easy to find. Your sister-in-law made her a headband fitted with red horns with a pointed tail sewn into the back of the red tu-tu from her Spring recital to match. A Dancing Devil she called it -- for newly six, she was a pretty creative little bug.

"Auntie look," she yells, running into your legs. The spiked cider sloshes in your cup that you hold high over her head so it doesn't spill onto her. She holds up a decorated caramel apple covered in eyeballs made out of sugar.

"Gross, Leesh," you giggle, "It's got eyeballs all over it!"

"They're fake eyeballs, Auntie," she explains like you're stupid, "They're not real eyeballs."

"Oh, thank you for telling me. I didn't know," you giggle, catching Steve watching the two of you chat. Your cheeks burn, that crush from when you were fourteen and he spent the summer working at the mall never fully fading. He's married with four kids now so you should probably get over it. "How're things?" he asks from the curb, coming over to sneak Alycia a couple of Reese's cups. "They're good," you shake your head with a shrug, "They're fine. Out here with the rugrat while her mom's at work." "How's the family, your mom?" he presses, arms crossing over his broad chest that stretch the sleeves of his tan workwear jacket.

"She's doin' okay," you smile tightly, "Always a little hard for her this time of year."

"Five years now, isn't it?"

"To the day," you say with a lilt, "Gonna go visit him after I drop her with her grandparents. My dad'll be so thrilled to steal half her stash."

Your laugh is a little hollow when he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly, he slips a candy bar into your hand, too before saying his goodbyes -- set of twins running around his ankles.

Hawkin's bravest fireman somehow off duty on a night like this turns before you take your niece's hand to leave, "Be careful out there at night. You know it's not always safe."

"You don't believe in all those rumors, do you Harrington?" you laugh.

"Don't have to believe them or not," he says seriously, pushing his wire rims up his nose, "I know they're not rumors."

"Happy Halloween, Steve," you say dully, "Goodnight." You both wave, Alycia's little hand in yours while she rattles off a million words a minute about the skeloton outside of the Sinclair house. The moon glows down over the street, dark clouds slicing it like a broken plate.

You rarely visit your brother on the day of, especially since there's always idiot teenagers running around the place. Not exactly easy to mourn when some loser in a Scream mask keeps trying to scare you.

It was quiet, your Docs crunching on mid-fall frosty grass -- some of it already half dead with the season. Commotion from the town in the distance had dulled into mostly nothing now that the kids had turned in for the night. Families turning their porch lights out, settling in for scary movies and sugar highs.

You squeeze the bouquet of baby's breath and eucalyptus a little hard in your hands when you walk through the tombstones. The low lamps along the walk way casting the grass and asphalt in a looming orangey glow -- not offering much light beyond their posts. The moon does the work, still looking shattered amongst the thin gray clouds sliding through the sky.

You hear some giggling, the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs. Always an outlier of kids doing spells or a Ouija board out here this time of year -- old Chief Hopper coming down to make them scatter and take their weed. You walk off the path when you get a decent way in, crossing away from where the cemetary mostly turns to forest. Four 'Happy Birthday To Yous' into the brush and then a left, two head stones, then a right -- it's the third headstone on the fourth row. No light to shine down on you this time, just whatever's left in the sky. You take your big yellow scarf off from around your neck to lay over the grave, giving yourself a place to sit so your spandex covered thighs didn't have to touch the grass. Your mom would kill you if you got grass stains on the red trench she let you borrow -- a makeshift Carmen Sandiego costume if anyone asked.

You sit, laying the bouquet right at the granite edge, tracing his name before letting your hand drop. You don't say anything for a while, letting the cool wet air run over you in waves. You wonder if the wind blowing is him saying hey.

A few cemetery patrons come by, pay their respects to their loved ones and leave. Some superstitious, some religious. They fade out after a while. The loneliness is comforting, just you and your brother hanging out together like before. Despite being six years apart, it felt like you both always had some weird wonder twin telepathy. He was never really one for a lot of words.

"Didn't that guy tell you not to come around here so late?"

You jump at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, turning around to see an even more unfamiliar person. Wild curly waves messy around his face, cut in 80s shag perfection. His face chiseled, jawline pronounced with soft stubble, soaked in fake blood. It trails down his neck and stains the white of the baseball tee underneath a leather jacket; fitted over top with a battle vest that rivaled the metal heads of the 70s.

"Who're you, huh? You following me?" you ask. You swallow nervously, finding solace in seeing a few other cemetary visitors mosying around. The faint giggle of more mischeif causing teenagers in the distance.

"Sorry," he laughs, a warm laugh that meets his eyes, "Didn't mean to scare you. I um, I saw you over by the cul de sac, overheard him say somethin' to you. I was with my little cousin -- dressed like a mermaid, I don't know if you remember."

You think back to Leesh's pal of trick-or-treaters, scanning them in your head to recall a little girl with big brown eyes and a makeshit Ariel costume on under her jean jacket -- covered in patches much like his.

"Yeah," you smile, "I remember. But that didn't answer my question -- are you following me?"

"Nah," he grins, shaking his head, "I'm visiting someone -- this was just a happy accident."

"Oh," you respond quietly, "Who're you visiting if you don't mind me asking."

"My mom," he shrugs, scrunching his nose, "Halloween was her favorite holiday so I always try to come say hi."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you offer in condolences, "Did you um -- did you grow up here? I feel like I'd remember you."

"Nope," he sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans while his wallet chain jingles next to his thigh, "Grew up with my uncle."

"Oh, nice," you nod, "Well um --"

"Who're you visiting?" he interrupts, sitting on the gravestone next to your brother's; hardware tinkling prettily as he does.

"Pete," you say, hand out to gesture towards the shiny granite in front of you, "My brother."

"Nice to meet you, Pete," he turns his head, curly hair flouncing over his shoulder, "Pleasure."

You laugh, he laughs with you -- you have to laugh about it or else you'd have to deal with the alternative. You're pretty sure you're all cried out about your brother now.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"He worked construction," you shrug, "Took an overnight shift five years ago by the quarry, an' it was Halloween so he was workin' by himself -- no one to spot his safety gear. Must've fallen off the rigs or something and since it rained a lot that year the quarry was basically a lake at that point, hit his head and drowned. His body was completely banged up and waterlogged, they could only ID him from his pass in his pocket."

"Shit," he nods, "That's -- that's fuckin' awful. I'm sorry."

You shrug, "Bitch of living, I guess."

"Hm," he nods, "I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean?" you ask with a cocked head, eyes lingering on him while his linger on you. "Don't worry about it," he smirks, the kind that makes your heart flutter; cheeks getting hot at the sound of his voice. "You know something," you start, "With this whole get up -- and you're not from here so you might not know -- you look just like --"

"Eddie Munson?" he asks, with raised brows, "Yeah, my aunt's been telling me that forever. That's why I sorta dressed up like him for Halloween."

"That's dangerous around Hawkins, especially this time of year," you warn him, standing up from your spot and picking up your scarf. You shake it out to get some of the grass of the underside. You hardly notice the way his eyes trail from your shoes over your calves to your thighs.

"Some people say that he went right to hell after that earthquake since he killed that girl," you explain, shrugging the trench off some to fit the scarf on under it, "And now he's a demon that haunts Hawkins and terrorizes the town."

You both laugh, though his drops to a low and guttural hum. Nearly a growl. You lift your head to see him just a foot in front of you now, and you can really look. You can really see him. The paleness in his skin, tendrilled navy veins raising through it as he leans close to you.

At this distance it's clear that the hollowness in his eyes isn't makeup, but the sparkling brown is sunken into his skull. His brows darkened and determined while he looks at you.

At this distance, it's clear that the blood on his jaw is real.

"They're close," he says with a sly smile, "Really should've listened to Harrington, sweetheart."

You swallow hard, icy sweat in a film on your body while he takes a step forward.

"Those rumors are true."

The icy air shreds your throat as you run, heaving it in and out in gasps. Your calves scream, thighs aching while you sprint through the brush of the forest; trench and scarf long forgotton somehwere amongst the trees. You try to ignore the way twigs and branches swipe at your face, slicing you and scratching you with unforgiving whips. You let out a cry while you speed, leaping over roots and piles of leaves all while trying to listen with peak percision. Is he close? Is he getting closer? Can he see you?

You stop behind a log near a dip in the earth, rocks above it. Climbing in you heave, trying to catch your breath -- you aren't really made for this. You don't know how girls in the movies can run that long without needing a break.

With a deep inhale in, you hold, using the quiet to try and hear him but there is nothing to be heard. No rustling, no creaks in the wood or in the wind.

You catch your breath, slowly creeping out of your hiding space while the darkness hones -- trees blocking out some of the moonlight. You take a step and then another, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Your efforts are of no use though -- you stomach turns at the sound. The flap of wings, leathery wings -- big. A shaky breath in gives you the courage to turn your eyes up. On one of the taller branches above you he sits, pale and domineering, "Hi, sweetheart."

You bolt again, depserate and sobbing while the cold air is no longer a hello from your brother but mother nature's cruel bite on your wet cheeks. You can barely take in breaths without pain in your throat and chest, turning left and right and left again to lose him but from above he can predict your every move.

When you hear silence again you take another turn, a mausoleum broken down a short distance away. You crawl your way in, wet earth and cement hitting your nose while you gasp and heave for the second time. You listen for the wings for moment, a few moments -- a calm washing over your back when you're sure he's gone.

You take a step back further into the darkness to be sure you're unseen. Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. One, twice, three times.

Another step back and you bump into a pillar making you jump, a screech wrenching from you.

Not a pillar no, not by the way a set of claw bites into your shoulder.

"Would've been a good hiding spot if it wasn't for me finding it first, right?" he quips, "Bummer." "Y-you can't d-do this," you cry, "The r-rumors are true they'll -- they'll look for me! Steve knows about you!"

"Oh, babe, that's so cute," he muses with a giggle, "Why do you think I'm still here, huh? Steve's just like me, he's bitten too."

"B-but--"

"Why do you think he believes in all those rumors, huh baby?" he asks with a lilt, "Cause he's one of 'em. Well -- not all the way, I guess. Not like me."

"He blows my cover he blows his whole operation," he grins, sharp teeth bearing themselves at you, "Why d'you think he only works night shifts?"

"I -- don't -- I don't," you sputter, "Pl-please d-don't bite me, d-don't eat me I -- I'll do whatever."

"You're too funny," he says in your ear, deep and grizzly while you're rooted to the spot under his clutch, "I already ate, sweet girl. But you'll make a fine dessert."

You don't know how you get there but it's not like home -- it is but it isn't -- dark and deadly; covered in slithering vines. You're too petrified to ask; but whatever this place was, despite the spores in the air and the rubble from the walls -- it was much nicer than the trailer he grew up in.

"Shh, shh, shh," he coos, claws deep in your shoulder while he wrenches you to a bed covered in plush linens -- satin and full. In the blur around you it could almost be a movie set; the booms of red lightening, dripping pillar candles in heaps around the room.

You whimper at first when his claws release, hot blood oozing against your sweater. The pain pulses like a dull thud, spit flooding your mouth while you move to your side to wretch but he catches you by the root of your hair. You wail in fear, smelling the decay in his breath, the sweet subtle rot of your surroundings.

"It's not polite to cause a scene in a stranger's home, right princess?" he asks with a soft lilt. He holds your gaze, warmth spreading over you when he smirks again -- and despite your fear, you can't look away. You aren't even sure if you want to look away.

Your body goes slack on the comforter, melting into itself like a dropped marionnette. "Very good," he purrs. Hazy, you feel his hands on you -- losing their warmth while they sneak under the hem of your sweater. The pads of his fingers are soft in comparison to the tips of his nails, grazing your stomach and sternum before reaching up to cup your breasts. He lets out a shallow breath, squeezing the delicate flesh softly in his palms -- so gentle despite his rough demeanor.

His thumbs graze your nipples in slow circles earning him a mewl from your dry throat.

"So easy," he giggles in a whisper. You nearly pout when his hands slide down and away from you; beginning the unhurried removal of your clothing. He moves glacially, eyes remaining on yours, wraiths of whispers in a lanuage you don't understand fluttering in the air around you -- in one ear and out the other. Part of you wants to scream and thrash while he slides off your spandex, rips the seams of your panties, destroys your socks.

His clawed hands shred your sweater, snap your bra at the straps until all your clothes are left in a heap on the dusty floorboards by a forgotten desk. He crawls over you like a predator, undressed himself now: some how bigger, more hulking than before. His shoulders are broad, muscles flexing while skin so white it's nearly blue stretches over it. Whatever is down here has completely infected him, you can see it in the color of the veins beneath his skin, the slight red in his pupils, the dark blue hues under his eyes.

His wings lift high around him in an arched half circle, tips appearing behind him like a hybrid of horns and halo at once.

"Could smell you from here," he leers, "since last night. Christ, fucking drooling over you like a kid."

You whimper again, body jolting in pain when his nails pierce your thighs when he parts them. Fresh ichor spilling from the wounds in deep sanguine and he doesn't seem to care about the mess he's making while it drips onto the sheets. His cavalier manuevering comes off as though he likes to play with his food before he eats it.

"And I don't know what it is, angel, how my senses find the right ones," he rasps while he leans forward to your blood soaked shoulder; serpent tongue slipping out to lave over it, "But you really called to me this year; think you might be the one."

"The o-one wh-what?" you sniffle. His tongue slides over the lacerations on your shoulder again, sucking slightly from the new wounds. He lets out a groan, using free hand to rest on the side of your rib cage for support.

He deatches from the well he drinks from, tip of his nose running over your decollatage and up your neck. In inhales over your jugular, pressing a wet kiss under your jaw before getting to your ear.

"The one I mate with, sweetheart," he breathes, "The one I breed."

Breed? You heart sinks like a stone into your belly, body tensing in a freeze while you think of what to do. How to get out of here.

"Wait," you gasp, arms coming up to push at his chest and push him away, "No, please, wait -- you can't."

You push and push but he's a stone pillar, he barely moves, his muscles barely push inward at your assault. He tuts, the click of his tongue between his teeth almost a chitter. He noses your cheek before looming over you, tips of your noses brushing. He catches your gaze again, the whispers start while the air blows in through the broken window. Obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo. His lips aren't moving but you can hear his low voice in your ears, barely there, swirling around in your subconcious while the wind whispers with it. Another flash of red lightning illuminates him in a streak, the rumble of thunder vibrating your belly and chest. His hand floats up from your rib cage while you settle, cupping your cheek to slide down to your jaw and over your neck. The touch is nearly comforting, dipping you back into a haze like before.

"You were saying?" he asks.

"Hm?" your brows pinch, his voice muffled and far away.

"That's what I thought," he says smugly, head dipping back down to your neck where his lips drag over your delicate skin. His breath leaves a patch of wet heat that lingers when he moves down over your chest, fangs peeking out behind his full lips when he drags them over the swell of your left breast.

A gentle gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering closed when the tip of his tongue teases your pert nipple, blowing cool air against it once soaked with his spit. He flicks against it again, alternating sides, presses kisses over them in clear ownership. The more he tasted of you, the more it belonged to him.

With each touch and tease of your tits the more you gasp and whine beneath him, he chuckles from his belly, moving down to your sternum.

"And I died a virgin, can you believe it?" he asks with a cocky lift to one of his brows, "Now all I gotta do is smile and girls like you 'll just fall into bed with me."

There's cotton in your ears, all you can do is nod slowly while blood still leaks from your shoulder and thighs. All you can feel is his mouth and hands travel further and further down. The wind howls and the low chant in the back of your head changes tune but in the same cadence; over and over again: vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

He licks a stripe up the back of your thigh to catch a bead of blood before it reaches the mattress, savoring you. He feeds from the gouges he left behind for a moment before inching forward to the apex of your thighs. Eddie inhales your scent deeply, the earthly musk of you making his mouth water in a mix of metal and spit. His nose brushes against the untrimmed hair of your mound, ghosting himself over it drunk with attraction.

Your body heats up with mild embarrassment, flexing while your hips writhe slightly underhim. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts he kisses the crease of your thigh, "Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. Girls don't let it grow like this anymore n' it's such a shame."

You want to speak up and explain it's just 'cause you haven't had the time but your tongue doesn't know how to move anymore. Too tired to speak, too caught up in how he feels, how he touches, how he takes what he wants. You relent again, body relaxing; pliant while he spreads you apart for him a desperate moan pulling from you when his tongue -- still soaked in your blood -- glides from the pool of slick at your opening all the way up to your clit.

You almost gag at the way your body betrays you, sending a spread of electricity over your nerves from your core to your finger tips. "More," you whisper, not even believing you're begging for him, "Please, more."

Eddie's smug in his response, smiling with his eyes while he looks up at you from between your legs, "And good manners? You spoil me, princess."

Your back arches in a soft curve when your hips push back into the mattress, pressing yourself into his waiting mouth. He groans again when your body drips for him, leaving a damp sheen on his cheeks and chin. It's not about your pleasure despite how much of it he's bringing you, but about your consumption. He's devouring you. Licking his plate clean from the outside in.

The moans he takes from you spur him on, getting you further and further away from the fight you put up before. Spilling over for him like a puddle while you writhe, a hand reaching out to rake through his hair. His own reaches up from aroud your thigh to hold you by the wrist tight to your side.

"Hands to yourself," he murmrs, soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit to suck expertly on the bud. You whimper, tugging at his hold but it only makes his grip more intense, pinning you there without much a fight. Not even enough to distract him from the task at hand.

When his tongue sinks back down into your soaking core you feel it, the heat pulsing through your belly while he lets the muscle dip and swirl in your wetness. Your thighs twitch and shake when his nose bumps your sensitive clit, his free hand coming up to gingerly rub circles over it in tandem.

"Oh my god," you whine, "Oh my god -- K-kas don' -- oh my god, ohmygod." He snickers, contining his movements, murmuring a quiet, "God's not here, baby."

Another roll over your hips sends you reeling, his tongue gliding in long strokes when finally the coil in your belly snaps. You fall apart beneath him, loud moans and high pitched squeals while he consumes you through it. Your body vibrates, thighs clamping down over his ears, blood from the slices in your flesh staining his hair and jaw.

He hums low when you settle, gasping for breath on your already dry and scratchy throat while you come down.

Eddie rises slowly, shoulder blades and wings moving with him while he crawls up your body. Smooth and languid like a snake, his torso hovers above yours while he settles his hips between your thighs. You look up at him, his shape, the way his eyes have blown black, the newfound sharpness in his features. A creature, a monster in your wake — not the same person you saw at the cemetery.

“Oh,” he coos when he sees your eyes glassy and rounded upon him, “So precious.”

You're much weaker now, mind and body, the stings across your skin from the broken branches and his sharpened nails a pain you've become better accquainted with. You take another breath of calm, arms resting by your head with your palms up towards the ceiling. He takes the moment of surrender to hold them down against the bed. The pressure of his hips against yours keeps you pinned, but you barely fight -- maybe squirm, maybe whine. No thrashing, no screaming, the whispers echo through the wind again:

Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

"So, so, precious," he whispers while he leans forward, kisses pressed to one cheek and then the other slow and controlled. He inhales again when he dips down to your neck, piercing fangs dragging over the vein there. You feel the push and then the pain, the unbearable blinding pain of his teeth ripping through you. Through your skin, through the muscle, the pulse of his mouth while he holds himself there.

You cry out, nearly a scream while he holds himself there -- just enough to infect you, just enough to get the poison in. The pain reaches a blinding peak, bile growing up your throat, eyes filling with a white hot surge of anguish and then -- Nothing. Euphoria. An unknown lightness you hadn't felt before.

He releases, still holding tight to your wrists above your head when he raises up over you again.

"Open," he instructs, and in your hazy gaze you obey. Your tongue flattens against your chin without command.

"Very good, sweetheart," he praises, collecting the blood left on his lips and in his cheeks to spit it directly into your waiting mouth.

"You can close now," he grins, "And swallow."

He grunts, hips sliding against you so that you can feel his length between your legs; the girth alone sends a chill to the part of you that is screaming inside your head. How is it supposed to fit? How is he supposed to get this inside you? "Don't worry," he laughs, "It'll fit."

When your vision snaps up at him he laughs again, "I can hear you in there, princess. I can always hear you."

He dips down again, tip of his nose sliding over your cheek to your ear, "So be very careful what you think about."

He doesn't need his hands to guide the head of himself into your already needy center. It's a stretch, delicious but nearing painful. It's not something you've ever even dreamed of taking before; thick, large, inhuman.

Your legs lift on their own accord while he pushes in further, getting half way while you let out a choked sob.

"Aw, shh, shh, shh," he mocks, easing in more, "C'mon you can take it."

"You can --" his hips snap in hard for the rest of him, letting out a ragged grunt when the rest of him disappears inside you, "--take it."

You mouth hangs open in a desperate oval, face crumpling when you become so full of him -- all encompassing. A part of you now, buried deep within. He moves, dangerously slow and controlled; methodic in how he thrusts himself deeper and deeper inside. "Mmm, that's it," he growls, chest to chest with him while his hip grind at a deliberate pace. You feel his hot breath fan out over your lips, forehead pressed against yours. He's not hot, he's not cold, just skin against yours while it flashes with heat. You go from shaking to sweating with minutes in between.

When your hips roll to meet his thrusts you moan, the tip hitting you so deep in your core that stars burst behind your eyes. "There we go," he grins mischeviously, "S'at feel good, pet?"

"Ooh, yes," you hiss through gritted teeth, actively trying to bounce yourself againsth him now that your body has started accommodating his sheer size. He raises himself up on his hands like a cobra, snake like peering down at you while he meets the roll of your hips with an unforgiving thrust.

"Good," he oozes the word out like smoke, deliciosly deep seated in his belly when he thrusts hard again. He mumbles a quiet musing to himself that you can't hear -- too gone in the lightness in your body, in the way nothing hurts, in the way you're so full.

Can finally fuck you how I wanna.

He gets up, sitting back on his haunches while still inside you, pushing your legs up so your knees end up by your ears. With this leverage he sinks in deep. You don't even know how far in he is, just that he's in and he's there, he's everywehre, he's outside and in.

Eddie locks eyes with you, that same smirk from the cemetary that made your stomach flip dancing across his devilish features, "Tell me you like it."

Your mouth moves before your brain can hesitate, "I like it." "Tell me you need it," he demands, tone measured and sure.

"I need it," you say back, your voice coming out broken and weak, "Please, I need it."

He pulls back and punches forward, hard enough that you gasp at the impact. He grips you hard by the backs of your legs, thrusts starting slow and building at an unrelenting pace. His eyes are wild; boring down at you through from under furrowed and determined brows. If you had any mind left, you'd think that he hates you by the way he stares.

"Fuck," he snarls, leaning forward over you, one hand pressing down on the mattress next to your head, "Shit -- fuck, that's it. That's fuckin' -- shit, you're fuckin' mine." "Say you need me."

"I need you," you choke back without thinking, barely able to breathe at his speed. The coil tightens deep inside of you again, tears pouring down your cheeks in waves -- not even crying, just recieving. Absorbing him. Your body rocks like a boat on unsteady waves pinned beneath him, the only sounds are the whispers in your subconcious, his growls and sputters like an animal above you. The lewd slaps of skin against skin, the squelches of him pushing you to your limits.

He steadies himself over you, nose to nose again while he fucks you. Really fucks you. Impressed with himself, he lets out a breathy chuckle when you throw your head back -- eyes shutting tight with a pornographic scream.

"Oh GOD!" you cry out, "Oh my god."

His fingers and claws catch your chin with a firm shake, eyes snapping open to meet the knowing glare of his ruddy brown ones.

"Your god," he starts, panting into your mouth, "is right here in front of you."

You swallow, mouth falling agape again when you feel the bite of his nails on the fat of your cheeks. "Right here," you repeat, dazed and overwhelmed, "N'..n'fronname."

"Right here in front of you," he nods, leaning down to brush his nose against yours while his thrusts slow to a steady pace. It's then that his lips meet yours, the kiss searing with desire and claim when his tongue slides into your mouth. You can taste the metallic twang of your blood in his mouth, sighing into it while he guides the kiss. Breaking away and coming back in; rushed and heated each time while he feels himself get closer to his peak.

His forehead presses against yours, one hand finally releasing your wrist to hold your head in place over your hair. You keep eye contact with him, not even sure if you're blinking, if you even need to blink. You rasp breaths, mouth and throat dry and aching while you breathe into him. You're close, teetering on the edge while he pushes you up with his hips to rest your lower body on his knees and thighs.

"Come undone," he murmurs, "Let go for me."

The command ripples through you, bursting through your belly with a warm heat. You welcome it, eyes rolling, cries pouring from you in words you don't think you understand. He encourages you, offering you rough sweet nothings while you pray to him, beg for him, ache for him.

That's enough to send him over; seeing you completely at his mercy now. Obedient, trained, devoured.

He snares and snarls, growling while he comes deep inside of you. The hand on your head wraps painfully in your hair like it did before you started -- uncaring, brutal. The heat of his seed pools deep within you like the heart of your orgasm. Glazed over you groan, hips rolling up in one final cant to receive him fully. Your vision vingettes while he unsheathes from you; fluids leaking onto the sheets. You're empty and the room spins with a new blackness, you're fading. Fainting? Dying?

The fuzziness continues to darken arouns you, around him, until he's all that's left in the tunnel of your vision. "That's a good girl," he soothes smugly, "Very well done."

Your gaze and mind fade fully to a staticky black.

You wake, you’re not sure how much later.

Still on the bed and still undressed but your arms feel tight – a tug reveals your current state. Bound to a post on the headboard by a triple handcuff knot, dense hemp rope keeping your arms above your head.

You whine and struggle, coming to your senses now – no one knows where you are, you barely know where you are. An underworld – hell. Somewhere.

“Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart,” his smooth honey voice is heard before he appears in the candle light again, “I’m right here.”

“Wh-why am I –” you swallow thickly, coughing and sputtering with how dry your mouth and throat are now, “Why am I tied up?”

He looks at you with faux concern, brows raising, “Oh honey, are you okay?”

He reaches out, pushing your hair away from your face, “Don’t be stressed. Y’know something – I just realized, I never offered you anything to drink.”

“My uncle always told me you should take a girl out to dinner before makin’ the van rock and look at me,” he gestures at his chest, tutting at himself, “Where are my manners, huh?”

Your lip wobbles while he looms over you, “Are you thirsty?”

You nod, he grins – cheshire like, fangs glinting in the light, “I thought you would be.” He gets up, lazy and confident in his walk across the room. His body looks like marble, chiseled with the running and hunting you realize he’s been doing for over a decade. Stronger than ever; ethereal in his post orgasm glow.

He pulls his hair back while he walks, holding it up away from his neck while your eyes travel down his back where his wings have tucked in under the skin. You gag when you see them move above his blades, rippling beneath the tattoos he has there. He’s dressed in only shorts; silk – likely stolen to really own the whole vampire thing he has going on.

You take in a shaky breath when he gets what he needs, dropping his hair back to his shoulders when he makes his way back to you.

He holds the dagger coolly in his hand before gliding the tip down the center of his wrist. Blood blooms from the wound; he doesn’t even flinch.

“Open, princess,” he murmurs. Your lips clamp shut, shaking your head no while fear takes over – rot in your chest. He catches your chin again, forcing you to look at him like before.

“Open,” he repeats, slower. His voice reverberates like a gong between your ears.

Your mouth opens on its own accord and the smell of his blood becomes the most alluring scent you’ve had pass your nose in years. You latch on to the laceration, swallowing and sucking deeply on the wound while his blood and body quench and feed you better than any meal you think you’ve ever had. You feel revived as you devour him, eyes fluttering closed while the fill feels never enough.

“That’s it, keep goin’,” he encourages under his breath, “Won’t have to keep asking you to do things twice once this is all over with.”

You break away to breathe, gasping like you’re coming up for air, drowning in him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ll be just like me, sweetheart,” he says, chuckling when you eagerly lean forward to drink him again, “After a night of some deeply insurmountable pain; and then nothing. Just mine. Undead and mine.”

“But y–you said you were – I’m –” your brows knit in confusion, “You didn’t h-have to d-do this; whatever you um – whatever you bred me with will die if you do this.”

“Oh, no, no,” he laughs evilly, “I didn’t breed you quite yet.”

He pulls his arm away, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb roughly.

“Consider what we did a, uh…hmm,” he takes a second to think about it with a hum, shrugging cheekily, “A soul bonding experience.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit.

“I’m delicious,” he corrects, smearing his blood from your chin to your cheek, “If you do say so yourself.”

He gets up again, pulling the covers out from under you to tuck you in. The chill getting to you in a way it never gets to him; you might as well be warm while you turn into actualized death.

“I can hear you, remember?” he asks, tapping your head, “You won’t be totally alone with me. There’s…shit there are plenty just like us.”

“Like Steve,” you pipe up groggily.

“More than just goodie two-shoes Harrington,” he groans, “God, do you ever shut up about him?”

You sniffle in response.

“I mean this place, this – dimension,” he says, “It’s more than just Hawkins, and there are so many more like us; even up there.”

He points upwards with a sharp nailed finger, “All around.”

“And now that you’ll be just like me,” he smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you in the crook of you waist, “There’ll be all the time in the world to breed you.”

Your vision blurs, either from tears or from another fade, you aren’t sure. You can feel a slow burn through your veins, a rush of blood. You whimper.

“So it begins,” he smirks, running the tip of his finger over your nose bridge.

“Oh!” he says, eyes bulging, “Before I forget, and before I lose you – because you’ll be such a pretty blank slate when you come to – I felt like I should be honest.”

He gestures dramatically, a maniacal grin pushing his cheeks up to his eyes while they spark, “Again with my manners, it was so rude of me to introduce myself to Pete’s grave at the cemetery. We’ve met before! Can’t believe I had almost forgotten.”

Ice in your body fights the burning in your veins, you gag, bile coming up to singe your throat.

“And y’know, I didn’t mean to drop him in the quarry when I was done with him,” he says with a scrunch of his nose, like he accidentally wrote the wrong tip on a restaurant check, “Really, my mistake, but Christ did he hit every piece of limestone on the way down.”

He lets out a hearty laugh while he remembers it, your brother's body bouncing off rocks and metal before slipping under the water. You swallow your sick only or it to rise back up with a vengeance, staining your skin red while it seeps out of the corner of your mouth. You tug on the ropes in retaliation, hot angry tears stinging your eyes.

“All that fallin’ did a number on him – which is good because it really took the heat of anyone knowing it was me. I just wasn't as clean about it back then. Much better now though,” he nods, finishing with a superior and charming look like he just told a bedtime story.

He leans forward close to your face while your vision pulses in fuzzy black, browning out while he looks down at you.

“And I’ll tell you something, babe…”

Fading, fading, fading.

“He tasted divine.”

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #kas!eddie #kas!eddie munson #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #tw: dubcon #tw: dub-con #dark!eddie #dark!eddie munson

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highhhfiveee · 6 months

Text

safety net [p4]

tags: pornstar!mike schmidt, fluff (cute anniversary moments, award show memories, and talks of the future), mentions of smut (videos mike has made, including pegging and glory holes, and suggestiveness at the end), angst (insecurity and awkwardness🫂). proofread, but there are potential errors ofc. i also don't know how award shows really work atm so enjoy this dramatization lmao

part three: 📹

“happy one year, baby.”

the wind whips your hair across your face as mike drops his hand-blindfold from your eyes, and your chest tightens with shock as you track your gaze over the scene in front of you.

you still couldn't believe how thoughtful mike was, even after all this time. you'd told him that you'd wanted to stay in for your anniversary, and he'd accepted your request with open arms; so much so that he'd arranged an entire set-up on his balcony.

you'd thought there would be food and lights at minimum, but you weren't expecting an entire wooden pergola strung with yellow fairy lights above a large dining table, or three dozen white roses being placed in your hands, or the small quintet playing smooth jazz in the corner, bordered by the sizzling glow of nightlife that stretched for miles behind them.

the city, bright and pulsing with energy, from this height isn't a backdrop that you'd ever expected to surrounded with, but nothing up here is anything you'd ever seen in your entire life, at least not all together in one singular place for one purpose. you're staring at everything with blank eyes, but only because the amalgamation of your feelings has you immobilized.

“do you like everything?” mike asks frantically when you don't say anything, rubbing your goose-bumped arms with gentle passion characteristic of his boyish charm. "is it enough? god, wait, let me get you a jacket." mike skitters back inside, leaving you to try and take everything in.

you'd been over twenty-four hours prior, and there was nothing that could've given away what he was up to. he hadn't let anything slip, and you're surprised that he was able to keep something so massive under such tight lock. the fact that he doesn't think it's enough, frenzied and feral for your response, bewilders you further and you're still staring at the pergola, saying to the attendant standing by, "did they put that up this morning?" when you feel fabric cloak your bare shoulders. it's mike's jacket, the same one that he'd put on you the night you met, and knowing him, it's intentional.

you whisper, "thank you", a light soundwave in the air, and mike's throwing a frown your way, walking you over to the dining table. "god, it's not enough, huh?"

there's a solid gold candelabra in the middle of the table, the flames of small candles licking at the skyline. your table settings are fancy, with silverware of different sizes, overly-starched cloth napkins, finely ironed placemats covered by a menu printed on thick cardstock, and crystal glasses that look like they must've cost mike his own arms and legs and those of his first born son.

"mike, you've got to be kidding me," he grabs the flowers from your grasp, setting them on the far side of the table before pulling your chair out for you. you slip your arms into the sleeves of his jacket as you sit. "it's definitely enough and perfect, i just...all this is for us?"

"for us," he confirms with a smirk, settling himself into his own seat. his position adjacent from you allows you to get your first good look at his outfit, considering he'd whisked you inside and shielded your vision as soon as you'd crossed into his foyer. "for me, and for you."

his crisp, sluttily unbuttoned white dress shirt and black jeans clash with your plaid argyle vest and workwear khakis, and you're blushing as you retreat into his jacket.

"no fair, how could you let me come underdressed?" you'd made your way over straight from work per his request, and with everything being so fancy and ornate, you wish that you'd fought against him for a chance to change into something more fitting.

"i didn't want you stressing about something as arbitrary as clothes tonight. you always look beautiful, work attire or not," he patiently reassures, wrangling your clammy hands into his ring-clad ones and kissing at every single one of your knuckles. "it's refreshing, having you like this."

he'd been using that word in reference to you a lot recently, refreshing, and while being mike's breath of fresh air should've filled you with an overwhelming sense of pride, you couldn't deny the strange, acidic aftertaste that it imprinted on your spirit.

you'd only become hyperaware of mike's notoriety in the porn industry in the latter few months of your relationship; sure, he'd been doing it for a decade and had a ton of videos and a slew of awards, but ever since you'd been stopping by the studio and tagging along on some of his work errands (namely holding his hand during testings), you'd started to get the picture on how massive he was in his world.

Ecstasy Sindicate, cleverly named, had been the american production company to watch over the last decade, and mike was their treasure trove, an absolute goldmine of content and charisma.

once, you'd been tasked with going through his piles of fanmail, skimming through (sometimes used) panties and bras and letters, some of them detailing people's parasocial attachments to chase cox ("want him to come in you? get in line", you once mumbled).

he was famous in this sphere; all eyes on him, his next moves, and now you. early on, you would've never believed that you'd have to private all of your social media accounts and deal with internet idiots, but when your mentions started to bubble with comments, questions, and scorn about all things chase cox and y/n, it'd finally dawned on you that you were with someone of status and that you gained some attention simply by association.

one trademark experience of this sudden breakthrough was the award show he'd taken you to a few months ago. the xtc awards were huge in the industry, completely fan-nominated and -voted. it garnered alot of buzz, helped catapult lots of people's careers, and this year, mike had been the most nominated performer.

you'd given him a wooden "yayyyy", squinting your eyes in awkward agony when he cheered, "nominated for eleven awards and get to walk to the carpet with my incredibly sexy plus one. it's gonna be great."

just the title of plus one made you feel like you were out of your league, an additional label of pressure saddled on your shoulders. you weren't just his girlfriend anymore; you were his guest, so you had to look good, and be good, and do proper guest things. you didn't even know what those things were.

mike made the looking good part easy for you, or in his words, "i'm just assisting. you're really doing all the work, beautiful."

you chose your own dress, of course. all mike asked for was permission to sit in on your fitting; an intimate meeting with one of the most sought after stylists in entertainment. you'd gaped at the tags on every single one, gasping and heaving when price figures passed from three to four, then four to five.

"this is two more zeros than i've ever seen on the price of a dress," you rasped, twisting your hips in a navy blue floor-length gown. you'd never worn anything like it; with its price first and foremost, but secondly, with its airy material and deep plunge neckline.

it made you feel confident, attaching to your body in what felt to you like kismet, and though you wanted to keep playing dress-up with all the designer pieces you were surrounded by, you knew that you'd found the one.

"it's yours if you want it, baby," mike insisted, and you made eye contact with him in the mirror, amusedly pursing your lips at his low, sultry gaze. then, you felt like you could be in his world. you could go into the award show on his arm, assimilating to the environment with an ease that wasn't just because of mike. you could belong there just for being dolled up, costumed from head to toe just like everyone else.

"cost a lot to look good, huh?" you hummed, sturdily placing your hands on your hips.

"and look good, you do."

on the ride back to his house, you'd come back down to earth a bit, pouting to him, "can i at least give you $50 for the dress?"

he'd chuckled at you, mumbling, "y/n, my love, no. it's just a rental. got it for a pretty fair price actually..."

he stopped when he caught your grimace, your thin finger poking at his arm in earnest; you genuinely wanted to give him something for it, and who was he to deny you that? you just wanted to be nice, considering what he'd done for you. he loved you for that, for all that you are; he'd weakened into you as he spread his warm hand across your thigh. "but...if you really want to, of course."

he smiled in awe at the way you cheered, eagerly fishing your phone from your bag and sending him an apple cash message; money he'd ended up giving back to you days later when you mentioned a book series you were interested in.

renting you a five figure dress wasn't the only thing he'd had up his sleeve; he'd given you an opportunity to have all your hair and makeup done by some of the best professionals in the industry. you hadn't been overly thrilled with the news, only because you didn't know how you would feel about being poked and prodded for hours. it was another part of dress-up, and while switching clothes every couple of minutes was fun, having to sit very still in a chair while people touched you was not, at least to you.

still, you'd caved, melting at mike's wild rambles about their artistry and expertise. not everyone in life got to have these moments, and there you were, feeling standoffish towards a gateway into a life of exploration.

you gave mike your strongest grin, working to maintain it through your sessions as you sat in between so many perfect people, conversing and planning with their own salaried glam teams. most of them weren't even just pornstars; the hotel you were at had put you in the proximity of some of the most notable musicians, models, and faces in the current pop culture climate, and you felt like an imposter in your own skin.

you hadn't even minded the services anyway. you'd managed some conversation with the artists, asking them about what books they liked and what their favorite cake was. you'd tickled them, and while you'd felt like you'd cracked your way in ever so slightly, you still didn't feel right.

even as your hair was swept into an intricate updo dusted with glitter, and your face primed and painted with items totaling more than your biweekly salary, you hadn't felt like you'd deserved any of it.

your idea of belonging because you looked like everyone else didn't convince you much. you hadn't done anything to be there, unlike some of the massive names you'd seen pass through the glam suite conference room; mike was your entry, and the thought made your skin prickle, as if everyone's eyes were cutting you with contempt.

the being good portion of being a guest came when you'd met mike's assistant/publicist/friend, matilda (manic pixie dream girl sans pixie and dream); she'd barged into the private nail appointment you and mike were having, jolting you both into looking up at her from your perches on the bed. she looked like a mad scientist, wearing a long white jacket with her spiky platinum blonde hair pulled into two sprouts at the top of her head. her wispy bangs skirted her eyebrows, and she raised her right one with a smile and, "oh so glad to see you two all done up, but did i miss the part about a spa day in the schedule?"

she swirled her index finger over the two of you and then jammed it into her clipboard, beginning a jovial back and forth with mike. "i wanted to plan a surprise for y/n. you know, it's my schedule and i have access to it."

"yes, but you have to tell me when you make changes, mike! we've been doing this for years, what happened to the synergy?"

you'd loved mike's act of defiance; once, you'd sleepily mumbled about how cute it would be to have matching nails as you observed his hands while you cuddled in bed, and now, he'd made that one-off moment a memory for the both of you.

"----well, you're done, yeah? we've gotta get to the venue now. they want to run a long dress rehearsals and even thinking about it is stressing me the fuck out. the bosses haven't even shown up yet!"

you were fascinated by the ability of such an event to be organized and chaotic at the same time. though mike had his security detail and team with him to keep him on schedule, there was always some instance of disarray (a missing tie, another talent going over their appointment time) where matilda had to ferociously bark into her headset, giving the people on the other end a lashing that would make anyone forfeit a career in entertainment forever.

"move, move, move!" she chants as she fans both you and mike into the backseat of a black truck, keeping her eyes on a weighty clipboard stacked with memos and call-sheets as she takes a seat herself.

"mike tells me it's your first time at something like this," she'd said during the ride, nodding towards the neurotic hand wringing you'd been doing. you blushed, moving to sit on your hands. mike chuckled at you softly, and you opened your mouth to answer matilda. you'd noticed that she'd trained her focus elsewhere, pointing her pen towards a list on paper, and then at tangible things strewn around the truck. you stayed silent until she prompted, "well?"

"um, yes. i...um, live on the south side and work in an office," you replied. "sorry, you just weren't...looking at me so i didn't know you still wanted an answer---"

matilda sucked her teeth, leering at you with an almost animated longing. "god, you're lucky. how i wish i could be normal again. assisting is multitasking hell. a lot of the time i'm not looking while i do something else, so don't take it personally. busy busy busy mind up here," she tapped a manicured index finger on her forehead, baring her frazzled, ice blue eyes at you. "busy busy."

she unsettled you, deeply, but you'd been more concerned with how you were lucky in all this. on monday, you'd be back in your cubicle, sucking down a cold brew with oat milk on an empty stomach, and she'd be surrounded by stars galore. it didn't seem like you were the winner in this situation, or at least the person living the more charmed life.

things had ramped up by a thousand degrees once you'd made it to the venue, matilda's barking happening more often than times you'd blinked.

"we have not a minute to spare, people! time is money and we waste neither!" by that mantra, you and mike were dressed from head to toe in what felt like a blink. he was being whisked away for rehearsals soon after, leaving you alone in the green room with your phone and a tower of fancy sparkling waters contained behind a gigantic clear fridge door.

you'd cracked one open, bringing it to your lips when matilda, who should've been with mike, poked her head into the room and glared you down. "use a straw, and hold it away from your dress. you want that deposit back, don't you?"

you'd entertained yourself for the last hour by trying every flavor of sparkling water you'd seen and ranking them on a tier list; you were on cranberry limeade when mike and maltida strolled in, breathing out, "some of these flavors are unnecessary," with a small burp at the end.

your silly little moment had distracted you from what was actually happening, and the pit in your stomach, created by the imposter syndrome brewing within you, began to expand again as matilda guided you and mike to the auditorium breezeway for the red carpet.

matilda swiped at your flyaways, fine tuning you for getty images before moving onto mike. she adjusted his rings and pins before pulling out a small tin of product to touch up his hair; he griped at her, hissing, "no thank you. there's already enough shit in it."

"i know you love the tousled look, but this is your first red carpet with your laaadyyyyy," matilda sang, rubbing some pomade between her palms and reaching up to comb it through mike's strands, forgoing his pout. "best if you don't look like you've just come right from the passion set."

you were provided with the rundown while you waited for your turn to walk the carpet. "okay, it's not that much of a deal. it's all about angles, so i hope you know yours. don't worry too much about what the photogs are screaming at you either. they're here for you, not the other way around. make sure to smile, but not too much; if you can, smize and keep all your emotion above the nose like this----"

matilda demonstrated for you, a dramatic motion that you genuinely attempted to follow, but mike held out his hand in exasperation, prematurely halting the antics. "just follow me, baby. you'll be fine," he kissed at your forehead, taking your hand in his as he led you from the shadowy hall. "you look damn amazing."

besides his nails, he'd coordinated with you in the sweetest ways; colored accents on his suit, opting for a handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket, your initials embroidered into the fabric in navy blue, and gold cuff links to pair with your jewelry. it comforted you to know that he was flaunting himself as your counterpart, feeling dignity at the fact that you were his other half. you nuzzled into him, rubbing your thumb over the skin of his palm. "you don't look half bad yourself."

though you'd never let go of mike's hand throughout the stop and go, you'd still been overwhelmed with it as a whole; every flashbulb, "chase, chase! over here!", "tell us about the special lady!", and abrupt movement down the line, commandeered by a suddenly militant matilda, was unfamiliar to you. you were sure that mike felt the tension erupting throughout you, and you tried to find solace in the feeling of his touch, whether it was on the small of your back or waist or hand. he never left your side, and you were grateful for his chivalry, though it couldn't overpower the overstimulation you felt.

your overactive brain had stiffened you, causing you to transform into a sentient two by four, and you'd gripped for mike's shoulder, turning into his body as the harsh lights burned the skin of your exposed back. it was embarrassing, cowering like that. you'd heard matilda calling, "face out! face out!" from the end of the stop and repeat, but it felt almost impossible; you couldn't think of any angles, the yelling photographers made your head hurt, and how the fuck did you smize?

mike had turned to his side, wrapping his arms around you and showering you with kisses. he'd managed to loosen you up enough for a candid smile and laugh, and you worked to throw your face towards the lights again, closing your eyes and giving them your best grin. you'd caught matilda giving you both two zealous thumbs up when your eyes opened, while she exaggeratedly squealed, "love it!"

you were just starting to have fun, mike dipping you for an "oh, so romantic!" photo-op, when your upside down vision locked on amelie, beginning her own walkthrough a dozen or so feet from you.

you understood why she was the most popular girl on Ecstasy Sindicate's website; she played femme fatale on and off screen, and in such an effortless way, using her eyes and ever-glossy pout in her favor. she oozed sex appeal monday through sunday, and besides her striking beauty, it almost felt like a crime to you that she was more enticing with her clothes on.

the sheath silhouette and queen anne neckline of her black dress sculpted her body perfectly, a tear-drop crystal-adorned shawl draped so delicately over her narrow shoulders trailing past her long legs as she strolled. her dark hair had been flattened pin-straight, held back with silver bobby pins to showcase the gigantic diamond earrings that dangled from her lobes, shimmering in the light as opposed to her low, dramatic smize.

that's how you did it.

the demands from the media shifted, ringing around you as you gawked at her from mike's arms, right side up now. "the money maker!" "turn for us, show it all!".

"give us chase and michaela together!"

mike looked to you like he was asking permission, and it made you feel icky. asking you for permission meant that he'd been clued in to your feelings, and you couldn't handle the thought of him knowing that you were genuinely envious of his coworker.

"yeah, go, go. you don't have to ask."

he'd handed you off to matilda at the end of the carpet, placing a soft kiss on your lips before marching over to amelie and pulling her into his side by her waist. you tried to maintain your calm, reminding yourself that this was work for them, but it was almost impossible to look past their effortless connection; it was disgusting the way they fawned over each other, complimenting clothing and hair and body parts with steady glances and bubbly laughs.

"makes your shoulders look very broad, is that what you were going for?" amelie's hands grazed over his shoulders and down his arms with a lazy appreciation.

"well it's not working since you have your legs out. i mean, c'mon they overshadow everything."

you'd been close to combustion watching amelie rest her hand against mike's pec, covering the personalization on his handkerchief as the cameras flashed at an inhuman tempo for the two of them. she slid into an easy pose, melting into mike as he tightened his grip on her hip. "over here! over here!" "looking good as always you two!"

"god, they're hot together," matilda confessed, biting at the cap of her pen. with a quick cut of the eyes to you, she jumped, face-palming and erratically musing, "sorry, they're just our most popular pairing and whew, we can all see why. so she's a bit taller than him? they both ooze insane sex appeal, and the chemistry! that's what attracts the people. height doesn't equal hotness, attitude does. remember that, y/n."

they were hot together, and while a part of your brain imagined your body pressed between the two of them, it took everything in the physical you not to cause a scene, shoving your way between them and ruining all their shots with middle fingers and boob shots, nipples and all. you were willing to fight back, but you could only think about how bad it would look on mike for your insecurity to impede on his night.

inside, you were sat at a table with mike and a few of his other coworkers. amelie sat across from you; she'd almost looked bored, mouthing a few tired phrases to those around her while you openly observed her being. matilda had encouraged mike to network with some insiders before the show started, and you'd used that time to stare, trying to uncover what made her so...her.

you'd tried to be more covert with your reconnaissance when mike returned to his seat, placing his hand on your thigh with a kiss to your cheek as the ceremony began, but she'd caught you every time, tossing you a flirty wink when you lingered for a moment too long.

mike had won so many awards that night; it was a clean sweep on all of the major categories---choice male performer, performer of the year, video of the year, production company of the year---and you'd thanked god for it; the frequent announcement of his name allowed you moments where you didn't have to focus on the woman across from you ogling him like he was a piece of meat. you were able to hug and kiss him in such a possessive fashion, maintaining amelie's surveil of you each time you pulled away.

mike included you in all of his speeches--"and to my beautiful girlfriend, who's been by my side through this entire year". the camera panned to you a handful of times, and you smiled shyly, giving a bashful giggle here and a dismissive wave there.

you'd gloated in it, wondering what you'd do during the next cuts to you, but they never ended up happening again. mike had skipped over his gratitude for you and your support during his last win... choice pairing with amelie.

they gave each other a tight hug at the table, dashing up to the stage hand in hand, and the sheer amount of people standing and clapping for them had you withdrawing into your seat. this is what millions of views, wicked sex appeal, and allurement got you, you'd inferred.

"and finally, i have to thank michaela here. really, we have to thank each other. i wouldn't be standing here accepting this award with her if it wasn't for her and all of our loyal fans out there, so thank you, thank you, thank you."

amelie took the award from him, leaning down to the microphone with her tongue skating over her teeth. she bit into her lip, stating, "chase basically took my speech and switched the names so, everything he said, thank you, thank you, thank you."

they laughed along with the audience, holding onto each other's arms as they kissed each other's cheeks, and while it's a friendly gesture, you noticed how amelie casually lifted her hand to his face, stroking at his freshly shaven jaw with a coy smirk.

you pushed past the agony you felt inside, rubbing mike's arm and offering him a tight smile as he settled back beside you, buzzing with adrenaline from his eventful night. "seven awards tonight, baby. fucking crazy, huh?"

you nodded, cutting your eyes to amelie as she snidely added, "all well deserved. we'd all know." the entire table erupted into amicable laughter, everyone congratulating mike with a personal quip of some sort. these people were a close knit unit, a chosen family in their world of adult entertainment, and though you were happy that mike was surrounded by so much love and support, you'd briefly wished that you two had been in some living room, watching trashy reality game shows and complaining about working your 9-5s the next day.

you'd opted to zone out for the rest of the night, mindlessly allowing for yourself to be subjected to many undoings of fabricated gaudiness. mike had noticed your exhaustion, and gave you time to yourself so you could clean up and decompress on your own terms, which you were thankful for. you loved him, but you needed time alone to cleanse yourself of the night you'd had.

you didn't leave the bathroom until your skin was rubbed raw and you were feeling a bit lighter, ready for the return to your world when you stumbled upon a cracked dressing room door.

low volume drum and bass music mingled into the hallway air, and you'd caught the back of amelie's relaxed silhouette moving from left to right over a dusty-looking vanity counter. she turned after a bit, whispering, "want some?" matilda appeared from somewhere, reaching out for something in front of amelie and tapping it on the table over and over until she leaned down herself, sniffling harshly against the laminate. amelie watched, a wicked smile etched onto her face as matilda coughed lightly.

"fucking shit."

you'd been stuck in place, glued to watching them snort another line of whatever was in the little baggie amelie pulled from her personal bag, and you were stupid enough to stay where you were as she turned, peering at you with a languid smirk as she wiped at her nostrils, pulling on them with her index finger and thumb.

"welcome to our world, girlie. wanna try?" you were sure you looked like a scared little kid as you shook your head frantically, your voice cracking as you said, "i don't know where you got it from, so no."

"oh, don't worry, my stuff's safe. mike's done plenty," she winked at you again, beginning to stroll over to you, but you'd moved on without an answer, heading to the venue exit where mike waited for you, cradling you in his arms as you ventured into the parking lot.

"so," he prodded, stroking at your hair as you laid across his lap in the backseat of the chauffeured car. his voice was tired, and while the lilt usually broke up anything ailing your mind, you'd been too focused on your interaction with amelie. "what did you think of your first award show?"

"it was fun," you lied, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your fingers. it'd been fun until your self-doubt took over, suffocating you with obstructive thoughts and a deep-rooted feeling of dread. "never thought i'd get to experience something like that. amelie even offered me coke."

he didn't say anything to that, and you'd adjusted yourself so you could see his face, the deep grimace upon his features and clenched jaw shrouded in moonlight. "did you do any of it?"

"no, but she said you'd done plenty." you didn't mean for your displeasure to come through so intensely; you hadn't minded that mike had done coke, only that amelie had been testament to it. what other compromising, intimate positions had she seen him in, and would she always hold them over your head? why hadn't he told you about it?

"that was a long time ago," mike cautiously stated, flipping you over in his lap so your face was level with his abdomen. you were poised to ask him for an elaboration when he traced hearts over your lips with his smooth fingertip, grinning, "you don't have to worry about me and that stuff, okay? i'm just glad you said no. it's refreshing."

there it was. he always said it when you were experiencing something from a world different than your own, and it made you feel like you were something to be ogled; something on a pedestal that had been recently unearthed when all you were was...you.

he felt so lucky to have you; a girlfriend that was normal after so long of being with people who knew the industry like him, the ins and outs of it like the back of his hand. he loved that you didn't have your days planned out months in advance, and that you didn't need a daily hair and makeup appointment just to sit in the house; he especially loved that you were turned off by amelie's reckless offer, but you hated it. you hated that it made you feel like a nobody, and felt odd at the way that he was so beguiled by your normalcy, entertained by the fact that this was all foreign to you.

"this sounds like self-sabotage," your therapist had said, eyeing you with careful consideration. "mike loves that you're 'normal', doesn't he?"

"yes, but..."

"but? isn't being 'normal' being 'yourself'?" you didn't mention amelie like you'd intended to. it felt pathetic to admit that you wanted her stature, the label of someone or at least someone on the same level as mike.

it didn't feel good being normal next to...not normal, and it felt hopeless to you that you couldn't change it. you could, maybe even becoming mike's new partner, but the thought of putting yourself wholeheartedly on display like mike and amelie didn't inspire possibility in you. it wasn't what you wanted to do, and the small sliver of attention you'd gotten from people who wanted to fuck your boyfriend was enough for you on any given day. you knew any more attention would tip you overboard, but was normalcy really your destiny?

it gnaws at your insides, and you're defeated, wondering why couldn't you be happy with anything.

"baby," the sensation of mike gripping your chin brings you back to his balcony. you blink your eyes, flustered at the fact that you'd dissociated during your anniversary dinner. the attendant is standing with wine bottle in hand, and both her and mike are staring at you, puzzled. "are you okay?"

"yeah, i'm sorry. had a rough day at work and my brain's just a bit...blah," you nervously giggle, reaching to move your wine glass towards the neck of the uncorked bottle. the music playing ambiently around you is almost comical in this moment, and you scrunch your face into an strained smile. "fill 'er up."

get it together, you scream at yourself. mike had put this whole thing together for you two, and here you were, letting your mind wander to places that it didn't need to be. you were here with mike, celebrating the fact that you two had been together for an entire year.

claire had cheered when you called and told her, squealing, "your longest relationship!! congratulations, my sweet, deserving friend, and thank you for telling me this time."

it was the longest you'd ever been with someone. taking the risk, once again falling for someone on a whim, had panned out better than you'd hoped. all of those times of lost love had led you to the greatest one you'd ever known, and here you were, pitifully ruminating over the way that amelie had touched mike during their acceptance speech and the fact that you were saturated with so many complex feelings.

you take a sip of your wine, more like a gulp, and mike chuckles at you, nodding towards the bottle. you follow his motion, leaning in to read the label. it was a shiraz that you'd babbled on and on about, one that was nearly $1500 and almost impossible to get if you didn't know someone who knew someone who knew someone.

"mike..."

"aht aht, that's not even the part i'm most excited about," he boasts, flicking at the corner of the cardstock on your placemat. you lift it to eye level while you take more moderate drinks of your wine, piecing together the five courses of...your favorite foods.

"elevated versions of your favorite foods," mike corrects giddily, and you hadn't realized you'd said anything out loud. he's smiling so wide at you like he always does, and you're speechless, all of your words caught in the middle of your throat. "this three-star michelin chef---"

"mike, i'm sorry to interrupt but, this feels very...me centric. it's our anniversary." you didn't deserve any of this. if he'd been able to take a peek inside your head, he wouldn't be doing all of this for you. he'd realize that even a love like this couldn't remedy the trauma you'd collected in your brain, existing and newly sprouted. not a year in, at least.

"fair, but i want to celebrate you," it's like a movie, the way the quintet shifts their performance into a warm, romantic melody and how mike takes your hands again, squeezing them periodically. you squirm under his scrutiny, fluttering your eyes to your lap. "you've changed my life, y/n, and i'm not exaggerating. every date, every night we've spent here or at your place, every call, every text; everyday i get with you, i realize i am so fucking lucky."

you're not really a sentimental crier either, but mike's words and the turmoil inside of you have tears splashing down your cheeks. "i love you. i will never stop telling you i love you."

you chuckle stuffily, a blubbering, sobbing mess as you say, "i love you, mike. thank you for all of this, and uh...i'm really sorry for calling you a nice guy when we first met. i don't deserve you." he joins you with a deep belly laugh that rumbles through the both of you, and it helps you breathe some tension away. "water under the bridge, baby, i promise. you deserve everything."

the first course, brioche rolls with truffle oil-infused butter, is presented to the two of you, and you forgo all of your concerns, murmuring a mildly perky, "oooooh" as two are piled atop a fancy plate in front of you.

mike encourages you to stuff your face, and you do so with no question as you two coast through your decadent and mouthwatering favorites, washing down the best flavors money could buy with a wine you'd only ever gotten to drink in your dreams until tonight.

you and mike carry conversation over your meal; goofily moaning at the tastes dancing over your tongues and you giving mike the usual scoop about your day at the office. he listens intently and laughs at your tales of inexperienced clerks getting papers stuck in copiers and messy, HR-avoidant affairs between bosses and subordinates, and you try not to lose yourself in the moment again. you've managed to stay with him through four courses, enjoying his immense generosity and engrossing gossip, and you want to keep it that way. you'd already let your mind wander once, and you wouldn't let it happen again. not tonight.

unfortunately, your plan unravels when your sauce-smeared plate of seafood alfredo is removed from before you, replaced with a clean, simply presented slice of chocolate cake with vanilla icing.

you'd always told that the preference was silly, and no matter how hard you fought to explain that chocolate cake was more moist, no one listened to you.

your mom made you chocolate cakes with chocolate icing, or vanilla with vanilla, but never chocolate cake with vanilla icing.

mike reaches under the table to settle his hand over your thigh, rubbing at your skin through your pants. his face, painted orange by the candlelight, softens at the way you gaze down at your plate, shadowing the cake slice in a strange mix of melancholy and joy.

"made sure there were no questions about it. my baby likes chocolate cake with vanilla icing, so that's what she's gonna get."

you feel tears stinging at your eyes again, and you're using the backs of your hands to wipe at them, shrinking away from mike. "i'm sorry. i don't know why i'm crying. it's just a stupid piece of cake."

"no, it's not," mike murmurs, leaning into the table so he's able to talk to you closely and bring his hand to your left cheek, thumbing at the wetness there and sliding his caress to your jaw. his rings are cold, but you still melt into his touch, bringing your own hand up to grasp at his wrist. he touches you like this often, but tonight, it's the perfect antidote for every adverse feeling that's run its course through you. he is wholly yours like this, and there's nothing in your head that can tell you that this isn't your destiny. "that 'stupid piece of cake' had me thinking about some things."

"mmmm, what kind of thoughts could my cake preference have inspired in you?"

"settling down," mike answers matter-of-factly, maintaining his strong gaze on you as your entire body burns through your clothing. you swallow hard. "the cake is you. it's something you like, and when i...put it on the menu as our dessert, i couldn't stop thinking about how i wanted to eat chocolate cake with vanilla icing with you for the rest of my life."

you give mike an intimate laugh of cynicysm, primed to say, "yeah right," when he interrupts you.

"listen. i hadn't said anything about it yet, but...the company's physically expanding, internationally. the bosses wanted to have consistent yearly growth here in the states before even thinking about taking it overseas, and after almost fifteen years in business, we've met all of our goals and we're in the process of penning a partnership deal with a production mammoth. they've got offices in london, paris, tokyo, and sydney, and there are gonna be Ecstacy Sindicate divisions in all of them."

"oh, baby, that's amazing!" you applaud, throwing yourself from your chair to embrace mike, climbing into his lap and squeezing him so tight, he's sure he'll explode. he chuckles, tingling with electricity from your elation, and he scoops you into a cradle, meeting you with his boxy, enthusiastic smile. "mikeeeee, that's huge."

"i know, right? this is going to change everything, and i..." mike pauses, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth as he absorbs the feeling of you against him, your arms wrapped around his neck while you stare at him with curious, twinkling eyes. "i want you to be by my side through all of it. i want to take everything i get from this, every cent, every ounce of fame, everything; i want to take it and invest it into us, and our future. you have dreams and goals and aspirations, and i want to see every single one of them come true. i will help every single one of them come true, no matter what. i want the world to be ours."

you can't believe that mike is saying these things to you right now, hiding away in his neck as you try to comprehend what he's telling you. he wants to be with you, and have a future with you; one where all the benefits and rewards he reaps from his career also shower upon you, one where you never have to worry about a thing ever again in your life. he wants you to know love, care, and support for the rest of your life, in every way, shape, and form, and this opportunity will guarantee that.

you're happy for him, of course. he'd shown you so many things, but you knew that that kind of access didn't come easily. he'd truly worked for everything he'd had, and you wanted him to keep on an incline, working his way to the zenith. you'd be with him every step of the way, you promised. you loved mike, and you always wanted him to win. this was winning, and to be a part of it with him gave you hope.

"as silly as it may sound, you saved me, y/n." mike is extra serious now, and you're opening yourself back up to him when you feel his finger skim the underside of your chin. "i was headed down a dark path before you divinely intervened, and i intend to spend every single one of my remaining waking moments showing you how grateful i am for that."

"oh, mike..." you dissolve his sugary musings with a long, heated kiss, punctuated with soft moans and sharp inhales of feverish air. your three cups of wine have finally hit you, and the alcohol-induced buzz in tandem with mike's words have you itching to ask him to finally fuck you on the table after everyone's been dismissed. "i love you so much. what's the timeframe for the expansion?"

"if everything keeps going smoothly, li and i leave in four months."

your stomach gurgles with nausea at the nickname; you hate how easily it rolls off of his tongue, and hearing it has you pulling away from him in distaste. you lift yourself from your perch on his lap, awkwardly settling yourself back in your own chair. "are there any more drinks?"

"y/n," mike presses dispiritedly, gazing at your profile with somber eyes. you keep your stare towards the attendant, who rushes over with a opened bottle of champagne you couldn't even begin to pronounce. she makes moves to pour it into your empty glass, but you withdraw the bottle from her hands, thanking her as you take a long, ill-mannered, anxiety-ridden gulp from the opening.

champagne is pretty fucking gross, you think, but you're not doing this for the taste. her image had disintegrated from your mind, but it haunts you again now; how could she, of all people, really get to fuck your boyfriend domestically and internationally?

mike snatches the bottle from you after a moment, eyebrows set into a deep furrow as he observes you sloppily wipe at your wet lips with your fingers. "did i say something wrong?"

"you just seem to love working with amelie," you bark, instantly sighing at your testiness. things are doubling in your vision from your foolish attempt to chug champagne in order to feel anything other than inferiority, but it's no excuse to self-sabotage what you've been given. after pouring out his entire heart to you, promising you a future of possibility and ease, you're internally strangling yourself for being so rude. "i'm sorry. i know it's not like that, i just---"

"baby, we're the whole reason why ES is even getting this opportunity. they were nearly bankrupt before li and i got there, and over this last decade, we've worked so hard to build it to what it is now. we get millions of views, bring thousands of subs daily, and make them so much mone---

"okay, yeah, but there are just so many other people for you to work with," you pout, and you hate the pity that swims in mike's eyes as he peers at you. you feel like a baby, not a mid-twenty-something merely wrestling with feelings of inadequacy because of your boyfriend's (beautiful, seductive, cunning) coworker, though these feel equivalent in your swampy mind. "what about that girl who pegged you in that one video you know i like, or that person from the glory hole video? people lovedddd you two together."

"y/n," mike's firm tone ceases your whining, and you want to cry all over again for being you. "we are celebrating one year together tonight. right now is no time for you to be thinking about li, okay? she's my coworker and she's my friend, nothing more. you trust me, don't you?"

even though mike's persistent use of her nickname chips at your heart like marble, you work to use logic and fact to calm yourself down.

he'd made so many videos since you'd been officially committed, and none of them, even the ones he filmed with amelie, had stopped him from sweeping you up in affection-heavy hugs, complete with annoyingly romantic squeals and soft kisses peppered all over your face and neck every time he saw you after production. mike was yours, yet the thought was often overridden with thoughts of him being ripped away from you, amelie paying you a deft wink as she took him to worlds that they'd created together; worlds that you had no idea about, considering their decade-long friendship.

what was up with you?

"y/n," you jolt as you feel mike's hand softly come down on your cheek, causing your eyes to cut back to him. you burn in embarrassment for the billionth time in your life, sighing. "use your words. do you trust me?"

"yes, mike," you mutter, forcing the words out. you did trust him. you always had, and you knew you could. he'd never given you any firm reason not to, and you had to trust that he never would. "i trust you wholeheartedly."

he pats your face now, pairing his smirk with a lustful gleam in his eyes that you catch immediately. "good girl. you have nothing to worry about, i promise. now," he holds his hand out for you, coming in close to graze his lips over your ear. "how about we go to the room and unwind, hm?"

you're nodding without a second thought, sheepishly thanking the musicians and attendant for all of their hard work as they pack up and mike helps you to your feet.

he's blowing out the candles and hitting a switch to turn off the pergola lights when you squeak, "wait mike, the cake! we didn't get to eat it because of me."

you frown, and mike tugs you into his body, pressing his lips against your forehead and murmuring, "it's okay. there's plenty left," his mouth coasts against your neck, light kisses fluttering against your jaw as he propositions, "we'll eat some in bed after i eat you, yeah?"

for once, you and your mind are on the same page.

cutiessss but also uh oh, uh oh trouble in paradise? i guess we'll just have to wait and see, hm? let me know what you think!

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear-@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange

#fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf fic #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #faire's (pornstar) mike schmidt <3 #faire’s mike schmidt <3 #faire is writing stuff #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt angst #faire says #the tides are changing #everyone has secrets 🤫

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