#mikey hellraiser

How the hell had he found it? Had he been searching in the space between your bed and the wall, intent on finding something?

“Our little shortcake is dirtier than she lets on.” The smirk on his face made your heart beat even faster. Nothing good could come from him looking at you like that. Like he had just caught you red-handed.

Shortcake. That was his nickname for you. He had called you that once when he had bumped into you in the hall. Sorry, shortcake, didn’t see you there. When he realized how much you hated it, he continued to use the stupid little nickname. Jerk.

You forced yourself to rise to your feet, to swallow, to find your voice. Anything to make it look like you were innocent. “That’s—Annalisa’s.”

Mike snorted. “No, it’s not. She keeps her stash at her boyfriend’s.”

You frowned. “And how do you know that, exactly?”

“Because we’ve used it on—” He paused as he realized that he shouldn’t finish that sentence.

It took you a second to connect the dots. “You… you used it on her?”

He gave you a guilty smile.

“You both used it on her?” you gaped.

“Yup,” he confessed with such casualty that you knew he wasn’t even ashamed.

You’ve only ever read about those in your romance books. You had no idea Annalisa had—

No. It didn’t matter. It was the twenty-first century. Women were allowed to have sex lives and not be judged for it. So you weren’t about to judge her.

Mike switched the vibrator to a higher setting. Your thighs automatically squeezed together. That familiar heat burst to life in your core.

Mike rose to his feet and stalked towards you. It was impossible to hold his gaze. Not just because he held one of your toys in his hands, but because…

Because you had a crush on him. You had never said it out loud, but there was no doubt about it. Part of the reason you sat in the front of your chemistry class was so you couldn’t be distracted by him. You avoided the quad before lunch because the sight of him throwing a football around with his friends—seeing those muscles flex beneath that shirt and the way he ran his fingers through his hair when his curls fell in front of his eyes—made your appetite disappear. You had such a humiliating crush that it made you sick.

Mike stopped a foot away from you. He switched the toy off and you heaved a sigh of relief. Having someone find your toy was one thing, but having it be Mike Fucking Soprano—

“Don’t be embarrassed.” There was amusement in his tone. He was enjoying this. “It’s kind of sexy, knowing you use this to get off.”

You swallowed. Your vision grew a little blurry as you stared at your sock-covered feet. You felt dumb when you realized that you were wearing socks with strawberries on them. Great. Now he would never stop. Strawberry Shortcake would be so much worse than just Shortcake.

But you couldn’t think on it for long because the next second he had his thumb under your chin. He tilted your head back to look him in the eyes—damn, he was so tall he towered over you and it did things to your insides that you couldn’t explain—and you finally noticed that brown spot in his left eye. You couldn’t stop staring at it. God, it was beautiful.

“Do you like using this?” he asked you in a voice that made you want to whimper. He motioned to the wand, but you knew exactly what he was talking about. “Or do you prefer being fucked?”

You’d never heard such crass language. Your face burned as you turned away from him, hoping he didn’t see the answer in your eyes.

Mike was slow when it came to academics. But apparently, he saved all that room in his brain for other… recreational activities, because it took him less than a minute to put it together. “You’re a virgin.”

God, this was so humiliating. You were twenty-one years old and still hadn’t had sex yet. Normally you didn’t care, but standing here, hearing Mike—the guy you couldn’t speak properly around—say it… yeah, humiliating was the only word for it.

“Aww, shortcake,” he cooed when he saw you curl in on yourself. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

He closed the distance between you again and put your hand on your back—

Fuck, that felt good. Why did it feel so good?

His fingers trailed down your back until they wrapped around your hip and spun you towards him. “You know, you could always change that.”

You blinked at him. Was he just casually suggesting that you go out and ask for the nearest guy to take your virginity?

“Y-you…” You couldn’t even remember how to speak. That idea was completely ludicrous, did he not realize that?

He raised an eyebrow. “Me?” He paused and then, “Yeah, why not? I’m free Sunday night.”

Your jaw dropped. “How could you—what are you—I don’t—”

He brushed a hand across your cheek. “Don’t worry about it. If you help me pass next week’s exam, I’ll consider us even.”

You’ll be even? Like he was providing you a service?

“Maybe I want to stay a virgin!” you protested.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he let his gaze fall to your mouth. You swallowed. Could he hear how loud your heart was pounding? If he kept looking at you like that, you had no doubt that it would burst out of your chest, it was beating so quickly. And when he brought his thumb to your mouth, brushing it across your bottom lip, your knees began to shake. Your entire body burned. Mike Soprano was touching you like this. It had to be a dream. He parted your lips with his thumb and then pushed it inside your mouth until it rested on your tongue.

“Suck it,” he ordered, his voice suddenly low and dark.

You listened. It didn’t make sense to you, why he would want his finger in your mouth, but you did it anyways. Your lips wrapped tighter around his thumb, and you swirled your tongue around the skin on the tip of his finger.

“Fuck,” he sighed before biting on his lower lip.

You’d suck on his fingers forever if it meant him looking at you like that. That look in his eyes urged you on. You sucked on his digit with more fervor, feeling like a child licking an ice cream cone in the middle of summer. He caught you looking at him, scanning his face for any sign of approval, and he released a sound that resembled a growl and—fuck, your panties were completely soaked by now.

“God, baby, you look so pretty with my finger in your mouth,” he breathed.

You couldn’t fight back the whimper that escaped you.

Within the span of second he pulled his finger out of your mouth only to replace it with a brush of his own lips. You whimpered as his mouth collided with yours, quickly going from gentle to rough and urgent and completely demanding. His hands moved to your hips. You reached for him, desperate to touch him everywhere at once. You never thought you’d be able to do this with him. It was euphoric. Surreal. It left you breathless and burning. You wanted all of him at once. His tongue pushed past your lips and collided with your own. Oh, god. The taste of him—it was a drug that you instantly knew you’d be desperate to get more of.

You began to fall before you realized that Mike was stepping back and pulling you along with him. Then came a thud, and suddenly you were on the bed. He hovered over you. Your heart was in your throat, and you couldn’t speak or think or breathe. All that existed was this perfect man hovering over you, looking at you like he wanted to devour you. The scent of mint and cedar—his scent—wrapped around you, hypnotizing you even further.

He tried to spread your legs. You let him. You’ve never been touched, not by someone else, but with Mike… you wanted to give him everything. He moved between your legs and pressed his hips against your own. You moved towards him, but he didn’t kiss you. Instead, he brought his attention to your throat. He licked a sensitive spot below your ear and you moaned—

And then he bit you and it—you—words left you.

Your legs clenched tightly around his as you wrapped yourself around him like a vine. He ground his hips against yours. You whimpered, his name falling from your lips, as you felt his erection press against your core. All you could think of was how it would feel when he first entered you. Would it hurt? Would it feel good?

“God, I wanna be inside of you,” he breathed against your skin. He began to suck on the spot he had just bit. It stung as he put pressure on that sensitive spot, but after a moment or two the pain became pleasurable.

You whimpered again. The air had grown hot and thick with your desire, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Your chemistry homework was long forgotten. This was the only thing you wanted to do for the rest of the night.

“Tell me you want this, baby. Do you wanna be with me?”

You nodded because you couldn’t exactly remember what words were. He pulled back and looked you in the eyes, checking to make sure you had no doubts. And then he kissed your cheek and rose to his feet. He gathered his notebook and textbook and threw them into his bag.

What the hell had just happened?

“What… what just…” You still struggled to form coherent thoughts.

He didn’t bother to turn to face you as he explained, “You said you wanted to stay a virgin, so I had to prove you wrong.”

What.

The.

Fuck.

It’s not that they threw you out, but in a way… No. You made that decision. The fighting had gotten worse and you couldn’t stand it anymore.

It had started this morning. They came home from their weekend trip late at night, and the next morning, when you went downstairs for breakfast, you had totally forgotten they were there, wearing just a tank top and some shorts. Thing is, you had lied to them about your weekend with Mikey, told them you’d stay at home, working on some stuff for college. You knew what they think about your boyfriend, and didn’t want another lecture about how he’s bad for you.

So when they saw the hickeys Mikey had promised not to leave, they were mad. Very mad. The argument ended with you yelling you weren’t their baby anymore and that you were allowed to live your own life how you wanted it to, before running up the stairs and packing your bags with your most important stuff. You had locked yourself in your room for most of the day, crying. At some point you texted Mike, asking him to pick you up.

When you tried to sneak out, your parents caught and confronted you, but you left anyway. “You’ll finish college,” your dad had yelled when you got into Mikey’s car, “Maybe you’ll come to your senses!”

So now here you are, in Mikey’s car, your sniffles gradually turning into sobs as reality sinks in. You did it. You moved out from your parents and their suffocating care. But what now? You’d be staying with Mike for now. But after that? No clue. Thank fuck you had gotten that job at the little bookshop. But would that be enough to pay any rent? Probably not.

When you make it home, Mikey takes your bags and your hand and leads you up to his apartment and to the couch, getting you a glass of water before hugging you tight and letting you sob into his chest. He lets his hands run up and down your back, rubbing circles to soothe you, while whispering comfortingly about how strong you are and that he’s proud of you.

Still, it takes at least half an hour until your sobs turn into quiet whimpers, then sniffles and then finally die out. Mike’s white t-shirt is soaked by then. He could easily participate and most likely win in a wet t-shirt contest with how he looks now.

“’m sorry,” you mumble, staring at the wet patch, your voice hoarse from crying.

“It’s okay, sweetcheeks.” He smiles at you and wipes your face with the sleeves of his hoodie. “You know… I wanted to ask you to move in anyway…” he chuckles in an attempt to lift the mood. And it works. It always works. A small smile plays around your lips and you wonder how you got so lucky with Mikey.

“S-so this doesn’t bother you?” you ask with a shaky voice.

“Aw, babe, no. I mean… the sneaking around your parents was hot, but… well… you see what happened.” He awkwardly scratches the back of his head and you nod, smiling sadly.

“I just…” you start, your lower lip trembling again, “I just wish they would understand. They never even thought about giving you a chance.”

Immediately, his arms are around you again, holding you tightly against him. “Shh, shhhh. It’s okay, baby, shhh,” he whispers, rubbing your back, “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry, sweetcheeks. C’mon, do you wanna eat something? Let’s order something. You pick.”

“O-okay,” you sniffle, “Can we get pizza?”

An hour later, the two of you are sitting on the carpet in the living room, your back against Mikey’s chest as you sit between his legs, his guitar in your lap. He’s gently helping you to place your fingers on the right strings to play the right chords.

“Alright, strum down,” he instructs and you do. The tone is dull, something’s not right and your shoulders drop.

“It’s alright, sweetcheeks, just relax your arm a little bit, don’t be too tense. Your elbow to your ribs, yes just like that. Your wrist just a little bit forward. Yes, yes, perfect. See, now strum again.”

This time, the chord is clear and you grin.

“Alright, next chord. Start from the bottom, it’s easier. Ring finger on the bottom one. Here, third fret. Yes. Good. Pointer finger, second to top, second fret. Make sure you don’t cover any other strings. Perfect. And now stretch that middle finger all across that to the top string, third fret. Now strum.”

Again, the chord is clear. On first try! Your concentrated frown melts into a smile. A smile that widens even more when Mikey kisses you on the cheek in praise.

He teaches you two other chords until your fingertips are red and hurting. But, now you could play a very very simple version of Boulevard of Broken Dreams, the verse part at least. Four simple chords, strum each twice, the rest would come with practice. And he had promised to practice with you. And you’d teach him how to cook more than just noodles and frozen pizza.

You go to bed cuddled together, wrapped up in each other. He’s your home now.

Mikey has his head on your chest – his favorite for two reasons. One, his head is on your boobs; he loves that. And two, he can hear your heartbeat and how it’s still slightly quicker when you’re with him. Oh, oh and he loves how you’ll play with his hair automatically when he lays his head on your chest. So that’s three. Three reasons.

“Puppy?” you whisper into the dark room, not sure if he’s already asleep.

“Hm?”

“Thank you so much. For everything. I love you, puppy.”

“’s nothing,” he sleepily whispers back, “Love you too, sweetcheeks.”