chrisgotitall

[chrisgotitall]

I'm on vacation, of course I had to write something like this because I can't stop thinking of Mike on vacation.

The ceiling fan hummed above, pushing around the warm, salty air that drifted in from the open balcony. Somewhere outside, waves rolled and broke against the shore, but in the room, everything felt slow, heavy with that kind of lazy morning heat that made you want to press pause.

Mike was already beach-ready. Sort of. Swim trunks low on his hips, towel slung over one shoulder, sunglasses resting on his head. He was stretched out across the bed, flipping through a magazine without turning the pages.

You stepped out of the bathroom, adjusting the strap of your bikini top, the lightweight fabric clinging just right. Your skin still warm from the shower, your hair half-damp, you crossed the room barefoot.

He looked up.

Paused.

“Seriously?” he muttered, voice low and amused. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

You glanced down at yourself with mock confusion. “What’s wrong with it?”

He didn’t answer. Just closed the magazine and tossed it aside. He sat up a little slower than usual, like he wasn’t rushing anything, but like he had to move.

You turned away, rummaging through your beach bag on the chair. You felt him behind you before you heard him. A palm skimmed across your lower back, fingers light, warm, a little possessive in that casual way that wasn’t trying to prove anything.

“You’re lucky we have plans,” he murmured near your ear.

You smirked, still not turning. “Are we pretending you want to leave this room?”

His fingers slipped under the edge of your shirt, brushing bare skin. “Not really pretending, no.”

You finally turned around, facing him. His hands settled on your hips. Your palms slid up his chest, slow, easy. The skin was sun-warm, solid under your touch. He leaned in and kissed you, not rushed, not demanding. Just that kind of kiss that lingers a second longer than it should.

When he pulled back, his eyes dragged down your body again like he hadn’t already memorized it.

“You’re not wearing that shirt to the beach,” he said, matter-of-fact.

You raised an eyebrow. “No?”

He tugged it gently off one shoulder, lips brushing the skin underneath. “Nope.”

You didn’t argue.

Just let the silence settle again as his hands trailed up your sides. You tilted your head, watching him with a soft, amused look, like you know we can’t stall forever.

He met your gaze. “Five minutes.”

“Make it three,” you replied, slipping your sunglasses on.

“Rude,” he muttered, but his smile said otherwise.

The waves would still be there.

[chrisgotitall]

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality. The kind that said: it’s just us now.

You kicked off your heels with a soft sigh, wobbling slightly as the release of pressure reached your calves. Mike was behind you, loosening the last knot in his tie, watching in silence. The soft light from the kitchen spilled down the hall, golden and low, catching the edge of your dress.

“You were quiet on the drive,” you said, turning halfway toward him.

He shrugged one shoulder, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “Was trying not to ruin the view.”

You rolled your eyes, but heat bloomed in your chest anyway.

He stepped closer, deliberate. The tie now hanging loose around his neck, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. You could still smell the cologne he put on hours ago, warm and worn-in, clinging to the fabric. He stopped just a foot away from you.

“You wore that on purpose, didn’t you?” His voice had dropped, deeper, slower.

You tilted your head. “What, the dress?”

“That dress. You knew what you were doing.”

You pretended to think. “It was either this or the one that makes me look like someone’s aunt at brunch.”

He let out a quiet laugh, but his eyes never left you. Not even for a second. They trailed from your collarbone to your waist like hands.

“Turn around,” he said.

You didn’t ask why. You just did.

The sound of his footsteps behind you was almost louder than his voice had been. He didn’t touch you at first. Just stood there, close enough to feel but not quite to reach. Then, slowly, you felt his fingers graze the zipper at the back of your dress.

He paused.

You swallowed. “Are you going to—”

The zipper came down in one slow pull.

You closed your eyes at the sound. The fabric loosened instantly, your shoulders cooling in the soft air. His hands brushed your skin as he slid it from your arms, not rushed, not greedy. Reverent.

The dress pooled at your feet, and you stepped out of it carefully, still facing away from him.

“I’ve missed this,” he said, voice rough now. “Not just… this. You.”

You turned then, standing in the space between his arms as his hands found your waist.

He didn’t kiss you yet.

He just looked at you like he was remembering. Like all night, he’d been aching to come back to this moment, to you.

“You could’ve said something,” you whispered.

“I didn’t want to say it,” he said. “I wanted to show it.”

And this time, when he leaned in, his mouth met yours, slow and certain, like a question he already knew the answer to.

[chrisgotitall]

charlie lastra never had a bad track. "or maybe, nora stephens, I can read you like a book” BANGER “you do have me, nora. I never stood a chance” LIFE CHANGING “if you’re the wrong kind of woman, then I’m the wrong kind of man” SHOWSTOPPING “and then you showed up and I could finally breathe” ICONIC “there’s just tall women, and the men too insecure to date them” REVOLUTIONARY

[chrisgotitall]

They call action.

You’re standing inches from Mike, the air between you thick with pretend warmth. The director wants "longing" in your eyes. He wants "electricity", whatever that means, like two people who can't believe how lucky they are to be in love.

You used to know exactly what that looked like. You lived it for two years.

Now you're trying to manufacture it with the person who once knew how you took your coffee, who used to fall asleep with his fingers tangled in yours. Now, his hands hover near your waist like he’s afraid to touch you too much, or not enough.

You look up at him. His mouth curves into that soft, scripted smile that still hits something in your chest, even when it’s fake. Maybe especially then.

You force a smile back. Not too bright. Not too distant. Just enough to look like someone in love.

“And cut!” the director calls.

Mike steps back first, like he always does now. You shift your weight and run your hands over your jeans, suddenly too aware of the way your heart’s beating a little too fast. Like it hasn’t figured out that you broke up two months ago. Like it still thinks this is real.

“Good take,” he says quietly, not meeting your eyes.

“Yeah. You too.”

You both nod, and it’s quiet for a second too long. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, but someone from wardrobe walks between you and the moment slips away like wet sand.

It’s been like this all week, polite conversations that say nothing, eye contact that burns a little too long, and these scenes that demand everything you’ve been trying not to feel.

In private, you’ve both managed the break like adults. No fights. No blocked numbers. No drama. Just a quiet unraveling. A decision made over lukewarm takeout and soft, tired voices.

But now, under bright lights and surrounded by crew, you’re stuck playing the version of yourselves that didn’t let go. The version that stayed. Smiled more. Fought less.

It’s cruel, in a way. Pretending. Pretending you still look at each other like that. Pretending you still reach for him without hesitating. Pretending like you haven’t spent every night since the breakup trying not to text him.

Later, during a break, you find yourself leaning against the coffee cart outside the soundstage. Mike joins you, wordless at first. Just standing there like he doesn’t know how not to be near you.

“They’re adding a kissing scene tomorrow,” he says after a moment.

You nod. “I saw the rewrite.”

You both sip your drinks. The silence between you isn’t angry. It’s worse than that, it’s familiar.

“You okay with it?” he asks.

You pause. “It’s work.”

“Yeah.”

More silence.

You glance at him. He’s looking straight ahead, jaw tight like he’s bracing himself.

“You know,” you say, voice low, “this would be easier if we’d hated each other.”

He exhales through his nose, a bitter half-laugh. “Yeah. But we were always too good at being kind, weren’t we?”

You nod. You don’t say too good at loving each other, though you think it. Loudly.

There’s a call over the walkie. Break’s over.

He starts to walk back, but stops. Turns to you.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, eyes softer now, “I’m not pretending.”

And just like that, he’s gone, back under the lights. You watch him go, the sting behind your eyes sharp and sudden.

You breathe in, slow and shaky, then follow.

The cameras don’t care that your heart still flinches when he looks at you.

They just want the perfect shot.

[chrisgotitall]

JESUS WAS SEEN

aaand i’m gone! i’m gone and i cannot be saved

[chrisgotitall]

EXCUSE MEEEEEEEE

I'M HYPERVENTILATINGGGGGGGGG

He is perfection.

[chrisgotitall]

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy,moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious,gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.

[chrisgotitall]

I WANT THIS ENGRAVED ON MY SKIN

HOW DOES HE LOOK SO GOOD???

I'M SO CRAZY ABOUT HIM

[chrisgotitall]

if you could hear me right now, i sound ill and crazy

god please

[chrisgotitall]

no literally

new mike faist content? yeah the rumors are true, i licked my screen.

[chrisgotitall]

HE'S SO... UGH

I HAVE THOUGHTS I CANNOT SHARE.

[chrisgotitall]

!!!!MIKE GOT OUT OF THE HOUSE!!!!

[chrisgotitall]

I'm going crazy hereeeeee

questionable necklace but he still looks sexy idc <3

[chrisgotitall]

i froze looking at his picture for 5 hours

this is my new religion

[chrisgotitall]

i want to know your craziest mike faist (or mike faist character) fantasies!!! right them down and let's see if i can make them come true!!

[chrisgotitall]

just look at them!!!

[chrisgotitall]

MY BABY IS SO BEAUTIFULLLLLL

he looks so slutty here