#tax evader tag | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

highhhfiveee · 11 months

Text

safety net, part two

part one: 💸 | part three: 📹

are we excited???? prepare your hearts cause the feels kinda took over

pairing: pornstar!mike schmidt x blackfem!reader summary: mike and reader are both genuine people and that draws them to each other. wc: 3.5k tags: fluff, lots of internal pining, porn mentions but nothing graphic. should be error free bc i actually proofread this one but if there are any, my sincerest apologies

“you have to be, like, evading taxes or something.”

mike chuckles behind you as he closes the door to his apartment--sorry, penthouse.

you're stood with your jaw unhinged, eyes scanning over the wide, sweeping space of his open concept living room and all of the furniture that decorates it, expensive-looking but cozy in a way that you wish you could replicate in your own place. you stalk over to tall windows that line the farthest wall, creating a corner that allows for you to see the bustling city below; all of the flashing lights, people drunkenly stumbling around street signs, and cars zipping and weaving through traffic.

you'd never seen anything like this, just a girl used to the urban suburbs on the south side of town, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you feel mike's presence behind you. you don't turn to him, dropping your shoes and purse to the ground and keeping your eyes trained on a street corner below.

"the view's what sold me on the place. i'm able to watch the sunrise on that side," he points to the windows on the other side of the kitchen, offering a view of the green space nestled in between skyscrapers. "and the sunset on this one."

"must be nice," you reply, backing away from the glass and observing the rest of the space. it was the size of, like, three of your apartments combined, organized and free of mess. "i only have a view of a corner store, and a really really busy bus stop. it's super annoying."

"where do you live?"

you give him the name of the neighborhood you'd known your whole life. you didn't recognize any of the area's flaws when you were a child. it was never a red flag to you that the street off of the one you grew up on had two storefronts of the same fast food chain on either end, or that the closest supermarket was twenty minutes away. you hadn't even batted an eye when some of your school “friends” would tell you about visiting gourmet cupcake restaurants and vintage consignments stores. you just went along with it, saying, "that's so cool. the fanciest place by my house is the $7.99 buffet." they all laughed at you.

it wasn't until you were older, freshly graduated from high school and looking to be on your own that you realized the disparity across the region. only people with certain attributes got the nice things, and you'd been conditioned to be grateful to have a daycare in a plaza with a smoke shop and tax preparation office.

"it's just too expensive for me to move anywhere else. i can barely make rent now, with the way they keep raising it every year. kept the tag on this dress just so i could take it back." you look down at yourself and mike can see the longing in your eye, the twinkle in them that wishes you could hang it up in your closet tomorrow.

after tonight, you kind of wish you hadn't bought it at all. you thought that simon would’ve found it insatiable, wining and dining you before taking you back to his place for a night cap, but all you think about now is the embarrassment of walking back into the luxury department store, handing them your receipt for the item you wore once and couldn’t keep.

it fills you with distaste and you find yourself desperate to peel the item off your skin. “is it okay if i shower?”

mike nods furiously, apologizing for not offering. he’d just been staring at you while you talked, admiring you. he was used to people with perfect appearances around him, done up by professionals that costed $200 an hour, but you were different, uncaring about your unruly curls and smeared eyeliner. you were unbothered and carefree, and that fascinated him.

he leads you down a long hall, coming to a stop once it forks into three different directions: left, right, and slightly diagonal right. the walls are lined with paintings and photos of mike and people that share his features, and at the end of the diagonal path is a giant trophy case, filled to the brim with plaques and trophies of various sizes, shapes, and finishes.

“jesus,” you murmur, abandoning your escort. mike’s walked ahead of you, but he makes his way back when he notices you’re not behind him.

“everything okay?”

you point to his trophy case, letting out an incredulous laugh. “are all of those for you?”

mike nods, and you laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “okay, so you’re obviously some sports star because no way someone living like this wouldn’t be.”

mike goes rigid next to you. he never knew how to bring up his career to new people he met, sometimes ping-ponging between “i work for a world-renown production company” and “i’m an entrepreneur”. he had no problem lying to other people, his guard all the way up from years of rejection and disgust at the mention of “sex worker” and “pornstar”, but something felt wrong about lying to you. he swallows hard, racking his mind for a semi truth.

“not sports, but definitely still physical.” you scrunch your nose at this, blinking at him in confusion, but you stop when he grabs your hand and nudges his head in the direction of the bathroom. “didn’t you want to shower?”

you nod, allowing him to pull you down the hall but not without a second glance at the case. what other physical career presented you with that many awards?

the bathroom is a star in it's own right, modern in a way that you fawn over when you're watching hgtv. the gigantic, complicated looking shower invites you from the corner, nestled in between the gadget-rigged toilet and garden bathtub.

all of the decor in here was clean, pale blue, a nice offset to all of the white tile and gold-accented appliances.

you're half-listening, your conscience replaced with static as mike explains where everything is. "so...towels are over here..."

his shower had a rainforest head and a small, handheld one clipped into a holder, with a screen embedded into the wall. there was a bench and railing to hold onto, a speaker on the back tile....your eyes cut to the toilet, and the smaller one next to it. a bidet??????

"...and, the bidet remote's right next to the soap. i'll lay some clothes out for you on the hall table, but let me know if you need anything, okay?" you react a little too late, raising your hand and squeaking, "wait" right as mike's backed out of the room.

"fuck."

you try to look around for things, eventually finding the towels in a closet concealed as a part of the wall and, as a bonus, a knob to turn on the heated floor?????

you strip down, completely bare under the dress, and fold it up, retail employee coded, delicately placing it by the sink with the tag on top. it was exactly how you'd return it, with a shitty excuse and plastic smile. you do the same with mike's jacket.

you throw your hair up before wrapping yourself in the towel, delicately cloaked in what had to be egyptian cotton, and pace on over to the shower. you tap the daunting screen, and it lights up with a flourish, displaying the date, time, weather, and a host of different icons.

you don't know why it's so hard for you to turn the shower on, scrolling and bumbling through a collection of options that weren't simply turn on. why did you need to use a screen anyway? why reinvent the simple wheel that was a faucet lever?

you decide you need mike's help after a bit, though self-conscious about having to ask after he probably told you earlier. you splash cool water on your face before leaving the room, attempting to wring the anxiety out of your body.

you're at the fork in the hallway again, the view of you obscured from the living room by a wall, and you turn your attention to mike's trophy case again. you're too far to see any of the engravings on anything and you're so curious to find out what they say.

you feel your muscles attempt to pull you down the lonely hall, but you halt, reminding yourself that mike was a kind person who'd invited you into his home, and you were supposed to be showering, not snooping. still, even with the moment of morality, untrustworthy interest prodded at your brain.

mike's exiting his room with a handful of clothes for you when he catches you, arms wound around yourself to keep your towel up. you haven't seen him yet, your gaze fixed on something down the hall. he gulps softly, unaware that he would see you like this so early in your connection. your long neck cranes forward to see better, and he prematurely wonders if you're sensitive there, mind swirling with musings of bites and marks.

"something wrong?" you jolt, blinking and stammering and damn near jestering as you attempt to defend yourself. mike doesn't look at you with malice or cynicism, simply stepping closer as your eyes flitter around. "i, uh...i need help with the shower. i don't know how to turn it on."

mike huffs, squinting his eyes at you jovially. "that the only thing?" fuck.

you drop your shoulders with a deep sigh, throwing a pointed finger down the hall. "i also wanna know why you have all those awards." there's a small, almost undetectable change in mike's face, his eye twitching. you watch him shrug it off, placing a hand on your shoulder to lead you back to the bathroom. "i'll explain after you shower."

you're puzzled as to why he's so cagey about it, but you don't question it, accepting his statement and finally listening to him as he explains what to do

you're alone again after he sets the clothes down and leaves. he took your dress, easing you with "just going to hang it up. no worries" and a sheepish smile, and you're eager, ready to hear about what he does and how he's able to afford all this, including this shower that provides you with the best shower you think you've ever taken.

you're able to get the water to the perfect temp, scalding, with the perfect amount of pressure to sting your skin and make you feel clean. you wash away all of your worries; thoughts of keeping a roof over your head, being okay, and finding a genuine connection extinguished with the hum of soft jazz and lather of ylang ylang scented soap.

you lotion yourself with one of the various creams on mike's counter, soothed by the powder smell, and slip into the clothes you're provided--a pair of soft, heart-covered boxers and a university t-shirt, faded into burgundy from countless washes.

mike's sitting on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone when the the demure pitter patter of your feet sounds against the floors, and he swears he almost dies when he sees you.

maybe it hadn't been totally random when he chose the clothes for you, deciding to give you two of his favorite items so he could see how they looked on you. the shirt, very lived in and from his alma mater, skirted your thighs and covered up his boxers, draping over your lithe body in a way that made his mouth go dry.

"okay," you call, dropping beside him on the couch. the wispy hairs around your hairline frame your clean face, guiding his attention to the smattering of dark moles around your eyes and temples. "tell me. what are all of those awards for?"

"do you want some water or something?" he interrupts, and while you accept, you furrow your eyebrows at him. he gets up with the swiftness of a nascar pit crew, and you hold your gaze on him, pivoting your body as he moves.

"mike, c'mon, what gives? you can trust me."

his back is towards you, filling a glass with water from the filtered water faucet. he hunches at your baffled tone, your voice all soft and downcast.

he wants to scream because it's so easy to just come out and tell you what he does. you didn't say anything at the restaurant, but maybe you'd put two and two together when he finally told you truth, remembering a thumbnail from the porn site of your choosing. he wasn't ashamed---nowhere near that. he'd been in the industry almost a decade, moving past the internalized and societally-imposed scrutiny he felt for his career. it was other people that were ashamed, other people that turned their nose up at him because of what they assumed he was; sleazy, devious, a player. he'd had so many connections blow over because of it, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that happening with you.

you just stare at his back, watching it rise and fall with every laboured breath he takes. what was so bad about what he did that he couldn’t just tell you? he was obviously good at whatever it was, and you wondered if it was a front for something. maybe he disarmed you with his nice guy act, and he lured you here to kill you an—-

the clink of glass on glass brings you back to reality. mike is beside you again, staring blankly ahead while he wrings his hands.

“i’m a pornstar,” he utters plainly. he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting you to make a noise of disgust or get up and leave, but you don’t.

he opens one eye, and then both. you’re staring at him with no concrete expression, lips pursed. he closes his eyes again, counting in his head before opening them once more.

you’re still there, and it almost makes him cry.

“that checks out,” you muse. you’re fairly non reactive, but not because his admission freaks you out. you’re thinking back to the awards, the sheer amount of them in that case, and how good he really must be at what he does. “why didn’t you want to tell me?”

he runs a hand through his hair, melting into his couch with boyish reserve. his eyes are a mixed bag, bouncing between relief and despair. “people run every time i tell them. lots of them act like i just told them i killed their childhood pet and it's just so...disheartening, y'know?

"i just don't get it because it's just like any other job. you work, fucking hard, because you want to perform at your best, just like anyone else. the stigma around it never goes away, no matter how hard you try to convince people. they think you get around outside of it, having sex every second of every day, or that you're gonna mess around with your coworkers and give them something. it's like the trust level is in hell before you're even able to prove yourself." you scoot closer to mike without a word and place your hands over his. his rings are cold against your palm.

it's a gentle gesture. the airy smile you give pacifies him and he swears he's never felt anything like what he feels now.

"i'm not here to judge you, mike. i never will. sex work is a completely valid career, just like anything else. i'm sorry about all those shitty people who made assumptions about you."

"no need to apologize," he whispers, adjusting his hands so that they cradle yours now. you tilt your head down bashfully, lashes fluttering. "all those times led me here."

you two chat for a long while. mike tells you all about the production company he works for, how he got into the business, what his work schedule's like, the community of other stars that he works with, his stage name. you can tell he's passionate about it, lost in his rambles and talking with his hands. certain words segue your convo into other topics, like books and food and pop culture. you two have a lot more than coffee in common.

"i was surprised you didn't recognize me, honestly. not in a douchey way, but just because everyone does. it's usually the first thing they come up to me with." you could only imagine, being approached with "i've come to all of your work" in the condiment aisle at the grocery store.

"i don't watch professional porn really. too staged for me."

"i get that. i think you'd like our content. we really found a good balance between professional quality and ethical, genuine, safe fun."

you try to stay nonchalant, not wanting to betray the fact that you're itching to watch something of his work. "that's really nice. i bet you have quite the catalog."

"almost ten years worth so, yeah, i'd say," he chuckles, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth. "enough about me though. what do you do for work?"

"nothing as exciting and well-paying as porn. i type letters and numbers into a computer in a cubicle. it barely pays the bills, but i've worked in too many customer service jobs to ever go back." mike agrees. you're about to say something else when you're interrupted by a yawn, unhinging your jaw like an animal. you quickly cover your mouth, muttering, "jeez. sorry." you didn't realize it, but you were tired, exhausted from the night you had.

"it's okay, it is pretty late." he checks the time on his phone and turns it to you. 2:23 am. had you two really been talking on this couch for 3 hours? "i can show you to the guest room if you're tired. i have a shoot tomorrow anyway so i should get to bed too."

"sure," you whisper, grabbing his hand when he extends it to you. he pulls you to your feet like you weigh nothing at all, and you tail behind him like a lovesick puppy.

you're feeling that tingly ball of warmth in your stomach, the one you've felt with every person you thought you'd marry. you usually indulge in it, but with mike, it scares you. why do you feel like this after one night with a man you barely even know?

it's rash and inappropriate, you decide, and you're still convincing yourself as you slide under the black satin sheets and duvet on mike's king sized guest bed. you recline on the satin-covered pillows, sinking into the memory foam. it's a nice departure from your noisy childhood mattress back at home.

"do you have work tomorrow?" you shake your head, and mike claps his hands together with a cheer.

"yay. i'll be leaving around 8 or so, but feel free to sleep in and hang around as long as you want. the remote for the blinds is right there, i'll put a toothbrush out for you, and there's all kinds of food in the kitchen. help yourself. just let me know when you're leaving so i can lock the door."

your eyes squint. "you're gonna lock the door after i leave?"

mike nods, smiling excitedly and geekily diving into his rationale. "mhm, i have a smart lock. i can do it from my phone."

you're so tired that the words just foolishly tumble out of your mouth. "you must have great dick."

mike lets out a laugh that's a blend of flattered, nervous, and amused and you're both red-cheeked and flustered. "i am so fucking sorry, i, uh..y--" you stammer over all of your words, finally able to wrench out, "a smart lock just sounds expensive."

mike stares you down with fascination, backing towards the door. "watch the videos and find out for yourself, yeah?" he winks at you, and you gulp so loudly you're sure he hears. "goodnight, y/n. sleep well.”

"you too,” you croak.

you're out like a light once he leaves, but not before telling yourself to put up a new sticky note at home: “watch mike's porn."

you awake what feels like days later, refreshed and made anew. you click on the remote for the curtains, and they rise slowly, flooding the room with rich early afternoon sun. the clock on the nightstand reads 12:38 pm.

you hop to your feet and make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face before stalking to the living room. it's filled with light, and you think about how you'd probably never be depressed living in a place like this.

a box, red and moderately sized, sits upon the kitchen counter. you think you should ignore it, but as you get closer, you see a paper with your name scrawled across it. you like your name in mike's voice and handwriting.

you pull up the lid and inside is your dress from last night with the tag missing, two fat wads of hundred dollar bills, and another note that reads, “you deserve to feel beautiful and pay your rent <3 call this number when you're ready to go home. -m”.

in this moment, you're 100% positive that you're falling in love.

wow wow wow wow. they are so fucking CUTE! i love themmmmmmm <3 hopefully this tides y'all over for a bit because i need to outline the rest of their story, and i wanna work on some other stories for a little bit 💜 more parts are definitely coming, have no fear! i'd also like to say that while i use y/n in my stories, reader is typically a character that i'm inventing. using your own name and likeness while you read is totally fine, of course! i just use y/n as a placeholder name for my reader character bc i don't feel like coming up with character names all the time <3 sorry if that doesn't make sense 💔 i hope you all enjoyed! happy reading my seedlings 🌱💜

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtsss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fluff #fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf fic #faire is writing stuff #faire's (pornstar) mike schmidt <3 #they are so fucking cute #like omg #i get the feels from them and they're my characters #rooting for them fr #josh hutcherson

495 notes · View notes