#the trap of michael chain

[sinnohborn-trainer-evan]

I been watching a lot of the F-ZERO GP Legend anime lately, and this particular moment kept getting stuck in my head so I had to make a meme out of it, go crazy with it guys, spread it far and wide.

[whump-galaxy]

I’ve been thinking about the Archive and magical chains again. How they look and feel to the others. I say this on episode #111, so my opinions may change, but here below:

Gertrude-thin and light chains. They crisscross across every corridor and basically encase her office. She doesn’t try to notice them often, knowing it only slows down her work to think about them there.

Michael-one solid chain that snakes throughout the corridors. It doesn’t seem to lead anywhere, though he’s tried to find its end.

Gerry- chains hanging from hooks in every room, but they never look like they’re connected. Just like they appear in any room he’s in. He doesn’t notice them much, and they don’t bother him. He’s freer here that he ever was with his mother, even if chains follow him around.

Tim- One thick chain that connects him straight to Elias. He knows it does. Even if he can’t see it directly. He just knows exactly where it goes. He can try and fight against it, but the weight just drags him further and further down.

Sasha- she never noticed them.

Martin- they wrap around him. They constrict his breath and only release when he records. They feel heavier when he’s around the others and lighter in his office, like they subconsciously want him alone.

Jon-I think he has relatively standard chains. But as the series go on they get more visible. Morph in his eyes. They feel like being captured by The Circus. Or being dragged by his legs. Or around his neck knives. The chains drape over every surface.

Basira-she doesn’t feel or see the chains exactly. She knows they’re there, just like everyone else, but they don’t tie her down.

Daisy- she’s not a staff member of the institute, no, but I think she has chains. Burning cold steel that pulls her back to the institute or anything paranormal. I think, like Martin, it restricts her breathing, but it also blinds her. Covers her eyes to who the real monster is, Y’know?

And Elias- oh puppet strings. I have a feeling he’s more like Distortion Michael than his own person anymore. He is an embodiment of The Eye, and even if he is a ‘dead man switch’ for the others, he’s already dead. He’s just a puppet, controlling other puppets. But that’s just a theory

[missr3n3]

Michael, speaking from the corner he's stuck in : Why does the spider dude call you "babygirl"? (What does that even mean)

Luce : How about you shut up for another century

he says that in the hopes it will fluster luce, only for luce to completely shut him down and leave him stuck there until one anxious boy with a knife gets him out T_T

[saminsecret]

Slashers Reacting to their S/O trying to "escape" while sleep walking

Inspired by this post by @amomentsescape . Go check them out! Fell in love with their post and just HAD to write about it myself I am working on a few requests and original ideas, so if you've requested something know that it is (slowly) in the works!)

posting this early to show I'm still active! let me know if you want a part two with other slashers, im already working on one for the sinclair bros but check my character list to see which others i should add! ive added a few new characters to my list aswell :3

CW: Implications of abuse, kidnapping, and other unhealthy relationship dynamics

GN Reader!

Characters include Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, Billy Loomis, and Stu Macher!

You’ve been with your slasher for a while now, trapped living with them in their respective homes. You have no intentions of leaving as Stockholm Syndrome has long kicked in. But right as your slasher lets you sleep without the chains, your brain decides that it’s a perfect time to start sleepwalking…

Michael Myers (Halloween ‘78)

Michael is up the second you are. He never truly sleeps, so the moment your body starts to shift out of bed his eyes are open and watching you intensely. He stopped handcuffing you to the bed post a few nights ago, but he still doesn’t trust you to not leave. Before you can walk towards the bedroom door, he’s already infront of you and grabbing your wrists tightly.

He doesn’t care that you’re asleep. When you didn’t react to him grabbing your wrists, he tilted his head. It takes him a few moments to realize that you’re still asleep. He grabs you by the shoulders and aggressively shakes you awake, startling the hell out of you. “What the fuck!?” You wake up to see Michael glaring down at you menacingly. He is pissed.

You can’t plead with him. Your wrists are back to being cuffed to the bed and he doesn’t let you leave the bedroom. It doesn’t matter that you were asleep, you still tried to leave him. You cry and beg, swearing up and down that you love him but all you get back is an icy glare. Any trust you thought you had with him is gone for the next few months. He loves you Y/N, no matter if you like it or not.

Stares at you through the night. The first couple of nights after your sleepwalking incident, he can’t close his eyes. Ends up just staring at you for the rest of the night, not really sure how to feel about what you’ve done. He won’t say it, but his feelings are really hurt. Why can’t you just do what he wants?

Thomas Hewitt (Texas Chainsaw Remake)

He wakes up alone in bed. He has to get up extra early for his daily chores, so he’s used to see you by his side, still fast asleep. When you aren’t there, he starts to panic. He’s tossing the room frantically hoping to find you, all while fearing the worst. He should’ve listen to his family when they said not to unchain you.

He finds you at the front door, staring at it absentmindedly. He rushes towards you and grabs hold of you, which wakes you up. You scream in confusion which makes him scream. He’s a blubbering mess afterwards while you try to explain what sleepwalking is and how you weren’t consciously trying to leave

He believes you, but he’s still scared that you might leave. He installs a lock on the bedroom door and keeps the key hidden away during the night so you don’t wander off again. He’s worried that you might end up hurting yourself walking around the house, so you can’t coax him out of the lock.

He hugs you extra tight at night. He was always a cuddler, but now he’s nearly smothering you every night in fear that he might wake up alone again. Don’t fight it, it’ll only make him hug you tighter.

Brahms Heelshire (The Boy)

Crashes the fuck out once he realizes you aren’t in bed with him. He’s running around the mansion frantically looking for you in every nook and cranny, getting more and more worked up. Probably starts crying and/or screaming after not being able to find you quickly.

He finds you in the garden, eventually. He hates going outside. He hates you going outside even more. It’s dead of night when you wake up to Brahms incoherently screaming at you while being dragged back inside. You’re so confused while Brahms is just having a full on meltdown, accusing you of trying to leave him.

You have to wait for him to calm down before explaining what happened. He's screaming so loud, sobbing and stomping back and forth the hallway as you sit on the ground, half-dazed. You try to talk to him but he literally can't hear you over his tantrum.

Clings to you. After his break down, you explain what happened-- "I was just sleepwalking, Brahms." He isn't completely convinced but he accepts the explanation on the condition that you never do it again, which you try to say you can't really control it but- oh well. It doesn't matter, as Brahms is always by your side now, holding your hand or waist or the hem of your shirt while you go on with the chores. You never have a moment alone now, and probably never will again for a good while. Do you even want to?

Billy Loomis (Scream)

Another certified crash out. He wakes up one night expecting you beside him, only to find you gone. Immediately tears the house apart looking for you. And when he cant find you? He snaps. Thinks you've left him. Escaped his tight grasp. Destroys everything, grabs his knife, and goes to look for you. If he cant have you then he's going to kill you.

He finds you standing on the porch. Looking back, he doesnt know how you didnt wake up from the noise he was making. He puts the knife to your throat, threatening you until he realizes you were kinda just...not responding. Waves his hand in front of your face and realizes you are asleep and just stares at you. How the fuck did you even get past the locks anyways?

So pissed at you. Its not your fault but it doesnt matter. You should subconsciously want to be near him at all times, sleepwalking or not. He drags you back to the bedroom, gripping your arm so tightly that it wakes you up. You're confused on whats happening, but Billy ignores your questions before tossing you on the bed and forcing you to go back to sleep.

He starts tying you to the bed. He doesn't let you have a say in it, either. He won't say it, but waking up and seeing you gone was one of the very limited moments in his life when he felt fear. And he doesn't intend to ever feel that way again.

Stu Macher (Scream)

Where'd you go, Y/N? He wakes up without you under him, and is immediately confused but not worried. You must have needed to go to the bathroom! Still, he feels a weird flutter in his chest as he gets up to check on you.

He finds you in the hallway just standing there, like a ghost. You startle awake because he screams, not expecting to see you in such a creepy way. He laughs immediately after, finding it hilarious that you managed to scare him!

He has a tight grip on you as he guides you back to bed. You notice as you both lay down that he clings just a bit more to you than usual, so much that you almost feel suffocated. He won't say it aloud, but he doesn't like the idea of you leaving the bed, of leaving him.

He starts laying on top of you during the nights, as a way to hopefully stop you from leaving the room. It works for the most part, and Stu loves the new-found closeness, even if you have to give up a bit of air at night. If you ask, he'll try to shift his weight to one side so he doesn't completely cut off your airflow, but he's reluctant to get off of you completely. What if you hurt yourself walking around?

Freaks out every time you move. Ever since that incident, Stu is hyper focused on you when you sleep. Every time you slightly shift during the night, Stu is locked on you, waiting to see if you try to get up or not. He doesn't want you to leave, y/n, and if that means having to sacrifice some sleep to make sure you stay, that's alright with him.

[ambitiouspotions]

DEBATABLE | MICHAEL BERZATTO

summary — being home for summer break means finding a bit of odd and steamy comfort within the chef who catered your younger brother’s baseball banquet.

word count — 24.4k

warnings — 18+ MDNI, porn w/plot (f&m oral, protected&unprotected pinv sex, public sex, naughty texts), age gap (reader 20, mikey 50-51), pet names (hon, lil’ thing, pretty thing, etc.), no use of y/n, very vague prior suicide attempt mentioned, mention of opioid addiction, na meetings, social drinking, terrible banter & jokes, questionable decisions/bad communication, natural bodies, rude & vulgar language

author’s note — no, this did not trigger a vague memory for myself…i say unconvinced

taglist: @stefpink , @allinourprivate-traps , @empathyroad , @lets-turn-and-burn

chicago summertime, the air was maybe still a little musty and thick, but the wind whipped enough to diminish the smell that usually made your nose scrunch. hot, earthy air with a mix of preteen boys wearing entirely too much salt and pepper body spray was not ideal, but you still stood smiling, urging your brother and his friends to squish together for a picture. you were thankful that the body spray was masking some of the musk from the few teammates who clearly had a hard time remembering their deodorant.

they seemed grown up in their little suits and knock-off baseball chains, each one sporting their number. thirteen hung around your little brother’s neck; most thought it was unlucky, but he made it his own proudly. they didn’t have on mucky cleats or red clay stains in their britches; they were little gentlemen standing on a faux red carpet. of course, their acne-ridden faces, crooked ties, and suit jackets that sat a little too large on their shoulders were a little laughable. no one attending this banquet would deny how happy the team looked together. they were all acting like they were major league players, and no one was going to halt their excitement.

they were halfway through their season, and the coach was exceptionally proud—he had to be proud because he was your dad. maybe even more proud because your little brother, cameron, was showing an overwhelming amount of potential, especially when he would start attending high school the year after next. if your brother continued on this uphill climb, his college would be paid for much like your own. although an athletic scholarship didn't send you to live out of state, you weren't nagging the “free” money from the academic successes you were reaping the benefits from.

in contrast to the team’s peak attire, the family and friends that were in attendance had toned down their appearance. you were in a two-day-old pair of ripped jeans and a “go cubbies” shirt because that was the cleanest laundry out of your overpacked suitcase that was sitting on the floor of your childhood bedroom. you had only been in town for a day, feeling too tired from the packing and traveling to do anything with the mess you had brought home to even attempt to organize it.

the interior of the gymnasium had cheap streamers and a balloon arch to make the banquet seem like more than it really was, but no one seemed to mind because of the hilariously awkward cue cards the local commentator, benny amato, from the sports park was reading that your father and assistant coach had written.

you were brought a plate of food by your mother as you swiped through the group photos you had taken, trying to find at least one “serious” one that all their mothers wanted. your eyes widened seeing the overfilled plate, large meatballs smothered in some well-seasoned pasta sauce, and the noodles seemed to be handmade, none of that overcooked, soggy dining hall food you managed to choke back when attending school. your father was right behind her with bowls of caesar salad that she couldn't manage to carry for you both; even the salad had a healthy slab of garlic bread on top, so buttery and fragrant.

you slid your phone into your pocket as mr. amato was finally getting to the awards portion of the banquet after he had passed his long and draining introductions. people loved a good meal and entertainment to go with it because this wasn't some fancy event; this was high class. this was the dundies from the office, but adding adolescence in a crumby gymnasium and taking away the ability to overdrink in a chili's.

‘eye on the ball’ was the first golden bat trophy to be awarded. it wasn't given to jace kowak for his exquisite ability to catch a multitude of plays, it was for the three black eyes he'd acquired so far this season. and even with this first crumby joke out of the way, you knew you'd be sitting through twelve more while stuffing your face with food that you planned to eat cold while standing in the light of the fridge later tonight.

the dorm room meals you managed to cook in the shared kitchen weren’t anything fancy, but they were tasty. however, you were sitting here thinking you’d receive some subpar food like at every other community event you’ve ever attended, but no, this—this was something remarkable. this wasn't watered-down pasta sauce, gummy noodles, and tough, questionably sourced meatballs—this was so good. you were looking forward to your mother’s cooking after you’d been away, but even her home-cooked meals would be hard to top this.

you looked up from your plate to see another player proudly collecting his golden bat for “true grit.” imagine that—the kid was awarded for getting a mouthful of sand on his latest slide from last week’s game. benny amato’s voice was grating. you were managing to only filter out some of it, and the other half was causing you to stifle any eye roll that was surfacing. you had to remind yourself that you were being a good sister and that you loved your brother.

luckily, your brother was next, walking to the stage with his head held high. he had to anyway. he just was given high honors on the “ball buster” trophy. oh yeah, the week before last he took one right to the sack…and still kept running. you didn't expect to receive that call when you were drunkenly eating sushi beside your roommate as you scrolled on tinder. fortunately, the emergency room cleared him as quickly as he came in.

“never seen cam look so proud,” your mom laughed as she nudged you. you were continuously snapping pictures for her as your dad cheered as if he was oblivious to the fact that his son was getting an award. maybe his yelling was just a little more obnoxious than needed, or maybe it was only obnoxious because of your tiredness.

when your brother returned to his seat, you were slinking out of your chair. “i’m going to the bathroom,” you mumbled, excusing yourself from the table.

you made your way outside for a breath of fresh air. you had barely a moment of peace since returning home. the ride home from the airport was deafening. everyone was crammed into the car, speaking at you rather than to you. each one of them with a new set of questions from last time. your father was prodding about the storage unit you were renting, your mom was wondering why your friend lizzie wasn't in your final day pictures, and cameron was digging through your school bag, questioning every item.

the street lights had not yet turned on. the summer sun was taking its time setting. cars were buzzing along the road carelessly. the ‘l’ added that extra sound that made it home. it was the moment you needed because you did miss chicago, but not enough to stay. this three-month venture would be the longest you've been home since you graduated from high school. last summer, you visited for two weeks because you crashed in your friend’s apartment until you were able to move into a new dormitory. you were stuck at home this year because the leasing arrangement with your new apartment fell through until two months into the new school year. so, you lugged your things into a storage unit and flew back home.

“sorry, didn't know somebody was moping out here.”

you turned your head, straightening your posture. “i'm not moping,” you responded to the caterer, only able to recognize his job by his navy shirt with thick white writing on the pocket—“the bear–berzatto owned.”

“sure as hell looks like moping,” he chuckled, lighting a cigarette. “upset you didn't get a trophy for fighting the ump?” he leaned against the wall next to you. the siding of the gymnasium was warm and oddly comforting. he had his apron thrown over his shoulder. he had tanned italian skin a in similar fashion to lots of locals in the area, broad shoulders, a crooked nose that seemed to have seen a fight or two before, and that smug smile that seemed to draw you in to look for more.

a smile began to flicker against the corner of your mouth, taking more of this man’s appearance in as he took a drag of his cigarette. “no, just annoyed that i’m home,” you shrugged, pausing to look ahead rather than at this stranger that your eyes had been giving far too much attention to. the silver in his dark hair came in streaks, and his beard had those same shiny flecks in them that were definitely not exiting your mind as you looked ahead to the roadway. “i think i'm going to kill my entire family before the summer is over.”

a laugh came from the caterer. “i’m going to act like i didn't hear a premeditation to murder, but what i can do is give you a little peace,” he offered his cigarette to you.

you gave a nod of appreciation, taking the smoke between your fingers and inhaling steadily before handing it back.

“what’s got you so worked up that you're willing to take a life sentence?” the caterer questioned after a lull of silence. you finished exhaling as he began inhaling.

“summer off from college, and i can't stand being here,” you were finally looking at him again. “this is home, but i'm not living here,” you gestured loosely as the older man forked over the cigarette again. he knew you needed it. his arms were tattooed; the line work seemed like it was time for a touch-up. “now i'm dropping all my complaints on you, and i don't even know you.”

“michael berzatto,” he didn't wait to introduce himself because it seemed like he didn’t mind listening.

he said he preferred mikey over michael. when you gave your name, it seemed like he’d never say it because he had a multitude of pet names at his disposal that would be easier.

you shared names and cigarettes. you shared blown smoke and some weird, unspoken mutual decision to silently flirt back with your eyes. both of you thought nothing bad could happen from a little camaraderie.

“i was gone a while too,” mikey confessed, vaguely with very little explanation. “but i’m back now.”

“i feel like i can't breathe here. i don't know how you came back,” you retorted, letting your newfound confidant have the final smoke of his cigarette. it wasn't long after he stamped it out that he lit another one. maybe it was to keep you talking, or maybe it was because he wasn't satisfied after the first one.

mikey wasn’t a polished guy, but you’d be lying if you said you weren't still looking, but the strange part was that he was looking back. not looking past you or even afraid to make eye contact. he had his focus set. he was soft around the middle, a slight wrinkle in his forehead and around his eyes when he made any face other than his resting one, and his hands had seen work—scarring, burns, cuts, all of it.

“still can't breathe, not on some days, but better than where i was,” mikey concluded. the cigarette rested between his fingers for a minute before passing it to you to take the first inhale of the burning tobacco.

he's gentle, and you didn't know how gentle he was in reality, but the version you were receiving right now seemed peaceful and likable. he wasn't agreeing with everything you said or pushing you to speak. words fell out of your mouth because they seemed easy to spill with him. it was silent again between the two of you, but that seemed to be loud enough while the cigarette moved back and forth again.

“you guys did good with the food and all,” you added when it got just a bit too quiet, especially when you found yourself standing a bit too close. you didn't move away when you noticed.

“i think if we woulda brought any more food coach woulda been rolling his players outta here,” mikey chuckled, flicking the ash to the side of him. his last name matched the one on his shirt. you cracked a smile.

“you own it? the restaurant, i mean,” you shook your head when he offered the cigarette back. you had enough to calm your nerves already.

“me and my brother, the short one, not the lunatic who was handing out drinks,” mikey rubbed the underside of his nose with his index knuckle, watching as you tugged up the waistband of your jeans. “we renovated a few years ago, still got the original beef window on the side, but it's nicer on the inside.”

“nothing fancy?”

“hell no, kids are knockin’ their juice over in their pasta, it doesn’t have a dress code, and the kitchen is still good at yellin’ at each other,” he stamped the cigarette out. “but that’s what's good about it.” what mikey meant to say was that it wasn’t a shit hole anymore because he had his head screwed on the right way around.

“glad i got to try it,” you looked back towards the door. you knew you had to return soon to avoid questioning from your mother. “i guess my dad can get on my nerves, but he knows how to pick good food.”

“coach’s daughter? i’'m goin’ to hell,” mikey let out a breathy exhale, no longer leaning on the wall. connecting those dots fully seemed to make his eyes widen.

mikey casually smoked with some little college hottie that just so happened to also be the daughter of the man that was paying him tonight. shit always seemed to follow him, yet there he was still enjoying your presence.

“nah, you’re going to hell because you smoked two cigarettes with a twenty-year-old,” you took a step towards the entrance. “and you liked it,” you put your fingers into a cross and teasingly rubbed “shame” in his direction. you heard a chuckle as you walked back into the gymnasium.

“you sure you don't want me to wait until you come out?” your father pestered again, looking at you about to reenter the empty gymnasium. the banquet was a success. the entire team went home happy and fed. most of them were toting plates of leftover food, including you. you couldn't let it go to waste, especially not after your appetite was curbed from smoking. you handed the plate to your mother as she walked by, knowing your late-night snack would be safe in her hands since they were going straight home.

“dad, i'll be fine. i just forgot my phone,” you assured him as he gave that skeptical glance about not being able to watch you safely leave in the sedan you were borrowing from your mother. “i need to stop by walgreens anyway and get another charger; mine is busted,” you explained, hope that would be enough to allow him to leave.

forgetting your phone may not have been an accident. after being on the cleanup crew with your family, you may have strategically placed the device on the table nearest the catering station.

the car keys were hanging loosely in your hand as your father looked back at his single-cab truck. cameron and your mother were piling inside.

“alright, be safe tonight, baby girl,” he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

as you re-entered the gym, you saw mikey counting the fold-out tables he had stacked against the wall. his final task for the night was to load all the tables and chairs into the restaurant’s van and bring them back. richie, his best friend and drink slinger for the night, had already gone back with carmen, the shorter caterer, to clean all the serving equipment.

“left somethin’?” he asked, pulling your phone out of his pocket when he heard the door close. his head was slightly cocked when he looked at you. as he handed it over a picture of you and your friend from your university semi-formal lit up with the time. he didn’t have a hard time knowing it was yours.

“yeah, thanks,” you mumbled, not understanding why you had now become so nervous. the lights in the open room were buzzing. the commotion of the families caused you not to notice how much the white noise had been drowned out.

you looked around, playing with the phone in your hand, letting it clack against the key ring.

“did you forget somethin’ else?” he asked, reading off a checklist.

“your number,” you blurted out quickly as if you were ripping off a band-aid. the keyring slipped into your back pocket with your phone.

“my number?” mikey’s thick eyebrows furrowed. “you fuckin’ with me?” he asked, his voice lighter as he was about to laugh. he wasn’t taking you seriously at all.

“no,” you assured him, looking around again. that twinge in the back of your mind was pressing, saying ‘what the hell am i doing?’ this was a moment of realization, getting yourself into something that might haunt you for the rest of your nights. potential rejection was scary, but what was more horrifying was the fact that you were asking a man who clearly had the upper hand on your age. “just needed something to get through the summer.”

“they all left,” mikey uttered, knowing you were scoping out the area, but his statement seemed like permission. his lips were slightly parted as if he wanted to say something else, but you didn't give him a chance. your hand was resting on his forearm. his hand flexed, only able to grab the closest thing to him to bring you closer—the hem of your cubs shirt. he preferred the red sox, but the cubbies were bringing home the win tonight.

god, you reminded him of his younger self—desperate, hungry, hard to control, but easy to talk.

it was a split second before your hands scrambled to the back of his neck. mikey leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. you were sharing those cigarettes again—more intimately than before—adding a touch of desperation to them. you could taste the stale menthol, somehow it was surprisingly refreshing, knowing you might have possibly been making the biggest mistake of your life.

this wasn't another bar crawl with your shitty fake id, picking up some asshole from a fraternity; this was older and bolder. you didn't feel nervous outside of illinois in the local college bars as you inspected your potential prospects while sipping a vodka cran, but michael berzatto haphazardly walking backwards with you in an empty gymnasium as you sloppily made out with him was anxiety-inducing.

you gripped the back of his shirt. your fingers grazed the back of his neck. your mouth opened to catch a partial breath, and another clumsy step backward sent both of you knocking into a stack of chairs. your eyes opened. your cheeks were flush, and your heart rate spiked as you pulled yourself into mikey's chest to try and protect your sneaker-cladded feet from the domino effect of the chairs.

mikey licked his right canine tooth. he was just shy of the clear portion of the wall where he meant to back you into, unable to successfully do it moments ago. his attention had been focused on you while deepening the kiss and guiding you blindly backward.

“christ, i haven't—” mikey tugged you to the side of the fallen chairs. your head softly thudded on the wall behind you. he was placing quick kisses against your jawline. his scruffy beard was brushing against your cheek. “—done this in a long fuckin’ time,” he finished, resting his hand between your thighs and running his thumb across the light-washed denim.

“i think you're doing fine.” it was possibly the quickest you felt any type of growing arousal, especially as he captured your lips again. this was clumsy and unorganized, but not unlikeable. it was wonderfully awkward, and somehow knowing a stack of chairs crashed down was comforting because it felt natural and carefree. mikey’s confession also helped, settling some of the tension that you felt on your shoulders.

one of your hands trailed to the waistband of his jeans. your fingers were hooked into the top of his cotton boxers. his fingers are gently stroking higher on your inner thigh. the softest touches held the heaviest meaning behind them. this time, it was him pulling away from the kiss.

“wait,” he held your wrist, though your fingers didn’t retract. “you got—y’know a condom or somethin’?” he asked, though you laughed.

“no, i brought my phone and keys that aren’t even mine.” you bit your lip, quickly apologizing for laughing and for your lack of preparation.

he started laughing too. he couldn’t help himself. he didn’t bother looking through his pocket when he knew he didn't have anything useful. “i’m fifty. the most protection i have is a roll of tums to prevent heartburn,” he looked up at the ceiling. his laughter increased only because otherwise he would begin thinking far too much about how risky this situation was.

“i-i’m on the pill,” you cleared your throat, though more giggles were peeking through as he swatted your hand away from his pants.

“jesus,” mikey sighed as he began cracking up again. “bad idea waitin’ to happen.” his hand was still between your thighs. he wasn’t backing off, and neither were you. you were looking up at him. the hand that was on his boxers was now resting on his chest.

“you’re right,” you swallowed hard, but you didn’t move. you didn't want to admit it, but he was right. your eyes darted from his soft eyes to his lips. he wasn’t pressing or rushing. you were staring, and he was too.

his laughter faded, dipping his head again. you met his lips. even after the laughter and moment of cognizance, the excitement was still there. he was focused on tasting the remnants of your chapstick—a flavor he couldn’t quite place—it was cherry, but something deeper than just the fruit. maybe something nutty.

his hand slipped from your thighs and began to unbutton your jeans. he was toying with your zipper. his fingers grazing your panties—the funky floral ones that came in every basic four-pack of underwear—you were wishing you had made a better decision when digging through your suitcase.

“listen to me, i’m too old for that leg lockin’ bullshit,” mikey muttered against your mouth, working down his own pants. trusting within the age-old pull-out method was something mikey hadn't done since he was your age, but in this moment, he needed to believe in something.

“got it,” you mumbled, stepping out of your sneakers to tug down your jeans. you understood where his nervousness was stemming from, much like him, you didn't want a pregnancy scare at the end of this little excursion for pleasure.

mikey’s hands were grasping at your thighs. you were palming the front of his jeans, his semi-hard erection was growing by the second. neither of you wanted to stop. if anything, the touches only grew more hasty and hungry.

with your jeans discarded and your horrendous floral underwear on display. your legs were spread and his fingers were toying with the wet splotch you had created on your panties just from a few simple times of mikey’s fingers grazing you. you were unfastening the button to his jeans.

mikey was kissing your neck, a soft sigh coming from his mouth as he felt your hand move past his boxers. your heart was pounding as his fingers slipped past the seam of the gusset of your panties and applied the slightest bit of pressure. your legs were already trembling.

his thumb grazed past your clit after one affirming touch to signify he was capable. two of his fingers then slipped inside like they were meant to be there. there you were dripping into the palm of his hand with your eyes closed, feeling the outline of his thick cock through his pants.

your underwear was bunched to the inner crease of your right thigh. they were moved over just enough so mikey’s fingers could coat themselves in the sweet arousal you produced.

you had your other hand gripping the dark curls that graced mikey’s neck. with your lips slightly parted, you were pushing against his hand, trying to collect more sensation than he was allowing you to have.

the hollow gymnasium only embraced the sound of the smallest whine you uttered, echoing loudly off all the walls. mikey brought his head up to rest on yours.

you rocked against his middle and ring finger as he thrust them inside of you, falling into him as your jeans gripped the midsection of your thighs. he just had to be sure that you were ready, and a small part of him was enjoying the fact that someone was already falling apart for him.

there was no way he could keep you against that wall without his hip or back making a noise that would be embarrassing and even more telling of his age. he already had on a knee brace under his jeans after he had to single-handedly rearrange the walk-in after having to perform maintenance on one of the cooling fans when fak the handyman wasn't available. he could save himself from another hint of embarrassment because he wasn't walking around with a salonpas patch across his lower back today.

the gym floor it was. if you didn't think about it too hard the scuff marks would be less noticeable and the faint smell of wax would be concealed by the overwhelming sensation of him hovering over you, helping you drag off your bottoms and letting your panties hang around one ankle so they wouldn't be hard to track down when you needed to make your leave.

you gave your jeans a final kick. you looked wide-eyed at your mismatched no-show socks. one was neon pink and the other was a basic white; that was the least of your concerns compared to the full tent in mikey’s jeans.

his apron over his shoulder had been shrugged off into the same pile as your jeans. mikey was wasting no time, mostly because the longer he would wait would mean, the less likely he was to get antsy.

his pants were soon bundled at his knees, cock sprung outward freely instead of being contained by his pants and underwear. he gave his cock a generic stroke using the remainder of your wetness and a palm full of spit to coat his shaft. he gripped the base of his shaft and balls for a little support.

the tops of his meaty thighs were hairy as well as his pubic region. his wiry hair was wild and unkempt—a full bush—but that meant one thing: he was a real locally grown man. he had nothing to be embarrassed by, as seen by your surprised face, but he couldn't help feeling a little vulnerable. you had to feel that way, too; the only easy part about this situation was that you both had no strings attached. even if there would be a repeat a few days from now, you both didn't know each other enough to care.

him entering made you dig your nails into the back of his biceps as your back arched off the ground. your wet pussy was already clenching around him, unable to fully comprehend the amount of his dick you were taking.

you realized you weren't breathing when mikey was lightly patting your cheek with his free hand. “hey, hon,” he mumbled. “y’with me, lil’ thing?” he asked as his eyes raked over your expression.

“y-yeah, fuck, just give me a second,” you swallowed, feeling that stretch from some girthy italian dick wasn't what you were accommodated to. the last guy who got lucky with you was average—that was the nicest way to say it anyway.

mikey was slowly rocking his hips into you as he pulled one of your legs over his shoulder, trying to help you adjust to his size further.

this was like a porno with some clickbait title like: COLLEGE GIRL GETS FUCKED RAW BY OLDER MAN **IT DOESN'T FIT!!**

time was of the essence, mikey had to return to the restaurant, and you still had to do the walk of shame into a chain convenience store to get a new phone charger and a plan b just to be safe before your parents suspected you were gone too long.

he ran one hand under your shirt to rub circles into your waist. every touch he placed was intentional, however, it was somewhat hurried.

mikey was rocking his hips gradually, an uneven exhale left his mouth. his jaw was slack, hearing the soft whines of pleasure slip from your lips. your stomach would tighten and release, only gripping him inside of you further. he had said not to lock your legs, but you were completely out of control with the way your pussy was clenching his shaft.

“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, tightening his hold on your elevated leg. every time he thrust, your body was rocking back from the sheer amount of force he was exuding. he couldn't stop, not with the pretty little sounds that were so determined to keep him going. he couldn't understand how tightly your pulsing cunt was begging him to keep him inside.

mikey's shirt began to bunch. the mild annoyance was enough to take his hand off your hip and slip just the hem of it into his mouth. his pudgy, wooly stomach was meeting you each time he pushed his throbbing cock into, each time just a bit further than before, his swollen tip just barely kissing your cervix. his balls were slapping against you.

shame was beyond recognition at this moment. it was the two of you having deep, quick, naughty, and highly inappropriate sex. this was somehow the most comfort either of you had experienced for a long time. your peers from college in their five-inch inseam shorts wouldn't ever fuck you like this. even in its quick nature, it didn’t take away from your partner's attention to detail. mikey's last romp was with some crazy-eyed single mom that he totally dodged a bullet with over half a year prior. it was decent sex that got his rocks off, but he had never blocked a number so fast in his goddamn life.

mikey rested his head on your calf as he continued to engulf his rock-hard cock in your needy pussy. his soft grunts and moans were now muffled by the bit of shirt fabric in his mouth. you, on the other hand, only got louder, especially when mikey managed to adjust your hips upward.

he didn't know you, but he knew your body. he was lusting over that sweet squelching noise as he railed you. he was involved in every ounce of you, anchoring his hand firmly into your waist to keep you in place.

right there, where he has you sprawled out on the gym floor, yeah, that was the closest to heaven—maybe it was closer to hell—you had ever been. hitting it just right, opening you up just a bit more, trying to visualize the soaking cunt at his disposal.

your wet folds spread so pretty as his tanned dick slid so easily between your legs. he reached the hand he had over your thigh to your clit.

you tried to moan but were taken aback by the sudden increase in pleasure as mikey circled over your swollen and desperate clit.

what you thought was exceedingly pleasant before was now elevated. which was good for mikey because he didn’t know how much longer he could trust the load he was holding back.

“mikey,” you whined, your nails etching deep half-moon patterns into his forearm as he continued to stimulate the spot you needed most. “m-my god.”

his sweaty temple pressed further into your calf. he could tell you were unwinding, his dick stuffing you so full in some unconventional spot on the gym floor while thumbing at your clit, your echoing moans and pleads bounding off the walls.

“c’mon, pretty thing,” he muttered, letting the shirt between his teeth go. “y’gotta let go. gotta let me see you finish,” he encouraged with a bit of determination behind his voice to finish what he started.

he placed a couple of sloppy kisses on your calf, trying to hold off the ache in his cock. he had you right where he wanted you, writhing against his shaft with a slight flush on your face with your mouth agape, releasing a breathy and sharp gasp.

your head was back for only a moment, picking it back up to watch his thumb flick against your clit. you were leaning on your elbows, closer to him than before, still grasping the hell out of his arm. your breathing was uneven as the teary look in your eyes began.

“uh-uh, there y’go,” mikey praised, watching you unwind in front of him. his rocky thrusts were getting more uneven, feeling your unrelenting pulsing pussy wrapping him so tight.

you were riding that faithful high of satisfaction. mikey was pushing your leg into your chest, getting the final and deepest fuck he could before the heaviness in his balls was too much to bare.

a quick pull out, and he was spilling into his hand and into the apron he gathered from the ground. it was like your body was on fire now, the moment he felt his release, he was letting go and pulling away.

with his hand wiped, he was tugging up his boxers, trying to steady himself while also offering a hand to you, though you declined it. stepping into your panties uneasily, you fished for your jeans.

you were pulling back on your clothes, pushing back your hair, trying to straighten out what little dignity you had left as if you hadn't been obnoxiously moaning for a man who was as old as your dad. the wobble in your legs was noticeable. you'd be taking a couple of extra laps around the store just to sort your bearings out again.

you had snagged his number, which only solidified the fact that this encounter wouldn't be the only one you were destined to have with mikey.

there were a couple of final moments glancing back and forth while mikey tossed his soiled apron in the garbage can. he was still trying to catch his breath and attempting to fix the knee brace under his jeans.

mikey’s night wasn't close to over.

he half-assed cleaned himself before leaving the gym, loaded the rest of the restaurant's equipment in the van, and locked the venue.

he played his music a little too loudly, drumming his fingers against the wheel as he drove, trying to shove down the smile he had creeping onto his face.

stupid. it was really fucking stupid, but god, did it feel good to do something that felt a little wrong.

at the bear, mikey lugged all the rental tables and chairs into the basement, the only non-renovated spot of the entire restaurant.

he and carmen had taken another loan from their late father’s friend, jimmy, to begin redesigning the basement storage space. it wasn’t a bad idea, the dusty and cluttered room needed a revamp, but each time carmen would look into contractors, mikey would become nervous.

the entire restaurant had already changed, and it looked better, ran better, hell, it even smelled better, but the final room was hard to part with. mikey saw too much of himself in his father to completely tear the entire place apart. maybe the basement would be completed another day.

“where the hell you been, man?” richie heard mikey clattering around as he pushed the final table into place.

he pretended like he didn't hear richie, pulling the corner of the table even with the others he had previously stacked against the wall.

“mike,” richie called as his friend tapped the banister to the stairs as he began walking upwards. “where you been?” he questioned again.

mikey couldn't admit that he was balls deep in some college girl because that was stupid. that was immature and maybe a little damning. he'd be open to more criticism than he wanted after a long day, but even thinking back to you sprawled out on the gym floor made him want to laugh. it was eye-opening, heart-stopping sex that made him not feel so old.

he was halfway up the stairs, shrugging off richie’s question. he was looking at his feet as he trekked up the stairs, knowing he wouldn't be able to look at his friend with a straight face.

“had to recount, thought i was missin’ something when i loaded everything.” that was a blatant lie, and richie knew it by the twitch on mikey’s lip when he said it. mikey was trying to push away the smirk he had formed.

“cousin, what the fuck is that look?” richie questioned as mikey made it to the top of the stairs.

“nothin’, just happy we’re done with that shit so we can go home,” mikey waved him off, flicking the lights off as he walked in the hallway. richie was trailing him.

carmen had heard the two talking, slumping as he walked out of the newly cleaned kitchen. he was leaning against the hallway door frame with his eyebrows furrowed. he had told the rest of the staff to leave for the night when they were halfway done cleaning. he wanted to finish the rest himself anyway.

“what did you do?” carmen wasn't trying to dodge the question that needed to be asked. his brother wasn't exactly being subtle. that shit-eating grin was threatening to spread across his brother’s face and his tone of voice was faltering.

“nothin’. damn, what is it with you two?” mikey played the game of avoidance again, an awkward laugh leaving his mouth as he attempted to push past the two.

“you look like someone fed you and let you finish,” richie chirped back, earning a gag from mikey.

mikey pointed his finger at his friend, now unable to stifle a laugh and smirk that was forming. “you're a fuckin’ animal, man,” he chuckled, itching the back of his neck.

“oh yeah, got laid. i called it. i was right. you see that, carm?” richie pestered, taking mikey by the shoulders and jiggling him a bit. “he didn't deny it!”

“mikey, what the hell?” carmen’s expression fell. he realized richie was right, and knowing his older brother was banging someone at a catering event wasn't exactly endearing.

“stop, i’m just in a good mood,” mikey cracked another grin.

“you bitch about gettin’ those tables up and down the stairs every time we cater, and now you're grinning stupid,” carmen retorted, pressing a little further. he had to hear mikey say it for himself, and not base it off of richie’s factoid—correction—suspicion.

richie dismissed carmen, turning his attention to mikey, looking directly into his eyes. “where? and how hard?” he did a mocking whistle after.

“you're a goddamn dog,” mikey pointed at his friend, being jostled around a bit more.

“don't tell me it was on the tables. we'd have to throw ‘em out and get more,” carmen accused, hoping that mikey had some sense of respect in his questionable decision making.

“not on the tables,” mikey waved off his brother and then turned his head. “not sayin’ it was anywhere else either,” he corrected himself, hearing richie’s laugh grow louder.

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” carmen muttered, holding the bridge of his nose. “let’s go the fuck home.”

mikey’s morning narcotics anonymous meeting went as expected. a refresher, if anything, a reminder that he was sober. a reminder that he was still an addict even after seven years of sobriety. a mental reset to start the day on a fresh note after tossing and turning the entire night thinking about you.

that post-nut-clarity hit differently when he finally realized that sleeping with a client’s daughter probably wasn’t the smartest move. the client’s daughter who was thirty years younger than him, with whom he barely second-guessed dropping to the gym floor with.

he had that little black key ring to remind himself that he was “clean and serene for multiple years of recovery,” but that still didn’t stop him from attending two meetings a week to keep himself in line. it was routine at this point. one at the beginning of the week and one at the end.

he could go without them; he really could, but there was something about sitting with a group of people with the same problems. he didn’t always talk, but on days that he really felt shoddy, he spilled.

mikey had his life put together in a certain way; what used to be unevenly stacked bullshit that always came crumbling down was now a science. he had to rebuild everything. it was like gaining a second life on top of the old one. he was the same person, only now able to make clear and conscious decisions about fixing everything his addiction had once broken. he was still paying money to the irs in back taxes and penalties because he was prepared to leave the world and his mess for someone else to clean up. that wasn't mentioning all of his credit cards, loans separate from jimmy's 300,000 dollars he had stored away, and the endless number of people he said he would pay back. his life was better now, steadier. the income from the restaurant was now worth it. carmen helped him make something safe.

seven years later and he was still wary of taking tylenol or over-the-counter cold and flu medication because he was worried it might trigger him. he didn't drink because his mother, donna, who still hadn't received help for her suspicious drinking habits, made it seem like an easy vice to become hooked on.

he had his head above water, treading carefully but with purpose.

but you. you were new and unexpected, and delightfully terrifying. because why the hell was he staring at a picture of your tits at ten o'clock on a sunday monday morning. he was standing in his office overlooking the invoices natalie, his sister, had finalized when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

you had no shame, not even a little. you were sitting in your childhood bedroom, procrastinating the need to unpack because living out of a suitcase seemed easier than committing to fully being back in chicago. your discarded sleep shirt was sitting in your lap, one hand bundled your cleavage together as you snapped a picture.

10:03 AM

you: think you missed something last night

you: *attached an image*

10:05 AM

mikey: didn't have time

mikey was sitting back in his chair, palms sweating ever so slightly as he looked over the photo again. your sheets lay over your lap, sitting up, not showing your face. imagine breaking in a new contact like that, sending a ridiculously scandalous picture of your breasts to a man who had priorities and real responsibilities.

10:05 AM

mikey: willing to try harder when i see u again

eesh, he knew this would happen. absolutely no shame within himself to so easily send that message.

10:10 AM

you: *attached a video*

you: promise?

not safe for work at all. your hand had dropped, and you were on display on his cellphone when he was supposed to be double-checking that all the invoices were lining up with the monthly budget.

not safe for work at all. your hand had dropped, and you were on display on his cellphone when he was supposed to be double-checking that all the invoices were lining up with the expected income from the client list. his open documents on his office computer had gone dim. his attention was fully on the technology in his hand.

mikey had watched the short clip a couple of times. watching your hand drop so effortlessly to let your breasts fall and then you giving an assist to jiggle them. if his pants weren't tightening before they sure as hell were right now. he pulled the crotch of his jeans down to find more comfort in his sitting position.

10:12 AM

mikey: i know what i’m getting into now

mikey: my place tonight?

10:12 AM

you: lucky for you my schedule is very open

you: but you owe me $51.13 for hitting it raw

you: *sent a payment request for $52*

10:13 AM

mikey: i'm going to be out 87 cents

10:13 AM

you: i know my worth

10:14 AM

mikey: i’ll be showered by midnight

mikey: *shared an address pin*

mikey was bouncing his foot anxiously, though he was dawning that signature smirk that he was wearing the night before as he was heckled by richie and carmen.

10:23 AM

you: see you later

you: buy condoms thx

read at 10:23 AM

mikey was staring blankly at his phone screen, knowing today would seem like the longest day of his life because he had to wait to see you again.

“hey, you good?” carmen knocked on the doorframe of mikey's office. with a single click mikey's messaging screen snapped to black. he cleared his throat, tossing his phone next to the invoices. his hand on his lap quickly, like he had been caught in something.

carmen seemed to be asking more than just how his day was going, but not wanting to fully commit to his questioning, last night was enough. without richie in the room, it seemed harder.

“yeah,” he assured his youngest sibling. “just finishing this up.” he gathered the printed papers in his hand and nudged his computer mouse with his hand so the virtual spreadsheet would reappear.

“alright, you're on beef with ebra today. church down the street did a fundraiser and i jus’ know he's gonna be slammed after service lets out,” carmen explained as his eyes darted around mikey's office.

“good call,” mikey nodded. he was like the floater and didn't mind it. it allowed carmen to keep the level of control he liked, and it allowed mikey to be where he was needed, keeping busy all the time, whether it was front of house, main kitchen, beef window, or maintenance.

“alright,” the shorter nodded, drumming his fingers against the door frame.

“alright,” mikey agreed, the rolling chair underneath him giving a slight squeak as he moved his shoulder blades back.

“yeah,” carmen mumbled, patting the door frame one last time, backing into the hallway.

“carm, ‘m good.” mikey knew his brother was lingering. he couldn't blame him too much. he had every right to question his well-being after putting him through hell for so many years prior.

“thirty-five minutes ‘till we're bustin’ our asses again,” carmen cleared his throat as he called out the final warning on time before service began. he couldn't say much else. he had to take mikey's word for it, and whatever weird impulsive decision he had made last night was nothing to be concerned about.

carmen was always nagging natalie for her incessant ability to ask how people were, and now he always saw himself doing it with mikey because he wasn't around when his brother was struggling the most.

“heard,” mikey gestured loosely, facing his desk again to find his focus again. he had to check just a bit of the documents before he slid himself into the kitchen for the tail end of prep.

it was just past midnight and there you were, standing in your bright blue and orange university sweatshirt and free people shorts, in the middle of mikey's living room, letting him pull you into his chest. he was pushing back your hair, making sure not to let it snag on your earrings. your fabric purse was still hanging off your shoulder.

small talk occurred for less than five minutes, mostly him making sure you had arrived safely. you didn't ask how his day was until he asked about yours.

mikey’s apartment was clean for the most part. he had a laundry pile stacked on a chair that seemed to never be used other than for that purpose. the curtains were a little crooked as well. his shoes were nestled by the door, and keys were thrown on the counter next to his cigarettes and wallet. his clutter was mostly on his coffee table, mail, loose pens, sharpies, and cups that hadn't made it to the sink. his knee brace was also there. he had no use for it right now, although he thought that he might regret not having a little extra support later.

he had many pictures, all of which had some sort of rae dunn frame. you assumed they were gifts, although you didn't know mikey well he didn't seem like the person to pick stark white frames saying things like “live, laugh, love,” or “family,” in that signature thin, black capitalized font.

he had one hand on your cheek, caressing his thumb against it. he had the opportunity to actually take his time with you now. he was appreciated every bit of you. this didn't have to be quick tonight seeing as you were both safely in the confines of his own home.

he smelled clean, his outgrown hair was still a little damp. he seemed like he had at least taken the time to trim his beard before you came, lining up more evenly with sharper angles.

mikey didn't know where to begin because his hand was still resting on your cheek, trying to gauge your expression. you weren't trying to hurry him, but you were certainly not waiting. you were on his turf, but claiming just a bit of it for yourself by leaning in to kiss him.

it felt right to live in this moment, feeling him take the subtle kiss you started and turn it into a more developed moment. your bottom lip quivered against his, drinking in the desire he had for you in one simple motion. he parted your mouth, edging his tongue inside of your mouth. his thumb was still resting against your cheek.

he guided your waist closer with his other hand, two of his fingers were hooked inside the thick band of your athletic shorts. you were flush against him, angling your head more to allow his tongue to inch further.

you were running your hands underneath his shirt, feeling chill bumps appear as you touched him.

“y'wanna take this somewhere more comfortable?” he mumbled, kissing your cheek. he had a conventional spot that was far more pleasant than the gymnasium floor.

you agreed, being led back to his bedroom, which was more bare than the den. his closet door was slightly cracked open. there was a clothes hamper in the corner that wasn't overly full. a candle he had never used was sitting on his dresser. the condoms you had told him to buy were unopened on his nightstand. his bed frame was metal, and squeaky. when you sat down you slightly cringed from the noise.

“sorry ‘bout that, i got it second hand a few years ago because my sister told me i couldn't be forty-five with my mattress on the floor,” he was standing in front of you, watching you reach over and put your purse next to the box of condoms.

“she sounds like a smart woman,” you had a faint smile on your face. mikey had his hand resting between your thighs, beginning to crawl over you, replacing his hand with his knee, dividing your legs.

you laid back as he was inching his way on top of you, helping him tug off his shirt. the faint hum of the window unit kicking on could be heard as he helped you out of your collegiate sweater and lacy bralette.

you spent entirely too long pulling apart your suitcase to find that bralette and matching panties and he pulled it off of you without a second thought. it showed how much he truly cared about those floral panties and mismatched socks from last night.

his knee was firmly placed at your crotch, feeling that small bit of pressure was enough to send you spiraling. his lips were dragging across your chest, the tip of his crooked nose was nudging the side of your breast. a bulge in his gym shorts was as things were only escalating by the second.

he was nipping at your skin, adding another layer to this entire experience, littering your skin with twinges of pleasurable pain. he always stopped right before your erect nipples, only ever giving them enough stimulation from his breath and nothing more.

you were biting into your bottom lip as if it would save you from his teasing. his knee only further pressing into you. you were pushing yourself into him, both your clothed bottom half and your exposed top half arching ever so slightly off the bed.

mikey pushed your chest down, holding one finger to your sternum once you were lying flat on the bed. “lil’ thing, you gotta let me enjoy you for a bit.”

a whine left your mouth as his lips grazed past again. his top lip rested on your skin and his bottom lip was on the band of your shorts.

“couldn't get enough'a you last night,” he mumbled into your stomach, giving it one final kiss. “and right now you're tryin’ to rush me when i'm tryin’ to take my time.” he picked up his head, a loose silver curl falling from his bangs.

“you're not being nice about it,” your fingers were running through his full chest of hair, still grinding against his kneecap until he grabbed your thigh.

mikey chuckled, watching you grab his wrist in protest. “i’m not tryin’ to be nice, i’m tryin’ to enjoy myself before i start thinkin’ with my dick.” he took your hand off his wrist, kissing it gently, smirking against your skin for a split second before dropping it on the bed and giving some much-needed attention to your nipples.

you couldn’t expect him not to do it after your teasing video from this morning. he was partially distracted the entire day, having to switch with ebraheim to wrap and bag rather than talk to customers.

he was lightly thumbing at your right nipple as used his tongue to toy with your left. you were arching upwards again. mikey was finding it amusing with how easily you could fall apart, continuing to suckle on your protruding bud.

you were holding his head in place, aching for more as his tongue curled around more. he wasn’t letting up because the moment he switched to your other breast you were in the midst of expressing a breathy gasp.

there wasn’t a good reason for mikey to make you like this. hormones coursing through you knowing if you had any ounce of self-control you probably wouldn’t be reacting like you were.

then came the soft bites at the sides of your breasts and sides, burying further into your skin, purposely now forcing his knee further between your legs.

you sighed with relief shimming down further to meet his leg. mikey’s large hands had a tight hold on your upper body, letting both of his thumbs rub the curve of your breast.

he was staring, really staring. he was watching your eyes close instinctively as you found the right spot on his knee to grind your clit against.

it was a short fleeting feeling. your shorts and underwear were digging into you adding just a bit too much padding to keep generating the correct balance for your pleasure.

you ran your hands up to his face. the moment you opened your eyes was the moment mikey stopped looking, staring at your chest instead.

“what?” you mumbled, snaking out of his hold partially. the rough texture of his facial hair felt jagged against your palms.

“decidin’ how i wanna fuck that lil’ pussy.” mikey wasn't shy about it, dragging your shorts off only to see the same lace pattern on your underwear that he hadn’t acknowledged on your bra in the first place. he tilted his head, beginning to slide off your panties. he glanced over the side of the bed briefly trying to locate your bra but was unable. “‘cause i think you already got an idea on how y’want this night to go—”

“—‘cause you came prepared,” he teased, stepping off the edge of the bed to finish removing your panties and his gym shorts. he had a kind of patience that drove you crazy, watching his hands drag down your legs with certainty in mind.

“not really,” you fibbed, following his lips that dragged from the tip of your right toe, and up the curve of the inner portion of your leg.

“y’show up to my place in matching lingerie the second time you see me, and you're tellin’ me you're not ready?” he was now nipping at your inner thigh with the same aggressive tenderness that he showed your chest.

“i know y’know what y'want,” he continued trying to coax it out of you. he was right, but you didn't expect him to call you out on it. “y'knew what y'wanted last night pretty fast, lookin’ at me with those fuck me eyes before y'even came back for your phone,” he pressed the conversation, letting his chin rest in the crease of your leg. “so, how’d you expect this to go?”

you raised yourself on your elbows, both of you fully exposed, trying to share another moment together if you’d pull yourself together and answer him.

he was looking up at you awaiting a response, halting even his smallest touches to give you his full attention.

“i wanna ride.”

you didn't want to give an explanation, and luckily he wasn't looking for one because you couldn't admit you enjoyed looking at the way he reacted to being inside of you. you had just about killed him the night before, all sweaty, trying to pace himself because although he was feeling younger he really wasn't.

“there it is,” mikey praised, crawling his way past you to reach the box of condoms on the nightstand. you pulled yourself to your knees, scooching out of the way so he could fit comfortably on the bed.

mikey was rolling on a rubber, you were caressing his chest hair as you swung your leg over him to efficiently straddle him. he had a firm hold under your bottom. his throat was getting tight as you fished for his protected cock, anticipating what was coming next.

you were sinking down, your palms flat against his wooly biceps. he moved one of his hands to grip your wrist as you were letting all of your natural lubrication immerse his manhood.

you could feel him wholly inside of your stomach, nestling yourself onto his center shakily. he was rubbing at the slight hump of your wrist bone, helping you settle into that stretch you had yet to forget.

he was looking at you with that same expression of a mixture between worried and needy with his inherently sad brown eyes that seemed to carry more weight than you knew about.

“y’good?” mikey wanted to clarify as he licked over his bottom lip, not daring to inch into you this time, seeing as you had such a determined glint in your eye.

“mhm,” it was almost like you weren't trying to break concentration as you had now known what to prepare for.

that ache between his legs was being satiated the moment you started to find a rhythm within your bounce, lowering your chest to meet his and spreading your knees a bit further apart to get the full length of his substantial shaft.

there was a soft squelch every few moments from repeatedly sliding up and down. you were so wet, and mikey was loving every second of it, not daring to move your positioning especially since you were moaning directly by his ear. he was cupping the curve of your ass feeling the supple skin as your bouncing turned into more of a twerking motion. the squeaking bed frame only became louder by the second.

the fat of your ass jiggling against his lap and hand as you continued to throw your pussy back. mikey was choking back a slurry of groans, burying his forehead into your shoulder while your breast knocked into him.

your legs began to cramp after the multiple minutes of repetitive fucking, and mikey could sense it. your once-calculated motions were slowing and you began trying to find your pattern again by leaning on one leg more than the other.

mikey brought you closer, both of his hands steadying your thighs to gain even an ounce of control. he pulled you flush against his chest as he leaned back, lifting his hips upwards to get a feel for you in the modified position. of course, it felt fucking good with your pussy still wrapped around his cock. his balls already began slapping against you as his upward thrusts fiend for more of your tight, wet cunt.

you gasped softly, turning our face away from him to not accidentally scream into his ear. your entire body tightened.

“right there.” your tone was halfway praise halfway forceful, not wanting whatever spot mikey had found and taken over to stop.

your sweaty bodies were pressed together in his bed creating sweet, dangerously addicting sex. he gave a low breathy chuckle that was almost helpless in a way, nipping your arm as he pounded upwards trying to give you the satisfaction you had just found.

mikey could feel you tightening around him, only continuing to find that spurts of squirt were now beginning to exit your pussy. his head was dizzy, giving into every bit of unadulterated lust within him. you were a mess with your eyes closed tight and frizzy hair, grasping him for dear life.

you were helpless against him only baring your hips down further to contain yourself as you reached your high, panting hard and whining as it coursed through your entire being.

a second film was added to the franchise: AMATUER COCK RIDE LEADS TO SQUIRTING *!WET & MESSY!*

mikey was unraveling as you were, and a final gush of fluid began coating his thigh with his final upward thrust, trying to reach further than was possible with his cock to release. you were whimpering a string of curses as the control he took over your body only became rougher. he was holding the small of your back essentially using you as a toy to finish his orgasm.

penetration alone causing you to climax was surprising, to say the least, and the pool of liquid you coated his chest and lap in was not unheard of, but very uncommon in their occurrence and mikey had single-handedly done both in the two days he had known you.

he released his hold, settling his body back into the mattress. you unsteadily pulled off of his cock, catching your breath momentarily.

mikey let his head hit the pillow as he felt you crawl off of him. his chest was sweaty and heaving. his eyes were closed until he felt the bed even out from your lack of weight on top of the mattress.

“you leavin’?” he asked breathlessly, raising onto one elbow, now pulling the sheets to his waist. he felt exposed now with your quick exit strategy. last night was different, you were both in public. he didn’t know what he expected from you, but it wasn’t to act like nothing just happened.

he wasn't upset about his soaked sheets or the fact that he would be up for another half an hour to change them before he showered; his ego felt slightly deflated knowing you could so easily gather yourself and head out the door, but even that took time for you to perfect.

“well, yeah,” you stated as though it was obvious. your face was still flushed as you were searching for your discarded sports bra. you quickly scooped up your florida gators sweatshirt hand and guarded your chest—as if it was some private sector—not like the man on the bed didn't just take his time kissing and licking your entire body.

“do y'always leave like that?” mikey rephrased his question, watching you pull your bralette out from under the rickety bed frame.

you shrugged. “i don't sleep in strangers’ beds.”

that made mikey not want to be so much of a stranger.

“y'need me to walk you out?”

“i can open the door, mikey,” it wasn't rude, just true. you said it with a smile like you were old friends.

“no, i know,” he nodded, sitting up a little further. “just be safe, y’know?”

you were tugging on your sneakers, seemingly unfazed by the sex and more concerned about taking your leave. “i’ll lock the bottom.” you purse off the nightstand and then did just as you said you would as you left his apartment.

a month had passed, yet there had barely been a day that mikey wasn't making time for you. he seemed to be committed to making your summer as bearable as possible. you weren't staying the night. you were barely talking in person when you were showing up at his apartment. he was giving you an ungodly amount of unholy sex that his neighbors probably despised him for.

this saturday you were at the ballpark, watching your brother in a quick weekend tournament because he had begged you to watch a couple of his games. you had nothing better to do this summer. other than your nightly rendezvous with mikey the days were open other than the occasional rekindle with your friends from high school.

you were sitting in a camping chair, phone in one cup holder, a sweating diet coke in the other. your father's scorebook notebook was in your lap, filling it in for him as the game continued. you were wearing one of his jerseys that you modified to fit better with a hair tie, the team hat, and a pair of denim shorts with stars embroidered on the pockets. the chicago five points was the team your father coached. white jerseys with yellow writing graffitied across the fabric with the addition of bright stars. there was smudged eye black on your cheek from having cameron attempt to take his number off your cheek. there wasn't a chance in hell that you could let him attend a game without letting him get teased just a little bit by his fellow teammates.

the game was wrapping up and you were adding the final scores to the booklet. there would be about an hour and a half until the next game because your brother's team was advancing. if they won the majority of their games today they would be playing at a park further away next weekend.

you looked up from the booklet to see mikey leaning over the fence, waiting for a lull to grab your father's attention. you sunk back in your chair, dragging the capped pen over the scoresheet. after settling his team and telling them what field to return to, he sighed when he saw mikey, already beginning to explain how sorry he was for his outstanding balance from the banquet.

“damn michael, i'm so sorry,” your father apologized again for what seemed to be the umpteenth time in the conversation.

the entire time you were trying to stay focused on the booklet in your hand, trying to replay the plays the team made in your mind rather than honing in on your summer situation talking to your father.

“hey, it's all good coach reggie,” mikey shrugged, sliding the folded check into his pocket. “i know you aren't trying to skip out on a balance.”

“i really did try and pay online, but it wasn't working the same way from when i did the deposit. i called, hell, i don't remember her name, at the restaurant, and she tried to walk me through it but it still wasn't working,” your dad explained, trying not to seem like a total asshole for withholding money he wasn't meaning to withhold in the first place.

“that was probably my sister nat,” mikey was being casual. “like i said it's not a big deal, but if this check bounces you better be prayin’ that i don't start swingin’ one of these bats on you, coach,” he teased, making your father return his humor with a firm pat on his back.

“thanks so much for stopping to get the check by the way, we're living at the park this weekend,” your father joked.

“ain’t a problem, we're even now,” mikey then bid his goodbye. you were trailing up to the fence right behind where mikey was once standing.

“dad, i'm getting a bite to eat from the concession stand, you want anything?” you called out, mikey's head turned as he walked. he heard you, and suddenly he was hungry too.

“no, baby girl, i'm alright,” your father concluded, watching his players exit the diamond.

you had a boat of nachos, nothing fancy, just that thick neon artificial cheese piled on round, salty tortilla chips. leaning against a post near the covered and crowded picnic area, you had napkins under the red and white boat watching mikey come closer with two drinks in his hand.

“stalking me while i'm with my family?” you quipped, taking a bite of one of the cheese-loaded chips. you were extending the tray to him, and with a quick adjustment of the drinks he took a chip.

“your dad is the one who asked me to come over here and pick up his check, thank you, miss smart ass,” mikey covered his mouth as he swallowed the concession stand food. he knew it was going to be bad. “you can have those, i think i've gotten too old for the artery-clogging fluorescent cheese.” he offered a soda to you, as he twisted the top off.

“and you can keep that because i only drink diet,” you ate another chip from the boat like it was nothing.

“so you'll shove down a tray of fake nachos, but get your panties inna twist over full sugar soda?” mikey laughed, taking a long drink of his soda to rid the aftertaste from his mouth.

“i never said i made any sense,” you acknowledged his truth. you may not have made any sense but you knew what you liked.

“don't worry, i know you don't,” mikey retorted, taking a drink of his soda. “but y’know if y’want some real food you can come get some hot italian beef, right?”

you both paused, staring at each other wondering who was going to break the silence by laughing first. it was you, holding your knuckle to your mouth, trying not to choke on the food you were chewing.

“jesus, do you hear yourself?” you questioned through a laugh, wiping your fingers on the napkin under the food tray.

“no, you made it weird. i just asked if y’wanted a sandwich.” mikey was still chuckling.

it was that refreshing silence again, where you were just enjoying each other.

“i gotta bounce, lil’ thing,” mikey held his gaze a little longer. “brother bear's gonna start textin’ in all caps, and then i'm screwed for the rest of the day,” he kissed the top of your cap which made you tense up. “try not to make too many kids cry.”

“no promises,” you itched the side of your arm while looking at the picked-apart nachos in your hand. “gotta keep them humble somehow.”

it wasn’t long before you helped your dad move all of the equipment to the next diamond. the assistant coach was helping the players warm up. your dad was checking over the roster.

“you know that guy i was talking to?” your father asked, watching you line up the batting bags in the dugout in a neater fashion.

“what guy?” you knew what guy, but you had to play stupid.

“the one i was talking to after the last game? you were sitting right there.”

“oh, the one you paid for the banquet,” you mentioned earning a nod from your father.

“yeah, michael—he turned his life around, not many people get that chance.” your father had unknowingly walked into a minefield. you didn't know where this conversation was going when it first began, but this wasn't what you expected at all. you knew you enjoyed what mikey was providing you with, but you didn't know him. your father was just trying to make conversation.

“i don't know him that well, but i know that he was on drugs pretty bad, his brother had to take over the restaurant while he was recovering,” he continued while sipping on a cup of gatorade that was mixed in the nearby cooler. “we ran in different circles, but he’s always been a nice guy, just got a little unfocused for a bit.”

it all felt a little too personal and too real. you had gathered the score booklet again, wanting to take your seat in the camping chair again to comprehend what your dad was really saying.

“that had to be almost ten years ago, give or take, i don't know if other people still like him, but i respect that. he took initiative to get back where he needed to be.”

that left a sinking feeling in your chest. you were volunteered information and now you didn't know what to do with it.

“sounds like he got it figured out.” those were the only words you could muster as you exited the dugout to begin setting your chair up for the next game.

later that night you were lying on your stomach in bed with aloe vera slathered across your cheeks to minimize the sting from the hot sun. you knew you needed a break from mikey, just until you could figure out if you wanted to continue seeing him.

10:10 PM

you: got to wrap up a few things this week. busy sry

11:50 PM

mikey: lmk when ur free

mikey hadn't expected a full week to pass with no contact. he knew you said you were busy, but it was a little unsettling to know you could so easily brush him aside. he knew it would eventually end, but didn't know it would be so soon. he wanted to text and see what you were doing, but he knew better than to try and chase after someone who didn't want him.

“fak, wait,” mikey grumbled, setting down his end of the shelving that needed to be moved so they could put in new wall anchors.

“why am i waiting? you have to actually try to pick it up,” the handyman said defensively, adjusting his backward cap.

“i am pickin’ it up, but you're not turnin’” mikey groaned, knocking his hand against the metal with an eye roll.

fak held his hands up, attempting to offer peace, giving a tilt with his head. “on three?” he offered to try to defuse the situation, knowing his employer was more than a little agitated.

that didn't seem to work at all because the shelf went crashing down, causing mikey to throw the towel he had off of his shoulder. it was hot enough in the kitchen without something going wrong.

“watch it,” carmen spouted from his station, hearing the loud bang against the floor. mikey shot him a glare.

“thank you baby bear for addin’ that wonderful insight to this shitty situation,” mikey was holding his temples as richie stepped in to help them pick the shelving up to the standing position. “the fuckin’ floor is goddamn cracked,” he added, bending down to look at the tile.

carmen didn’t look up, only shooting brother the middle finger.

“cousin, bring it down about half an inch from dick to slightly less of an asshole,” richie suggested, walking backward as he and fak efficiently moved the shelf out of the way.

“don't worry about him, he's only mad because his summer situation benched him,” richie’s snarky comment made mikey throw his hands up. “she probably got sick of his ugly mug and traded up.”

“shut up, rich,” mikey warned, collecting his stud finder and measuring tape to begin the process of installing the l-brackets.

“bro, that's an easy fix,” fak claimed, his face lighting up as he had learned of the new information.

“we are not talkin’ about this,” mikey grunted, not looking away from his handy work on the wall, ensuring both sides were even.

“you gotta schmooze her,” fak claimed.

carmen, although at his station, was muttering a jesus christ, under his breath because the last person anyone would want dating advice from was fak. that burly tattooed maintenance man had ideas, but so did every other living soul on the planet—it didn't mean you took them.

“get her one of those edible arrangements. bitches love fruit,” fak pointed his finger certainly before he got another idea. “or–oh! what about you get her one of those big stuffed animals? all cuddly and shit, yeah she’d want that.”

mikey let fak go on his tangent, half-mindedly paying attention while he got out the drill.

“and boom! romance! works every time,” fak insisted as if he had just solved a world crisis.

monday night—technically tuesday tuesday according to the time—full nine days since you last talked to mikey.

you hadn't warned him that you were coming. you just showed, giving a soft knock on his door and waiting patiently. you didn't even expect him to open the door, but he did, shirtless and in a pair of sweats.

he let you in without much hesitation. he was happy to know you were okay.

“this is weird and i’m sorry,” you apologized, setting your keys on his coffee table. “i should’ve texted you first.”

“it’s okay,” he assured you.

his half-made peanut butter and jelly was waiting on the counter. he wasn’t very concerned with it right now, knowing you were standing in front of him.

“am i screwing with your sobriety?” you asked abruptly.

“next time start with foreplay,” he suggested with a laugh.

“mikey,” you mumbled. “really?”

“first off, i’m a grown man you don’t needa start worryin’ about where my head is. second, i know what i’m doin’ with you.” he was more serious this time, walking back into the kitchen as he spoke.

he put the bread in the toaster and then casually popped the lid off the jam jar.

“i don’t want to be the reason that pulls you back down.” you were standing on the opposite side of the counter watching him.

“i have made worse decisions than you, pretty thing, and plenty of ‘em,” he took the toasted bread out of the toaster and laid it on the paper plate in front of him. his knife was pointed at you before it dipped into the opened peanut butter. “but you and whatever the hell we have goin’ isn’t gonna screw with my sobriety.”

after smearing in the jelly, he cut the sandwich into two triangles taking his side off the plate and then sliding the other half to you. “you know what you’re doin’ though? fuckin’ with my sleep schedule. hard.”

you smirked, looking down at the freshly made sandwich. he was leaning on his hand as he took a bite.

“i’ll blame you forever for that,” he teased.

that night was calm for once. you didn’t end up in his bedroom or even naked for that matter. you sat on the couch with him enjoying the half a sandwich he had made.

you were leaning into his chest watching some low-budget movie on amazon prime. you weren’t fleeting away at any little touch; you were accepting all of them.

you had eaten and your arms were folded over on your chest and your knees were curled up. you were comfortable. you looked at him, really looked at him. the screen would occasionally brighten and you could see that worn tired expression that he wore so well. the wrinkles by his eyes that made him squint just a little when he smiled.

“i’m sorry about earlier.”

mikey shrugged, leaning down to kiss your temple. “don’t apologize for askin’ questions you didn’t know the answer to.” he knew you only asked because it was coming from a good place. you had him in mind and you barely knew him.

“i don’t want to be the reason i mess up what’s working because you have it figured out, and i’m all impulsive and junk…” you trailed off awkwardly.

“pretty girl, you’re supposed to be like that. you’re twenty,” he reminded you, meeting your gaze.

“yeah, but i just don’t want to be somebody’s relapse,” you mumbled, letting the tension soak in the air for just a moment.

“eesh, way to kill the mood,” mikey did a faux shiver, bringing you closer. his back dug into the couch, knowing your words had weight to them. he knew he had to shed a little light on the situation.

“i’m seven years into this, and like you said, i know what works for me and i know what doesn’t. if i knew you were screwin’ me up i’d say something,” mikey admitted, watching your eyes go wide with surprise.

“i mean it—i’ve made enough mistakes to get where i’m at right now.” he held your chin gently. “you’re not even close to ruinin’ me, hon.”

it was oddly comforting to know that you weren’t ruining mikey’s chances at a better life. he had real issues, the kind that had some grit to them. it wasn’t scaring you off knowing he had them.

“but now, it’s my turn to ask questions,” he turned your face to the side to place a kiss right under your ear lobe. it was like he was trying to butter you up to get the answer he wanted. “what makes you hate bein’ home' so bad?”

you hummed slightly in thought, closing your eyes. “i feel like i’m wasting time… like i'm forced to stall my life,” you were now staring at his ceiling watching the fan spin with the occasional sound of the wobble from the blades. you didn't know how to pull your thoughts together fully. “i left because i wanted some freedom,” you cleared your throat, now realizing that you were fidgeting with your hands. “it's cliche, i know, but i needed to find myself and not be smothered.”

mikey was nodding slowly, taking your hand apart from each other, rubbing his thumb over the top of your hand instead. “so since you've been gone have y’found anything worthwhile?”

you nodded though not fully convinced of yourself. “a few things, but i'm still getting where i need to be.”

those words said enough. you weren't fully settled in your new life although you had been living there because your current moment was just a stepping stone for something larger and more important that you wished to achieve. although coming home felt like regression mikey had been doing a great job to keep you from dwelling on that feeling.

you stayed the night. a sexless night of him waking up slumped over on the sofa with you. the entire night he had his arm draped over your side. you weren't use to sleeping in anyone else's home, much less the man you had been religiously letting plow you, but somehow it felt right to spend extra time with him.

the next morning you both woke up to his alarm blaring in the next room over.

your mom was at the kitchen sink, sipping her coffee while she read the back of a boxed cake mix, trying to take an early jump on the pineapple upside-down cake she was bringing to a work potluck the next day. your father had already left for the day for his job in building inspection, coaching was a side gig.

“you didn't come last night,” she commented, glancing at your tired appearance. “daddy said you've been going out late almost every night.”

it was a little unnerving to know that your parents had been paying that much attention to your whereabouts. you thought that you were being quiet, going in and out of the house at odd hours. neither of them had said anything to you. they didn’t want to rock the boat because you were finally home, but they were observant of your actions—for the most part.

cameron was smirking at you from his bowl of cereal, knowing you were in a bit of trouble.

“just out with friends,” you shrugged, taking a drink of your own coffee. you had spent the entire night tossing and turning on mikey's sofa because there wasn't much room for the both of you.

“you could've texted,” she mentioned, taking out a mixing bowl.

“i will next time,” you nodded slowly, avoiding the gaze she brought as she began dumping the contents of the mix into the glass bowl. “just lost track of time.”

“alright,” she squinted her eyes slightly, just enough to make sure you knew she was aware that she knew something was different.

a heartthrob walking up to the beef window wasn't uncommon and it wasn't overlooked, and you were no exception. wearing some little ribbed low-cut baby tee with a dewy face, sunglasses pushing your hair back, and the summer sun was sticking to your skin like you were a walking advertisement for hot girls near you.

richie has his head halfway out the window, looking down at you. he was hitting his pen against his receipt pad. ebraheim was glancing out the window, wrapping a few to-go orders that were about to be picked up. he like richie knew there was nothing good to come out of anyone that was carrying themselves the way you were. you seemed determined in a way like it wasn't only lunch you needed.

“and what can i get for the smoke show?” richie asked, unknowing of who you were and where you came from. all he knew was that you looked good and had that look of trouble glinting in your eyes.

you gave him a playful smile, leaning in a little closer, your hands resting on the bar of the window. “mikey promised me a sandwich when he wasn't busy.” it was sweet and innocent, but it had such a loaded meaning.

ebra was glancing at richie with a look that said did you just hear her. and yes, erba, richie did, loud and clear because now he was putting together the pieces of this very suspicious puzzle.

“did he now?” richie asked, backing into the window a bit.

“mhm, said i could swing by whenever,” you confirmed.

“hold on sweetheart,” richie smiled, dropping his pen onto the counter. “lemme go get your daddy for you.” his voice was laced with a thick veil of sarcasm.

richie disappeared into the kitchen, not able to wipe the look of surprise off of his face.

“hey, cousin,” he was close to mikey’s station, watching him wipe away vegetable scraps into a clear container to be used as broth for later on. “someone is here for you,” he cleared his throat, earning a shrug from mikey. plenty of people came by needing to see him and in this moment he was doing something.

“i'm almost done with this, just gimme a second,” mikey was wiping the edge of his knife on a clean kitchen towel.

“she asked for you by name and is practically flashing’ the entirety of river north.”

mikey set his knife down, elbowing richie as he began progressing towards the beef window. “coulda started with that you, jackass.”

“that's the girl? mikey, the fuck?” richie groaned. he was looking too, but actually knowing his friend was engaging with the trouble on two feet was worrisome.

mikey was shushing him as he entered the beef area. he glanced out the window, seeing that you seated yourself at a table under an umbrella. he was too far gone the moment he saw you. he wasn't paying any mind to richie now that he knew you had taken his offer for a sandwich seriously.

mikey had slid past ebra, wrapping a quick sandwich, tray and all lined with parchment, an addition of extra napkins and he wasn’t forgetting the drink. the soda that dribbled down the side of the cup was wiped up like it really mattered—it didn't but it needed to look nice for you.

ebra although he was occupied with his work was still watching through the window covered in decal stickers at you. it was silent judging, but not towards you or your outfit—towards mikey.

“ebra, shut it,” mikey warned when he was halfway out the door.

“i did not say anything, michael.” ebra paused before opening the sandwich window to give out the to-go orders in brown paper bags.

“you didn’t have to with that face.”

ebraheim shut the window, a kind of helpless glance towards richie who was standing towards the back of the beef kitchen.

mikey walked the completed tray out to you, and your face lit up when you saw him.

“didn't know you were comin’ today,” mikey carefully set the tray down, letting you excitedly unwrap the parchment on your sandwich.

“i was hungry and in the neighborhood,” you shrugged, taking a bite, a content expression washed over you.

“well eat, lil’ thing,” mikey set the napkins under your cup so they wouldn't fly away. “diet coke this time—’cause i remember shit,” he bragged on himself a little.

“look at you being a gentleman,” you teased, leaning in to take a sip of your drink.

“the one and only,” he plucked his work shirt like he was a big shot.

“i should’ve texted,” you admitted after taking another bite of the hot sandwich, having a hint of embarrassment scratching at your brain. “i think your cashier was a little surprised to meet me.”

“i woulda been too if someone so fine asked for him,” mikey jested from his seat, resting his hands on his knuckles to look at you with his full attention.

meanwhile, richie had disturbed carmen because he needed to know what his brother was doing; that was their duty after mikey's rehab in which they would both be responsible for him. it had been a while since they had to call on each other, but there they were staring out the beef window watching you make mikey laugh, which was somehow more disturbing than if it were him trying to make you laugh.

“do you see why this is more important than the fuckin’ sausage and peppers?” richie asked, gesturing loosely out the window. carmen had handed his station over to sydney for the time being. “i mean do you really fuckin’ see it.”

“jesus, okay, i get it,” carmen was still looking out the window.

“he wiped her drink,” ebra chimed in, earning a slow head tilt from carmen. ebra held his hands up in defense. “in my country we called that expensive.”

“that's not helpin’,” carmen slightly shivered. “it’s already bad ‘nough without all the extra.”

“we gotta talk some sense into him,” richie groaned, peering out the window to see mikey holding the soda straw to your lips so you wouldn’t have to pick it up while you held your sandwich.

the moment you left carmen and richie practically picked mikey up by the scruff of his neck to drag him into the alleyway. richie brought out a pack of cigarettes and carmen scooted three crates next to each other with his foot.

“alright,” richie clasped his hands together. “what the fuck are you doing?”

“startin’ with a subtle approach i see,” mikey took a cigarette from his friend and a seat in the middle.

“mikey, you didn't say that she’s younger than me,” carmen was popping a couple of pieces of nicorette gum, itching at the scar on his hand. your youth had been the first thing that anyone would notice, especially when placed next to mikey.

“i didn't say anything,” mikey reminded them, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “are we really having an intervention in the middle of lunch?”

richie had his foot placed on top of his crate, looking down on mikey. he didn't find it very funny, so unfunny that he was staring at his lit lighter, unable to even light his cigarette.

“no, we aren't doin’ this not now, not later,” mikey leaned back some, his back hitting the concrete wall of the restaurant.

“yeah we are,” carmen interjected. “because richie’s picked you up too many times for you to walk out right now.”

richie gave an appreciative nod towards the younger brother. “dude, you got past the rocky shit and you think bangin’ some chick is the right answer?” he asked, playing with the igniter wheel.

“i feel like you guys are comin’ on a little strong.” mikey was playing the game of avoidance again, not wanting to reveal too much about anything.

“you’re too involved—”

“y’can’t tell me how involved i am when you don't know how it is,” mikey had his elbows on his knees looking at the mural on the building across the street through the chain link fence.

“i think we saw how it was,” carmen rolled his eyes, a slight scoff leaving his mouth.

“bear, don't start that passive-aggressive bullshit with me when you—”

“me? we aren't talkin’ about me right now—we're talkin’ about you bein’ balls deep in some chick actin’ like your bullshit has gone away.”

mikey whipped his head around to look at his younger brother. “oh-ho, look at carmy gettin’ pissy again about shit that doesn’t pertain to him.”

carmen inhaled sharply, only nodding his head. “you wanna be like that, right now? because i didn’t have to leave new york when your psychotic ass was going through withdrawals. i didn’t want to keep findin’ pills in your desk when i was cleanin’ this shithole up. i didn’t have to keep watchin’ you fall apart a thousand times before you finally pulled it together. so yeah, it's not my shit but i keep steppin’ in it because you put yourself in it.” carmen's tone was low and snappy. it was lethal in a way, making both mikey and richie shift uncomfortably.

“and as for richie he’s dealt with your shit a fuck ton longer than i have and i'm your own goddamn brother. so let him fuckin’ talk,” carmen concluded, chewing his gum with a little extra agitation.

richie took a moment before speaking. carmen had just unloaded enough. “we're not tryin’ to judge,” he uncomfortably took a seat. “it's just that we know you worked hard to get where you are now.”

mikey flicked his cigarette to the center of the pavement then ran his hands over his face. it felt like he was having the same version of the conversation he had with you, although the difference was that richie and carmen knew all of his struggles and not just the vague understanding of his past with drugs.

“it's some stupid summer bullshit. she’s goin’ back out of state soon anyway. that's all this is; that’s it,” mikey was still in his spot, not willing to look at either of them now.

“what happens when she’s gone?” richie pressed, looking at the smoking cigarette on the ground.

“i show up. i do my work. i go to meetings,” mikey recited quickly like he had done it many times before. that was his normal routine, though his current routine was to show up, do work, go to meetings, and enjoy you he knew he'd be at a loss without you.

carmen wiped his sweating palms on his knees. he was still annoyed. “don't let this get outta hand or i'm tellin’ sug,” the younger brother warned.

mikey grumbled under his breath as he watched carmen stand. “low blow, carm.”

natalie, sugar, was the last line of defense because carmen knew mikey couldn’t be the reason for getting her wound up with those sad puppy-dog eyes she wore so well. he couldn't cause her any more pain. she had enough to worry about without starting to worry about him again.

she had given mikey more help than anyone, more than he would like to admit.

2:10 PM

mikey: r u busy?

2:15 PM

you: not for you

2:15 PM

mikey: slip in my office and help me out?

2:16 PM

you: please?

2:17 PM

mikey: u don’t have to beg

2:17 PM

you: *eye roll emoji* *middle finger emoji*

you: be there in a few

planning for an impromptu fourth of july barbeque to be held in the parking lot of the bear was one of the biggest headaches that mikey had encountered in a long time. between that and a lunch rush from hell, he needed a pick-me-up before dinner prep because the stale coffee wasn't working anymore.

it wasn't long before you arrived, nestled secretly under his desk after a couple of playful kisses.

mikey was sitting back in his office chair, his fingers curled around the armrests while he watched you wrangle his erect cock.

you were slurping on the curvature of his cock with glossy eyes, a bit of salvia falling out of your mouth. your cheeks were hollow, following part of his shaft down as you used your tongue to attempt to reach a little further.

one of your hands was cradling his balls; it occasionally slipped up to stroke the base of his manhood that you were unable to fit in your mouth.

you began to brush back your hair although mikey took notice of this, taking the liberty of holding it back for you. there you were, working up and down his girth like you owned it, choking lightly when you went too far.

spit was dribbling out of your mouth and onto the office chair where he was manspread. your swollen lips taking the liberty of working at his tip; his salty precum flooding your oral senses.

with his fingers intertwined securely in your hair he took his free hand to caress your cheek, a small bit of praise for your much-appreciated work. you were very expecting of this, trying to force your throat a little further each time even if it meant your eyes only got more watery.

mikey was gentle. he wasn't pushing your head and making you take every inch of his well-endowed tool. he was letting you enjoy yourself and in turn, was enjoying himself.

you knew you had him wrapped around your finger when his stomach would cave ever so slightly. your eyes were meeting his.

you began to bob your head a little faster, watching him exhale shakily as the combination of your strokes and mouth seemed to make his erection extra stiff, especially when you pointed your tongue to place extra pressure on the prominent vein of his cock.

that's when the door rattled, making mikey jump. you couldn't pull your head back fast enough, and even with mikey fishing for his pants, it was too late. the door certainly wasn't locked. this could've been avoided.

“michael—” jimmy, as in the jimmy that had given him and his brother hundreds of thousands of dollars, as in the jimmy kalinowski that had long been a family friend with the berzattos had entered. his eyes were darting around the room frantically, like a bad car wreck he was unable to look away from.

and in this rendition of the pornos, it is titled: HOT CHICK SUCKS THICK OLDER COCK UNDER DESK **CAUGHT**

“mother of fuck!” jimmy roared as he stumbled out of the room and down the hallway.

mikey was trying to get his bearings together while also checking on you, which wasn't great because his heart was pounding out of his chest.

“i am so fucked,” mikey groaned, tugging up his pants the rest of the way with part of his shirt stuck in the waistband. “jimmy—fuckin’ a’, man,” he was talking to himself in a panicked manner.

“hey, hey,” you tried to calm him, adjusting your shirt and wiping the corners of your mouth.

“you gotta go,” mikey was rushing. he was right. you really did need to leave. he was dragging you by the wrist, down the hallway. you were also appreciative of mikey's quickness to get you to the door.

the kitchen doors were rushed open. it was like jimmy was on a war path.

“somebody put a leash on michael before he catches a fuckin’ statutory!” jimmy barked, suddenly the entire kitchen fell silent. no pots were clattering, no talk of their day, no squeak of the required non-slip shoes. everything stopped.

“yo, what the fuck?” richie was the first one to speak up.

jimmy’s announcement wasn't exactly subtle. it was painful and embarrassing and gross.

“your friend’s stripped down to his skivvies in his damn office getting a mid-day treat from some floosie, rick.” jimmy threw his hands up angrily.

oh fuck—nothing about jimmy's outburst was beneficial to busy kitchen.

carmen didn't leave his station; he was urging everyone to keep working as an uproar of comments were being made. he had too much to do other than entertain the chaos. he and richie knew exactly what this was about based on jimmy’s comment even before he had to explain himself.

the rest of the kitchen was stunned, immediately blabbering back and forth before richie struck two skillets together urging them to be quiet.

jimmy then saw mikey leading you out, pausing his kitchen outburst to catch the imbecile who had started this whole saga.

“what the fuck are you doin’?” jimmy confronted mikey harshly. he then looked at you with his head tilted. his glasses a little crooked. “and sweetheart what the fuck are you doin’ with him?”

you swallowed hard. jimmy’s tone had changed drastically when he had spoken to you. “do i need to call him a lawyer?” he pressed a little further.

“no, what? no, i’m twenty. i go to school. i have a license,” you rambled though none of it provided any solid proof unless you were to pull out your cardholder you were nervous. your hands were shaking and mikey was still edging you to the door.

“alright, wonderful, so you have a fuckin’ brain then why are you using it to be with him?” jimmy prodded. your shoulders were still tense, staring at him wide-eyed.

“unc, let her go,” mikey sighed, looking at the exit sign above the door. jimmy was practically blocking the hallway. “then you can keep yellin’ but don't let her be mixed up in it.”

“i spend all this goddamn money for you go have a co-ed under your desk? be like your fuckin’ brother for god’s sake and throw a goddamn knife or scream in the fuckin’ walk-in,” jimmy spat one last time before scooting out the the way.

“i’ll take that note,” mikey grumbled, ushering you out the back door.

walking into the kitchen seemed like the right thing to do at the moment, but immediately regretted it once he was in there. he had heard jimmy’s outburst and already knew the staff was talking.

it was silent when mikey came in, all the conversation halted immediately. if that wasn't a sure sign that people were conversing about the sudden drama then he didn't know what else was. there was never a dull day at the bear.

“this has really gotten outta hand,” mikey announced from the hand washing station, lathering his hands and forearms up. “and i didn't mean for it to get this far, but it did,” he groaned trying to phrase his words correctly.

“baby, you can't be doin’ that,” tina responded. “like some shit you just don't do.”

“unprofessional,” sydney added softly, her round eyes darting around. “really inappropriate—and like—gross, right? we’re a whole restaurant.” she gestured loosely.

mikey was drying his hands, staring at the blinding lights on the ceiling. “alright, i fucked up, we got that, thank you,” he was leaning against the wall, knowing if he even began kitchen duty his head would be too jumbled to achieve anything.

“told you it was a bad idea,” richie coughed, having to add the ‘i told you so at the worst moment.’

“you knew? and you let him keep doing it?” sydney pressed further, unable to look at anyone other than tina who was also shaking her head.

“he wouldn't have stopped anyway…college chick has initiative,” richie shrugged. it earned a couple of groans of disapproval. everyone was rightfully awkward and wary of the situation.

“sis looks like she’s committed her thesis study to daddy issues,” marcus tried to lighten the situation, and a couple of chuckles were heard.

“no, no, she's pledged to tri delta and her philanthropy mission is to support recovering addicts,” sweeps butted in, carrying a basket of unfolded napkins.

mikey stood with his arms crossed trying not to laugh. he deserved the heckling. not everyone found it amusing, but it was definitely helping mikey recover from the initial shock and surprise of being walked in on.

“mystery baby was just trying to use the last points on her campus dining plan, cut her some slack,” marcus hit a witty rebuttal.

“mystery baby is her new name, fuckin’ brand that shit,” richie called out.

“okay okay, have we had enough fun?” mikey asked with a fading chuckle. “maybe we should get the hell back to work before carmen blows a gasket,” he offered, knowing their slow hands wouldn't be helpful by the time service started.

“yeah, probably for the best because i texted sugar,” carmen didn't even look up.

“motherfucker.”

natalie had been at the hardware store attempting to pick up a list of supplies from their morning meeting about the barbeque carmen had proposed. though the moment carmen’s 911 mikey text came through she dropped everything.

they were sitting in her office. pictures of her daughter and husband littered her desk, and it was more organized than mikey’s office by far. color-coded tabs and coordinating pens to highlighters along with an actual color scheme. carmen had briefed her on the entire situation before she even sat down with her oldest brother.

mikey was tapping his foot anxiously. he didn't know where she was going to start. with the fact that she had plucked mikey off the state street bridge night so many years ago when he was half conscious and at rock bottom, maybe the night she bailed him out of jail for petty theft, or when she had given him a place to stay after he couldn't stay at their mother's house in the early stages of recovery, or even maybe the fact that she had helped him find the meetings he so regularly attended. he could go on and on about what his sister had done for him.

“bear, what’s goin’ on with you?” she asked softly. worry filled her eyes.

“nothin’,” mikey shrugged. he felt like he was in the damn principal’s office.

“do you think carmy texted because it was nothing?” she had a point, but he didn't expect their youngest sibling to actually go through with his threat.

“no, jeez, sug, i'm grown. i have my head on straight now. i participate in my meetings. i’m clean—”

“mikey,” natalie stopped him. “i know you're good. you’ve been good. i’m proud of you, but i’m not proud of this girl.”

that stung. mikey furrowed his brows as his arms crossed over his chest. sugar had a million things she could've brought up and she chose the one that mattered.

“i know you’re grown, but she isn't. she’s still somebody’s kid,” natalie was taking this in a different perspective, different than what carmen had to say and everyone else. she wasn't touching on his sobriety, not now at least. mikey was expecting her to want to kill him.

“she’s two and a half times younger than you. when we were twenty our family didn't care, but her’s might.” she was thinking about it like it was her own daughter years into the future.

“no one was supposed to find out and then—”

“then you started thinking with your dick, bear,” natalie sighed, wrapping her brother in a hug that he didn't reciprocate. “that was reckless and really fucking stupid, and now i want to hit your head against the wall.” she had such a serious tone that mikey couldn't help but chuckle. he patted his sister’s back.

“i probably deserve it,” mikey agreed. this was more gentle than he thought it would go. natalie wasn't crying or making those big guilt tripping eyes. but what else could she do other than say something? she wasn't tracking anyone down and giving them a lesson. mikey was responsible for his own doings...even if they were ridiculous.

“no probably about it,” natalie flicked his forehead before pulling away.

jimmy was sitting in the furthest booth from the door, mindlessly eating his lunch with no complaints to be had, seeing as he was sitting by himself. he was occasionally looking up at the door in between bites, just a little peace to separate himself from the chaotic week.

“hell, is that jimmy k?” your father asked, a tray of food in his hand from the deli, but had yet to set it down at a seating arrangement.

“oh shit, that's reggie,” jimmy perked up a bit, a welcoming smile gracing his face. “you wanna take a seat?” he offered the opposite side of the booth to reggie.

years back jimmy had given reggie extra work when he needed it. they had rarely kept up with each other besides the occasional run in, but they always seemed to chat like old friends that had never forgotten where they once left off from previously.

“long time no see, man,” reggie greeted, unwrapping his sandwich. “same old, same old?” he questioned, breaking into conversation easily.

“little of everything, you know me,” jimmy mentioned casually.

it was all normal until the conversation shifted from family to work. reggie was mentioning he was still married, one kid about to start high school, the other in college, and was still coaching. jimmy mentioned his son and some other odds and ends, but then he turned to money. jimmy seemed a little annoyed to be mentioning how much money he loaned his “nephews” to redo their sandwich shop into an actual restaurant, and how even after all their renovations, they were still fucking up.

“you're talking about the bear, right?” reggie was now placing all the pieces together, remembering how jimmy was friends with michael and carmen’s father. “they catered my kid’s banquet a few months ago.”

“yeah, yeah, the fuckin’ bear,” jimmy groaned. “let me pick your ear about somethin’ okay, reg?” he wasn't really asking. he was going to talk anyway. “mikey is the most lovable fuck up, but right now i could kill him. how would you feel knowing you spent a bunch of goddamn money and then walk in his office and catch him with some college kid?”

“what?” reggie repeated, the conversation having shifted heavily. he put down his sandwich. those words seemed to hit a little too close to home because his twenty-year-old daughter hadn’t been present practically the whole summer, coming home late every night, and being oddly secretive.

“not kiddin’ you, walked into his office about a week ago and he had some twenty-year-old gettin’ down on her knees in the middle of the work day,” jimmy repeated, not noticing how still reggie had become.

jimmy was just blabbing because he was annoyed, not knowing that he was inciting a panic in his old employee.

“you know anything else?” reggie swallowed hard. his hands were shaking under the table. his dad sense was screaming at him that it was his daughter making some stupid mistake.

“no—oh, reg, no—” jimmy finally caught on to reggie’s face that had seemingly lost a little color.

“hey, you know, i gotta get back to work, but i’ll see you around,” reggie cleared his throat. he had barely eaten on his lunch break. he was going to sit in his truck and use the rest of his time to call his daughter.

the staff alternated days off. this week it was mikey’s monday off, and there was no place better to spend it than with you, grasping the meat of your thighs. his elbows help to keep you spread wide, absorbing himself in his own world between your legs. even after the scare with jimmy the two of you had an inability to keep your hands off of each other. it was like you both knew that the summer was soon going to end in just three short weeks.

he had no other care in the world than to be with you. he was lapping at your cunt. his flattened tongue easily maneuvering over your folds. he had a certain technique that you thought would never be able to be replicated by anyone else.

your hands were laced in his loose curls while you crossed your toes from the sheer pleasure you were on the receiving end of. you gasped as his mouth opened a bit more, sucking your outer layers and the dripping arousal that fell from your pussy.

he was looking up at you, knowing good and well what he was doing as he spread your folds further apart with his oversized fingers. he had a direct contact with your clit in moments, beginning with a soft suckle which transpired into a greedy moment of his beard being buried into your soaking pussy and his aquiline nose brushing against your pubes all while staring at you.

his elbows dug into you although it was worth it because of the instinctual want to close your legs as the stimulation began to become more overwhelming. you might have been tugging at his hair too harshly, but he didn't say anything, only continuing to show your cunt the utmost respect as he ravaged it with his mouth.

soon his fingers dipped inside of you, fully and easily being coated with everything you had produced. you gave an unsuspecting whimper looking down at mikey still directing his oral attention to your clit and his digits curled upwards to satisfy you even more.

he had to breathe. his forehead was sweaty and he was a bit breathless as his fingers worked in and out of you.

his jaw was aching ever so slightly which caused his determination for his fingers to become more direct with their targeted movements. his other hand was toying with his dick trying to coax his erection to stay up fully. he had been concentrating fully causing his once rock hard erection to soften just a bit.

“need ya to turn over, lil’ thing,” he directed, the wet splotches on his beard were noticeable as the light filtered through his thin bedroom curtains. mikey has taken his fingers out, licking the reminits of your sweet slick off of them.

you began shifting to get on your knees, mikey helped rotate your hips. he grabbed your ankle to situate your positioning, giving his cock final a hearty stroke as he did. he gave your pussy one final long, dragged out lick from your hole your ass, which caused a shiver to run down your spine.

his balls were hanging heavily as he reached over you to grab a condom wrapper.

you felt his covered tip prod at your entrance. mikey held apart one of your asscheeks to oversee the full entry. it was the perfect fit, he was absolutely drowning in that blissful feeling. his eyes rolled back a little as you shimmied your ass back ever so slightly.

the smutty saga continued with: SALT N’ PEPPER MAN EATS PUSSY AND FUCKS PRETTY BABE *HOT* *YOUNG*

instead of mikey's hair your fingers were now pawing at his sheets trying to find a good grip. the bedframe would never not be squeaky, but it had upgraded slightly, with a pillow between the headboard and the wall.

“y'feel so good,” he praised, gradually increasing the pace of his rocking hips.

“so do you,” you murmured halfway between talking and moaning.

“don't think y'get what i’m sayin'” he mentioned, taking his hand off of your ass and the other off your hip to bring his tattooed arms under your armpits. he hooked his hands to the front of your chest, leaning over you to feel closer. his pudgy stomach brushed against the small of your back. “you're drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy today.”

you released a small grunt only for it to be suppressed by an increase in moans as his humps increased in effort, rocking into you with vigor and need.

you brought your head back some, feeling his wiry beard hair brush against your ear. his palms were sweaty, having to adjust his grip on you to keep you against him. he was pressing soft kisses to your hair that smelled of dry shampoo and his downy detergent after being so comfortable in his bed.

“i’m serious…y’gotta hold on me today,” mikey rasped, his knees buckling slightly as he felt your pussy pulsing. he nipped at the shell of your ear, his breath lingering. “fuckin’ hell,” he sighed, feeling another twinge from your lethal grip.

“i-i can't help it when you’re talking to me like that,” you stuttered, hanging your head low into the bed, though he followed you, resting his cheek on the back of your head gently. his thrusts were unsteady and deep.

he had already tortured you by eating you out, overly prepared to take his cock, and you were still on the receiving end of pleasure—overstimulated was the most simple way to put it. you and mikey were both belting sounds of pleasure.

you had your eyes shut tightly unable to speak or give any warning that you were close to climax. he was pressed against your back engulfing your body in warmth and ecstasy as his rigid thrusts only became more heightened. your cunt was doing a quick squeeze and release. he knew he had you close in more ways than one.

“oh—” you dug your fingers tightly into the sheet. you were uncoiling while he was still so deep inside. he was edging against your cervix over and over.

“pretty girl,” his voice was husky in your ear. he pressed his body into you further muffling your moans and pleads into the bed. “this pussy gonna make me cum?”

���y-yeah, y-yeah,” you sounded a little dumb and a little whiny but you could barely think straight, especially with his ridiculously mind-boggling movements. he was chasing those final moments.

“pussy is unreal,” he huffed, though seconds later his jaw went slack. that same hazy feeling you were experiencing. if it was humanly possible he would've been closer as he fucked out his peak, only able to continue his final few thrusts with the rest of his energy briefly.

he laid on you for a while, conscious enough not to squish you, but still not letting you go anywhere, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.

you were then showered and redressed, and currently, happily perched on mikey’s kitchen countertop. you were watching him prepare thinly fried zucchini battered in an italian breadcrumb which was going to be served with parmesan cheese sprinkled over the top.

mikey was whisking his egg and milk together, already having his separate dish of breadcrumbs prepared. the oil in the skillet was heating up, the convection fan was already circulating.

and your job? that was to sit and look pretty or so he said. you gave yourself an extra task which was occasionally stealing some of the freshly grated cheese out of the bowl.

watching mikey cook was sexy. he knew what he was doing, knew how he wanted it to come out, and knew that it was going to be delicious.

he was standing at the stove watching the breaded zucchini in the bubbling oil, tongs in his hand ready to take them off the heat when the shallow fry had completed its task at getting them crispy and golden brown.

“alright, hopefully, you’re not full on cheese so you can actually eat,” he offered one of the almost paper-thin spears to your lips.

you nodded as you chewed. perfection, all of it. every single crunchy bite. “holy shit,” you mumbled, a sort of warmness spreading through your chest.

“good, huh?” he was back at the stove pulling the last few pieces of zucchini out of the oil and placing them on a paper towel.

“yeah, almost like you’re a chef or something.”

mikey laughed, setting the tray next to you on the counter, offering you another piece. one hand was on your thighs, looking into your eyes as he let you have another bite.

your phone started ringing, making you snap out of the trance you were in caused by mikey and his delicious food. mikey saw the contact name, as soon as you did. he scooted to the side some. you hopped off the counter and answered in one swift motion.

“hey dad.”

“hey, baby girl.” he didn’t sound happy although you didn’t expect a call mid day to be any good. he was supposed to be at work. “you busy?”

“um, a little,” you replied, glancing at mikey in the kitchen, trying to put a little space between you and him as you talked to your father. “what’s up?”

reggie didn’t know how to answer that. he still hadn’t fully decided on what to say. he just knew he needed to call you.

“i ran into someone i used to work with, been a few years since i’ve seen him,” he explained. your gaze never left mikey, who was cleaning up the kitchen.

you had every reason to be nervous because your father was never the man that would call in the middle of a work day.

“how was that?” you questioned, knowing that your dad was taking longer to get to his point than normal.

“i don’t know,” your father sighed. “but he told me something—something you might know about.”

you were fidgeting with the end of your shirt, phone pressed against your ear and shoulder.

“he said he’s sorta family to the owners of a restaurant,” your dad was stalling which was only making you squirm more. you swallowed, the sides of your throat burning a little.

“when he was there last week he said there was a college girl under the owner’s desk.” it made reggie sick to say that outloud. having to say those exact words to his daughter should’ve been punishment enough.

“dad—”

“he didn’t know your name. he didn’t even say it was you, not like he picked you out of a lineup or something, but jesus—kid, you’re acting like you did it without me even having to ask…”

mikey is now staring because you look ill, standing in the middle of his living room looking so guilty. he knew what this is about without having to eavesdrop.

“what are you doing, baby girl?” he sounded exhausted. it sounded like he had just had too much. “what did you decide to get yourself into?”

you felt meek. “it’s not like that.”

“don’t tell me that because it is exactly like that.”

you wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again. the lull of silence was too much right now. that once tasty platter of zucchini now looked inedible.

“you think you’re grown up, but you’re not. you’re twenty and you’re going after some guy like you don’t think is going to ruin your life, but he will.”

you couldn’t say anything because if you did you’d be breaking down.

“baby girl, come on. you’re so much smarter than that,” he pressed a little further, digging that knife a little deeper.

“i’m worried about you,” he finally expressed.

“okay,” that’s all you could manage.

“okay?” he asked, wondering if that’s all you had to say.

“i’ll be home later,” you choked out. your thumb nail was digging into your leg. you hung up.

mikey put down the cloth he was using to wipe the counter. he joined you in the den, hoping he didn’t have to be the first one to say anything but he was.

“…he knows?”

“mhm,” you mumbled. “knows jimmy, used to work with him…isn’t that something?”

mikey was walking slowly as if any sudden movements would send you running. he stopped at the coffee table, taking a seat to look at you. he tried to grab your hand but you wouldn’t let him.

“that tracks,” mikey coughed a bit, trying to pull his words together. he was speaking very gently. “look—if I would’ve known they knew each other i wouldn’t have—”

“—wouldn’t have let me suck you off at work?” you completed his sentence earning a sigh from him.

“no, come on, if it wouldn’t have gotten back to your dad then—”

“the only thing that matters right now is who we got caught by?” you wouldn’t let him get a word in not right now. “not that we got caught at all?”

“i shoulda known better,” mikey was uncomfortably running his hand through his hair. “i didn’t mean to screw this up.”

“do you think you’re screwing me up?”

“that’s not what i said,” mikey said pointedly.

“that’s what my dad said,” you retorted, though your voice wasn’t very loud. it was painful and quiet. “that you’re gonna ruin my life.”

mikey tilted his head. his hand fell in his lap.

“are you going to ruin my life?” you tried to coax out an answer from mikey. you didn’t want to believe he could, but unfortunately this illicit secret was out and spirling out of control.

he didn’t really like that question.

“i don’t wanna…” mikey was searching for more words. “but i worry about it because i’m older than you—you have your entire life ahead of you. you can probably screw up three good times from now until you're my age and be better off than me. but me? i‘ve fucked up enough. i’m outta chances, pretty girl,” he was resting his head in his hands. he wasn’t going to give you a minute to respond now, so he continued. “i don’t regret a single thing, i really don’t—but i can’t be the reason your life is screwed up. i like you a helluva lot, and if i knew i was the reason i screwed you up i don’t think i could forgive myself.”

you looked like he had punched you in the gut, breathless, not making a noise as you cried. just silent tears falling, looking at each other trying to convince each other that any feeling you had was fake.

“you gotta say something,” mikey urged.

you didn’t, not right away. your mouth was closed in a tight line, trying to hold your crying self together. you grabbed your purse next to where mikey was sitting. he knew you’d be gone in an instant. your mind was already somewhere else. you weren’t mentally still in mikey’s apartment.

“hey, please don’t go, not just yet,” mikey swallowed, standing as you started walking for the door.

“i really need to go.”

“i can walk you out,” he stood up, going to follow you, but you stopped him.

“i got it,” you choked out.

and like that, you were gone and mikey was alone.

this was the last weekend before you returned to school. keeping your distance from mikey was so difficult, but your father wasn't exactly thrilled to learn of your summer affair. you were trying to lay low so that embarrassment would stop eating at you, but in all actuality you could barely stand to make eye contact with either of your parents.

you were trying to be on your best behavior because after all your parents did let you stay with them all summer, paid for your gas, and flights to and from school, among countless other things.

that was the hardest part for them, knowing you were grown, having to see you leave, and now watching you make one of the stupidest decisions of your life while still trying to remain proud of you because your success in school wasn't nothing.

the disappointment was rough because you had proved over and over again that they could trust you to be a responsible adult away from home, but your lustful tailspin had them questioning where they went wrong as parents.

they never yelled at you. not once. the moment your dad called he wanted to vomit because he had that inkling that you were doing something—someone—that you weren’t supposed to. they knew you knew better. you knew you knew better.

you kept trying to downplay how bad it was, but every time you thought about mikey it only got worse. you wanted something to keep you occupied, and it did, but at what cost?

your childhood friends knew your final moments in chicago were coming to an end. they wanted to see you and you thought it would be a good way to take your mind off of the clusterfuck you had helped create. they suggested a party, an end of the summer rager at someone’s parents' lakeside rental property.

it was loud, the house was so hot from the movement of people combined with the door from outside being constantly opened and closed. even outside you couldn't escape the heat, but it was probably your burning face from the drinks you had so easily thrown back.

you were chatting—more like drunkenly rambling—with one of your old girlfriends about the courses you decided to register for at the edge of the lake. only your feet were resting in the water because you already pulled your shorts back over your damp bathing suit bottoms. you had your jacket half zipped over your top, unsure of where the shirt you originally had over your bikini went.

you began to feel too dizzy for your own good, peering uncomfortably into the solo cup of a badly mixed drink. you excused yourself from your friend after she was unable to answer what time the designated driver was bringing you all back to your corresponding homes.

“when are we leaving?” seemed to be the question of the night that no one could give you a straight answer to. you felt like garbage. you wanted to leave. you had your sneakers in one hand, walking around aimlessly trying to get a direct answer from your final friend in your group after ditching your solo cup on a random counter.

you were regretting coming at all when all of your drunk friends and even the singular sober one were unable to coordinate a time to leave. you were sitting on the steps of the porch the faint sound of another megan thee stallion song blaring even through the closed door. your stomach was churning and you had a pained expression on your face while you stared at the lawn.

you couldn't call your parents. you had already screwed up too much to make them unhappy for another moment this summer. you only had one more option. it was approaching half past one in the morning and there you were calling mikey, ruining his sleep schedule yet again.

it didn’t ring for long.

“hello?” he murmured, almost shocking you to your core to hear his voice again, especially all groggy from sleep.

“hey,” you paused, shutting your eyes for a brief second as if you were working up the courage to ask him a favor. “can you come pick me up?” you slurred, holding your temples trying to keep your focus.

“you okay?” you could hear some rustling coming from his end, knowing he was already attempting to pull himself together to rescue you.

“yeah, uh, my friends invited me out but i really wanna leave, and i couldn't call my dad,” you were plucking at the grass on the bottom of the steps.

“i'm comin’, hon,” mikey assured you like it was nothing out of the ordinary. “just text me the address.”

you felt small. you had so easily left him, ran out, and avoided conflict and now he was helping you without a second thought. “thanks, mikey.”

within the hour you were seated in mikey's car, pulling your knees into your chest. you had dropped your sneakers to the ground. you were leaning your head against your seatbelt.

“you answered,” you noted, staring at the radio in mikey’s car—more specifically the time.

mikey didn't look much different than normal, other than that he had let his beard become a little more unruly than normal. he always looked a little tired and a little sad.

“of course, i did,” he didn't look at you, but he meant what he said.

“i'm sorry for waking you up.” you sounded like a child who didn't want to be scolded, trying to soften the blow by buttering up their guardian.

“i'm glad y’did.”

you were staring out the windshield unsure if you should thank him again or not.

“y’made the safe choice,” he added, flicking on his blinker that seemed louder in the dark of the late night.

“i missed you.”

mikey was unsure of what to say. you were drunk and clearly spaced out all while still being conscious. he drummed his fingers against the wheel. “missed you too, pretty girl.”

you looked up for a brief second and then back at the road, time seemed to be moving a little too slowly.

“can we talk?”

“we're talkin’ right now.” he held the wheel a little tighter, unsure of what your drunken state was trying to express.

“you're not looking at me.” it was true, not once since you had gotten in his car had he even glanced at you.

“i'm drivin’,” he reminded you, though it wasn't very fast and it didn't seem like he was rushing to get you home.

“you can pull over,” you suggested, so he did.

mikey had taken his time to turn his head, knowing if he saw you he would be able to forgive you leaving within a second, and he did. his gaze was softened as one hand rested on the shifter.

“you're like what i needed,” you unbuckled your seatbelt, stretching out in the front seat. you were picking up the hair from the back of your neck and tossing it just to get a breeze of air. you were leaning into the air vents soaking in the chill. “like you're just so hot and you like really got me, you know?”

mikey didn't know—well—he did to an extent. he was silently staring at you, watching you unzip your jacket to let the air con hit your chest.

“and like i really missed you,” you were now sitting to face mikey.

“yeah.”

“you didn’t miss me?” you were offended. you were resting your hands on the center console.

“you walked out,” he reminded you. “you left.”

“now, i’m back,” you mumbled uncomfortably.

“who picked you up, lil’ thing?” mikey questioned, clearing his throat. “who’s takin’ y’back home?”

“you.”

“uh-huh, i answered. i gave you space. i’m the one tryin’ not to lose you when i know i’m gonna lose you anyway.”

you leaned a little closer, bridging the gap between you and mikey. your palms laying against his silver-specked beard, letting the hair scrape your soft skin. he didn’t react much, only watching. your forehead rested against his, stunning him for a moment.

your dizzy head was stabilized for a moment, pressing your lips against his. it wasn’t nearly as sweet as you’d thought it would be when you noticed he wasn’t reciprocating.

he was gently pulling your hands off his face, and moving his head back. it was one of the hardest things he had to do after not seeing you. you were practically halfway over the center console.

“no, you’re drunk and we’re not doin’ that,” mikey said firmly, kissing the tips of your fingers instead. he helped you get situated in your seat again.

“i know what i want,” you mumbled defensively, looking down at your lap.

“pretty girl,” mikey began, clearing his throat. “i’m not gonna be that guy.”

you were mildly sulking and on the verge of tears. the alcohol was really settling in and all of your thoughts that had come with it.

“y’don’t think i don’t want to? i haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left.” mikey was trying to be consoling but it didn’t help when you were left defeated. “i’m not makin’ this worse between us.”

“i fucked it all up…you wouldn’t be able to make it any worse,” you confessed guilty.

“this wasn’t ever goin’ to work,” mikey stated with his chest tightening. he held his index knuckle to his lips.

“you said you were okay with this.”

the entire situation was conflicting.

“i know what i said, but it doesn’t mean it was gonna work,” mikey cleared his throat harshly. you could’ve sworn you saw a tear drip down his face. “i gotta stay and y’gotta go back to school.”

mikey had pulled off of the street, continuing down the road. he had to get you home before he was past a solitary tear.

you were fidgeting with your fingers with an uncomfortable churning in your stomach. you didn’t know how you were managing to keep yourself together; maybe it was because you had already embarrassed yourself around him enough.

you were practically gagging yourself to keep your tears down, knowing you’d never be able to listen to “the scientist” by coldplay again without thinking of this very moment when the silence was trying to take over but chris martin’s voice over the late night radio was peeking through like daggers in ballistic gel.

“this was supposed to be fun,” your voice wavered uncomfortably. you were finally starting to realize how far everything had come. it all came around, all at once, completing the circle with a deathly kill.

“it was,” mikey’s knuckles were white because of the sheer force he was using to grip the wheel. “but this is the part that wasn’t ever goin’ to be fun.” his jaw twitched slightly.

“i didn’t think i’d like you so much,” you confessed, watching as your street came into view. you were rubbing your thumb over your right temple to soothe your impending headache. your other sleeve was wiping your tears as they spilled, hoping mikey wasn’t paying too much attention.

mikey felt like a bullet had ripped through his chest, trying to convince himself that you were drunk enough that you didn’t know what you were saying, but even that didn’t help. it just hurt.

he parked in your driveway, watching your gather your shoes. he was taking initiative this time, not letting another time when he could have chased you be wasted. he was walking you to the door. one of his large hands at the small of your back guiding your drunken self to the door.

“i’m always gonna be around.” he shouldn’t have said that but he did. you only gave a shaky nod.

he could see your empty eyes and puffy face in the motion-activated light of the doorway. he gave your head one final kiss and returned to his car. he watched the door to your house shut.

it never got cold in florida, not like the illinois cold anyway. exams were coming close before the sweet relief of winter break would start. you were studying or trying to at least.

it had gotten lonely and that was probably due to the fact that since starting another undergraduate year at uf you had distanced yourself from practically everyone.

lizzie, who was your closest friend at university, had tried everything in her power to pull you out of this weird lull you were trapped in. she knew something was wrong based on your demeanor and the sad girl playlist you had put on repeat. you kept in touch while you had gone home for the summer, but you hadn’t said anything about mikey. that would be far too hard to explain. when you returned you said you regretted the summer, but that simply wasn't true. you regretted being too young, too naive, and too involved with someone you knew you shouldn't have been. you were impulsive and dumb and it was hard to admit that to anyone other than yourself.

you had gotten in far too deep with mikey and that was a fact. you wouldn't have been thinking about him so much if you hadn't gotten attached.

the final title to the erotic summer films would be: FEELINGS FUCKED HARD *SHE CRIES* LEFT WITH GAPING HOLE

you moved into your new apartment when you returned from chicago, having lizzie and a few others from your study groups help pile everything from your storage unit into the space. all your decor that was once in your dorm room was hardly enough to cover all the blank walls. it was too sterile. so when your stipend from your scholarship hit your bank account, you spent far too much money trying to clutter the walls and console your aching heart.

you felt like your social life was in the gutter. the last party you attended before school had to do with your embarrassingly drunk confession to mikey. mixers, frat ragers, and the post-karaoke bar crawls would land you feeling even worse than you initially went out. it didn't feel right receiving drinks from other guys, much less drinking at all.

halloween had been one of your most favorite times of the year, especially when attending college, but this year's activities were basically halted. you were dolled up like the sluttiest cowgirl to match with lizzie. you had only gone out for an hour. you interacted with your lyft driver more than anyone in the bar and immediately had to tell him that you were sorry for crying.

your social media which was once buzzing with photos from everything had also taken a turn for the worst. everything from the end of may to the beginning of august was just reminders of mikey, although he was in none of the photos. lounging by the pool? yeah, that was the swimsuit he had liked the most. pictures at the ballpark with your brother? it only made you think about mikey having heartburn from concession station nachos. that dumb picture you had taken of your half-eaten beef sandwich? that one hurt the most because mikey had made it. you tried to cover those posts in your feed with updated ones of your apartment decor, your work on the school communications page, and your paid internship with a local news station, but it never felt like enough.

your family visited for the weekend before thanksgiving to see the apartment. your father was being himself, picking at every little thing about how awful college apartments could be. he had walked through the entire place, asking if you had seen the cracking on the molding or the uneven flooring in the bathroom. you didn't care because anything was better than the dorms. your mother brought a set of embroidered dish towels and a carry-on suitcase full of cleaning supplies. your brother had weaseled his way into staying one night in your apartment rather than at the hotel, which was fine because you stayed up late watching a rented movie and eating an overpriced doordash delivery. it was refreshing to have some sense of normality because no one dared to mention the summer; not like they would speak of it anyway. you had taken enough pain and embarrassment away from it for them to discuss it with you present.

so no, the end of august to mid-december had not been going entirely “well” for you. the only thing you could think to do was return home so you wouldn't be alone for the holidays. you knew your family wouldn't turn you away even if you wanted to turn them away most days. when you called your mom and told her that you wanted to be home, she was ecstatic. within the next hour, she called you back explaining that she had booked your flight for three days after your exams were completed.

in your current studying session, you had been picking up your phone in between making flash cards. your hand was cramping and you were unable to stay completely focused. you leaned back in your desk chair glancing between your computer screen, notebooks, and the index cards sprawled on your desk. you rubbed your cramping hand uncomfortably, massaging your inner palm.

it wouldn't be long until you'd be back in chicago, but right now you are stuck in your apartment with upcoming deadlines and tests to prepare for. you couldn't explain why you were reaching for your phone again. you had just checked a random notification from a video lizzie had sent to you on your social media. you paused the music that was playing, staring blankly at your phone screen before inching your fingers to your messages.

11:11 PM

you: i'll be home for christmas if you're still around

your heart was racing, thinking that unsending it might have been easier, but it was too late. the deed was done. you were hastily putting your phone down with the screen facing the wood of your desk.

you stood from your desk, hitting your palm against your forehead with a groan. your leg began to bounce anxiously, trying to rationalize the decision you had just made. the bear didn't close until ten, mikey always said it took at least an hour or an hour and a half to get everyone out and everything cleaned, so no, he wasn’t going to respond right away. he had priorities. he had a business to run. he was fifty with a goddamn life, probably doing a lot better than you were right now—he wasn't. he wasn't doing any better because if he was he wouldn't have responded.

11:51 PM

mikey: u know where to find me

[loveandmurders]

Imagine Michael Myers ruined your life. He killed your boyfriend and your friends because you were at the wrong place at the wrong time. You have been able to run away just in time, but he left scars on your body.

You couldn't stop watching them and you couldn't stop thinking about him. You used to be such a normal and mentally stable person, but then... You grew obsessed with revenge. You were a wounded animal desiring to wound in return.

So you started to plan out how you were going to kill the big and frightening Shape.

Imagine you completely change your basement for it to become the most perfect prison. You could easily tie someone there, and you could even more easily kill them without anyone to hear anything about it.

Transforming your basement was the easy part, then you needed to get Michael Myers out of the asylum and to trap him there. But you were smart, ressourceful and ready to murder him and to be covered in his blood.

You did get him out of the asylum by briding a few guards and nurses. You patiently waited for him to go back to his house, where you were waiting for him. Gosh, waiting was driving you even crazier.

Imagine taking Michael Myers by surprise; you shot him and hit him on the head. No matter how strong he was, he collapsed. You painfully pulled him to your car and brought him to your home. Whenever people heard Michael was out of his cell, they were hiding so it was easy for you to go unnoticed.

You were quick to bring him to your basement, not caring about the way his head was hitting one step after the other, or the way his shooting wound was staining his clothes. You were quick to tie him down with chains even an elephant couldn't tear apart.

And then you waited again. You wanted for the man to see your face before hurting him and killing him. You needed him to know who was hitting him.

Imagine Michael waking up in your basement, half confused of what was going on. He quickly understood he wasn't back at the asylum. He had no idea who you were, not that he cared. He simply wanted to kill you, to dismantle you and to forget about you. He didn't show his surprise when he couldn't break free from his chains.

"I'm gonna kill you so slowly" you darkly promised him and it made him completely freeze. He recognised your cold anger. You started to interest him.

You didn't try to guess what he was thinking; no one could understand him anyways. You just wanted him to suffer. You tried to make him scream, but you could slice his skin, burn him, break his fingers... and yet he wouldn't show anything.

Imagine getting so angry, you had to leave the room. You didnt want to kill without him to experience true pain and you wanted proof he was in pain.

It was then he hit you. Physically hurting him was useless. You needed to play with something so deep inside of him, that it would break him. You needed him to fall in love with you and then to put him back into the asylum, so far away from you, driving him insane.

You read about Stockholm Syndrome a lot. You fed Michael, you took care of his wounds, and then you would let him rot for a few days alone downstaires. You were alterning between abuse and some sort of "tenderness".

You were patient and it started to pay off. Whenever you were coming downstairs, Michael was instantly trying to get free of his chains, but not to escape, just to touch you. He couldn't think, all he knew was that he needed you more than oxygen. When you were around, he was behaving like a dangerous puppy trying to please you. When you were punishing him and leaving him alone in the dark, you were only feeding his obsession of you.

Imagine one night, you got a little bit tired and hence not being as careful as you should have been around a monster like Michael. You have come too close to him and you haven't moved quick enough. He caught your wrist and easily made you fall on his lap. You found yourself straddling him. You tried to move from him but his big hands were around your waist, keeping you close.

He had never wanted to kiss or to pleasure someone before, but he would be on his knees in between your legs if only you had wanted it. Him. He took in your scent and nuzzled in your neck as his hands softly slipped under your top so he could feel how soft and warm your skin were.

"Michael" you warned him and he froze "Let me go, or I'll be very mad"

Imagine the most dangerous of killers, twice your size and three time your strenght, letting you go. You saw the shadow of a pout on his face. He was so disappointed. Everything felt so cold without you.

You quickly went upstairs, not caring about the wounded grunts echoing in the basement as Michael was desesperate to watch you go. It was then you understood he was ready. He was ready to be put back in the asylum, far far away from you.

You went to work and when the night came, you joined Michael with some meal. You watched him eat and drink his water. You praised him before settling on his lap on your own accord, but you forbidad him from touching you. And even if he was struggling he obeyed as you moved closer. You didn't really know why but you kissed him, and he instantly - and yet a little bit clumsily - replied to it.

"You're gonna be a good boy to me and you're gonna have a little walk near by your house, okay?" you told him. Michael didn't understand why you would ask him to go "But then you come back. I want to see if I can trust you without those chains" you explained to him and he nodded.

Imagine playing with fire and removing his chains. He didn't care about the bruises littering his wrists and ankles. He only wanted to touch you. He had been love and touch starved his whole existence, and if his lack of empathy helped him to pretend it was alright, now he was in need of you. You allowed him to roam your body and to squeeze your flesh with want.

Soon enough you asked him to go and he reluctantly obeyed. He left your house with the only desire to come back to you. But before, he knew he had to obey to you like he used to obey his mother. He went near his former home - because his home was now you. You called the police on him.

He fought like a lion, but there were too many cops and doctors, even for him. He got shot with sedative. Next time he opened his eyes, he was back to his cell in the asylum. And he quickly lost it. Doctors had to intervene, to sedate him again and to tie him up to his bed as he was destroying everything around.

Dr. Loomis had no idea why the usually quiet man, was getting so out of himself. Nothing could calm down Michael, who was absolutely going even more insane the more time he was being away from you. He couldn't stand a world without your warmth and presence. You were a drug, the only thing he ever desired, the only thing that made him feel something.

Imagine missing the flash news about Michael Myers escaping the asylum, as you were asleep on your couch.

Imagine waking up to your front door being torn apart. You ran to your kitchen, grabbed a sharp knife and was ready to dialled 911 when you saw Michael coming into view.

He took a few more steps before kneeling down in front of you, showing you he was no threat to you, and more importantly that he was all yours.

"Oh. You came back home" you whispered to yourself as he wrapped his arms around your mid section.

He was indeed back home.

[blackynsupremacy]

EVERY MUSICIAN’S

FAN

pairing: nicholas a. chavez x black!fem!reader

summary: nicholas was just supposed to be a replacement for your lead guitarist, but now it seems he wants to be more than that.

contains: 80s au, songfic, angst, smut, reader is a famous rock/popstar, 18+ content (mdni), infidelity (reader does), drug/alcohol/tobacco use, implication of a toxic relationship/affair, greed, manipulation, swearing, praise kink, riding, missionary, choking, squirting, cream pie, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (m/f receiving)

a/n: ever since i saw that picture of nick, i had this in my head. plus, ya’ll know how much i love me some mj. reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @sabrinasopposite @greengoblinswifey @supaprettyg @hoffmansgirl @titsout4nicholas @jkr820 @simply-lovley44 @hnch33rios @hopefully-saturn @xoxoglittergossip @austeenbootler @niteskysx @thabiddie23 @sheydnni @venic-bxtch @miguelspvssy

“i fucking mean it, nicholas! this is the last goddamn time.”

that’s what you said the last time as you were gathering your scattered clothes that were sprawled all over the floor. as you concealed every part of your fucked out body, nicholas, who was only clad in a chained cross necklace, casually laid back between the sheets of the lust-filled bed of the hastily rented motel room with a hand behind his head and the other inhaling a cigarette between his lips. he huffed out a cloud of smoke with a satisfied expression playing on his devilishly handsome face,

“ooh, someone’s mad. you’re back to calling me nicholas. when’re you gonna get tired of saying the same shit, doll?” he rhetorically questioned with a glint of mischief.

your gaze darkened as your lips formed in a tight line. he was absolutely right, but here you were, with your head so damn stuck in the clouds still believing you had control over this mess of a situation.

“that’s your name, ain’t it?— and don’t act so smug, asshole. i got somebody and as soon as that curtain goes down at the last stop, you can get the hell out my band and like ray said, hit the fucking road! just let me be.” as you don your undergarments and reach for your shirt, you spoke to him with so much venom laced in your voice. the same voice that helped you to get discovered, achieve your dreams, and perform for your adoring fans around the world. speaking of fans, it enchanted one in particular that happened to enchant you back—in the worst way possible. nicholas’ sinister, melodious laughter echoed in the tense silence before he took another drag from his cigarette and puffed out more air.

“hey—you do whatever you want, baby. you’d let me just be a roadie if it means i get to fuck your brains out.”

“bullshit, nicholas! you’re lower than a fucking groupie. plus, i’ve seen you around other women and i know you’re every move, so you sure as hell won’t trap me…again!”

you couldn’t believe that you fell right into his trap of seduction again. you already had a man, but with the weight of making sure your first worldwide tour was a success and his absence due to a family emergency, the heavy weight you were feeling was added when he waltzed into your world. you were a young star on the rise as a new era was looming in. being lumped in with popular, black rockstars such as michael, janet, jimi, and prince was a massive deal, especially if your music spreads globally. that’s what you loved about what you were doing, your music was your music and people loved it despite your race and sex. it brought them together. you were only twenty-three and after two albums, your latest one was in the high heavens of the charts and even granted you three grammys that sat proudly on your shelf. now, it was time for the next step in your career: a world tour.

it all started three days before the tour began when your lead guitarist, randy, had to recover in the hospital after a near-fatal motorcycle accident. you were glad that he was going to pull through, but now you were in a jam. randy confirmed that he was going to send someone who he knew, trusted, and can shred just as good as him. that’s how you met nicholas chavez when your manager introduced him during a sound check. he only had two years on you, but it was refreshing to have someone in the band within the same age range as you. although you weren’t single, you had to admit that nicholas was fine as a motherfucker. nicholas stood tall in the six foot range with a lightly stubbled chiseled face, piercing brown eyes, and tousled brown hair. not to mention his burly biceps that were shown off in his black, lust for life wife beater topped with a gold cross chain.

he had the look, but could he shred to your music? when you inquired, he gushed about how big of a fan he was of your talent and records. you felt the heat of embarrassment rise on your face as he didn’t forget to comment how you looked more beautiful in person than you did on posters, interviews, and music videos. nicholas really was a fan. you got everyone in position on stage and as soon as he plugged his cherry red guitar within the amp, you attentively observed as nicholas effortlessly glided across the fretted strings. his skilled fingers moved like clockwork while playing some of the introductory notes of the first song in your set list. you cued in the rest of the band before you opened your mouth to serenade the empty stadium with the first verse. out of the corner of your eye, you could see nicholas’ awestruck gaze. his fingers never stopped moving on the guitar. during this routine, you’d step towards randy and smoothly orbit around him as his chords strummed in harmony with your vocals. when you did so around nicholas, his eyes never pulled away from your figure as he saw you in your element as if you were a goddess—his shining star. he was a shoe in.

“thank you, l.a.! i love you!”

you bade a farewell to the roaring crowd of fans into the microphone before you take a bow and exit the stage with the band following suit. there were a couple dressing rooms in the back, but there was a common area where you and your crew went to congratulate each other in merriment for such a wonderful kick-off to the tour. there was some champagne toasts raised for your accomplishment and for randy’s recovery.

“yo! let’s not forget the newbie for stepping in and absolutely killing that shit tonight. i appreciate it, nick—” you cheered then took a pause, placing your fingers on your lips to hush yourself. you weren’t sure if he was comfortable being addressed as such. “shit, my bad! i know we just met, but you don’t mind if i call you nick, do you?” you questioned as you flashed an amicable grin. nicholas reciprocated with his own grin that you found to be—beguiling of sorts. with the thought of your own relationship, you brushed it off immediately, taking a sip of the alcohol.

“it’s no sweat. you’re a shining star, so i’d be honored if you do.” he responded with a wink which caused your already drunk bandmates to hoop and holler as they nudged nicholas and egged him on. you calmed them down and confirmed the fact of your relationship. nicholas still didn’t seem dejected,

“well, he’s the luckiest guy if he gets to be with you.”

you bashfully wave him off before taking one last gulp and standing,

“aw, thank you, nick, but there’s no need to flatter me. you’re just saying that!”

oh, how wrong you were. little did you know, nicholas meant every word. throughout this tour, he was determined to make his wildest fantasies of making you his star come true, whether you had a man or not. three weeks of the tour progressed and you were more pumped than ever with each stop. your confidence was skyrocketing in your musical abilities and stage presence, nicholas always made sure to let you know that while you guys would have a drink and a smoke together in your dressing room after the show. you didn’t immediately jump into the limo like your other bandmates afterwards to go off to a party for some drinks, narcotics, and groupies. as a rising star, privacy was a gift. you’d want to take a few moments to chill, relish the moment, and reflect on your performance. you would use the payphone to call your boyfriend to converse about each concert during the first week, but some calls were received and others weren’t picked up. the worry bubbled in your stomach with what could be keeping him so preoccupied. eventually, you didn’t leave a message or just tried to call once a week. you were surprised that nicholas didn’t follow suit with the rest of the crew which resulted in you inviting him to recuperate with you, so that he wouldn’t feel left out. at first, it was just him praising you for your hard work and skill and you guys exchanging basic information about your early lives. then before you know it, the undeniable chemistry was simmering between you—on and off the stage.

things came to a head when you and nicholas were sitting on the black, velvet sofa of your dressing room. he was fooling around, strumming and improvising riffs on his guitar while you watched and smoked a cigarette. you were thoroughly impressed with his ability, it was as if a guitar fell into his hands at birth and he just went with it. you scooted closer, observing which finger stayed on which fret or strummed on which string.

“nick, you’re a talent with those riffs, man. it’s like fucking magic the way you handle those fingerings.” you mused and smashed the cigarette butt in the ashtray on the table as he halted his movements.

“hah, thanks! means a lot from coming from my biggest inspiration. it’s not everyday you get to meet your idols—let alone, get a compliment from em’.” with one last strum, he sat the guitar securely within the case and turned towards you with a lopsided grin on his face. there was that same charming expression that you feel that—enticement, maybe even desire towards him and he never was discreet about how he felt towards you either. no, you really shouldn’t be feeling that way. he’s basically a co-worker! how would that look on the tabloids if you ever thought about crossing that line? with a kind expression, you humbly wave him off as you’ve done before,

“nick, seriously, you’re too kind. you don’t always have to flatter me. y’know the guys have been giving us a hard time about how you have this big crush on me. that’s hilarious, right?” you nervously chuckle and averted your gaze down to your hands before they shift to his. they looked so firm, so powerful. you didn’t miss the veins that were protruding from the tanned skin of his hands. there was now a silence lingering, an unspoken tension. nicholas had to make his move.

“you know that i mean those things i say, right?”

your eyes jerked themselves on his to make sure you were hearing him correctly. you prayed he was just joking, but judging from this stare down, you could tell that he was not playing around.

“nick, i—” you stammer, but he catches it in time.

“i don’t say those things because i have to—i say ‘em because i want to and what if the guys were maybe onto somethin’?”

“onto what?” you ask, anticipating his answer.

“my ‘crush’ on you. sweetheart, i’d be a goddamn liar if i were to deny what they said. i mean—look at you, you’re talented and you have the voice of an angel. you’re real. you actually get people through your music, so you’re not like these other fucking posers.” nicholas brings his body in closer to yours, making you both mere centimeters in distance. “by the way, you’re so fucking beautiful. it’s not even real. your skin, your hair, your body. fuck, it just makes me insane that i’m not yours.” he proclaimed, his arm sliding around behind the sofa, his fingertips sensually grazing the brown skin of your shoulder as he continues to sing his praises to you, “every time you walk around me during that one song, i get so hard—heh, it’s pathetic because you don’t even fucking touch me.” he chuckles, his warm breath tickling your face as you instinctively clench your thighs to douse the pulsating throbbing within your core. nicholas certainly didn’t miss that as he didn’t miss the opportunity to rest his free hand on your bare thigh. at his subtle touch, you were shamefully soaked. you had to get away, right now, but why weren’t you getting up? why didn’t you move away as nicholas ghosted his lips over yours? maybe it was your boyfriend’s absence and the long, lonely nights of sleeping solo in an executive suite fit for a star.

“nick, i know what you’re doing and—” you gulp under his lustful gaze that continued to draw you in. you still never moved from your spot. “i know how these rockstars get on these tours, but i’m not with that. i have someone.” you look towards the window, knowing that the payphone is just right outside. not that you’ve been keeping track, but you haven’t even called on the phone tonight to tell your man that you were doing okay. nicholas’ long fingers firmly, yet softly guide your chin, so that you were face to face to again.

“hey, hey. i get it, doll, but you can’t tell me that you don’t get—” with the lick of his lips, he glanced down to your still crossed legs, “lonely.”

his words were nothing, but the truth and you hated it. you could feel the heat of radiating off his body, the way his brown gaze stuck to you with admiration and desire like the true fan he claimed to be. you wanted to make a run for it, to push him away and remind yourself of your commitment, but the truth was that the loneliness had been creeping in and looming over you like this dark cloud that won’t move.

“look, nick. this isn’t right,” you urged. you attempted to deny him and yourself from falling into such a sinful, yet enticing endeavor, but even as the words left your lips, you felt the pull of his energy. it was so enigmatic. for a temporary replacement, he had the look and the charisma of a true star. you couldn’t deny that nicholas was indeed a fine specimen of a man. the females in the stands would go crazy whenever he had the chance of an improvised guitar solo. it was obvious they were digging the way he moved his fingers or how his vein ridden biceps would flex with every movement more than his music ability. now that it came down to it, you were one of them. you could see the way his toned chest rose and fell, the way his breath quickened as he leaned in just a fraction more. you didn’t miss how his eyes continuously shifted from yours to your lips.

“c’mon, is it really so wrong for you to want to feel something real?” nicholas asked, his voice tantalizingly low as each word was dripping with temptation. “you’re out here, living this incredible life with some insane fucking talent and beauty. don’t lie to me, babe, you want something more.” his hand traveled farther up on your thigh. you could see the smirk forming on his face once he felt the sensation of goosebumps rising on your bare, brown skin. you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as if it were going to literally explode. the palpable tension in the air made it difficult to think straight.

“i have someone, okay?” you repeated, but it felt weaker this time, as if you were trying to convince yourself more than him. how pathetic. nicholas chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“oh, yeah? i bet if you went out to that phone, he wouldn’t even pick up. you see, i’m always here for you, so how ‘bout you let go and use me—just for one night, hm?” he whispered close to your ear, his lips ghosting along your jawline. you wanted to feel the touch of his lips press onto your skin, but now you were stuck with a choice—or what little of a choice you had left. if leaving were an option, you would’ve gotten the hell out of dodge by now.

“i shouldn’t.” you murmured, but even as you spoke, you could feel yourself beginning to crumble. “c’mon, baby, just one night,” he urged, his voice a seductive whisper before his fingers easily slid up to the area of where your legs are crossed. “let me show you what you’ve been missing. i’m your biggest fan, so let me prove it to you. you deserve to feel good, to let go of all the pressure and just—be.” at that phrase, you sigh as the tense muscles in your legs suddenly turn to jelly, giving him all the access that he needed to slide his fingers within your leather skirt. his middle grazes over the lace material of your panties before he presses the tip of finger flat against the damp surface of your clothed pussy. nicholas could gloat at the fact that even when you said no, you were already putty in his hands, but he just couldn’t fathom the thought of him actually arousing his musical idol of all people—what luck he had tonight.

“just say the word, honey, and i’m all yours tonight. i won’t go any further until you do.” as he spoke, you felt the weight of your loneliness pressing down on you, the longing for connection that had been building up inside you. the thought of giving in, of letting him take you away from it all, was intoxicating—just like the scent of cigarettes mixed with his cologne now that he was closer than ever. god, you just wanted to feel desired, to be wanted in a way that only he seemed to understand. no one was around, so how could the paps possibly see what you were up to? shit, male stars do this all the time and never seem to get flack for it. they get to do whatever they want with their little groupies and they’re deemed as kings, but nicholas was just one man, so—you made your decision. with a shaky breath, you deliberately nodded and shrugged your shoulders. “hah, fuck it—just for tonight.” you said, your voice trembled with anticipation before you pointedly turned to look him straight into his eyes.

“but, we can’t let it go further than that.” you affirm.

nicholas’ brown eyes lit up with a mixture of triumph and desire, and in that moment, you knew you were stepping into a world of pleasure and possibly, regret. he’s got you where he wants you and frankly, you couldn’t really give a fuck for now.

“oh, trust me, baby. you won’t regret it,” with a tone of mischief, he promised and it didn’t take a second for him to finally crash his lips on yours to which you reciprocated without any more doubts once you place your hands on his jawline to bring him in closer as if you were a starved woman. as the kiss progressed, his cunning digits stealthily moved your panties to the side beneath you skirt, causing you to open your legs wider. the pads of middle and ring fingers glided along your slit before his thumb came in to caress pressured light circles around your clit . you whimpered out into nicholas’ mouth, giving his tongue the opportunity to intrude into your mouth like a smooth criminal, you instantly went along with it as your desire for his touch began to increase. a whine left your lips when his descended to lay an attack on your neck. as he did so, you jolted a bit when he stuck his middle inside of you. your wet, cushiony walls stretched to give him the warm welcome he’s been craving for a while.

“fuck, you’re so tight. so fucking beautiful. i bet you don’t get like this for your boyfriend, eh?” he darkly chuckled, deliberately moving in and out your pussy.

“ah, nick, please.” you’re practically begging for him to add one or two more just to get that much needed release that’s been bottled up. as if he were reading your mind, he slipped in another finger and gained his speed. you moan out his name as your hips instinctively buck for his fingers meet in the middle with that special spot. he smirks at the beautiful music of squelching as you clench tighter around him.

“shit, baby, you hear that? god, you’re soaked.” he teasingly mused while making a scissoring motion, you could hear the volume of your arousal getting louder as his fingers easily move faster. his thumb was back to rapidly rubbing and pressing onto your clit like it was a button on an arcade game. you were just about to cum when he pulled his fingers away, leaving you whining at the emptiness.

“nick, why’d you st—” your words were cut short when he placed his fingers atop of your lips. they were glistening as they were coated in your juices.

“here—wanna taste?” nicholas asked, urging you to give him access to your mouth. a satisfied grin rose on his lips when you answered by sucking off both fingers at the same time. he bit his lip and attentively watched. when you hummed at the taste, he could feel the blood rapidly flowing to his rising cock as you didn’t dare to break the lustful eye contact between you.

“fuck.” nicholas exhaled, instantly taking his fingers from his mouth and initiating another fervent kiss to your lips. he needed to taste and feel you—all of you, so with one of his strong arms wrapped around your body, he swiftly laid you on your back against the plush, black velvet cushions of the sofa. he positions his large body right in between your legs and ruts his clothed arousal against your own as you both take a moment to get lost in each other’s lips before he goes down from your neck to your chest. your hands find their way within his messy, brown hair while he suckles on the melanated skin of your cleavage. his hands then slide under your corset top, he’s so damn giddy that there’s no bra underneath. he palms his firm hands against your soft breasts that he was dying to see for the first time. he peered at you when his hands gripped the hem as if to ask if he can proceed. once you silently give your approval, he pulls the top over head to expose your bare upper half. his hands roamed your body with a hunger that made your skin tingle with goosebumps, his fingers trailing down your sides, exploring every curve. with hooded lids and his mouth slightly agape, he just stared in awe at how this moment could never compare to the numerous sensual fantasies he’s had of you in the past.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his hands now pinning your hips deeper within the sofa as he continued to deliberately grind his own into you.

“fuck, i can’t say it enough. you fucking see what you do to me?”

“ah, fuck, nick…” you whimpered, the sound escaping your lips as you bucked your hips up to his. your pussy was practically aching with how much you needed him, you were savoring this moment, but not too much as you hurriedly sat up to pull his tank over his head only to reveal how much of an absolute unit nicholas was. you knew he was fit, but it was like he was straight from the cover off the latest issue from playgirl magazine. he reveled at how your hands slowly roam from his chest down to his firmly toned abdomen. you basically clench around nothing when the ridge of each hard, bulging muscle are within your hands. they travel to his navel, the dark tresses of his happy trail tickled against your fingers. that’s when you finally see the hardened tent of arousal locked within his jeans, you attempt to touch it, but he softly takes ahold of your wrist before you could so. nicholas teasingly clicks his tongue,

“tsk, tsk, tsk. you’re so damn greedy. how ‘bout you do that after i get a taste?” he quips, placing a gentle kiss to your palm before he leans over you to slide your leather skirt down your legs. your drenched black, lace panties follow after, showcasing a clear string of your sweet nectar as they finally depart from your body. you observe as nicholas readies himself in the position between your legs, opening them wider, so that he can be a perfect fit. he marvels at the sight of your wet core before he leaves a trail of wet kisses along each of your inner thighs, pleasuring, yet teasing you as he makes his journey closer to the center. you shudder when his tongue finally makes contact by deliberately licking a long stripe up the slit before he gets to his dirty work. he was devouring you as if your pussy was a treasure he’d been searching for. you vocalize groans of ecstasy while caressing his hair as his lips enclose around your clit, sucking the sensitive nub like a piece of hard candy.

“s-shit—nick. that feels s’good.” you praise, throwing your head back, your fingers dig in the jungle of his head to pull him in as close as possible. nicholas was giving you all of what he’s got and you both knew you couldn’t deny it. he could cum right now as he witnessed you writhe under his touch, but he was patient enough. the combination of him humming in satisfaction against your skin, the bridge of his nose bumping into your clit, and his stubble tickling at your folds could drive you over the edge. you slowly rolled your hips into his face, he starts to become relentless once his tongue is deep with your walls and his thumb plays with your puffy clit to stimulate you further.

“mmm, nick, baby—uh, i’m—” you struggle to communicate as you squirm, the hot ball of pleasure builds from inside of you.

“shh, shh, i know. let it all go. c’mon, beautiful, do it for your biggest fan. i want you give it to me.”

at his words, you were already undone. you clench around his tongue and do what he commands by releasing a literal burst of your arousal onto his face, chin, and even the couch. he laps every single drop as you ride out your first of many highs. you were spent, but not so much when your hands guide his face to yours. you steal a second taste of yourself on his tywhen you crash your lips onto his in hunger before you finally take initiative,

“nick.” you softly, yet firmly call out, “take it all off. sit up nice and pretty f’me.” he doesn’t waste time to sit himself upright on the couch. being the good and loyal fan that he is, you stand between his spread thighs and reward him with sloppy kisses to his lips, bringing them down further until you’re where he’d want you the most. your hands don’t wait to unfasten and unzip the ripped jeans he has on. after his assistance of discarding the clothing to a random part of the room, you kneel to be face to face with the large tent within his plaid boxers. you smirk and return the same teasing energy he gave you, sliding your hands up his knees and down his massive thighs before you firmly palm his arousal. god, he was definitely hard and he was definitely huge, and the full thing hasn’t even sprung out yet. he lets out a guttural sigh in pleasure as you roll his erection within your hand. being ready than you’ll ever be, you slide the boxers down his legs and off his feet to break him free before you reach out to stroke his impressive ego. it was so nice, tall, and stiff. nicholas seemed like the type to keep it up for a while and the best part: it was all for you. he lets out a string of profanity when your tongue leaves a trail along the underside of the shaft. you both can’t take the teasing anymore as your hands firmly place themselves on each thigh, your tongue swirls around his leaking tip as if you were trying to keep melting ice cream from falling off a cone. you take him into your mouth, hallowing your cheeks to move your head up and down the entire length.

“ah, just like that. fuck, i knew you were talented, but this is fucking ridiculous—shit! keep going, doll. fuck, i love your mouth.” his praises motivate you to take half of him within your mouth and the other half to stroke his cock with your palm simultaneously. you hum what happened to be the tune of his favorite song of yours against his skin and he instinctively bucked his hips to bring himself further down your throat. oh, you fucking minx. he knew you wanted to make him feel good as well, but while he appreciated the thought, he only had one mission: you.

“s-stop—can’t fucking take it. m’not gonna cum like this.” he hisses, placing a palm on your neck immediately stopping your movements.

“get the fuck on top of me, right now.”

it was like clockwork the way he effortlessly picked you up from your spot on the floor, placing your knees on each side of his legs, so that your entrance was centimeters from the tip. nicholas strokes himself and gingerly runs the tip along the slit, his hands grip onto your hips to guide them down, filling you up inch by inch until he was right at home. you groaned at the girth that rested inside of you as he leans back on the sofa with his hands behind his head.

“shit, you feel amazing—go ahead, angel, use me. i’m all you need tonight, i’ll be your freak, your lover. for you, i’ll be your any-fucking-thing.” nicholas hyped, jolting his hips to give you a fresh start for you to move on your own and boy, did it feel exhilarating. you finally got your rhythm as you repeatedly moved up and down on his cock, your slick making it easy for him to slide in and out without a problem. with one hand placed on his chest and the other around where his chain rested on his neck, this gave you the leverage you needed to lose full control.

“ah, fuck. nick, baby, you feel so damn good.” your hips don’t stop when his tip lightly touches that precious spot, but you need more, “hah, p-please touch me.” nicholas’ warm gaze instantly darkened at your command, his hands grip right under the plush cheeks of your ass as his own hips jolt up to meet yours. you and nicholas simultaneously groan in pleasure when his tip rapidly bumps against your cervix.

“fuck, look at you. you like using me as your little plaything? y’know i’d do anything for my shining star.” he teased, quickly gaining speed in his hips. you were about to be close as that ball of heat grew within you, but you were starting to tire out. flustered, you lightly tapped him on his burly bicep thrice.

“n-nick! i-i can’t—” you stammer with a desperate look in your eyes, he holds you firmly by the small of your back and flips you over before placing your legs over his shoulders to drill his hips right into yours as if he never lost his rhythm. nicholas was simply mesmerized at the sight before him. you’re crying his name out every second with your eyes shut tight preparing yourself for another orgasm as your walls clench tighter around him. to nicholas, this was heaven, he didn’t give a fuck if he was fucking the shit out of someone else’s chick.

“look at me, baby.” he softly orders, placing one hand on your neck to prompt you into opening your eyes, you do so. “you getting close?” he questions further to which you barely reply, “m-mhm! m’gonna cum.” the next thing you know is that he leans down to slowly move his lips with yours, his tongue gaining entrance as his free hand wedges between you to spread you a little wider and caress pressured circles on your clit with his thumb again to bring you closer combined with his own movements that were starting to get sporadic. you pulled your lips from his momentarily

“nick, come with me. it’s okay.” you say one last time not keeping your eyes off of each other. “s-shit, you’re amazing.” he praises as your body trembles beneath him, his thrusts get sloppier as he moves on your nub faster before you both wail out, becoming completely undone. you find yourself squirting on his cock and navel while he completely pours himself deep inside of you, coating your walls in the thick whiteness of his arousal that now drips from you after he pulls out. thank god you were on the pill, you were already in deep trouble as it is. after you both gathered yourselves together and go your separate ways to prepare for the next stop, the guilt inside you was forming at the realization that— you cheated.

“this can’t happen again, nick.” you firmly said.

“you’re the boss.” he responded nonchalantly.

that’s when you swore to keep it nothing, but professional with nicholas from that day forward. if by professional, you mean sneaking him into your suite while the band was partying or engaging in a quickie within your dressing room. it was futile, the more you tried to resist him, the more persistent he got which would lead to you threatening to kick him out or reiterating that you had a boyfriend, but somehow, it always ends up with him coaxing you into filling that void within your bed—and your heart.

[springchaelafton]

Springtrap should visit a therapist.💀🫡 His psyche is a bit too critical.

Im sure Michael Afton couldn't agree more.

Like- dude are you okay?!

Wdym these chains wont hold you back forever?😭💀

My bro doesnt like chains. Or being trapped. Or Michael. Or anyone. Guh.

Well anyways this scene is right after fazbears fright fire.

Michael set him on fire, knowing that this wouldnt kill springtrap. He just had to find a way to incapacitate him, to knock him out basically. And mike knew fire was the ONLY way there is with immortal-trap here. Mike knocked him out so that he could take william to a secret facility ( F.A.C.S in my case) that will keep william there until "they" (henry) can get the information they need from william.

And the only thing there'd be possibly to find out, is how remnant works, as for only william having the knowledge and experience in this area.

Springtrap and michael are the living "uh dead" proves that remnant works. Even better than assumed.

Also- what in the world are these dialogues?!😭😂

[spookieloverslittlemind]

How protective are they…

includes: Michael Myers, Pinhead, Brahms Heelshire, Art the Clown, Sun and Moon (fnaf), Marta (Outlast 2)

a/n: it’s grey and rainy outside yk what that means

Michael

Is this a joke. Michael will literally kill anyone who breathes your air if you ask him to. In fact, at the start of your relationship you had to set a boundary by telling him not to kill every person you encounter, unless you give him the clear (given those kills aren’t his own random kills, he allows you to set a rule of “don’t just kill everyone”). This stems from him walking out your front door, following the mail man one time. Michael is the epitome of the “me and my bitch don’t argue she tell me shut up and I do” trope when it comes to you except his version of shutting-up is putting down the knife. That said, you’ve got plenty of time to stop Michael because he’s only ever walking after someone, so there’s not much danger of him accidentally killing the wrong person. When, however, you do give him the green light to commit murder in the first degree…Michael’s all over it like a bad rash. You’ve never seen him walk with more purpose than when you’ve sighed and said “fine” to him killing someone. Once, you made the mistake of telling Michael he was allowed to threaten but not kill - you were very specific - man who’d been bothering you at work. At first, you thought the guy was just off sick for a couple of days out of pure fear from his encounter with Mike. Then you started seeing the missing person posters. You had one of them on the dining room table when Michael next came to visit and he just tilted his head with the closest expression he can pull to resemble 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 behind the black eye holes of his mask.

Pinhead

Is this a joke. Pinhead can and will summon a portal to any circle of Hell of his choosing to forcibly grab any mf that tries you in any capacity via chains and drag them to eternal suffering. He doesn’t even have to be there to witness the crime before he’s playing judge, jury and executioner that omniscient bastard. He’s very calm and collected about his protectiveness unless someone actually hurts you, in which case he personally handles their eternal torture. Pinhead doesn’t have much of a concept for politeness but the first time he felt the energy of a cashier being less than friendly to you he summoned a portal and you had to rush home to explain that any poor soul working in customer services suffers enough and should not be sent to Hell for being less than happy working in a different kind of Hell for minimum wage. Thankfully, Pinhead brought them back and erased their memory (and injuries) so that trauma never really happened and he learned a valuable lesson that day x

Brahms

Is this a joke. Brahms will not hesitate to kill anyone that sets foot in the house unless you give him a full briefing on, like, your sister coming to visit or something. He’s more lenient with women coming over because he likes watching you smile as you talk to them from where he resides behind the walls but men? Hahahaha. You’re funny. Real funny. You should try standup. ‘Cause you know who’s standing up whenever a man’s voice is heard. And you know who’s killing them with his bare hands. It’s rare anyone has the opportunity to upset you because you’re trapped in Brahms’ mansion, but he’s the kind to track down the exact piece of paper that gave you a paper cut and tear it to shreds. Burn it. Eat it. So it’s fair to say Brahms is very, very protective. It’s a good thing he’s not allowed out, really.

Art

Is this a joke. Like everything about him, Art’s protective nature is…unique, but he’s definitely got it. He’ll watch someone upset you until it makes you cry and then flay a man, type beat. If anyone physically hurts you then yeah, they’re dead, but apart from that he likes to test how far someone will go to upset you before he steps in to act their punishment. Surprisingly, Art’s a lot more laidback than others on this list when it comes to not wanting to kill every person you come in contact with; he’s more prone to jealousy, really, because if he sees someone else making you laugh anywhere close to the amount he makes you laugh, he will want to gut them. And he probably will when you’re out of the room. And he’ll dispose of the body before you get back and mime something about “oh 😱 they had to go ☹️👉🏻 suddenly 🤭” and then you never hear from that person again, for reasons Art pretends he doesn’t know.

Sun and Moon

Is this a joke. Sun is incapable of withholding Moon if you get even mildly disrespected in any given circumstance they’re so protective of you, just hearing about you being upset is enough to get Moon appearing. Sun’s the type to remind you that you are safe and he (and Moon) will never let anyone or anything hurt you. Moon’s the type to shout at and throw toys that have hurt you or tripped you up in the Daycare. Sun is very good at comforting you and cheering you up after the fact, but it’s Moon who handles the punishment. He’s been known to leave the Daycare out of working hours to hunt down “naughty” people, and because you’ll feel guilty about it he deliberately doesn’t tell you the things he does, except to say “they will not upset you again…🌚”

Is this a joke. This servant to God has dedicated her life to cleansing the world of heretics and you think she won’t disembowel every soul that blasphemes in the presence of God’s purest gift to her? She may not have a sense of humour but you, my friend, are hilarious. Marta doesn’t understand petty offences of someone being unkind to you, unless you explain it to her, but as soon as she comprehends the fact you are even remotely unsettled by someone’s presence…God has whispered that person’s fate in her ear, and she won’t hesitate to bring it forth. Marta is not someone you can reason with, so people very quickly accept that to harm you, your spirit or your purity in any conceivable way, is to sign their own death warrant. You can’t stop her, either, because unfortunately when you say “they hurt my feelings”, God sends her a telepathic message that’s the equivalent of “🫵🏻👁️👁️👉🏻🔪”

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jay Kuo at The Status Kuo:

Let’s talk briefly about the jaw-dropping scandal that remains the talk of Washington.

If you’re just getting up to speed, we learned on Monday that National Security Advisor Mike Waltz had created a chat group on Signal, which is a private, encrypted communications app. It included some of the top officials in the Trump administration, including himself, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth and Vice President JD Vance. The topic was a potential military strike on the Houthis in Yemen. In creating the group, Waltz apparently inadvertently invited Jeffrey Goldberg, the Editor in Chief of The Atlantic, to the chat. No one can explain yet how this happened. Goldberg himself at first understandably thought it was a hoax, or perhaps some kind of trap for the media. Because after all, it would be a stunning display of incompetence, stupidity and even illegality to make that kind of mistake. But the longer the private thread went on, the more Goldberg understood that this was in fact a real chat, and he was somehow on it. A day after he broke the story, now that we’ve all had time to absorb just how shocking, irresponsible and, yes, criminal this Signal group was, we’ve also begun to understand how the administration is choosing to respond. And it’s only deepening concerns.

Deny it happened, then attack the reporter

This is a White House that never owns up to its mistakes, especially its colossal ones, nor admits the truth even when confronted. And that made for some head-spinning moments for what some, in honor of Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, are calling “whiskeyleaks.” “Nobody was texting war plans!” Hegseth insisted with a straight face. To his credit, Hegseth has years of experience lying to the public on Fox & Friends, and this is likely one of the reasons Trump picked him. Hegseth made this claim of “no war plans” even though, per reporting by the Associated Press, the National Security Council admitted that the text chain described by Goldberg in The Atlantic “appears to be authentic.” When asked how a reporter came to even be in a top secret chat group, Hegseth deployed his base media instincts again to go after the reporter’s reputation, as if that had anything to do with what had happened. He really could have been describing himself here: “So you are talking about a deceitful and highly discredited so-called journalist who has made a profession of peddling hoaxes,” Hegseth said, implying again that the story was untrue while attacking Goldberg personally.

The man who created the original f*ck-up, National Security Advisor Mike Waltz, took the same approach even after the story was confirmed. Waltz even went on Fox to suggest that Goldberg had hacked into the system, rather than been directly invited by Waltz.

[...]

It was “hair on fire” with Hillary Clinton

It’s important to note that Waltz and Hegseth were some of the biggest critics of Hillary Clinton for having a private email server on which a handful of classified documents inadvertently exchanged hands. Back in 2016, for example, Hegseth argued that if Hillary Clinton were any security professional, “military, government or otherwise,” she would be “fired on the spot” for what she did. By his own logic and argument, he also should be fired immediately for participating in the highly compromised group chat, which never should have happened outside of a secure government communication channel in the first place. Hegseth even claimed falsely during the text thread that they had “Operational Security” over the mission.

The same people who were apoplectic over Hillary Clinton’s emails are all of a sudden making excuses for the Signal leaks regarding Yemen featuring Pete Hegseth and Michael Waltz. The Signal leaks were more of a threat to national security than Clinton’s emails ever were.

[ldma-boodyshaker900]

OLT Au Mikey

So guys we already have Donnie's Sheet, We have Leo's Sheet, and we Have April's Sheet so i think It Time For Mikey's Sheet, don't worry Raph's sheet is almost done.

I'll leave some info, Closer looks and another version Of The Sheet Under cut!:

But before You go down we have Some Tw!

⚠️Tw trauma, Tw Injuries, Tw Suicidal mention, Tw Dead, Tw Strong Topics and Tw Depression , Tw Bright Colors, Character Dead⚠️:

🧡Here comes The info!🧡

Mikey is kinda Older Then he was In The Movie since His dead was some Months after The Invacion .

Mikey has long hair from his Ninpō and Also from his slightly bigger age .

Unlike Leo, Mikey's pupils are not displayed naturally, much like Raph's, as they are mostly glowing rather than having pupils.

As we can see Mikey's Arms and Hands have Eyes and Cracks this are from The try he did on trying to get Leo out Of Prision Dimention But since he only had Donnie as Support this didn't work, causing His Arms to get wounded and Leo to die in The Prison dimencion .

Mikey is literally caged in a The Black Void, a place that can be reached by meditating, but trapped here as are Leo and Raph's ghosts, as Donnie won't let them go for fear of forgetting them .

Although Raph and Leo can move around The Black Void, Mikey is the only one who cannot freely move from his spot as he is chained to the surface he is on, He is usually unable to leave or move away from this place .

As we can see Mikey uses His Cape and Hoodie like In The Bad Future aus, This is Because Donnie Gifted this to Him some Weeks before he died and he was wearing It when he died so he stuck with It .

Mikey's way Of Being and Acting isnt exacly how it usted to be In The series, or movie, or Even after The Invacion, His whole way Of Acting changed When he became stuck on The Black Void, His usal calm and Gentle actitude changed to a Mean and Angry one, Being Usually unstable while talking to Donnie .

Like i mentioned on April's Sheet, April can't Really see The Ghost Siblings like Donnie Does, But she can see little details Of when any Of Them are close, in The case Of Mikey, April can't Really see or Hear Him, neighter feel Him, But In Mikey's case The Whole are In which her is makes The place look more Orange, like it had a Orange Aura all around The Spot .

Despice Mikey's body being full Of Cracks There is one specific spot In which he has The Biggest Crack, Which Is on His Shell, His Shell has a Big Crack That covers most Of The top part Of His Shell, This Crack reflecs in His Ghost Form since he made It to himself while trying to break out Of His chains while In The Black Void .

Mikey tends to do Conversations with April Even Thought she can hear him and That he know That she can't, he Still does It, talking to her For hours and following her Along The lair while he does so .

Mikey gets Very bored Being stuck on The same spot always, not being able to walk Along with his Brothers In The Black Void, so Usually Raph or Leo come to talk to Him , Sitting besides His spot Just chating .

Mikey tends to swear more than he used to, specialy When Raph isnt around, Swearing a Lot Even to Donnie .

Mikey's official nickname is Angelo and Angel He is called like This by all of the Siblingins even Ralph and April, But Donnie and Leo call him Michael some times to annoy him by calling Mikey Michael Jackson .

Usually Mikey Yells at Donnie a Lot, Blaming Him For The situacion That he , Leo and Raph are In, mostly His, usualy yelling how he Hated what he is And what he has done to Him .

Mikey's voice is more Raspy and Kinda has A robotic like distant echo on It, this is cause In The Black Void he Barely speaks, Cause The Echo scares Raphie so he Usually uses sign lenguaje around Raph .

Mikey has bipolar disorder Being this one Of the principal reasons of His usual Emotions change When It comes to be with Donnie and Even Speaking to Leo and Raph, Resulting this into Moments In which he Even Snaps at Them out Of The sudent while chating .

Despice The hard feeling That Mikey has For Donnie he dosen't really hate Him, Very Usually conforting Him When necessary or hurting and threatening any person That hurts or insults Donnie.

Well guys i hope You like it!

Have a Great week and a Great Day!

Lord Bless You!

❤️💙💜🧡

[marvelstoriesepic]

Breaking Chains (1)

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x reader

Series Summary: Leaving behind an abusive and possessive boyfriend, and finding refuge in the hometown you once yearned to escape, certainly wasn’t a chapter you anticipated in your life’s story. Yet, eyes as blue as the sky at dusk, belonging to a mysterious biker drew you into a world of unexpected possibilities, where a job at his bar becomes more than just a means of survival - it’s a pathway to freedom and self-discovery. Though, breaking away from your past proves daunting when shackled by chains.

Chapter word count: 7.8k

Warnings: mentions of a toxic relationship and possessive behavior; implications of abuse!; self-preservation; mentions of toxic parents

Authors note: Alright well, this is the first part of my first series. Let me know what you think :)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You stood amidst the scattered moving boxes, a silent testament to the minimalism that defined your time with your now ex-boyfriend Michael. There aren't many, and for good reason - his need for control extended even to the belongings you possessed. Every item was scrutinized, every possession pared down to the bare essentials. It was his way of asserting dominance, of ensuring that even the smallest aspect of your life remained under his thumb. The memories of his manipulation and dominance lingered, a bitter aftertaste to the sweetness of liberation. He didn’t relinquish his hold easily, his grip on you leaving marks that may never fully fade.

Unwillingly, your thoughts drifted back to ‘that night’. A night, forever etched in your memory. It was the breaking point, the moment you finally dared to defy Michaels’ suffocating control.

It began weeks earlier, a simple request to enjoy a night out with colleagues, a seemingly harmless longing for independence. But for Michael, it was an affront to his dominance, a threat to his grip on your every move. In a calculated act of manipulation, he confiscated your phone and wallet, severing your ties to the outside world and trapping you within his realm of control.

His actions escalated, a twisted display of possessiveness and paranoia. He fabricated excuses to isolate you, to keep you tethered to his side. The world outside became a battleground - every glance from another man a perceived threat to his fragile ego. And so, he’d have you wear a baseball hat and sunglasses, shielding you from the gaze of others, lest they dare to see you as anything other than his possession.

But on ‘that night’, something within you stirred. A flicker of defiance fueled by the realization that you deserved more, that you were worthy of autonomy and freedom. The echos of his rage still reverberated in your mind, his shouts settling deep inside your chest. You could still feel the spit that had landed on your face and instinctively lifted your hand up to wipe your cheeks in an attempt to erase what isn’t there anymore. Still, the sensation lingered.

He wasn’t always that possessive.

You left the familiarity of your parents’ home behind quite early, a decision driven by a deep-seated desire for change. You held an affection for the quaint charm of your small town and the people living there, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. There was an undeniable pull, a magnetic force drawing you away from the familiar streets and familiar faces, urging you to explore the vast expanse of the world beyond.

So you followed it.

Unfortunately though, not directly after high school as you had wished. Your parents had meticulously crafted a vision for your future, one that prominently featured pursuing higher education and following a predetermined path to success. You had relented, albeit reluctantly, and started studying graphic design together with Wanda, staying with your parents. Yet, as the semesters wore on, a deep sense of discontent found a home deep inside your soul. You felt stifled, as if you were trying to fit into a mold that wasn’t meant for you. The walls of your hometown closed in, suffocating you with their familiarity.

The unease grew until it erupted into a heated confrontation with your parents. There were tears, there was shouting, the disappointment in your parents eyes palpable. Dropping out college and leaving town without further education or a concrete plan was nothing short of a horror to them - a deviation from the carefully crafted script they had envisioned for your life.

They let you go. However, the acceptance came at a price - a palpable distance that grew between you and them in the years that followed.

Phone calls went unanswered, and messages were left unreturned, leaving you with a sense of loneliness. Their sporadic check-ins felt like a mere formality, lacking the depth and intimacy that once characterized your interactions with them, serving as a bittersweet reminder of the bond that had been strained by your decision to strike out on your own.

Their lack of communication stung, but you prided yourself on your resilience, and your ability to forge ahead in the face of adversity.

Until Michael anyway.

Seattle became your new home, a bustling metropolis teeming with possibility and opportunity. The streets pulsed with energy, each corner offering a new adventure waiting to be discovered.

You met Michael seven months into your new life. You were working as a waitress in a cozy, hidden gem of a café, a haven for locals and wanderers alike seeking respite from the frenetic pace of the city. It was your third job since moving there. You didn’t like staying somewhere longer than necessary. And also, your bosses were dicks.

He was a charming guy, his persistence a subtle yet relentless force that drew you in despite your better judgment. After that first encounter in the café, he became a familiar presence, his visits growing more frequent as he sought out opportunities to be near you. He was willing to wait for one of the tables under your care for that day, a fact that had you reeling in excitement back then.

When he finally asked you out, an invitation delivered with a charming smile and a twinkle in his eyes that left you unable to refuse. After that you found yourself seated across from him in a lot of fancy restaurants over the next months.

As the initial excitement of the relationship with Michael began to fade, a subtle unease settled in its place, a nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It started with innocent questions, a curiosity about your day-to-day activities while he wasn’t around. But soon, his inquiries grew more invasive, more insistent, leaving you feeling suffocated beneath the weight of his scrutiny.

Michaels need to know every detail of your comings and goings bordered on obsession. From asking you how many men you served at work and if you opened the door for anyone to wanting to know how many men looked your way on your way home. No details escaped his watchful gaze. It was as if he sought to control every aspect of your existence, to mold you into his idealized vision of the perfect partner.

And so, you found yourself trapped in a vicious circle of control and manipulation, unable to break free from his ironclad grasp. The once vibrant spirit that had propelled you to leave your small hometown behind began to wither and fade, overshadowed by the weight of self-doubt and fear.

You retreated into a shell of self-preservation, losing sight of the person you once were. The fearless adventurer who had set out to explore the world with nothing but a sense of wanderlust and a thirst for adventure.

Gone was the confidence that had once been your armor, replaced by a constant undercurrent of doubt and uncertainty. Your wit and sarcasm, once sharp as a blade, became dulled by the oppressive weight of his control, buried deep beneath the surface with no hope of resurfacing.

In the face of his relentless demands and scrutiny, you found yourself second-guessing every decision, every action, until even the simplest of tasks became a Herculean effort.

As you gazed upon the meager collection of your belongings, a mix of relief and bitterness flooded your senses. Relief, because each box represented a step away from his suffocating influence. Bitterness, because you realized just how much of yourself you had to sacrifice to appease his insatiable need for control. But amidst the bitterness, there was a flicker of defiance - a determination to reclaim what was lost and rebuild a life on your own terms.

You couldn’t help the lang of longing for what could have been, a wish to turn back time and sever ties with him before the roots of his control ran too deep. It was a fleeting thought, quickly buried beneath the determination to forge a new path, one untouched by his influence.

“Hey, you good?”

The soft voice of your childhood best friend, broke through the swirling thoughts in your mind, grounding you in the present moment. You turned to face her, the furrow in her brow reflecting the concern etched on her face. Taking a deep breath, you offered her a faint smile to reassure her.

“All good, Wan, just got stuck in my head for a sec,” you replied, voice carrying a hint of relief at the interruption.

The brunette came to stand beside you, wrapping an arm around you. Her presence brought you a sense of calm amidst the chaos of moving boxes and swirling emotions. Her arm around your shoulders felt like a shield against the uncertainties you held within. Wanda looked down at your boxes, then back to you. “It’s nice to have you back!”

You sighed. You never once told Michael where you came from. Never uttered the name of your small little town. The reasons for that were shrouded in uncertainty, lost in the depths of your subconscious. Perhaps it was a form of self-preservation, a subconscious instinct to shield yourself from the potential harm that could come with letting Micheal take hold of every detail of your past. Or maybe it was the realization that your connection to your hometown had become tainted by the strained relationship with your parents, a painful reminder of the fractures that had formed between you and them.

Whatever the reason was; you were grateful for the anonymity it afforded you, a sanctuary where you could return to rediscover the person you were before you left, free from the shadows of the last three years and the suffocating influence of Michaels’ dominance. It was a chance to reclaim your sense of self, to embrace the qualities and characteristics that had once defined you, before the chains Michael put on you threatened to bury them beneath layers of doubt and insecurity.

“Need any help?” Wanda asked kindly.

You glanced around at the remaining boxes, taking in the cluttered scene of your new beginnings. “I think I’ll be good,” you replied with a grateful smile, “And again, thank you for letting me stay Wanda.”

Your friend reached out to squeeze your hand. “Always, Y/n!”

Wanda and you had forged a bond that transcended time and distance, a friendship rooted in the shared experiences of childhood. From the early days of elementary school, where you spent every break eagerly trading portions of the lunch packets your parents prepared for you, to the halls of high school where you navigated the challenges of adolescents side by side, Wanda had always been by your side.

You spent the day before your departure with her. Tears flowed freely and you reminisced the whole night about the memories you had created together. Though you both knew it wasn’t a goodbye forever, you promised her to come back for her one day. Little did you know then, as you said your tearful goodbyes, that fate would lead you back to her under unexpected circumstances.

Wanda’s open arms and support became your lifeline in the aftermath of fleeing Michaels clutches. With nowhere else to turn to and silence echoing from your parents’ end for months, Wanda was the only person you could turn to. Despite the limited space in her cozy apartment, she offered you a sanctuary from the chaos and turmoil that had come to define your life with Michael.

Wanda left you to it after making sure you were okay with doing this alone. And so, with steady hands and a resolute heart, you began the process of unpacking - not just boxes, but the pieces of yourself that were hidden away for too long.

****

“So how’s Pietro? Haven’t heard from him in a while.”

Pietro, Wanda’s brother has always been like a brother to you as well. He once stood up to you in High school, getting into a fight with a guy who crossed a line with inappropriate touching. Pietro swung his fist into the guy's face faster than you were able to react. You tended to his bruised knuckles afterward and held a cold towel against his eye where the other guy had punched him back. You told him he didn’t have to do this but he just smiled through his busted lip, clicked his tongue, and promised he always got your back princessa!

While Pietro didn’t initially grasp your decision to leave your hometown and might have been a bit upset at first, he sought you out a few hours before your departure. Pulling you into a tight hug, he made you promise to call him whenever you needed. He even half-jokingly vowed to fly to Seattle at any hour to handle any situation that made you uncomfortable.

At the time you had laughed it off but there were countless moments when you found your thumb hovering over the call button as you navigated the uncertainty and doubt surrounding your relationship with Michael.

Wanda and Pietro were always supportive pillars in your life, but you never revealed the intricate details of your relationship with Michael to them. Initially, you shared the surface-level aspects - the charming smiles, the sweet gestures, the moments that made your heart flutter and your knees weak.

However, as time passed and the complexities of your relationship with Michael began to surface, you held back from divulging your struggles, the doubts, and the moments of unease that gnawed at you. You tried to shield them from the burden of your own uncertainties and fears, so you focused on their lives instead, asking question after question but answering none yourself.

While they may not have known the depths of what you were going through, they sensed the shift in your demeanor, the subtle withdrawal from sharing the intricacies of your life. They respected your privacy, choosing not to probe deeper out of concern for your comfort.

But you noticed the way Wanda had watched you as you arrived at her place back in your hometown in a taxi with those few moving boxes. You remembered the uncertain glance she threw your way at your involuntary flinch at the hollow thud of the trunk closing. And when she reached out, her hand grasping your forearm, the squeeze lingered longer than necessary.

She didn’t probe on your anxiousness - not with words anyway - but her glances were laden with unspoken questions.

“God, don’t ask!”

Wanda had her back turned to you, standing at the sink and rinsing off the used dinner plates. She insisted you stay seated after finishing unpacking, citing your exhaustion, although it didn’t take you that long. You could almost sense the eye roll behind her exasperated sigh and leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter intrigued.

“Why? Did something happen?”

Wanda sighed as she finished putting away the clean dishes and retrieved two mugs from the cupboard, setting them on the counter before starting the kettle for tea.

Running a hand through her brunette waves, she leaned against the counter, facing you. “Did he tell you about the guys he started hanging out with?”

“He did. Haven’t heard much from him since.”

“Yeah, that’s because he pours his whole life and soul into their stuff. They’re like some sort of biker gang or whatever. Spends more time at their dingy bar than at home and even bought a bike himself, that big douchbag. I told him those things are death traps, but he just wouldn’t listen.”

The kettle went off during her exasperated rant and she poured the water into the two cups, while you listened intently.

“Can’t tell you how often I needed to pick him up and drag him home after he drank his ass off once again.”

Wanda sank into the chair opposite you, releasing a deep breath, and took her cup in hand, absently fiddling with the tea bag.

“A biker gang?” you repeated slowly, brows furrowed.

In your mind‘s eye, you envisioned a group of rough and tumble bikers, clad in well-worn leather jackets adorned with patches and insignias, marking their allegiances to their chosen brotherhood. Rough beards framing a face weathered by years of life on the road, and piercing gazes sizing up everything and everyone. Gravelly voices, the result of years of smoking and exposure to the elements.

They would ride in formation, their bikes rumbling like a symphony of power as they’d roar down the streets in a chaotic display of bravado. The streets become their domain, their playground, as they weave through traffic with reckless abandon.

It was a world where loyalty was earned through acts of defiance, and conflicts were often resolved with fists rather than words.

You could only hope that the world Pietro had been drawn into wasn’t the same one you imagined.

“They came here a few months ago,” Wanda continued, a sigh in her breath. She took a sip of her tea. “You remember the old thrift store of Miss Kaczinski a few blocks down, right?”

You nodded, a sense of nostalgia hitting you. You pictured the storefront with its faded sign swinging gently in the breeze, as you and Wanda would stroll by, looking like it hadn’t been changed once since the old lady opened the shop.

Its exterior was adorned with weathered wooden shutters and flower boxes overflowing with vibrant blooms. Wanda and you loved to come by in the afternoons - stepping through the creaking door and getting greeted by the musty scent of old books and garments, mingling with the faint aroma of lavender sachets and potpourri. Vintage dresses hung from wrought-iron racks, their vibrant colors and intricate patterns whispering stories of bygone eras. Tables were piled high with jewelry, scarves, and knick-knacks of every shape and size.

In the corner of the store, Miss Kaczinski would sit in her beloved rocking chair, its cushions worn with years of use. She would sit there knitting, needles clacking softly as she regaled customers with tales of days gone by, sending greetings and warm smiles to anyone who would listen.

The world moves too quickly, dear. Think about the steps you take.

She had told you that once. The full weight of her words didn’t truly hit you until now.

Wanda had informed you about her passing a few months after you left town. A pang of sadness had filled your stomach at the thought of the empty storefront - its windows dark and silent, its shelves empty and its doors closed to the world.

“They turned it into a bar. One of them even lives above it now. Pietro says they’re good guys, but how can you be sure, you know?”

A knot formed in your stomach at Wanda’s troubled expression and a hollow ache spread through you. She hadn’t shared her concerns about the biker gang with you in the last few months, and you couldn’t blame her. After all, you kept your own struggles with your former relationship hidden.

Guilt washed over you like a tidal wave, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest. She might have kept to herself for all those months for the very same reason you didn’t tell her about the bruises under your sweater or the way you hid the heavy bags under your eyes under tons of makeup because your ex-boyfriend didn’t stop shouting at you just because it was time to go to sleep.

It was a vicious circle of silence, born out of the fear of causing the others distress.

A sense of regret washed over you. Perhaps, she had been trying to spare you from worrying about her and Pietro, just as you had been trying to shield her from your own troubles. It was a painful realization, recognizing how your silence had driven a wedge between you.

You were adamant about getting back on the right track with your childhood best friend, to reclaim the bond you had once shared. You longed for the simpler times, when you and Wanda would sit together with a container of ice cream, confiding in each other without fear and leaning on each other for support.

So you let her speak her mind, reaching out to grasp her forearm, squeezing it reassuring as she continued.

“I hear them driving through town all the time. I don’t know what they are up to or what drew them here in the first place. I mean there isn’t much activity in a small town like that, especially for a biker gang. But if they decide to hit the road again, I’m afraid Pietro might go along with them.” Her voice grew quiet and she let her gaze sink to her tea.

Your own tea was starting to cool down, too focused on Wanda to notice. You took a moment to gather your thoughts, processing her words, and leaned in a little, talking softly.

“Look, Pietro can be a knucklehead sometimes,” you conceded, eliciting a huffed laugh from Wanda, “But he is not someone to dive into danger head first or take unnecessary risks. He always does things for a reason. You and I both know that. He wouldn’t put himself in harm’s way, especially if it meant hurting you.” You hoped to alleviate some of Wanda's worries, not letting go of her arm.

You smiled at her reassuringly, relieved to see her shoulders relaxing a little as she let out a breath.

“We’ll keep an eye on things, alright? And hey, maybe-”

You got interrupted by the buzzing of a phone lying on the kitchen counter. Your breath hitched and your heart skipped a beat, a shudder was running up your spine and your heart leapt to your throat, before you realized it wasn’t your phone.

It wasn’t Michael.

You must have squeezed Wanda’s arm a little too tightly, as she was laying her hand over yours to gently pry it away. She got up to answer the call, but not without throwing you a cautious glance.

You had left your phone with Michael as you broke free from his toxic hold, retrieving a burner phone somewhere on your way to your friend's apartment. It had been a necessary step, a protective measure to ensure that Michael couldn’t track you down. The thought of him finding you sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the fear and uncertainty that had plagued you since you left.

You knew that he would try to find you, that he would stop at nothing to reclaim what he saw as his, the lengths he would go to get his way, the manipulation and control that had kept you tethered to him for far too long. But you were equally determined to carve out a new life for yourself free from his influence and free from the fears.

But for now, a sense of unease crept up your spine. The knowledge that Michael was out there, somewhere, searching for you filled you with a deep sense of dread.

A groan from Wanda seemingly a few moments later but you couldn’t tell, snapped you out of your thoughts. You scolded yourself for allowing something as simple as the ringing of a phone to jolt you back into a panicked state. Taking a subtle breath in you straightened up and focused on Wanda.

“Seriously? That’s the third time this week!” she exclaimed, rubbing her forehead in frustration, “Yeah, thank you, Sam! I’ll be right there.” She put her phone back on the counter with a little more force than necessary, letting out a huff.

“What’s wrong? And who’s Sam?” you asked, watching her stalk to the coat closet to grab her brown jacket and pulling it on. Rising to your feet, you followed after her.

“Sam is one of the guys,” Wanda explained. You raised an eyebrow at that. “I don’t really know him, he just always calls me when Pietro’s had enough to drink once again to come pick him up.”

Your brows were deeply furrowed as you watched her slip into her sneakers. “Why don’t they care for him?”

Wanda chuckled, though it sounded strained. “It’s not like the rest of them are sober themselves,” she stated, “At least, I wouldn’t think so.”

You studied her for a moment, before reaching to your own jacket. “I’ll come with you,” you countered, pulling your coat over your shoulders and retrieving your shoes.

Wanda straightened back up. “I promise, you don’t want to deal with an inebriated Pietro,”she reasoned, a chuckle in her breath, but you continued putting on your shoes, “Seriously Y/n, you had a long day, I can handle it.”

“Yeah, but I’m back now, so you won’t.”

****

Walking through your hometown elicited an unexpected dread washing over you, like a cold shiver creeping down your spine. It had only been three years since you left, yet it felt like a lifetime had passed since you called this place home.

In the early weeks of your relationship with Michael, you had managed to visit your hometown a handful of times, catching up with Wanda and Pietro. But as Michaels' influence took hold, his grip on you suffocating, returning home became impossible.

The streets, once so familiar, now felt foreign and distant, as if you were seeing them through a haze of nostalgia and regret, a constant reminder of the choices you had made and the consequences that followed.

It was a strange sensation, like walking a tightrope between past and present, trying to find your footing in a world that had moved on without you.

The brick-lined sidewalks and quaint storefronts were just as you remembered them, each building steeped in memories of days gone by. But you felt a subtle shift as you walked side by side with Wanda, a feeling of dissonance that hung over the familiar surroundings like a heavy fog.

The bakery on the corner, with its charming red awning and inviting aroma of freshly baked bread, still stood proudly as a place you had frequented often in your youth. But now as you passed by, the sight of it filled you with a bittersweet longing, a reminder of simpler times before life had grown complicated.

Further down the road, you got sight of the small bump in the asphalt that had plagued you during your early attempts at learning to drive. You had cursed it under your breath each time you passed over it, remembering you should have slowed down.

All those indications of the life you lived here were overshadowed by what you had endured and the loss of your parents - once a source of support - now felt like a painful reminder of the rift that had torn your family apart. Their decision to cut ties with you upon your departure had left a gaping wound in your heart, a wound that had yet to heal.

Wanda was unusually quiet beside you, both of your footsteps echoing softly against the pavement.

The two of you turned around the corner and trepidation crashed over you with the force of a sledgehammer, leaving you reeling in its wake.

In the near distance stood the building that once housed Miss Kaczinskis quaint thrift store, its former charm and nostalgia stripped away like paint worn thin by the passage of time. The sight hit you like a brick to the gut, a visceral reminder of the irrevocable changes that had swept through your hometown in your absence.

The transformation was striking, the building’s exterior now adorned with graffiti-covered walls and neon signs, a far cry from the simple elegance of its former incarnation. The windows - once adorned with lace curtains and quaint displays of knick-knacks - were now covered with darkened shades, obscuring the view inside. Shadows and silhouettes from the people inside seemed to loom ominously over the street.

It was as if the very essence of the place had been washed away, leaving behind only a hollow shell of what once was. The memories of days spent browsing through Miss Kaczinski's treasures felt like a distant dream, lost in the swirling mist of time.

But what made your blood boil was the row of bikes lined up in front of the bar. Motorcycles, each sleek and menacing, their chrome accents glinting in the sunlight. They looked so out of place amidst the quaint surroundings of your hometown, filling you with a sense of righteous indignation.

You knew your feelings were likely exaggerated, that your anger was perhaps misdirected and irrational but in that moment it didn’t matter. All you could see was the desecration of a cherished memory, the violation of a place that had once held so much meaning to you.

Wanda and you approached the entrance and you stole a closer glance at the row of motorcycles. A sleek black and red bike caught your eye, its paint gleaming and looking new although you supposed it wasn’t.

There were a few others, a stealthy grey one, a sporty blue one but it was the black bike with the crumpled front that drew your attention most of all. It looked like it had an accident some time ago - a dent in the front, the paint slightly chipped and scratched. Someone had attempted to repair the damage, but the imperfections were still visible.

Wanda’s annoyed sigh snapped your attention away from the damaged bike, causing you to turn towards her.

“He usually waits out here.”

“You haven’t been inside?”

After finishing a message she typed into her phone, Wanda lifted her head to meet your eyes. “I have, but only once. Pietro was busy vomiting,” she grimaced, “Probably what’s happening now too.”

You released a slow breath. The silhouettes of figures inside the bar's darkened windows seemed to move in a wild dance you didn’t know the steps to. Laughter and off-key singing filtered through the brick walls, a cacophony of sounds that echoed through the air.

The sounds of revelry hinted at a group of people simply enjoying each other’s company, living in the moment without a care in the world. But as you stood there, overwhelmed by the turmoil raging inside your head you found it difficult to acknowledge that. The neon sign above your heads, with its bold letters spelling out ‘infinity’, seemed to mock your sense of displacement and unease.

“Alright, I’m going to get that dickhead, I’ll be right back.”

Wanda reached for the door handle, intending to enter the bustling place, but you stepped forward.

“Yeah, I’m not letting you walk in there alone.”

She threw you a side glance but knew it was futile and opened the door. The still so familiar chime of the bell above echoed through the room, a relic from the time when Miss Kaczinski had frequented the place.

You cringed.

After roaming the place you were surprised to find that none of the patrons seemed to react to the bell above the door, seemingly lost in their own world.

Taking a moment to let your gaze wander, you scanned your surroundings. The bar was dimly lit, with the glow of neon signs creating an intimate atmosphere. The furnishings exuded a sense of charm. Wooden tables and chairs were arranged in haphazard clusters, inviting patrons to gather together and share stories over drinks. It looked cozier than you had anticipated.

There were a lot more people than bikes out front and you couldn’t help but wonder who belonged to the biker gang. They seemed to be making quite some money with this bar. Guys were squeezed in booths, beer bottles in hand, and clapping each other’s backs upon talking animatedly. Near the jukebox, a group of patrons gathered, their laughter and chatter blending seamlessly with the music.

Your gaze landed on a corner where three men were engaged in a game of darts. The tallest one of them prepared to throw the dart. He looked intimidating at first sight, broad shoulders and muscles flexed but as he turned around with a boisterous shout and sparkling eyes, fists hitting the air playfully, and his long golden hair caught in the soft glow of the dim light, he didn’t look intimidating at all. He looked like a funny dude.

The guy beside him clapped him on the back, laughing himself, and lined up to throw next. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in an exaggerated way before throwing the dart and landing a hit himself. The tall blond let out a booming laugh that filled the air, seemingly as happy as before, and swung an arm around the other.

The third guy was leaning casually against the wall with a glass of whiskey in hand, watching the game unfold. A smirk played on his lips.

It was when you noticed the corners of your mouth had lifted themselves.

“Wanda.”

The call cut through the din of music and voices, causing you to turn your head towards the bar. A guy - the bartender you assumed him to be - moved in front of it, approaching you while wiping his hands on a towel before tossing it over his shoulder.

“Your brother is helping Steve stock up the beer. Sorry for letting you wait.”

He glanced between Wanda and you, settling on you with a polite smile albeit tinged with a hint of confusion. “Haven’t seen you here before. Small town like this, you know all the people after a few months. I’m Sam.” He extended his hand for you to shake.

You took his hand, returning his smile. “I’m Y/n. I just moved back here earlier today. Been gone for some time,” you introduced yourself. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam!”

Sam’s smile was toothy, executing an aura of genuineness and hospitality. His demeanor was far from what you expected from a stereotypical biker and a sense of ease washed over you.

“Where did you-”

Another call of Wanda’s name interrupted Sam’s question and Pietro Maximoff came rushing over to you, his steps a little wobbly. A tall, blond guy came into view behind him, taking the place behind the bar and starting to fill some glasses for waiting patrons while Sam was occupied.

As Pietro reached you, his eyes shot wide upon spotting you, hazy gaze sharpening in an instant. He seemed sober out of a sudden.

“Y/n!” he exclaimed, his voice carrying through the room with an unexpected loudness that, nevertheless, didn’t seem to bother anyone. You were engulfed in a hug quicker than you were able to blink, Pietro squeezing the life out of you. A surprised laugh bubbled up from your lips as you hugged him back.

“It’s been so long princessa, missed you so much.”

“You better let go of that girl or she’s going to suffocate.”

A deep voice called out from behind Pietro, his tone laced with amusement. As the tight hold on you finally loosened, you recognized the tall, blond who had walked out with Pietro a few moments earlier.

He offered you his hand as well. Similar to Sam’s, it was calloused with a rough texture. He introduced himself as Steve and his smile would have to be the friendliest you had ever seen.

Steve turned to Sam after assessing the room. “Where’s Buck?”

Sam chuckled, a smirk playing at his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Upstairs. That punk is sulking.”

“I’m not sulking, Samuel.”

The annoyed tone of another guy hit your ears. You instinctively turned your head to see the newcomer.

He emerged from a staircase you hadn’t noticed before, next to the bar. He was tall as well, with broad shoulders and brunette hair that framed his face haphazardly. Like Sam, Steve, and Pietro he was dressed in the same black attire, with a leather jacket that hugged his frame snugly. Other than the others though he wore a glove on his left hand. His dark jeans were worn out, tugged into sturdy leather boots that seemed to have seen their fair share of miles on the road.

“Sure are, man. You disappeared for an hour, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

The brunette - Buck, as Steve had said earlier - now stood before you, his hands disappearing into the pockets of his jacket. With a roll of his eyes at Sam, he released a sigh.

His gaze briefly met yours before offering Wanda a nod and a small smile of acknowledgment.

“Nice to see you again, Wanda.” His earlier gruffness towards Sam was now replaced by a gentle tone. “Hope your brother isn’t too much trouble.”

Wanda let out a chuckle. “No, he isn’t, Bucky, it’s fine.”

You glanced at Wanda a little irritated, because she surely seemed more acquainted with the bikers than she had let on earlier. You didn’t have time to simmer in that feeling, your peripheral vision catching on Bucky - as he was called now - turning his attention back on you.

You met his gaze then, blue eyes seeming to shimmer like pools of liquid sapphire, their depths reflecting the ambient glow of the room with an ethereal quality. Despite the subdued lighting, his gaze was intense, like a magnetic quality drawing you in with an irresistible allure.

Shadows danced across his features, casting intricate patterns of light and dark that only served to accentuate the rugged contours of his face.

“You’re new,” he stated, gaze swiftly sweeping up and down your figure. Curiosity and intrigue danced in Bucky's gaze as he observed you, a far cry from the hunger you had grown accustomed to with Michael.

“Not new, just back in town,” Sam chimed in, having moved back behind the bar again and opening a few bottles of beer.

Bucky’s gaze remained on you.

“Back? So, you’ve lived here before?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah. I went to school here, with those two,” you answered him, nodding towards Wanda and Pietro, grateful for the temporary reprieve from Bucky’s intense gaze.

Pietro, in his inebriated state, slung his arm around you and pulled you into his side. “That girl basically fled out of here. Said she needed a change of scenery or whatever. Didn’t even know she came back.”

His words came out slurred and he leaned most of his weight on you, making you sway. Pietro looked down on you then. “How long are you planning on staying, princessa?”

You sighed, an uncomfortable smile on your face. “Well, actually, I’ve moved in with Wanda, so I suppose I’ll be staying for a while.”

Pietro recoiled, nearly knocking you off balance. “You’re staying? What about Michael? Did he come with you? Why didn’t you tell us? Did something happen? Did he-”

Wanda interjected by calling his name sharply, mercifully cutting off his barrage of questions. You couldn’t have been any more grateful.

Pietro’s voice apparently got unnecessarily loud when consuming alcohol, so you weren’t surprised if the whole bar just had heard the name of your possessive ex-boyfriend. What a way to kick off your new life here.

A lump formed in your throat, stubbornly refusing to dissipate despite your efforts to swallow it down. You could only hope nobody noticed the slight flinch of your body upon the unexpected mention of Michael. Pietro’s swaying hold on you might have masked it but apparently, one person noticed anyway.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on you throughout Pietro’s slurred words, a steady intensity that seemed to sear through you. You met his gaze briefly and supposedly weren’t able to cover up the discomfort that churned in your stomach, because he was looking at you as if he could see right through you, peering into the depths of your soul. His brows were faintly knit together in a furrow. You diverted your gaze, not able to withstand the heaviness in his eyes.

“Alright Pietro, we’ll get you home now,” Wanda declared, moving to the other side of him and taking hold of his arm to guide him towards the door. “Thanks for the call, Sam,” Wanda called out as you made your way towards the exit.

“No problem. And it was nice to meet you Y/n! Hopefully, we’ll see you around,” Sam replied from behind the bar, his voice carrying over the chatter of the patrons.

You were already halfway out the door but threw a smile over your shoulder. As you did, your eyes locked with Bucky’s again, who still stood rooted in place, looking at you.

You turned away with the door falling shut behind you.

****

The faint crackle of static from the television murmured in the recesses of your mind, the storyline of the movie Wanda had chosen slipping through your grasp although it was nearly the end.

A chill had crept up your spine at the thought of going to sleep after Wanda and you got back home - Pietro having passed out on his couch the second you brought him to his apartment. You left some water and a pill on his coffee table.

The echoes of Michaels' unsettling influence lingered like a ghostly whisper, a constant reminder of the unease that permeated your every waking moment. The mere thought of slipping into sleep's embrace now held the potential for a harrowing encounter with the lingering shadows of your subconscious. He was already haunting your reality, going to lengths to get you under his control once again, you didn’t need him infiltrating your dreams. You hadn’t told Wanda of your fears but sensing your unease she gently suggested watching a movie.

So you found yourself nestled on her small couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs in a feeble attempt to ward off the chill that seemed to ignite in your bones.

On the coffee table before you, a pot of steaming tea sat between two delicate cups, wisps of steam curling and dancing in the air like ethereal spirits. The aroma of chamomile and honey wafted through the room. Your gaze wandered idly over to the television, where the tendrils of steam seemed to waltz and twirl in harmony with the flickering images on the screen.

Your mind couldn’t seem to give you a pause as it drifted back to the encounter with the bikers in their bar. The stark contrast between expectation and reality struck you with a profound clarity. Gone were the stereotypical images of intimidating figures with rough, gravelly voices and unkempt grey beards.

Instead, you were faced with Sam, his demeanor as open and inviting as the expanse of a sunlit meadow. His toothy grin, infectious and genuine, seemed to light up the dim room. He seemed easygoing, someone you’d want to share a laugh with, dispelling the shadows of apprehension that had clouded your initial impressions.

And then there was Steve, his eyes like pools of liquid warmth, reflecting a kindness and sincerity that melted away the barriers of fear and mistrust. His gentle smile radiated charm and ease, like the first rays of dawn breaking through the darkness of night.

But unlike the easygoing nature of Sam and the gentle charm of Steve, Bucky was the one to intrigue you. He seemed to exude a sense of reserved aloofness, his demeanor cloaked in a veil of quiet contemplation. Steve and Sam readily engaged in conversation, while Bucky only observed you with a keen intensity, the blue speckles of his irises flickering with a hint of curiosity.

His smile, if one could even call it that, was small and measured. He seemed guarded, not even having introduced himself to you. You came to know his name through the mentions of Steve and Wanda, rather than from him.

You didn’t know what to make of him with his enigmatic and capturing eyes, his countenance a mask of inscrutability that made it difficult to discern his expression.

“Something’s on your mind.”

It took a moment to find back to reality, the abrupt halt of the conversation on the television and the frozen image on the screen registering only as an afterthought. You turned towards Wanda, the remote still in her hand as she paused the movie, a soft expression on her face.

You let out a heavy sigh, adjusting the blanket around your legs and pulling it further up your body as if it could shield you from the impending conversation. As if it could protect you from the looming specter that haunted your every thought - the ghostly presence of Michael. His lingering presence like a shadow that refused to dissipate, cast a pall over your mind, enveloping you in a cloak of apprehension and dread.

The blanket also seemed powerless against the way, piecing blue eyes lingered like an indelible imprint, the intensity of it coursing through your veins like a potent poison. You should be done by the allure of enigmatic men by now, yet Bucky’s mysterious aura captivated you.

It was terrifying.

You felt gripped by icy hands, sending shivers cascading down your spine and leaving your entire body feeling as though it were encased in frost. You were thankful for the blanket again.

“Can I ask you something?” You finally found access to your voice again, shuffling slightly to meet your friend's patient gaze.

Wanda straightened up, the clink of the cup in her hand meeting the wooden surface of the coffee table as she leaned forward to place it there. A faint ring had already formed on the wood where the cup now rested but she didn’t seem to mind, her attention was on you again. She nodded.

Your fingers were wringing with the soft fabric of the blanket, taking a deep breath. “Earlier…you said you don’t really know them. The bikers I mean. But you seemed pretty acquainted with them at the bar.”

Wanda shifted slightly and you looked up, meeting her gentle gaze as she laid a hand on your wrist, stilling your fingers. “I really don’t know them well. Sam only calls me when Pietro is being dumb and I only talked to Steve and Bucky once. Well, Bucky only gave me his name, not much else to be honest.” That was still more than you got - the disappointment bubbling in your stomach went ignored. Wanda continued, “I don’t know why they reacted like that today but…I guess they’re really just nice people.” She shrugged and you lifted your eyebrows.

Wanda let go of your wrist to playfully nudge you, an amused laugh leaving her lips.

“God, you’re quick to judge! Is this a Seattle thing?”

An own laugh made its way past your lips despite the weight of the implications her words carried. It wasn’t a Seattle thing - it was a Michael thing. But you refused to allow those thoughts to consume you once again. So you let Wanda tease you, let her coax laughter from you. It was what you had missed - the simplicity of sharing a laugh with your best friend, bridging the gap that had widened during the years you spent apart.

Perhaps you’d rediscover a sense of belonging in the town you once longed to leave behind.

“She was brave and strong and broken all at once”

- Anna Funder

[opera-ghost]

okay so this has been nagging at me since watching the OBC pro shot. we know "why so silent" is pre-recorded because of the costume, but in the pro shot, it sounds like michael crawford did the "your chains are still mine" bit live. i checked the october 1988 video we have of one of MC's last shows on broadway, and you can kind of faintly hear the difference between the lines where i think they switch from the tape to live audio. i always thought the whole thing from the opening dialogue to the laugh at the end was pre-recorded, and it seems like it did fully transition to being that way at some point judging by later footage. i made a video (see below) to try and explain what i'm talking about--

i can't remember ever seeing anyone mention that the last line isn't part of the pre-recorded parts, but after doing some internet sleuthing i did find this on a fan site from the 90s(?):

"[Pre-recording:] The Phantom's lines as Red Death in Masquerade, while he is on the stairs. His lines to Christine ("Your chains are still mine...") are live (and the cue for the trap door). Obviously there is no WAY that the Phantom can sing and walk down the stairs in those big shoes and the death mask."

so it seems like the last line was indeed done live so they could pull off the trap door effect? and maybe with the broadway production doing away with the trap door in the early 2000's(?), there was no need for any of it to be live anymore so since then the whole thing has been pre-recorded????

anyways . we need more phantoms who do a little gremlin voice like michael crawford. more phantoms who are just sad wet little goblins in dress clothes. the way gaston leroux intended

[visitmycoffin]

ADAM REQUEST. i've been thinking about what it would be like to spend holiday's with him. could you write about that ? like watching christmas movies , baking food , eating halloween treats together. stuff like that :)

Adam Stanheight — Holiday Headcannons

(Please don't steal my writing! Takes place before the bathroom trap. Reblogs and likes are encouraged ♡)

Warnings: romantic gestures - gore mention - cursing - Slight vomit mention - slight NSFW mention - Alcohol mention

SFW, GN romantic headcannons

HALLOWEEN

• Has always preferred Halloween over any holiday. Enjoys the scares and the stupid horror movies with the main characters that seem to have an IQ less than 10.

• Drags you to every thrift store in town to try and find anything Halloween related. A shirt with Ghostface on it? Bought. A tiny chain that says 'Childs Play?' Bought. A hat, one he knows he'll never wear, that has Micheal Myers with a knife? Bought. And he only acts like this in October.

• Likes snuggling up under the blankets with you just so you guys can watch horror movies, no matter how bad or good. He commentates on the stupidity of the characters in the movie you guys chose.

• Favorite horror villain is Michael Myers. He gets angry when people say that he's 'overrated.'

• Definitely perfers slasher films over others. Can't really do gore. Those movies make him pretty ill to the stomach. Just doesn't like seeing someone get sawed in half while their intestines fall out.

• Tries his best to decorate the apartment for Halloween, but can't do much since money is tight. He perfers when you make different cut out banners to hang on the walls or shit like that.

• Makes obnoxious comments during the movies you guys watch. Can't keep his mouth shut for a moment.

• At least once he'll have a nightmare during the month and then literally won't sleep for the rest of the night like a child. He gets angry when you try to comfort him, claiming that he 'doesn't need that bullshit.'

• On Halloween night, you two obviously dress up. He takes photoshoots of you guys in your outfits, you two are always matching, and then hangs them up in his darkroom every year. That night, you two eat a ton of Halloween candy, meaning one of you two end up vomiting from the amout of sugar you consumed.

CHRISTMAS

• Depsite trying his hardest, will never ever be able to bake Christmas cookies without your help. They'll always end up being some sort of burnt, black blob or so undercooked you can taste each raw ingredient.

• Favorite Christmas movie is The Santa Clause.

• Absolutely despises the cold. Yet, if you beg hard enough, he will go out in the snow with you and throw snowballs. After a snowball fight, he likes to tackle you to the ground and kiss you all over in a way to warm you up.

• Really likes hot chocolate. Will do anything you ask as long as he gets a mug full of hot chocolate after.

• Goes to the mall with you, if money isn't tight, and buys you two ugly Christmas sweaters to wear on Christmas morning.

• Not too good at gift giving. Maybe he'll throw some perfume / cologne into a box along with a cute little glass trinket of your favorite animal. Something small and stupid that means a lot.

• All he wants for Christmas is a box of cigarettes ♡

• Will watch Christmas movies with you, but probably won't pay much attention. As figured, he'd probably talk through the whole thing.

• Christmas morning, he wakes up around 9-10 A.M. and opens the gifts you two got each other. There's not a lot, but it's still special to him, even if he's not the gift kind of guy.

• If having a bad day, he'd perfer to stay inside with you. Maybe have a nice, hot bath with you with a little Christmas bath bomb. Something corny like that.

• After building gingerbread houses with you, he will slam his fist into his in order to break it so he can just lick the icing off of the gingerbread pieces.

EASTER

• Used to be utterly terrified of the Easter bunny when he wa younger.

• He honestly doesn't do much for this holiday other than hide little plastic eggs around the apartment for you to find.

(Sorry for the shortness of this one 😭)

VALENTINES DAY

• Showers you with affection all day.

• When you wake up in the morning, he's not in bed. A note lies on the bedside table that reads, 'Went out to get some groceries for us today. Your coffee is already made for you.' The note makes you aware that he will be the most loving guy he can be all day today.

• Leaves kisses all over your cheeks, neck, collarbone, etc. All day.

• Asks to shower alongside you. Nothing happens behind the shower curtain besides soft kisses and hugs as you two wash each other's bodies and hair.

• At around dinnertime, you guys sit in his living room, talking and cuddling while watching some dumb romance movie. He hands you a small book. Inside lies a bunch of photo collages between you two, thus being your Valentines gift.

• Takes you out to your favorite bar after dinner and gets you two drunk off your favorite alcohol.

• Once home, he brings you to bed, lathering you in kisses and soft love bites.

• (NSFW) Asks you if you two can have sex that night. If so, he makes sure it's all slow and sensual, unless suggested otherwise. Still, marking you as his with tiny kisses and hickies.

• Aftercare includes him holding your head against his chest and whispering how much he is in love with you. Gently plays with your hair, peppering kisses over your jaw and lips.

———

Hope this was good! Sorry for it not being too long. My first ever headcannon / fic on tumblr so I hope I did well. More requests would be appreciated. Ty for reading ♡

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

i haven’t done a tag game in forever so this was super fun. guess what my favourite music genres are lmao. shout out to @alilfroginacove for the tag!!

shuffle your ‘On Repeat’ playlist and list the first 10 songs that play, then tag 10 people

“Jesse Got Trapped in a Coal Mine” by Goodnight, Texas

“The Chain” by Ingrid Michaelson

“Somethin’ Bout A Truck” by Kip Moore (this is because i replay his song “Beer Money” constantly and this is the song that almost always follows it up)

“Friends on the Other Side (Disney Villain Mash-Up)” by Thomas Sanders

“Le réel” by Gang Of Youths

“Way of the Triune God - Hallelujah Version” by Tyler Childers

“Dearest Sarah” by Goodnight, Texas

“Diane” by Cam

“Sold (The Grundy County Auction Incident)” by John Michael Montgomery

“Panthers on the Mountainside Live at Howard Theatre” by John Charles Dwyer, Michele Buzbee, and Sarah Doreen Macphee

alrighty uhhh hey mutuals here we go. no pressure for this of course @aranealux @lastwave @dynastesdyke @transsexual-dandelions @you-are-constance @breadluvr49 @antichrists-little-brother @haniawritesthings @disabled-dragoon @markedbyindecision

[fandom-hoarder]

Also I'm just gonna take this opportunity to once again whine about how stupid the "Crowley keeps Lucifer out of the cage AND gives him a permanent vessel" storyline was. IDC how many desperate moves Crowley had been making or how much he may want revenge about the forced puppy play thing; it's RIDICULOUS to have the guy that once exclaimed about everyone underestimating the Winchesters---the guy who has already been betrayed over and over by his demons; the guy who already SAW how Lucifer manipulated himself out of the cage and many other traps---to suddenly GIVE HIM A PERMANENT VESSEL JUST TO PATHETICALLY CHAIN HIM UP TOPSIDE AND ATTEMPT HALFHEARTED PUPPY PLAY???

AND I just also have to gripe about all the retconning involved in this stupid fucking storyline, and the "somehow Emperor Palpatine returned" of Crowley saying "I found your old, discarded vessel" --- WHERE? And how did Lucifer not already know about it, since Nick would HAVE to say 'yes' again?!?!

And on THAT note, I FURTHER have to complain about the whole "vessels must somehow survive the angel blade" of Nick surviving Michael killing Lucifer in s13, when that has not at ALL been the case up until then. Like, I guess again if I'm EXTREMELY GRACIOUS it can be excused within the total woo of Crowley fortifying Nick's vessel, but it drives me CRAZY as far as lore sync goes.

But omg, at least Mark P's expressions are his own this whole time, and not an exaggerated caricature like Casifer. At least every time he's on screen I'm not going "OH MY GOD, I WANT TO STAB YOU IN THE FAAAACE! STOP MAKING THAT EXPRESSION! JUST PLAY THE FUCKING CHARACTERRRRRRR!" And same goes for Vinceifer. Even when he has his dramatic tantrum on the stage in Rock Never Dies, I was like, "Notice how he's not doing stupid shit with his face? He's just BEING LUCIFER??" And kiddo was like, "Yes, I do notice actually."

The only Lucifer that rarely feels like Lucifer is Casifer, and everyone that let him do that shit needs a tribunal, tbh.

Of course, we have yet to get to the Lucifer x Sister Jo/Anael portion of our rewatch, at which point I will be screaming about stabbing them both. For now, these exclamations are reserved for Ketch's stupidass face. (but that's not an acting thing I just hate his aesthetic ngl; he has a really punchable face--well maybe it's a little bit an acting thing cuz maybe that smugass look is an affect IDK, but I also don't find him aesthetically pleasing At All and his Thing with Mary makes me gag)