you don’t remember too much of your childhood in hawkins. there’s blurred blotches of laughter, locked diaries, and fairytale role-playing in your memories. but outshining them is, mike wheeler, the biggest star in your brain. he was the first in your 2nd grade class to sign your cast, dotting a smiley face at the end of his name. he was the first to clap after you finished your paragraph for popcorn reading. the first to ever give you butterflies in your stomach. you thought you’d grow out of your crush for him, but it continued throughout middle school, hellish occurrences with the supernatural, awkward phases in high school, and into your college life. the crush developed into full-blown love once you reached 16. unfortunately for you, mike was in love with el. unfortunately for you, he will never love you like he loves her.

there was one night when you thought he liked you too, before he left to california. the two of you were sitting opposite each other at a new diner. it was past curfew, but mike couldn’t sleep, and you just so happened to be awake. he was ranting about lucas wanting popularity, and you were listening to him tentatively. you specifically remember how handsome he looked. his hair was tucked into a beanie, dark circles fading, freckles prominent underneath the lighting, his lips had whipped cream on them before he licked it away. you noticed everything about him; he was your eyes' favorite view. “why are you looking at me like that?” mike chuckled, tiredly and nervously. the insomnia was creeping up on you, temporarily ridding yourself of any care, “you’re beautiful.” it slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. you tried to quickly come up with something. “you are too.” mike said, he smiled softly at you. the blood rushing to his cheeks as fast as yours.

but mike proceeded to act as if nothing happened that night, the day after, and the days following. and the years following. it’s not like you didn’t notice— your weary heart broke each time he would glance at you with his hands intertwined with el’s. but you learned to manage your feelings for him, suppressing any signs that you are in love with him. you tried so hard to be someone who wasn’t completely infatuated with your friend, pushing him away as you couldn't stomach being around him. beloved laughter turned into awkward silence; saturday night meetings turned into quick goodbyes. you were not in mike’s life as much anymore. you could feel him gaze at you from time to time as if he’s waiting, almost longing for you. the one night your eyes connected, you could see the desperation in his. you watched as a flare in him lit up, and he smiled at you underneath the red lighting in the trailer. familiar, safe, you missed him.

the flare that lit up died when el did. mike’s screams still echo in your head on random tuesdays and in brief silence during lectures. it’s not like you didn’t mourn her, you considered her one of your best friends, along with max. for you, grief is a cycle that gets bearable over time. you were the first in the group to suggest a movie marathon night, 4 months after el’s passing, a night that everyone needed. a night that was filled with bittersweet reminiscing and laughter. a night when mike helped you make more popcorn, just the two of you in your kitchen while the rest of the party was in the living room. “thank you for doing this.” he confessed, leaning against the counter as you wait for the popcorn to finish. “it’s nothing.” you hummed. there’s a longing silence. you look over at mike who is already looking at you. dark circles underneath his eyes and hollow cheeks; so tired. “how are you feeling?” you asked softly, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from him. you watched as his eyes filled with tears, and his lips started to quiver. without even thinking, you pulled mike into your arms, where he quietly cried. he squeezed you tightly as if you were going anywhere, as if you were about to fade into the air, as if you were going to leave. but you never were.

that moment still plays repeatedly in the theater inside your head. even after the party parted ways for their fresh starts in different cities and universities, one year turned into two, turned into four years, and mike’s desperate cling to you can still be felt. you shouldn’t be thinking about it; you should not be thinking about mike when you have a guy who loves you unconditionally. yet you can’t help but wish, sometimes, that he was mike. you wish mike was laughing with you, caressing your face, kissing you goodnight. a glimpse of mike in someone who can never be him. a blurred vision of what could’ve been. the bar is quiet tonight, only allowing you to sink deeper in your sore heart. the soft chatters from strangers and clinking glass are a reminder that you are not alone. yet it makes you feel lonely. the melancholic singing of morrissey has never been more depressing.

“will you be having another, sweetheart?” the bartender asks you as she passes by. your one source of sanity for tonight is the appletini you’ve downed 3 of so far. “can i do an espresso martini instead?” you hiccup, pulling cash out of your purse. the cold metal of a ring brushing your fingertips makes you queasy as you quickly retract your hand from your purse. you slide the money across the island as the bartender places the brown concoction in front of you. before you can take a sip of liquid poison, a warm hand is placed on your shoulder. “are you lost?” a familiar voice asks behind you, a voice that has your heart thumping hard in your chest. a voice that you haven’t heard in years but has the dead butterflies in your gut resurrect. you turn around almost too quickly to face the man. “mike?” you gasp, looking at the view of mike in black rimmed glasses, and a smile tugs on his lips. could it be possible that you are actually hallucinating him and you’re just completely wasted? mike is in front of you, the soft haze from the somber lighting is casting a glow around him. you can smell a mixture of cherries and cashmere off him; a new favorite scent. if heaven is real, you’re facing it right now.

“oh my god, mike.” you sigh in relief, pulling him into a hug. he chuckles against the exposed skin of your shoulder, sending an electric shock throughout your body. “i could recognize the back of your head all the way from brooklyn.” mike jokes. the warmth he emits momentarily fades as he pulls away from your embrace, opting to sit beside you. “i never thought we’d bump into each other, this city is so huge.” you point out, turning your body towards him and completely ignoring the alcohol in front of you. the only thing you can get drunk off is mike’s voice; the sweetest, deepest wine you’ll ever find. “i didn’t know you were in new york, i would’ve been searching for you if i knew.” mike confesses. you feel so dizzy at the sight of him. it's as if he were pulled straight from your dreams. the pounding of your heart matches the tempo of the song currently playing, you wonder if he can hear it. “i would’ve dragged you everywhere! you know i hate going anywhere alone.” you smile. he returns your smile and rests his head upon his hand, observing you. you wish you knew what he was thinking. you could never predict him like the others, but that’s what makes mike so dear to you.

“have you forgotten that i don’t mind being dragged around if it’s you?” the blood rushes to your ears and cheeks. you huff softly at his response, taking a sip of the espresso martini waiting for you. “how have you been?” mike asks, mindlessly taking the drink from your hand and sipping it. your lipstick stain on the rim, kissing his lips; so intimate and so nauseating. “i’ve been well. just living it up, i guess.” you lie through your teeth. how could you tell him that you have been borderline depressed since leaving hawkins and losing contact with him? you’re an empty shell on the busy sidewalks and quiet cubicle of your job. your personality is that of whichever friend is next to you. the missing factor has always been mike. he smiles fondly at you, like you’re something so special. the concealed bite to your tongue will be red by the end of the night. “i could say the same. this is actually my first day off in months, so cheers to that, i guess.” he chugs the last of your espresso martini, laughing at himself as he scooches closer to you. denim touching your bare skin, his body heat fusing with yours. you’re about to risk your relationship for him.

the night unravels with each order and each sip, mike is as bubbly as ever from the 3 drinks he’s had and you feel yourself falling in love with him all over again. he tells you about his writing, reciting a paragraph from a draft, telling you in between how he came up with it or where he was exactly when the idea popped in his mind. and you’re sitting with your face in your hands, smiling so damn hard at him that your smile lines will be a reminder of him when you reach 80. you haven’t smiled this way in so long, you haven’t been this happy in so long. it's pathetic how you’re like this because of mike, you’re not this happy around your own boyfriend. “just something dumb, i think i should scrap it.” mike huffs. his hand brushes your thigh— you can’t even tell if it’s intentional or not. the alcohol in your system is making you second-guess. “it’s perfect. at least i think so.” your reassurance is enough to have him grinning. his hand playfully intertwines with yours, both of you tugging at one another. it’s something you’d do as kids, nothing more than being silly. but it feels different this time, “you’re perfect.”

he says it in the same tone all those years ago in the diner. he looks at you with the same look, cheeks pink and eyes as big as the moon. you're spiraling. “oh, really? that’s the first lie you’ve said tonight.” you giggle, sipping your drink that seems to be intensifying your emotions. mike shakes his head, rubbing his thumb against the scar on your hand. “you are perfect. it’s all i think about.” he whispers lowly. all he thinks about? is this the alcohol talking? was that a slip-up? your heart starts beating like a horse in a race. “you think about me?” you gawk, straightening up your body as you feel more awake. mike bites his lip, thinking, searching for something to say. his hand never leaves yours; his hold tightens just a little. the depressing tune of jeff buckley starts to play softly as mike speaks, “you’re always in my mind, you always have been. just you and el.” he breathes out like it’s something he’s been holding in, a weight lifted. your mouth thinks before your brain can process the words, “i always think about you too. every single day since second grade.”

it feels like a scene from a movie, one you have vague memories of but still can recite every word. mike furrows his brows at your response, almost like he wants to cry and is preventing himself from doing so. “i’ve always loved you.” he tells you and kisses your knuckles. you think you are hallucinating this. this is not real. at any secong, you will blink, and mike will be gone. yet you’re blinking, and you feel the kiss on your skin linger, and mike is still here. “why haven’t you said this before?” you ask. the possibilities of what could’ve happened flash before your eyes. maybe mike would’ve been with you instead, and el would’ve been just a friend. maybe you’d be engaged to mike, and not having to second-guess the diamond ring concealed in your purse that your boyfriend proposed with. “i thought you were too good for me, you still are. you’re too smart, and you’re funnier, and you scrunch your nose when you get excited, and it’s the most perfect thing i’ve seen.” mike rambles. his hold on your hand now holds your wrist, gently.

“i’m a loser compared to you. why would you ever be with a guy like me?” you almost want to laugh. mike is everything you ever wanted, a dream that you chase after you wake. you’ve tried to find him in every guy you went on wasted dates with, until you settled on a man that only resembles mike from afar. “mike, i’m in love with you. i’ve been in love with you since i was sixteen.” you say it loud and clear, like you’ve been wanting to for years. mike grabs your cheeks, pulling your face into his so your lips meet his. he tastes of alcohol, coffee, and wasted years. you’re pulling him in deeper by his sweater, you can feel the cold metal of his glasses against your cheeks. “i love you so much.” he whispers softly into your mouth. it feels so wrong to be kissing mike while you’re with another man. it feels so wrong that you’re holding back a whimper. the both of you pull away, foreheads rest on one another. you pray to god that you don’t burn at the chapel on whatever date you’ll marry.

the sour truth you’ve been holding back seeps onto your tongue, making the aftertaste of mike’s kiss bitter. “i’m engaged, mike.” you state, looking into his eyes as he kisses the inside of your hand. he gazes at you, pondering, taking in what you said. you want to vomit. he kisses you again, reassuringly and deeper. “if you don’t want this, tell me.” he says on your lips. you run your fingers through his hair as a means to hold him. you want to run away with mike, to wake up in his bed tomorrow morning and cook him breakfast. you want to share a milkshake with two straws, you want your things scattered around his apartment, you want everything with mike. but you can’t muster up the strength to do this to yourself, at least not right now. you’re scared, anxious. you’re tipsy, almost drunk, and so is mike. is any of this meant to be? is any of what he said true? you pull away from mike’s lips, shaking your head. “i can’t do this.” you hiccup, grabbing at your purse. mike watches you put your coat on, not objecting to you getting ready to leave.

you start to walk away, the clicking of your kitten heels occupying your mind as to ignore mike calling your name. the fresh manhattan breeze greets you when the bouncer opens the door for you, the tears brimming around your eyes sting as the cold air hits your face. your hand is grabbed from behind. the warmth of the one holding it lets you know it’s mike. you turn around, forgetting how tall he’s grown as you look up at him. “don’t do this.” he begs softly. the tears in your eyes match his. and why should you leave? you have the man you always wanted right in front of you. you know what’s good for you, and he’s right here. but you can’t think straight. you can’t even hear anything without a ringing in your ears. mike looks fuzzy and beautiful as ever, and you need to go home. why are you doing this? is it guilt? you don’t even love your future fiancé enough to care. you’re a terrible person to even feel that way. “if you don’t want me, tell me. if you don’t love me, tell me.” he sniffles, holding back his tears. you feel like you’re losing your mind. you can’t tell him because it’ll be the most absurd lie you’ve ever said. “tell me you don’t love me, and i’ll leave you alone.” he repeats, the beat of your heart is unsteady and rapid. you think you’re going to pass out.

the neon lighting from the bar’s sign illuminates the tears dripping from his chin. he’s sobbing at this point, his lips quivering and his nose red. the tears leaving his eyes are staining his lenses. you’re reminded momentarily of that night when el died, how he looked the same way he looks now. it makes you reach out your hand to cup his cheek, wiping away a tear. god, you love him. you love him more than life itself. you don't want to be the reason he's crying like this. you don't want him to think you don't want him when you absolutely do. it's just for tonight, this is only for tonight. “i love you, mike. i love you so much it’s consuming me.” you sob, standing on your toes to kiss him again, melting away at his touch. “i love you.” he holds onto you tight. your ribs are bruising against his. you can feel his heart on yours. you don’t know what will happen after this, you don’t know what you’ll do in the morning. maybe you’ll leave mike by himself and be with your future fiancé. maybe you’ll call off the engagement. maybe you’ll cook mike breakfast while he does laundry. maybe you’ll wake up.

your throat burns as you try to stifle back a moan from the immense amount of pleasure mike is giving you right now, the comforter of your bed is bundled up around you as mike fucks the living daylights out of you. “what did i tell you about being mean to my friends?” he grunts, grabbing your jaw so tight that he could break it if he put in the effort. his cock is bruising your poor cunt, the wet sounds of skin on skin is sending your heart into lust filled palpitations. “i’m sorry.” you hiccup, grasping at his hair as he pounds you. are you actually sorry? or do you purposely make a mockery of his friends just because you know mike will take matters into his own hands? it wasn’t even that bad. you could’ve said way worse to dustin, but he is your brother’s best friend for whatever strange reason, so your insults are limited.

“you’re lucky you’re pretty.” mike spits, fingers digging into the skin of your face as his thrusts become sharp. your eyes roll into the back of your head as his soft hands deliver quick, harsh slaps to your cheek. you're moaning like a sex crazed zombie at the pain. “got some nerve, i should fucking tell everyone how much of a slut you are for me.” you whimper, shaking your head at the taunt. you’d rather eat rat poison than go through social suicide. the captain of the volleyball team, the poster girl of popularity, the star harrington being a dumb lapdog for mike wheeler? that doesn’t seem right. because nobody can know how weak you are for mike, how incredibly devoted you are to him. one glance at you in the school hallways, longing looks at you when steve drops you off for practice, has you soaking through your panties and nauseous with butterflies. “i’m sorry, please. i’m sorry.” you beg, trying to be quiet so as not to wake your parents. the trace of the veins wrapped around his cock becomes temporarily tattooed into your velvety walls.

“yeah? you’re sorry?” mike mocks, pouting his lips in fake sympathy. you nod pathetically, almost pushing yourself down on his cock, but his hold on your hips prevents you. how stupid you are for thinking you can take control. unbeknownst to the world outside your room, mike is strong. his strength only shows when he’s controlling your body like a marionette, something you’ve never objected to. mike’s lips meet yours in a eager kiss; he drinks your moans as you pour them into his mouth. he’s undoubtedly the best kisser you’ve ever had, you wish a thousand times that he’s your last. “wonder if you’re like this for any other guy.” he hums against your kiss-bruised lips, you can taste the sarcasm on his breath and it has your cunt aching. “nobody else but you.” you confess, feeling yourself on the brink of cumming around mike’s cock. the smirk on his lips has your heart in a knot.

if it weren't for your damning reputation and your overprotective brother, you’d show off mike like the prized possession he is. you have never been so consumed by another guy like you are with mike. he invades your mind even in your dreams and nightmares. the thought of him with anybody else is revolting; it churns your guts. you’re sure the blush that creeps into your cheeks is blinding each time you see him, and when he speaks to you, your heart beats so damn hard that it hurts. maybe you are in love. is mike in love with you? “really wanna cum in you.” mike moans, squeezing your waist as you feel his cock twitch inside you. you watch the sweat drip from his neck, down his collarbones, and onto your sticky skin. he’s so damn hot, he knows exactly what he’s doing. “please, cum in me, please.” you whimper, biting the back of your hand as a loud whine threatens to leave your lips. for what it’s worth, you started taking birth control, and the mere thought of mike cumming in you has your breath caught in a hiccup. “you’re so dirty.” he chuckles, kissing messily at your lips. so needy.

your cunt tightens around mike’s cock as you’re so close to reaching sweet relief, your muscles turning into jelly as you let yourself go. “i could fuck you forever.” mike groans, nipping below your jaw at an attempt to bite softly on the skin of your neck. you repress your answer, a plea to do that very thing. marry straight out of high school and have mike fuck you every single day for the rest of your perverted life. the concept of being mrs. mike wheeler is nice too, coming home to each other and cooking dinner together. dancing around the living room after a terrible day, maybe there will be small footsteps tapping around with you. forever. it’s the ovulation fogging your mind, you think. you’re seconds away from creaming on his cock, your nails piercing through his skin. “fuck.” he winces, teeth detaching from your neck so his lips can taste yours.

the headboard of your bed is thumping a little too hard onto the wall that’s, unfortunately, adjacent to steve’s bedroom. “we’re being…a little too loud.” you whisper, gulping down a whine as you try to get serious. the last thing you need is for steve to wake up. your parents are easy to handle; a little lie never hurts them. but steve cuts through your manipulation like a knife, he’s not one to fool surprisingly. “you’re being loud.” mike corrects, lifting up your hips to give himself better control. “we can’t wake up steve.” the bite to your lip is harsh, but you’re playing with the odds and cannot bring yourself to make any noise. unluckily for you, mike hates it when you try to be quiet. he loves you being vocal, he especially loves how much of a stammering mess you become when you’re about to cum. “i want to hear you.” mike demands, pressing down onto your lower stomach, a touch that usually has you spiraling and spewing moans. yet you shake your head instead. you watch his brows pull together in irritation.

“i said i want to hear you.” mike sneers. you don’t have time to react properly when mike pounds a little too hard into you, eyes never straying from yours. his cock breaks you through your orgasm, body soaked in sweat. you’re a moaning mess underneath him. mike pulls out of you quickly, his fingers replacing his cock in your sobbing cunt. you’re thrashing around, trying to find solace in your bed as he pushes you past your colorful ecstasy. a loud banging at your door has you jolting back to reality, your hand clamps over your mouth as mike still curls his fingers into you. “what the fuck are you doing in there?” the voice of your brother, the one person you did not want to deal with. mike chuckles at your frightened state, pulling his fingers out of your cunt and placing them in his mouth. “is there a boy in there?” steve snaps behind the door, trying to open it with a frantic pull at the knob. you’re fucked.

“no!” you exclaim, shoving mike off you. you’re mortified at the sight of that stupid doorknob twisting in a crazed trance. the loud sound of your heartbeat muffles out the laugh mike lets out as you rush to find his clothes. “this is not funny, mike.” you whisper, helping him put on his sweater along with other pieces of his clothing. you’re distressed, annoyed. and mike is cackling in your face like you're the class dunce. “oh, but it is. can’t let big brother steve know you’re fucking the one guy he can't stand?” mike teases, helping you buckle his belt. "exactly that. he'd kill you if he found out about us." you exasperate, opening your bedroom window in preparation for mike to hop out. there's a brief pause when mike scoffs at the comment, gazing at you with his lips pursed as if he's about to say something back. his eyes search yours for something you're clueless to, something you cannot give him. in this brief pause, he's almost vulnerable. "open the door before i break it open." steve threatens loudly, popping the bubble surrounding the two of you.

if there is one thing mike is, it is patient. he considers himself a patient guy. he almost takes pride in it, as if it's something rare for the other 19-year-old guys his age to obtain. he'll wait for the party to show up in the dining hall for lunch, but he grows restless and starts seeking them out. he'll wait for feedback on a 6-page essay he tirelessly worked on, but he gets annoyed that his professor doesn't have him as a top priority. he'll wait in line at the movie theater to get a ticket for whatever is showing, but he’ll start consistently checking his watch when it passes 2 minutes. mike is patient to an extent. yet when it comes to you, his patience is at its best. he doesn't mind that you take more than 8 minutes to pick out what you want to eat at the dining hall, or if you're staying back to speak to your professors, or if you're so busy that the last thing on your mind is sex. super patient guy. you'll even acknowledge it, praising him for being so willing with you and not getting aggravated. maybe giving him a peck on the cheek to reward him, but nothing more. it's nice, it's cute, but mike wants more.

at first, mike was perfectly okay when his advances were rejected. you told him you were too tired, and he accepted it. or you'd be too busy to focus on his needs, or you're neck-deep in extra credit work that you can't give him your attention. mike was fine with it, not taking it personally. you are the smartest girl he knows, maybe the smartest girl on campus. he admires how hardworking you are; he really does. but the thing is, it's currently the last few days of spring break, and you are still working on assignments. it's the last few days, and you are still denying him the one thing he wants, and it's you. make-outs never turn into something more, and mike is left with jerking himself off in the shower. it's not enough, it'll never be enough. he thinks you're punishing him, maybe for being so horny. yet a guy his age can only be pent up for so long, and it's been almost a month. he's becoming irritated, annoyed, and an asshole. unfortunately for his friends, it's their problem.

“wheeler, if you're gonna be a dipshit this entire trip, then you're better off hitching a ride back home." max spits, rubbing sunblock into her skin as she prepares for a game of acquainted beach volleyball with lucas. the indiana heatwave is not helping mike much with his attitude. the blistering sun is only driving him more insane. "well how about-" "leave it alone, mike." dustin interrupts him, shaking his head as he and will put together dustin’s metal detector. mike huffs in annoyance, crossing his arms in defeat like a stubborn old man. he should’ve said no to this trip months ago, but months ago, he was brighter than this goddamn sun because you weren’t so busy. if only january him would've known how deprived he would be in march. mike looks back at the shore to find you and el taking pictures of one another. he still doesn’t know how you managed to befriend her so quickly. your charisma is a mystery, and everyone is a prawn to it.

mike has spent this entire trip being absolutely miserable, snapping back at his friends, growing increasingly irritable at the sight of you in a bikini because he can’t do a damn thing. game nights ruined, late-night dinners ending up with tense shoulders and hostile pizza. arguments happening every waking hour between him and the party, especially max. he can’t even keep up with how many times he’s rolled his eyes since getting here. and you’re just there, being the most breathtaking human that has ever stepped foot on earth, in a bikini, soaking wet, but you won’t let him touch you. are you even aware of what the hell you’re doing to him? could he make it more obvious that he needs you?

while you’re smiling ear to ear, and cracking jokes with the party. mike is thinking about 1000 ways to kill himself, and one includes drowning in the ocean, then getting eaten by sharks. you’re not even unintentionally ignoring him; you are actually ignoring him. whatever he says is silent noise to you. you’re cheering on max, lucas, and el as they play volleyball, and you’re ignoring mike as if he’s not even here. he doesn’t even know why; he didn’t say anything to provoke the silent treatment. maybe he’s overthinking it, you’re not even intentionally ignoring him, and he’s just being a fucking crybaby. he watches you watching the ongoing war on volleyball, and he thinks you are so gorgeous, in this moment. your hair slightly moves with the sea-salt breeze, and your cheeks have been kissed by the sun. your bikini hugs you so nicely, and he desperately wishes he were part of it. god, he needs you in a way that is borderline insane. he doesn't know how long he can keep waiting.

“can you tell me why you’re being such a jerk to everyone?” you break him out of his you-gazing. mike's brows furrow together at your question, his brain short circuits as you look over to him, lips slightly red from the popsicle you were sucking on minutes ago. "is that why you aren't speaking to me?" mike gulps, you lift up your sunglasses to rest atop your head in almost disbelief. "that doesn't answer my question, mike." you point out, saying it in a tone pre-school teachers use when they're disappointed in a student. he feels ridiculous under your gaze, as if you can see right through him. yet at the same time, he wants to fuck that patronizing tone right out of you. "it's embarrassing, too embarrassing." mike shakes his head, exhaling deeply and getting just a whiff of your cherry perfume that you know he likes so much. testosterone is seeping out of him like honey as his blood is boiling with lust. hasn't he suffered enough? "whatever your problem is, man up about it. you're being a drag." you scoff.

perhaps that's what mike needed to do all this time; man up. he doesn't know how he suddenly found the courage to pull you away from the group and into an empty stall in the men's public restroom. or how he managed to get you so wet for him. but he does know that your cunt feels so goddamn good that he'd be happy to die while fucking you, what a divine way to go. "you think you can speak to me like that and get away with it?" mike spits, fucking you desperately and hard. too hard, his pelvic bone will probably bruise after today. your hair is tangled in his fingers, being tugged with each thrust as your back arches. "i'm sorry, mike." you moan out, clawing at the concrete wall of the restroom. the sound is music, heard in his wet dreams and throughout his head when he jacks off in the shower. your breasts are spilling out of your bikini top from the vigorous force of mike’s cock ploughing you. you look like a pornographic dream. "so stupid, guess all that studying doesn't do shit for you." he laughs, digging his fingers into your hips as you whine.

"too fucking stupid to notice how badly i've been needing you." he doesn't know why he's being so mean, it's new to him, and especially new to you. he blames all the built-up tension. yet your cunt squeezes around him at the words, and it's driving him insane. it's a rush. mike groans at the newfound pace he's set for himself, feeling how wet you're getting by the second. it's dangerous, addicting. "please, mike. need more." you struggle to say through a moan, grasping at the toilet paper holder as you try to stabilize yourself. "did i say you can talk?" mike grips your hair in his fist and pulls, eliciting a whine from you. "the least you can do for me is shut that mouth of yours. wouldn't want to be a drag, do you?" he mocks, snapping his hips into yours with venom. he has no idea how much longer he can last in you. weeks without you, weeks of patheically getting himself off, weeks of torture. you look back at him with tears welling up in your eyes, hand shakily reaching out for him, and he thinks he's already died at the sight of you. heaven found in a restroom stall, who would’ve known?

mike lets go of your hair and intertwines with your hand, pulling you back to him. his hold on you is enough to make your eyes roll back, and letting out a loud moan, completely for him. you look so fucking beautiful like this. mike grabs your jaw, crashing his lips with yours in a long-awaited kiss. teeth clashing, tongues covered in each other’s spit, swallowing moans. it’s raunchy, and mike loves it. the sound of skin slapping skin echoes throughout the dingy stall, bouncing off the concrete walls and into the air. he’d record the sound to play repeatedly if he could, along with the depraved sounds coming out of your mouth. “you’re all i ever want.” mike confesses on your lips, nipping your bottom lip slightly in a primal instinct. he lifts up your leg, gripping your thigh as he holds it, giving himself a new angle and stretching you out more. he definitely won’t last long now; his lower abdomen tightens up in a warning.

mike’s cock hits past your cervix, making his eyes lose focus as your cunt suffocates him and swallows him deeper. “mike.” you moan loudly, holding the nape of his neck as his thrusts get sharp. he wants you screaming his name till your voice breaks out, throat red and raw. but not now, not in some cramped stall in a public restroom at the damn beach. tears stream down your glowing cheeks at the pleasure mike is railing into you. he curses himself for wanting to take a picture of your fucked out face, tears and all. maybe he’d keep the picture just to admire, to remind himself that he’s the only man who can make you feel this good. or perhaps he’d keep it a secret, only viewing when he needs a quick release. release. mike needs to cum and cum now, before some lousy creep walks in. mike’s hand snakes down to your stomach, reaching your puffy clit, and rubbing quick circles on the sensitive nerve. your bottom lip is caught in between your teeth as you try to muffle yourself at the sudden touch, “keep your eyes on mine.”

you nod pitifully, obediently. your willingness to do whatever mike tells you is making his brain turn to mush. you’re perfect, a god to him and only him. he’s a follower devoted and obsessed. “can i cum?” you whisper, voice harsh from the excessive moaning. your eyes gaze into his, wet and half-lidded. mike can see that spark in your eyes, dimming as you’re very well about to cum. you’re cock drunk and in need of your fix, who is mike to deny you of that? “you wanna cum?” mike mocks, speeding up his abuse on your cunt and your clit. you moan in agreement, nodding with brows pulling together. “please, i need it. i need you.” you breathe out, gripping the nape of his neck tighter as your cunt throbs. the feeling alone has his abdomen light up in flames. “cum for me, right on my cock.” mike grunts, withdrawing his fingers from your clit and shoving them into your mouth. your whiny screams are muffled by mike’s fingers as you let yourself go, creaming around mike’s cock. mike pulls out of your warm cunt as he feels a rush of euphoria hit him, giving himself a few lazy tugs before he’s shooting ropes of cum on your ass. his eyes never leave yours.

the two of you are left catching up on forgotten air and time. mike isn’t even sure how long the two of you have been away, but the smile on your face shows him that your previous irritation is long gone. “i’m sorry for being mean and…saying those mean things to you.” mike apologizes, leaving a kiss on your shoulder. his hands reach for the toilet paper, wiping away his cum on your skin before helping you pull up your bikini bottoms. “like what? i’m too stupid to not realize how bad you needed me? real tearjerker, mike.” you joke, fixing yourself to not look like you just got fucked in the men’s restroom stall. mike cracks a halfway-smile, a smile you reciprocate. his heart does backflips as you latch your arms around his waist, engulfing him in an embrace. “that and just being a dick. i know your studies are your top priorities. i should’ve communicated with you. i’m sorry.” mike sighs, kissing your forehead. you gleam up at him, afterglow cast around you. could you look any better?

“it’s okay, mikey. your friends deserve your apology more than me.” you say, swaying in his arms. "i'm sorry for not giving you attention when you needed me." you admit, deepening your frame into his as you hug him tighter. the squawks of seagulls can be heard beyond the concrete haven that is the men's restroom, pulling the two of you out of the shared daydream. "we should get back before they realize we're taking way too long getting ice cream." mike suggests, receiving a soft giggle from you.