mike smash

So apparently Christian Borle loves legos, and now I’m just picturing him sitting on the floor with a huge pile of legos surrounding him, just building little Ferraris and millennium falcons and stuff.

anonymous asked:

imagine the losers starting a band

- okay but like richie would be the lead singer, cos he knows how to rock the mic and he gets the audience hyped as fuck


- mike and ben would be the lead guitarists and they’d do bad ass solos together and slide across the stage and all the girls would be all over them

- stan the man on bass, just imagine his head bobbing to his beat and him being super chill and closing his eyes during most of the songs to zone out and just ‘be one’ with the music

- bill would be the keyboard player and he’d do the acoustic piano versions of their songs on stage and people would sob because he can play so well, thanks to his mother teaching him early on

- i don’t think eddie would be in the actual band, but he’d fucking kick ass as their manager like can you imagine him on the phone booking venues and selling tickets and wearing their merch everywhere to promote his band like

Long days and lonely nights- Mike imagine

Originally posted by urdnotdrake

Anonymous said:

Can you do a mike Montgomery imagine for how is coping with his girlfriend (y/n) in the dollhouse? By the way I love your imagines xx

Anonymous said:

Can you do one where the reader is Spencer’s little sister in the dollhouse and the reader and mike are best friends but they are secretly in love?

A/N: these are really old requests and I finally wrote them! They were so similar I decided to put them together x I hope that’s ok  warning- it’s a bit of a mish-mash of things but I had no clue what I could solidly base the story on xxx

words: 827

“Mike, what are you doing here?” you asked, clueless, the puzzled look on your face making his heart palpitate. He didn’t reply, instead he walked straight into you, enveloping you in a hug. You hugged him back, giggling at his outburst of affection.

“I miss you.” He mumbled into your hair, just behind you ear. His hands gripped you tightly, as if you were about to disappear, scrunching up the fabric of your clothes.

“But I’m right here.” you confirmed, pulling back to look him in the eyes as you cupped his face. Your skin felt warm, his cold. He hadn’t shaved much, the stubble poking the palms of your hands.

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