#demanding to be on michael’s shoulders

[cherubfae]

jealous slashers~!✧

With Michael, Brahms, Jason, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Thomas Sawyer, Sal Fisher, & Patrick Bateman

tags: gn!reader, jealousy, creepy men, unwanted attention/touching, uggestive and mature themes, gore/blood, violence, canon typical behavior, billy x reader x stu poly, rob zombie!mikey, I know Sal isn't exactly a slasher but he's my baby and needs to be included

Alexa, play Love to Die by the Slashstreet Boys

Michael

Rest in Peace to the poor, stupid man who thought it'd be a good idea to mess with the Shape's partner, and Michael had witnessed it all. How this man shoves you into an empty alleyway, the clatter of your groceries falling. The guy doesn't get much more than a few bruises and claw marks when Michael's knife slices through the back of the man's throat, protruding from the other end in a splash of blood. The Shape watches you wipe your bloody face off, not doing much but picking up three of your four fallen bags and tugging you into his side.

Brahms

Absolutely not. Brahms is fuckin' seething from his safe space sheltered behind the walls. Heavy breathing muffled by the porcelain mask, he watches with wild eyes as some idiot decides to break into the mansion whilst you were sleeping, and proceeds to hold you at knifepoint, effectively pinning you to the bed in what little nightclothes you wore. The unwanted guest and you are certainly going to know when Brahms is upset. There's banging on the walls coming from every direction that leaves the would-be burglar panicked and you slightly more comfortable.

"You're not allowed to be here," comes the eerily childlike voice Brahms has perfected. He crawls his way out from behind the large antique mirror. "I'll make sure you never come near them again." With a sudden slam, Brahms downs the intruder with a lead pipe repeatedly bashing the object until all that remains was brain matter and gooey blood. He drops the pipe with a huff and collects you into his arms, the cool porcelain biting onto the heat of your chest.

Jason

As the protector of the surrounding forest, Jason is always watching. He's omnipotent, he sees all. He seems to know where people are at all times and he can sense when you're in distress. Your shared cabin door left ajar sends his blood boiling and his heavy footfall increasing as he approaches your home. Barging in, Jason's pale eyes lock onto you and your assailant holding you by the throat. His thunderous steps are quick, slicing through the man with his machete and proceeds to lift him up while still pierced with the blade. The man gurgles, arms weakly reaching behind him in attempts to claw at Jason. All attempts were futile. He tossed the body to the side before he gently frets over you, his large hands soothing the fingerprints tarnishing your throat.

Billy & Stu

Rather snake-like the two will wrap themselves around you (they adore your personal space) and stare down whoever else demands your attention. Billy's arm hooks around your waist and Stu wraps himself around your shoulder, tilting your chin up with a single finger. "Is this guy bothering you, baby?" Looking like a shark that's tasted blood in the water, Billy's eyes grow more wild. He's already making a mental note of who and where this guy lives. The guy raised his hands in defense backing down the more the two stared at him, walking off completely.

"We're gonna take care of him, doll," Billy promises, kissing your cheek. Stu cackles lightly, tongue sticking out. They would strike tonight.

Vincent

There's no one Vincent trusts more to watch over you when he can't than his own two brothers. He had his hands full, turning Dalton and Wade into wax people. Nick and Carly were proving to be hard to get a hold of and there was still another tourist that needed to be taken care of.

But then Bo is telling him that the person escaped and he doesn't know where you were. His two worst fears confirmed. Vincent is soon on a wild hunt, trying to find you anywhere with Bo hot on his heels. He soon locates you, passed out with a bit of blood on your head. Your eyes slowly open as he touches your cheek, catching you as you wobble into his warm embrace. He shares a look with Bo who nods.

"I've got you, brother. Keep them here with ya. Wait til I'm back, ya hear?"

Bo

Out in public, he's all cordial and kind smiles. Especially if this is an intended victim. Some random person putting the moves on his partner is a huge no-no and one Bo doesn't take lightly. That person just warranted themselves a for sure death sentence and Bo isn't feeling too kind, so perhaps he'll drag things out, yeah? Touch what's his and you got what's comin' to ya.

"Can I see, baby? That bastard leave any marks on ya?" Bo strokes your shoulders, blue eyes drifting over your frame like water. He has every intention of marking every place that person touched, no matter if you tell Bo the guy only grabbed your arm. Once he has his mind set on something, he's gonna do it.

Lester

Unlike his older twin brothers, Lester is actually pretty chill. Especially in comparison to Bo. He doesn't think much of the people he's helping get into Ambrose knowing full well it's their final destination and Vincent and Bo will take care of things as they always have. What he doesn't like is some dude making a pass at you right in front of him. Can't he see the engagement ring on your finger? It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, watching with narrowed eyes as the small group heads towards the mechanic shop in search of a fan belt.

A familiar hand on his arm calms him down instantly. He turns to you and musters a weak smile as your hands slide around his torso from behind, leaning your cheek on his shoulder. "Y'alright?" Lester nods too quickly and unconvincingly, giving you a quick kiss. "Yeah, darl', always."

Thomas

Your partner is not unlike a bear, watching with wild eyes as one of Hoyt's new catches clasps onto you, their nails digging into your arms, and pinning you to the barbed fence. The cry of pain you let out has Tommy barreling towards you, chainsaw revving to life. A deep snarl echoes behind his mask and he wastes no time cutting down the poor soul with a single swipe of his motorized saw. Tommy turns it off and picks you up in his large arms as gently as he can. With his masked cheek leaning against yours, he carries you back towards the house. Mama Luda Mae will take a good look at you.

Sal Fisher

Honestly Sal isn't one to get jealous. He's pretty level-headed and understanding in most situations. He respects your choices and he's not gonna step on any toes or do anything drastic; Sal isn't a monster. However, if he sees some guy make a creepy pass at you and clearly overstep your boundaries, he won't hesitate to swoop in, looping his arm around your shoulders. His sharp blue eyes staring at the man from behind his prosthetic mask.

"Do we have a problem here?" His voice is cold, lacking any interest in what excuse the man finds. Sal's main focus will be on you, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin. His main priority is to get you away from this sicko and would totally call in reinforcements from his brother Larry if need be.

Patrick

A jealous Patrick Bateman isn't a good scenario for anyone. Especially not with his deteriorating mental state. He trusts you explicitly, with his thoughts, ideas, and recreational hobbies that most would find distasteful. So when a colleague of his gets too big for his britches and unabashedly begins to flirt with you in his presence, Patrick finds it difficult to keep his boiling bloodlust at bay. The heat of his anger is getting to his head, the fierce emotions only swelling well it's clear how uncomfortable you look in that man's company. He must see to put an end to him quickly.

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

"Are you alright, my darling? That man surely didn't know his place, did he?" Patrick places a hand at your back, guiding you out of the office party. "Let's get you home and into a nice hot bath, hmm? I'd rather not taste that swine on your lovely skin."

#slashers x reader #slasher imagines #michael myers x reader #michael myers imagines #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees imagine #scream x reader #scream imagines #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #billy x reader x stu #brahms heelshire x reader #thomas sawyer x reader #tcm imagines #house of wax x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader #sally face imagines #patrick bateman x reader #cherubfae 2024

[casdeans-pie]

Dean flirts with a diner waitress one day while him and Sam are working a case (Cas is busy). She gives him a pleasant-customer-service smile until her eyes lock onto his shoulder. She goes pale and backs away and Dean looks at his shoulder like ?????

She tries to make an excuse to leave and bolts out the back door but Dean is Suspicious(TM) and follows her before she can get very far.

She says she's not looking for trouble, she just wants to be left alone, she's made a life for herself here etc etc.

"What are you talking about?" Dean demands, about to reach for his gun.

"You... You’re Dean Winchester." She gestures to his shoulder. "Only Dean Winchester has Castiel's mark and claim on him."

Dean gently touches his shoulder, where the handprint used to be, and he's like, "You're an angel." .......... then he gets his phone out and he's finding Cas's number and slamming the phone to his ear all frowny faced and says to her, "What do you mean, claim? And the mark isn't even there anymore- I- Hey Cas? Cas, there's an angel here who- no I don't know her name- does it matter? Look she says- no don't come here we're fine- she says you left a claim on me with that- y’know that handprint thing and- what do you mean you were going to tell me??? Tell me now-"

And the whole time Dean is getting progressively frownier and his nose is getting redder and he's gripping his shoulder tighter and the angel is watching like, This is the Michael Sword?? This is the Righteous Man??? This is the human Castiel left his mark on?????

#another sleepy lil ficlet #dean should absolutely have accidentally flirted with and angel and theyre like woAH Im not touching Dean Winchester #Castiel's got visibile dibs on that man #destiel #destiel ficlet #my ficlet

[earthtooz]

x : LOVE OF A KIND :*+ﾟ

in which: kaiser needs to be reassured that you love him, even if it's just a fraction of how special you are to him.

warnings: 2.3k words, toothrotting fluff and minor angst, kaiser is intoxicated, mentions of alcohol and clubbing, insecure!kaiser, gn!reader, BAD WRITING and ooc!kaiser probably, established relationship, if this flops i will cry. here we love pathetic men.

a/n: fuck you @kruinka for birthing this. actually fuck you. that's the a/n. enjoy whatever this is!

it’s approximately 1am when your phone vibrates violently on the kitchen counter, disturbing the gentle, unrushed ambience of friday evening (or saturday morning) in your apartment. pressing the space bar of your laptop with a lot more force than necessary, the show you were watching pauses as you throw the blankets off you, the chill of the air seeping into your body with each step you take.

noticing the contact name, you accept the call readily, pressing the ‘speaker’ option. immediately, you hear the noise of club music, people singing along and indistinct chatter.

“hello?” you ask, directly into the microphone.

“y/n?” ness’s voice returns.

“hey, what’s up?”

“sorry for bothering you so late. were you about to go to bed?”

“no, actually, i was staying up. something the matter?”

“it’s kaiser,” the brunet-purple-haired boy tells you and your heart drops with anxiety, mind beginning to race with whatever your egotistical, narcissism-driven boyfriend could have got himself into.

probably tried to square up someone far more impressive, for all you know. did he break something? spit in someone’s drink?

“i-it’s nothing bad!” ness reassures, “he’s just asking for you.” 

oh. that’s not so terrible. “okay, but why?”

in the phone’s proximity, you can hear someone stumbling and muttering in the background. there’s an indistinct mumble of your name and ness confirming your presence on the other side of the phone, followed by an excited ‘really?’ from the mystery figure. you find comfort in the fact that you know it’s kaiser before the person even has to announce himself.

“sorry, he’s just asking for you… a lot,” the soccer player informs with a little hesitation.

before you can inquire further about it, kaiser’s voice echoes in the background. “let me talk to y/n!” he sounds faraway, but you can imagine his expression regardless from just the desperately excited tone he has. 

“i can tell,” you chuckle. 

“give me the phone, ness,” kaiser demands. there’s a sentence of complaint from the midfielder and some (aggressive) rustling before you can hear your boyfriend loud and clear. “baby!” he slurs.

“hello, kaiser,” you say, grinning stupidly at the sound of his voice.

“hi beautiful. are you well?” the blond sounds a little clearer now and the music seems to have diminished a little. he must have retreated to a ‘quieter’ corner of the club. 

“as well as i can be at home. what about you?”

“i’m great now that i’m with you,” he murmurs, sounding more melancholy than usual, just ever so slightly. you dismiss the shift by blaming it on the alcohol, but there’s a tug at your gut that tells you that the drinks aren’t the sole reason.

you melt a little. “shouldn’t you be dancing or something? why are you calling me?”

“i love calling you,” he whines. “please don’t hang up.”

“if you’re sure… i’m not too sure that a club is the best place to call though.” 

“i don’t care. so long as i’m with you, anything’s fine.”

you huff, tapping your fingers on the counter, trying not to let his sweetened words get to you. “really though, you should be going back to partying and letting loose-”

“do you not like talking to me?” kaiser whispers. you can practically hear the pout in his tone, imagining the way his shoulders slump defeatedly. funny how such a powerful, influential, and unbreakable character can be reduced to nothing in your grasp. 

you couldn’t ever imagine abusing that power though, not when michael kaiser is the one in the centre of your palm. “i do. i love talking to you, i’m just concerned that you’re not using the time wisely.” 

“i’m wise. i’m super wise. right, babe? tell me i’m wise.”

where you would have played with him a little and strung him along with saccharine sarcasm, a small giggle escapes your lips instead. that would be saved for sober kaiser. “you are, you are,” you reassure, suddenly filled with the urge to see him. 

“thanks babe. i love you,” he whimpers. “please say you love me too.”

furrowing your brows at his uncharacteristic display of neediness and constant gratification, you were beginning to grow concerned at his odd behaviour. sure, kaiser loved to be praised for his skills, but there was something wrong about the athlete tonight. you’ve never heard him beg to be complimented like he is tonight, but with the add-ins of alcohol and whatever else, you don’t know whether to flag this or not.

“kaiser, can you give the phone back to ness?” you ask gently.

he whines, “say you love me too!”

“i’m picking you up, kaiser, give the phone back to ness so i can tell him.”

“will i get to see you?”

“if you give the phone back to ness, you will.”

“really? hang on, babe!” 

there’s a bit more rustling, resembling something that sounds like kaiser pushing through a crowd as he holds the phone in his grip, saying ‘move’ to bypassers in his way. after a short conversation that you can’t pick up between the familiar voices of your boyfriend and his best friend, you hear ness’ voice clearly once again. “hey, everything okay?”

“everything’s fine,” you say, having grabbed your keys and a jacket whilst waiting. “i’m driving over to pick kaiser up, hope that doesn’t inconvenience you guys.”  

“not at all. i’ll send you the location of the club. there are 15 minute parking places just outside.”

“thanks ness, i appreciate it.”

“don’t worry. see you soon.” 

“i’ll let you know when i arrive. tell kaiser to wait for me.”

you hang up after that, not waiting for a farewell from the soccer player as you plug your keys into the ignition, the car revving alive. after a 20 or so minute drive to downtown (the lack of traffic at one am made it so much easier to get there faster), you park at the curbside of the street opposite the club, clambering out of your car to lean against the driver’s door, where you could see the club entrance easily.

after shooting a quick text to ness, you wait patiently for the appearance of your beloved boyfriend, hugging your jacket close to your figure. 

six minutes later, you see them; a shorter figure lugging out a taller one over his shoulder with little struggle. regardless of kaiser’s inebriated position, you could recognise his silhouette anywhere, heart picking up a little as you jog over to the club, feet taking you where your heart wanted to go.

“ness!” you call out. 

upon hearing your voice, kaiser’s head shoots up from where it was drooped, scanning the general vicinity of where you were before he spots you. the smile that lights up on his face is instantaneous; a grin that rivals that of the club lights.

“my love!” he exclaims excitedly, stumbling over to you with surprising accuracy for someone who must have drank his body weight in alcohol. immediately, the athlete wraps you up in his arms, the smell of beer invading your senses as kaiser shields you completely from the outside world. “i’m so happy to see you.”

“i’m happy to see you too.”

after a few seconds of relishing in his warmth and (much-appreciated) silence, you take a mini-step away from him; an action the blond clearly did not take well as he groans, manoeuvring himself to now hug you from the side, head resting against yours as you pulls you towards him possessively.

you wave at ness from where you stood, unable to move with the striker clinging onto you. “thank you, ness. i’m sorry for disturbing your night out, you know how kaiser gets,” you say with a laugh, patting your boyfriend on the back.

“no, thank you for taking care of him. i’m glad he has you.”

“and i’m glad he has you too. you should go back inside, i got it from here.”

he nods, waving after a quick farewell before heading back in, disappearing from sight. sighing, you reposition yourself so that it was comfortable to prop him up against you. 

“hey, handsome, you with me?” cupping his face with both of your hands, he nods in your grip, eyes drooping here and there as he stares down at you with unmatched gentleness and love. you add as a light-hearted joke: “you used to be able to party until the clubs close, what happened?”

he grabs your wrists, holding on to them as he speaks, “you still never said ‘i love you’.” 

“oh,” you laugh, letting the sound spill freely. “my bad-”

“-why are you laughing?”

his question shuts you up, catching you off guard as the laughter diminishes like an extinguished match. uncertainty dances within you like smoke, greying the giddy mood you were previously in from being reunited with him. 

looking him square in the eye, you notice something that you’ve never seen him wear before: insecurity. 

kaiser looks so… abashed. sheepish. dismayed. your chest clenches at the sight, a feeling of protectiveness overwhelming you. 

“what do you mean?” you ask cautiously.

“why are you laughing at me?” repeats the athlete.

“oh kaiser,” brushing a strand of hair behind his ears, you see his frown even clearer. “i’m not laughing at you, it wasn’t meant to be mocking, i was laughing because you’re adorable and that you make me happy.”

he huffs, furrowing his brows. “are you sure?”

“of course i am. is everything okay, love?”

no answer. after a moment of simply standing around, you let it go because maybe it was just the alcohol that was making him act this way. you don’t want to think too hard about it. 

“let’s go home,” you whisper, grabbing his hands with yours, intertwining your fingers as you wait for his response.

“okay,” he slurs, nodding compliantly. 

“do you need my help walking?”

“yes,” he drapes himself over you without hesitation, causing you to groan uncomfortably. your question was said majorly as a joke, but kaiser will never let go of an opportunity to be as close to you as possible. 

stumbling back to the car with a half-coherent athlete was difficult but not impossible. unlocking the vehicle, you open the passenger’s door rather easily, shoving him in there with an ‘oof’ from both of you. however, when you tried to pull away, you were met with a chain and lock around your waist, manifested in the form of your overgrown boyfriend who is too liberal with the amount of physical affection he spares.

you place a hand on his shoulder to try and steady yourself from his iron grip. “hey, i need to go to the driver’s seat, can’t you let me go to do that?”

kaiser whines loudly, pulling you even closer. “please don’t make me let go. i don’t want to.”

he was not good for your health. you exhale, slightly perplexed, slightly touched by his devotion. “babe, i’m just going to the driver’s seat. you’ll let me, won’t you?” 

“no. wanna keep you with me. want to love you forever,” his words are muffled into your jacket before the athlete brings his head out of your stomach to look you square in the eye, and the shiny, emotional look in them makes your heart lurch. “please say there’s no one else for you but me.”

grabbing both sides of his face with tender affection, you place a kiss on his nose; an action that causes him to scrunch his nose out of instinct. “you know there will never anyone but you. i love you just as much in kind.”

he sighs, melting against you. the night air nips at your exposed skin but you can’t find it in you to care much.

“so… you don’t think that i’m too much?” the star striker questions and you think you’ve uncovered the root of tonight’s strangeness; the main problem that’s been bothering him.

“a lot? maybe” you whisper and his face falls slightly at your confession, a flash of devastation crossing his features. his expression of ruin is slow to fade so you kiss it off, sealing your lips with his in a gentle meeting of two hearts, hoping to heal his sorrow that was carved from a moment of misunderstanding. 

you pull away from him but the striker continues chasing after your touch.

“but never too much.” 

an exhale of relief leaves him before he straightens up to meet your lips again, hand snaking up to the back of your neck to hold you against him as he tries to communicate all that he feels-  which is everything. 

kaiser loves selectively, but he loves hard, dedicating everything of his that he can until he’s squeezed dry and rendered empty, ready for a refill that he’ll inevitably give away, all to you. 

kaiser’s heart rests in your hands, where it rightfully belongs.

“i love you,” slurs the striker against your lips. “i know i can be a lot but i love you. please never leave me. what is the meaning of life if you’re not there with me?” 

you can’t help wondering about what happened tonight for him to reach such a state of existentialism, but there’s no time to dwell on it now whilst he’s still intoxicated and vulnerable. gently, you hold his jaw so he could look up at you. 

“i might not show it as unabashedly as you do, but please never doubt that i love you. i adore you with my whole being, kaiser, there’s no one else in the world for me like you,” you confess, voice gentle and unwavering. 

he doesn’t let you see the way his eyes mist before closing them and leaning into your touch. “i would do anything for you,” the striker whispers.

“anything, you say?”

he nods.

“then let’s go home and sleep. what do you say, handsome?”

“what a brilliant idea. you’re so smart, my love.”

“thank you but you need to let go of me in order for that to happen.”

he begins wailing in protest.

© 2023 EARTHTOOZ do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites.

#kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser michael x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #kaiser #michael kaiser #kaiser michael #kaiser fluff

[rabbitblackx]

I really love your works!! Could i please request our quiet boys (Jason and Michael) getting scared by reader not waking up in the morning, think this way, reader loves to make breakfeast for them, or even wake them up with kisses, and even when they wake up before reader, they are too easy to wake, but age comes for everyone, and one day they just wake up before reader and they just wont budge, what would they do? ((reader is alive!!! they were just having a good sleep 😉))

Ahh thank u!!! :’)💞

Michael and Jason when Reader won’t wake up

Michael Myers💖

Michael was very much used to waking up to the smell of you making breakfast. That, or having to shove you off him from kissing him. So this morning, you could’ve imagined his displeasure to find you still asleep

Michael slowly rose from bed, beady eyes locked on your sleeping form. He lost internet in you quickly though, throwing his legs over the bed and getting up. Usually, this was when you would stir awake. He was aware that he was warm and… cuddly. The instant lack of this next you should’ve done the trick, but you still slept

Michael decided that he was not starting his morning without you. He was not making his own breakfast. He walked over to your side of the bed, looming over you menacingly. Instead of stabbing the shit out of you, he rose his hands and shook you. You did not budge. Michael shook you harder, harder, rougher—but still nothing. He tilted his head. You weren’t…? Dead, were you…?

You laid before the killer dead still, draped in blankets with a relaxed face. Michael lifted his pointer finger, and jabbed it roughly into your cheek. No reaction

In a fit of panic, Michael grabbed the sheet itself from under the mattress and yanked it up. He threw it to the floor, with you, the pillows and blankets all inside

“MICHAEL, WHAT THE HELL?” You screeched from under the pile of bedding

Michael stared down at the mess he made, feeling a little silly… okay, you were clearly not dead. Now what? You struggled to get out of your bedsheet cocoon, not really understanding what was happening. When you finally broke free, you looked at the bare mattress on your bed, then at Michael

“What the hell happened?” You demanded

Michael obviously didn’t reply. He was just relieved you were alive, and a little embarrassed. He simply left the room, to the kitchen and set his butt down at the table. Okay, you were awake. It was Michael’s breakfast time now :)

Jason Voorhees💖

Jason was always lovingly stirred from sleep by the smell of hot breakfast on the table. That, or you attacking his unmasked face in kisses. It didn’t matter which. He was happy with either. But this morning, Jason woke up before you

You laid there next to him, stiff as a board and draped in blankets. He stared down at you for a few moments, before rising from the bed. Usually, the loss of warmth and weight from Jason woke you up. But you still slept…

Jason stood there awkwardly, waiting for you to stir. He didn’t care for starting his morning without you. He had grown too attached. When you still wouldn’t budge, he shuffled over to your side of the bed and shook you. Still nothing

Jason tore the blankets off your body, shaking you rougher than before. He was starting to get a little worried now. He grabbed your face in his big hand, shaking your head too. He hadn’t felt panic in so long, and didn’t know what to do. Jason grabbed you by your ankle, and tugged you off the bed with a mighty pull

“Ow!”

You hit the floor face first, your limbs all jumbled up. You turned on your side, an unimpressed frown on your lips as your stared up at the culprit. Jason’s eyes widened in surprise, tense shoulders slowing relaxing

“Jason…? Why am I on the floor?”

Jason bent over slightly to carefully pull you back up, perching your bum on the bed. He stared down at you for a few long moments, looking like a guilty dog. You were too tired and grumpy to break the silence, your arms crossed over your chest

Jason was overcome with an alien joy that you weren’t dead. He didn’t know what he’d do without you. He slowly sat down next to you, shakily wrapping his strong arms around you. It was hard to stay mad at him. You leaned your head against him, offering a sleepy hum

#slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slashers #michael myers #michael myers x reader #michael myers 1978 #rz michael myers #rz halloween #halloween #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #friday the 13th #rab.reads

[pillowspace]

Fnaf au ramble yada-yada

New thought that's stuck on my mind. One of those time travel fix-it Michael AUs, except Charlie also time travelled after Pizzeria Simulator. Neither of them knows the other remembers everything, and both are too distracted trying to comprehend the sheer normalcy of their own realities to really process how different the other person's acting.

Henry's very concerned as to what's happened to his daughter, as Charlie's suddenly become much more still and quiet, lacking her typical innocent cheer. She forgets to eat or drink until Henry reminds her to, and she won't tell him why she suddenly seems so on edge all the time. She was in terrible conditions as the Marionette for years, she has no idea how she's meant to be a person again. She sits in the same room as Michael and just stares at him, and whenever she's not looking, Michael's staring at her, thinking about a strange history that no longer exists but has put a massive barrier of tension between them both.

But there's also one issue with the time travel.

Neither Charlie nor Michael can remember when any of the deaths are to happen until they're happening.

So one day, Charlie gets locked out of the pizzeria in the rain. At first she pounds on the window, but then she stops. She backs away from it. There is a powerful, suffocating dread in her chest that is so much more than just her aversion to rain, demanding her attention. Something is very, very wrong. Now becoming even more nervous, she tries to recall how she had gotten back inside the building that day.

And she realizes.

She does not have a single memory past this point.

And before a car can even turn the block, Charlie runs.

At the same time, Michael was also running. He had regained the memory of this being the day Charlie dies, and is determined to make it to her before his father can. Only to turn the corner and, sprinting as fast as he can, crash directly into Charlie who had been doing the same. Michael barely has time to regain his focus on the sidewalk before Charlie is already scrambling back up and running past him to gain more distance.

So... life successfully saved! By... herself. What changed? And why had she been running so scared if, when Michael asked, his father hadn't even seen Charlie that day...? And as time goes on for even longer, Michael slowly starts to pick up on Charlie's oddities. Out of everything, it sticks out to him that when her birthday arrives, a birthday that she had never had the chance to see before, she only makes one request:

She wants a music box.

Eventually it'll have to fall into place.

Cassidy could have also time travelled, but I'm hesitant on that because the AU might just end the second they find a fatal weapon. Then again, I could give Cassidy the added bonus of not remembering who their killer even was, so one day they just grab Evan by the shoulders like "Evan. Evan, there is an imposter among us and I have no idea who it is, I'm going to explode. Tell me if you see a murderer" and he's like "there's a WHAT?? D':"

#ramble #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #michael afton #charlie emily #charlotte emily #henry emily #cassidy fnaf #fnaf cassidy #evan afton #crying child

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Stuck On You

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Dark themes, slut shaming, obsessive behaviour, smut.

Word count: ~6k

Summary: When her email is hacked and racy photos she'd sent to her boyfriend find their way onto Myspace, she becomes the social pariah of Oxford University. She turns to the only person she believes is intelligent enough to be able to help; Michael Gavey. Could uncovering the truth of the situation make things worse than they already are?

Author's note: Written to celebrate one year of my blog existing. Sorry for the delay. Crumbageddon beat the shit out of me. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

“Using a painting of that former duchess as a conversation piece, he describes what he saw as her unfaithfulness, frivolity, and stubbornness, and implies that he prefers her as a painting rather than as a…as a living woman,” her voice shakes, stumbling over her words, watching as her essay papers slip from her hands, fluttering towards the rug of the study.

“Sh-shit…I’m sorry,” she stammers, leaning down to snatch them back up, feeling her skin heat up with embarrassment as she attempts to rustle them back into order.

“Everything alright?” Professor Ware asks, shifting in his seat and clasping his hands in his lap.

“Distracted by her own portrait, I should imagine,” snarks Farleigh, cutting her off before she has a chance to reply. 

He smirks up at her, before returning his focus to the screen of his Macbook, fingers tapping quickly across the keys as he sits on the floor with it in his lap, leaning back against the armchair she currently sits in, his legs crossed at the ankle.

Of course he’d left it until the last minute to do his essay. Lazy prick.

“Stop it,” she hisses, knocking his shoulder with her knee.

“Why? It’s up again already anyway,” he retorts with a casual shrug, not bothering to look at her this time.

Her blood runs ice cold, dread gnawing a pit in her stomach. That would be the fourth time this week.

“Where?!” She demands, leaning down to snatch Farleigh’s Macbook from him, ignoring his protestation of “hey!” as she clicks on the minimised Internet Explorer window to see her Myspace profile already open.

Just as he’d said, there she is. Her profile picture depicts her in a lacy two piece lingerie set, laying on her bed, her cleavage, stomach and thighs on full display. She’d thought the angle flattering when she’d first held the digital camera above herself and snapped the picture, but now it’s splashed all over the internet for everyone to see. It makes her feel sick.

“I have to go,” she says hurriedly, shoving Farleigh’s Macbook back into his lap and stuffing her essay papers into her bag.

She almost trips over Farleigh’s long legs in her rush to escape the tutorial room, the air suddenly feeling too thick and difficult to breathe, as her heart hammers in her chest. Her feet carry her down the hallway in quick strides, no particular direction in mind, just eager to get away.

It had all seemed like innocent fun at first. She had felt excited on the second day of Fresher’s Week when a group of girls from the floor of her accommodation had invited her to go shopping with them

They had wrinkled their noses as she had beelined for the Ann Summers in Westgate Shopping Centre, lured by the big, red sale banner in the window.

“Oh darling,” India had cooed, “don’t buy that rubbish. We’ll get the train into London and take you to Rigby and Peller in Mayfair, if it’s lingerie you’re after.”

She had balked inwardly at the thought of how expensive that would be, but had simply smiled politely, stating “this is fine”, more than happy with the matching black lace set she’d picked from the sale rail.

Back in her room, she’d tried it on, loving the way the material hugged her curves and felt against her skin. Excitedly, she’d dug out her digital camera, contorting herself into various poses that she felt best displayed her assets, until she was satisfied she had several that looked good.

She hadn’t seen her boyfriend, Jake, since she had left for Oxford and he had gone to Brighton. Their reading weeks didn’t align, which meant they’d have to wait until the term came to an end to see each other at Christmas.

Emailing him the photos had felt like a nice way for them to maintain some sort of intimacy, despite the distance, and he’d certainly appreciated it, as a couple of hours later she’d gotten a text from him which simply said “wow!”

The high from that had left her with a smile on her face for days, until she’d stepped out of a tutorial a few days later to see a missed call and a text from him.

“What the fuck are you playing at?!” It had read.

She’d called him back straight away, the urge to vomit growing acrid in her throat as he’d told her what he’d seen, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she’d scrambled with shaking hands to free her laptop from her bag, to confirm what Jake was saying.

There it was. Her Myspace profile picture had been changed to one of the lingerie photos she’d sent to him. This one was a full length photo she’d taken, aiming the camera at the mirror in her room.

The hot prickle of tears had burned beneath her eyelids, as she’d drawn in a shaky breath. “Wh-why would you do that?” She’d whispered tearfully into the phone.

“It wasn’t me!” Jake had snapped angrily. “Perhaps if you hadn't taken those bloody photos in the first place then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Are you seriously blaming me?!”

“It just looks bad. I think maybe we should cool things for a bit, I can’t with be someone that—”

Tears had rolled down her cheeks as she’d pulled the phone away from her ear, seeing the call had cut off. She’d run out of credit. In a way, she was grateful; she didn’t want to listen to Jake ending their relationship, to continue to blame her for something that wasn’t her fault.

She had taken the photo down, changed her profile picture back to what it was before, and changed the password for both Myspace and her email. However, the damage was done, the whispers of “slut” as she walked to lectures had already started.

Another two days later she had entered the IT lab to print out her essay, and saw a group huddled around a computer, laughing together. They had turned, immediately quietening down, their voices hushed whispers as they looked at her. 

She had pushed them apart, already knowing what it was they were all looking at, but wanting to confirm it. Just as she’d suspected, her Myspace profile was open. This time her photo had been changed to an over the shoulder shot. The side of her face and her buttocks visible as she’d arched her back.

Running back to her room, tears of humiliation blurring her vision, she’d taken the photo down again and changed all her passwords. But once again, it was too little, too late. A print out of the photo slipped beneath her door that same day, with the word “whore” scrawled across it.

Her friends were already starting to pull away, the invites to the pub had dried up into nothing. When another photo had been uploaded, Felix had pulled her to one side.

“Look, I think it’s incredibly daring of you to be doing what you’re doing, and I respect the fuck out of you for it, really I do,” he’d said, eyes filled with sympathy as he’d looked down at her. “But a few of us really aren’t comfortable with how you’re going about…getting attention, so I just think it’s for the best if we take some space until you’ve figured out whatever this is.”

She had been stunned by his words, her eyes going wide as her mouth had dropped open. “You think I’m doing this to myself?!”

“Well, what else are we supposed to think? We’re worried about you. There are better…healthier ways to make yourself stand out. Just come clean and all of this can stop.”

Turning away in disgust, anger and betrayal flaring white hot in her chest, she’d walked away. This was happening to her, she wasn’t complicit in it, and yet people continued to act like it was her fault. She had started to wonder if she really was to blame. Had she tempted fate by taking those photos in the first place?

Today was the fourth time a photo had been uploaded and having fled from the tutorial with Professor Ware and Farleigh, she finds herself in the Bodleian Library, having walked on instinct. 

It serves as a quiet refuge for her in moments when she feels overwhelmed, hiding among the shelves, admiring tomes that are older than she is. She’d come here on her first day, when the influx of new people, sights and sounds had become too much, and she had crouched between the stacks the first time one of her photos had been leaked. The smell of old books and the peace and quiet feels safe.

Walking silently between the study tables she spots him, alone, as he always is; Michael Gavey. He is hunched over a notebook, scribbling furious notes, stopping occasionally to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger.

She had thoroughly embarrassed herself the first time she’d met him, the only time she had ever spoken to him. It had been the night of the fresher’s welcome dinner. She’d heard his outburst in the dining hall, heard how he had answered the subsequent multiplication sum flawlessly and been bowled over by how effortlessly brilliant he was. It was intimidating.

Yet, later that evening fuelled by the courage of five tropical watermelon flavoured Bacardi Breezers, she’d stumbled over to him in the rec room, ignoring how he’d recoiled slightly at her advancing towards him.

She’d wrapped an arm around his neck, taking no notice of the way he’d stiffened beneath her touch.

“Wha’s nine hundred and ninety nine divided by thirteen?” She’d slurred into his ear.

He had bristled slightly, before answering quietly. “Seventy six point eight five.”

She had giggled, patting his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. “Don’t even know how to check that, but I’ll take your word for it, genius.” 

Kissing his cheek, she’d stumbled away, leaving him to wipe away the sticky residue her lips had left behind, while Felix and Farleigh had fallen about themselves, laughing, finding it far funnier than she’d intended for it to be. She had ended up making him a laughing stock without even meaning to.

The memory fills her with shame. She really did find him impressive. He was precisely the type of person she had wanted to rub shoulders with when she arrived at Oxford, yet she had made a fool of herself instead.

She smiled at him whenever she caught his eye on the rare occasions they crossed paths, but he’d either look away or stare at her expressionless.

Perhaps now was her opportunity to make amends. She has no friends now anyway, so it’s not as though she has anything to lose.

Walking over to his table, before she has a chance to talk herself out of it, she sits down heavily in the seat next to him, depositing her bag onto the tabletop.

Michael’s pen pauses its movements, and slowly his head turns to the side, narrowing his eyes at her in silent question.

She suddenly has the urge to run, realising this was a terrible idea. She feels enormous discomfort beneath the scrutiny of his gaze yet, determined to push through it, she offers him a bright smile.

“You’re Michael, aren’t you?” She says, attempting to sound more cheerful than she feels.

“Yes,” he replies simply, placing his pen down and straightening in his seat.

“Thought so. I’m–”

“I know who you are,” he cuts her off. “What do you want?”

“Oh,” she swallows, shifting awkwardly in her seat. She hadn’t anticipated him being quite so blunt. “Well, I wanted to apologise for how I behaved on the first night. I thought maybe we could be friends?”

He scoffs, the corners of his mouth turning up into the faintest of smirks. “As if I’d be friends with someone who’s reading literature. Why pay all that money in tuition fees for a glorified book club?”

For a moment she doesn’t know what to say. Shock, offense and hurt swirl in a hot mixture in her chest. She fights the embarrassing urge to burst into tears. Her voice is small and weak when she finally asks “How do you know what I’m studying?”

Michael nods towards the desk. “There’s a book of Robert Browning poetry sticking out of your bag.”

“Right, yeah…” She feels her skin heat up, turning to slowly tuck the book further down inside, still able to feel his eyes upon her. It’s disconcerting to be observed so closely.

“Where’s that group of losers you usually hang around with anyway?”

The question takes her by surprise, and she laughs softly, though there is no real humour to it. “I don’t think they want to hang around with me anymore.”

“So you’re a Norman no mates too then?”

His expression has softened, a slight playfulness brightens his blue eyes as she looks back at him, and she can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

He leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin up on his hand. “Hmmm. So they got bored of you then?”

“No…I–”

She sighs exasperatedly, running a hand through her hair, before digging through her bag to pull out her laptop. “It’s probably easier if I show you.”

Setting the laptop down on the table, she loads her Myspace page, the same picture she’d seen on Farleigh’s Macbook earlier still set as her profile photo. “Someone keeps changing my profile picture to this. I sent my boyfriend…ex-boyfriend…some photos and now someone has them and keeps doing this every time I change it back.”

Michael’s expression is impassive as he stares at the screen. “Have you changed your passwords?”

“Yes,” she sighs.

“So, you’ve been hacked.”

“Looks that way…I don’t suppose you know anything about computers? Maybe you could help me figure out who’s doing this?”

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, staring intently at her, “so there it is, pretending to befriend the college nerd because you need computer help. Do you not think it’s a bit of a tired stereotype to assume that because I’m reading maths I’d be able to help you with your IT issues?”

“No, it’s not like that!” She protests, her eyes welling up with tears. She turns away, defeated, deciding this is a lost cause and closes her laptop. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”

He sighs. “Well, there’s no need to cry about it. I can help you, just not right now. Are you free later this evening?”

She sniffles, her eyes going wide as she looks at him in surprise. “Really?”

He nods, closing his notebook and slipping his pen into his breast pocket. “I’ve got a tutorial in twenty minutes, but I can help trace the IP of whoever’s hacked you. I’m on the first floor of the Brasenose, second room left of the staircase. I’ll be back around five.”

Nodding, she immediately feels lighter, the possibility that this may finally come to an end instantly lifting her spirits. A chance to get her life back. “That’s perfect, I’ll see you then. Thank you so much.”

He rises, his gaze remaining fixed upon her. “See you later.” 

The way he addresses her, first and last name, sends a shiver down her spine as she watches him turn away and walk slowly out of the library. She wonders what she has gotten herself into, but with no friends and no other options there is little else to be done.

She is filled with restless energy for the rest of the day, unable to sit still or concentrate during the only other lecture she has that afternoon, until eventually she finds herself standing outside of Michael’s room at quarter past five, the hours leading up to that feeling as though they’ve lasted an eternity.

Where there is the faint sound of music or talking coming from the doors she’s passed already on her way here, she is struck by the eerie silence she is met with from his, and wonders for a moment if he’s even home.

Nervous excitement crackles like electricity through her body and her knock is louder than she intends for it to be. She hears shuffling from the other side, until the door swings slowly open. Michael stands poker straight on the threshold, staring down at her.

“Did you bring your laptop?” He asks.

Yet again she is taken aback by how forthright he is, but she nods, stepping in as he moves to the side to let her pass.

Looking around the room, she takes in the plainness of his bedspread, the shelves of mathematics and physics textbooks, the desk set up in the corner that has his laptop open on it. There is nothing that gives even the slightest indication as to who he is as a person.

The sound of him clearing his throat startles her attention back to him, and she turns with an apologetic smile to face him. “Sorry, always weird being in someone else’s room…”

“Right,” he replies, his gaze unwavering as he looks at her. “Laptop?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” embarrassment heats up her skin, as she rummages in her bag, taking it out and handing it to him.

He settles it next to his own on the desk, before taking a seat.

She stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking around, not quite knowing what to do with herself. “Um…where should I…?”

“Anywhere,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, not looking at her.

She settles on the edge of the bed, running her hands over the soft cotton of the duvet cover. It’s an odd sensation to sit so casually in the space that she knows he sleeps. It feels too familiar, too intimate.

Glancing to the side, she notices the shimmer of gold and purple in the bin. She smiles to herself, having learned something about him in spite of the lack of personal effects in his room. He has a sweet tooth, evidenced by the Crunchie bar wrappers in the bin.

“Password?” He asks, and her head snaps up towards him.

“Hmm?”

He turns in his chair, resting his arm on the back of it, glaring at her over his shoulder. “The password for your laptop, what is it?”

“Oh!” She exclaims. “Is it safe for me to tell you that?”

“It is if you want me to help you,” he sighs.

She squirms uncomfortably. He has the innate ability to make her feel small, foolish, but what’s most disconcerting is that she doesn’t dislike it, there is something about him that draws her to his condescension. 

“It’s Shakespeare,” she tells him sheepishly, “with a four in place of the first A.”

“What about the passwords for your email and Myspace accounts?”

“The same.”

“The same?!”

“I’ve changed the passwords each time a new photo has been posted, but it’s just easier to have the same one for everything.”

He groans, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “No wonder you’ve been hacked, typical fucking liberal arts student.”

She lowers her gaze, fingers plucking nervously at the bedspread. “Different passwords for every account, got it.”

“Well, that’s a start, yes,” he tells her, turning back to the screens. “Has anyone but you had access to your computer?”

“No, it stays in my bag when I’m not using it.”

She sits watching him tap away at the keyboards of both laptops alternately for a few moments before she speaks again. “I’m not stupid, you know,” she tells him, her voice sounding meeker than she means for it to. “English Language and Literature is no less of a respectable course than Mathematics. I wrote an essay on the Robert Browning poem, My Last Duchess, recently. It’s a fascinating piece, focusing on the Duke of Ferrara using a painting of his former wife as a conversation topic. The Duke speaks about his former wife's perceived inadequacies to a representative of the family of his bride-to-be, revealing his obsession with controlling others in the process. Browning uses this compelling psychological portrait of a despicable character to critique the objectification of women and abuses of power. It’s a compelling commentary on social status and elitism.”

“What would you know about either of those things?” He asks, continuing to type.

“More than I’d like to,” she says quietly, “I don’t fit in here, not really. I earned my place with a scholarship.”

He pauses, stiffening, glancing over his shoulder at her with a “hmm”.

“I’ve managed to get into the access logs for both your email and Myspace accounts,” he tells her. “There are two sets of IPs that have accessed both accounts in the last week, but both are eduroam IP addresses.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that whoever is uploading those photos is doing so from the university.”

The revelation hits her like a punch to the gut, she feels paralysed, unable to speak as his words sink in. A part of her had wanted to believe it was Jake. To think there is someone at the university who is doing this to her makes her feel nauseated. Her mind races with the possibilities of who it could be. Felix? India? Farleigh? What reason could any of them possibly have to want to do that to her?

“What should I do?” She asks worriedly, staring at Michael with her brows pinched together. “Do you think reporting it would help?”

He swivels his chair fully around to face her and shakes his head. “Not if you intend to keep your scholarship. Rocking the boat over leaked nudes won’t look good to the university board, they’ll take issue with the fact that you even took those photos in the first place.”

“So I just have to let this keep happening?” She feels her throat tighten, wetness rims her eyes.

“Change your passwords,” he says matter of factly. “A different one for every account.”

She nods, expelling a shaky breath, before standing. “I should probably get going. Thank you…for everything.”

Before she goes to bed that night, she changes her passwords - a different one for every account she owns, and deletes the newest uploaded photo, returning her profile picture to its original state.

As far as she is concerned, that should be the end of it. However, her breath hitches, icy cold fingers of fear gripping her heart when she logs on the following morning. Not only has her profile picture been changed to another photo from the set she’d taken for Jake, but the “about me” section now reads “vapid cunt”.

On autopilot, she dresses, taking her laptop and walking the six minutes from Christ Church Halls to Brasenose College.

As soon as Michael’s door opens, she flings her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest. He stiffens, not returning the gesture, until she finally pulls away.

He straighens, adjusting his glasses. His hair is rumpled from sleep, clad in a t-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms.

“God, I’m so sorry, I woke you up,” she says tearfully, “I should go. I didn’t think, I just–”

“It’s fine,” he says flatly, ushering her in.

She sits down on the bed. It’s unmade, still warm from where he’s been sleeping in it. The feeling sends a shiver down her spine, despite her emotional distress.

Gingerly he sits next to her, keeping a respectable distance as she removes her laptop from her bag and opens it. “It’s happened again. I did everything you said to do, but it’s happened again, and it’s worse this time. Look–”

Handing him the laptop she shuffles closer to him, her thigh pressed against his. She can feel the warmth of him through her leggings. It causes butterflies to flutter in her belly, it’s been so long since she’s been this close to anyone.

Michael doesn’t stiffen at her touch this time, whether it’s because he doesn’t mind it or is too distracted by what he sees on the screen, she’s unsure, but it’s progress.

“Hmm. And you’re sure you changed your passwords?”

“Yes, all of them. I don’t know what else to do. If I report it, I risk my scholarship, but if this carries on I’ll lose it anyway, because how can I concentrate when this keeps happening?”

He says nothing, closing her laptop and passing it back to her.

“I’ve worked my arse off to get here, to earn my place, this can’t be what ends it,” she says miserably, tucking her computer back into her bag.

“I’d suggest focusing on your studies and less on your peers,” Michael says matter of factly. “You haven’t made the best choice of friends since arriving here.”

“They’re not my friends,” she whispers, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “At least not anymore. Do you think it’s one of them doing this?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” he replies bitterly, “stay away from them. I’ve got a lecture this morning, but maybe when I’ve got some downtime, I can do a deeper dive, perhaps see if I can track the logins to a device type.”

“You’d do that for me?” She whispers, looking at him with eyes full of appreciation.

“That’s what mates are for, right?”

“Thank you…just…thank you,” she tells him with sincerity, holding his gaze.

She reaches for his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, desperate to kiss his cheek as a gesture of her gratitude, but remembers the first time she’d done it and cringes inwardly. Though Michael’s hand doesn’t clutch back, he doesn’t move it away and, after a few moments, she realises they’re simply sitting holding hands, looking into each other's eyes.

He is beautiful in his own way. His stare, though intimidating, is piercingly blue, and his lips are soft and plump. She swallows, lashes fluttering in embarrassment when she realises she’s staring at his mouth.

Chancing her luck, she leans in, planting a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips. “I’ll be back at lunchtime, okay?” She whispers, before standing and moving towards the door.

He simply nods, fingers raising to brush over the spot where she’d kissed him. The sight puts a spring in her step for the rest of the morning, almost enough to forget about her being hacked. Almost.

She stops at a vending machine in the rec room on her way back to Brasenose at midday, deciding to buy Michael a Crunchie, an additional thank you for him going out of his way to help her.

As awful as having her privacy violated has been, she is grateful that it has brought her and Michael closer together. She had started the term wanting nothing more than to be his friend, and had royally fucked it up.

Now it seems they have mended their rift, and the prospect of being more than just friends is on the cards. Admittedly, he isn’t her usual type, but there is something about him that excites her. She hopes that once this is all over, this can be a fresh start for her at Oxford; her and Michael, just the caliber of intelligence she had wanted to associate with when she’d first applied.

She knocks at his door, hesitating when he doesn’t open it.

“Michael?” She calls out, brow furrowing in concern when he doesn’t answer.

They’d agreed upon lunchtime to meet, where was he? She tries the door handle and it’s unlocked, gingerly she pushes it open, peering slowly inside. He’s not there, but if he’d left it unlocked then he’d surely be back soon and wouldn’t mind her waiting inside for him.

She steps into the room, finding it much the same as before, only this time the bed is made. Walking over to the window by the desk, she stops to admire the view of the church, startling slightly when her bag knocks the computer chair, disturbing the mouse and taking Michael’s laptop out of sleep.

As she is about to turn back to the window, she notices her Myspace profile is open in edit mode in his browser. She frowns, a feeling of unease washing over her, as she steps towards the desk, her hand trembling as she reaches for the mouse.

She minimises Internet Explorer, gasping when she sees a folder open on his desktop, filled with the photos she had sent to Jake, all of them, even the ones that hadn’t yet been set as her profile picture.

Her heart pounds as she selects all of them, deleting them before clicking on the recycling bin to empty it.

“You didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to not create back ups, did you?”

Turning, she sees that Michael has returned, so quietly she hadn’t noticed. His fingers clutch at the USB stick that’s clipped to his cargo shorts, lips turned up into an expression of smugness.

Tears prickle her eyes, as her heart lurches, the only word that escapes her is “why?” as she looks at him with arched brows, her face pinched into an expression of emotional hurt.

“Why?” He repeats, cocking his head, advancing towards her as she shrinks back into the corner. “Because someone needed to take you down a peg or two.”

“You’ve ruined my life!” She cries, tears slipping down her cheeks, looking at him in disbelief.

This has to be a dream, it is too surreal. Any moment now, she’ll wake up and all of this will have been a terrible dream.

Only it’s not, it’s real, real as the heat of his breath that fans across her face as he looms over her, having backed her fully into the corner between the desk and the window. 

“What life? Pretending to play a part with people that don’t really like you? Using your pretentious choice in reading material to make yourself seem intelligent?”

“You don’t know anything about me!” She says defiantly.

“Oh, I know all about you. Hiding your scholarship from those vapid cunts, so they won’t sniff out your working class background and drop you. The variations of John Browning as your password - adding a different number to each variation doesn’t make it a different password, stupid girl.”

“I was nice to you…” She offers feebly, almost pleading with him.

He smirks, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, gripping harshly, forcing her to look at him. “You felt sorry for me. But it’s not me that needs pity, is it? It’s you. Poor little scholarship slut. You love that My Last Duchess poem so much because you see yourself in it, don’t you? Think you’re being objectified, treated unfairly. Well, let me tell you something, you are like that poem, but in the sense that you’re better in pictures than you are in real life.”

“Stop it,” she whispers, trying to pull away from him.

“Truth hurt, does it?” He asks, his grip on her face remaining tight. “That’s a pity. I enjoyed those pictures, really enjoyed them. It’s a shame the real life version is so whiny and pathetic.”

“I’ll report you,” she says quietly.

“Oh, I don’t think you will, somehow. You love the attention,” he tells her, dropping his hand from her chin to her shoulder, turning her and backing her up towards the bed. “I’ve seen how you look at me. If I wanted to fuck you right now, you’d let me.”

“I–I wouldn’t!” She stammers, feeling her face grow warm.

With a gentle shove from him, she topples back against the mattress, and he is quick to move over her, caging her in. “Liar,” he whispers in her ear.

She shudders at the sensation, despising the way her body betrays her, as heat pools between her legs. She shouldn’t be turned on by this, yet she can’t deny the way he sets her pulse racing.

“I haven’t ruined your life, but I could and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” He hisses.

The weight of him on top of her, his warm breath fanning against her neck, it’s dizzying. She wants to tell him to get off of her, to push him away, yet she cannot find it in herself to do so. There is a part of her that’s curious to see how far he’ll push this.

When she doesn’t say anything, he carries on, nimble fingers moving to the waistband of her leggings, tugging them down. “I’m going to treat you like the desperate, little slut that you are, and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

She whines, lifting her hips as he rids her of the bottom half of her clothing.

“That’s what I thought,” he smirks.

His gaze falls between her legs, tentative fingers reaching out to brush through the wetness that has gathered there. She sees a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and wonders if he has ever done this before.

She knows his moment of hesitation would be enough for her to push him away, grab her clothes and report him, yet she feels compelled to stay. If this is his first time, then she wants it to be her. She enjoys the dynamic of the power he has over her, while simultaneously being able to take something from him.

Wanting to bolster his confidence, urge him to continue, she sits up, eager hands unfastening his belt and unzipping his shorts. It flips a switch inside him, and he’s surging forward once more, pinning her beneath him as he pushes his boxers down just enough to free his cock.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasps against the shell of her ear.

“I want this,” she mewls desperately, feeling the head of him resting at her entrance.

“You’re going to keep letting me do this to you, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll wear that tarty underwear from your photos for me, won’t you?”

“...yes.”

He presses forward and is met with resistance, not having fully prepared her. He draws back and pushes against her again, repeating the motion until he’s fully sheathed inside of her. It’s exquisite torture, a pleasurable hurt to be split apart by him, to feel so full.

Breathing heavily through his nose, he stills and she can feel his inexperience in the way that he tenses, but isn’t prepared to give up when they’ve already come this far. She rolls her hips against his, a breathy sigh escaping her as she feels her sweet spot rub up against the head of him.

He screws his eyes shut, jaw going slack, before beginning to move his own hips, pulling back to slam forward once more, quickly finding a rhythm that suits him. This isn’t careful, considered lovemaking, they rut against each other like animals, both of them allowing instinct to guide them as they seek out the movements that feel most pleasurable.

She clings tightly to him, meeting him thrust for thrust, their breaths coming in hot, shallow pants.

“Fucking knew this was all you needed,” he mutters, “someone to teach you a lesson, see you for what you really are.”

“Please,” she whimpers, her hands sliding down to his backside to push him in deeper, causing him to groan.

“F–fuck,” he stutters, picking up his pace when he feels her start to tighten around him. “Tell me you’re mine, you don’t need anyone else, just me.”

“‘M yours,” she gasps, pushing her hips against his, zeroing in on the precipice she is about to fall from.

A particularly harsh thrust is the final shove she needs, and white hot waves of euphoria wrack her body, as she cries out in ecstasy. Suddenly, Michael is withdrawing, leaving her to clench around nothing as he paints her inner thigh with sticky warmth.

He collapses beside her, and she stares into the lightly fogged lenses of his glasses, their noses bumping together.

“Are you still going to ruin my life?” She asks, hazy with pleasure.

For the first time, their lips meet, a messy clash of tongue and teeth, that’s sloppy and wet, their breaths still heavy and movements uncontrolled. 

“You’re going to let me,” he whispers when they finally break for air, “because you’re mine.” Resistance is futile, she will let him. She wants this, needs this. After all, Michael Gavey is the type of person she came to Oxford to associate with in the first place, and she’s gotten exactly what she asked for.

#michael gavey x reader #michael gavey smut #michael gavey imagine #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x y/n #ewan mitchell #michael gavey saltburn #satlburn michael gavey #saltburn #michael gavey fan fiction #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fan fic #michael gavey fanfic #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fanfic #satlburn fan fiction #satlburn fan fic

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Fifteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: this chapter is literally just angst. complete freakin angst. two broken hearts that refuse to acknowledge it. pretty poetical. i know i said no love but now im not so sure.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"You're coming with me, Emily," you asserted, arms crossed over your chest, your eyes narrowing at her as she was lazily sprawled out on her bed, clearly uninterested in your predicament. "There's no way in hell I'm going alone...you can bring Michael."

Emily let out a dramatic groan, her hands instinctively flying to rub her tired eyes. "But...there's a Gryffindor party that night too...we'd much rather go to-"

"Emily!" you interrupted, advancing across the room toward her bed. You leaned against the footboard, your expression pleading. "Please, please...after everything that happened with Berkshire, I'd prefer not to go back into their bloody common room by myself...plus I don't even drink! Like I don't even know-"

"Okay, okay!" Emily hastily sat up, cutting you off as she sensed your rising panic. "Gods, you're giving me a headache...I'll talk to Michael about it..."

A sigh of relief escaped you, but the tension still clung to your shoulders like a heavy cloak. You spun around, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you as you threaded your fingers through your hair in frustration, each strand a tangible reminder of your racing thoughts.

Your mind buzzed with a whirlwind of worries. What should you wear to fit in yet not draw too much attention? How would you deflect offers of drinks without seeming rude or standoffish? And most pressing of all, how did you even find yourself entangled in this mess? The truth was, your inability to refuse others had led you down this labyrinthine path, a maze of social obligations you couldn't escape.

Emily's voice broke through the heavy silence, as delicate as the softest feathers--cautiously adjusting her tone now that she'd sensed just how stressed out you were.

"Hey, you'll be fine," she reassured, her words a gentle caress in the midst of your turmoil. "You're with Tom, he'll make sure no one bothers you, I'm positive of it."

Emily's comforting words washed over you, but beneath the surface, your thoughts spiraled into a tumultuous whirlpool. The past two weeks had been a stark contrast to the passionate chaos you'd experienced with Mattheo. Since ending things with him, your tutoring sessions had turned quiet, punctuated only by the distant echo of pages turning and the bland murmur of academic based conversations.

Although Mattheo continued to give you his full undivided attention in your sessions, the silence hung heavy between you, a reminder of the void left by your fractured connection.

And in the midst of this emotional vacuum, you found unexpected solace in Tom's company. The regular meetings continued, but they had expanded beyond the boundaries of academics. Flirting had entirely woven its way into your conversations, each playful word adding a charged tension to the air. Now, his invitation to the party on Saturday night dangled before you like a tempting, yet daunting, prospect.

However, regardless of his advances, your feelings for Tom were far from romantic. It wasn't love that stirred your heart when you thought of him, but rather a sense of obligation. The Guild, with its intricate web of social dynamics, demanded a delicate balance. To maintain your position, you felt compelled to go along with Tom's desires, to keep up the facade of mutual interest. It was a game you didn't want to play, but the stakes were too high to ignore.

As Emily's reassurances attempted to quell your anxieties, the knot of obligation tightened in your chest. The looming party represented not only a night of uncertainty but also a reluctant sacrifice to uphold your standing in the Guild. The weight of your choices pressed down on you, a reminder that sometimes, obligations could feel as suffocating as the absence of passion.

"Yeah," you responded, your voice a grumble underlined with frustration. "Talk to Michael and let  me know what he says... I'm heading up to the Tower, I just need some time alone."

Emily's expression softened, sympathy flickering in her eyes. "I'll handle it," she assured you. "Take your time up there, lots of stars to count, wouldn't want to miss one because you're rushing..."

You rolled your eyes at her snark, chewing on your lip to stifle your grin. "Yeah, yeah." You said. "Thanks, Em."

With a bleak smile, you grabbed your bag and pushed out of your dorm room, mind racing as you made your way up to the tower, the castle covered in its usual blanket of darkness, given it was already past eleven pm.

You thought back to that first week of tutoring sessions after you and Mattheo had called things off, how every moment spent in his presence felt excruciating. Sitting in such close proximity to him--being forced to look into his deep, intoxicating eyes, trace the scars that adorned his skin, and fixate on those perfect lips while knowing you'd never get to be anything other than platonic was a torment for your already aching heart.

For those initial days, your mind was a battleground of conflicting emotions. Thoughts of what it had felt like to have his hands exploring your body, pulling you close against his firm frame, haunted your every waking moment. His newfound silence only served to further infuriate you, although the reasons for your frustration remained elusive--you had wanted this separation, knew you needed it more than anything, yet part of you resented how effortlessly he seemed to cast everything aside, as though it had all been a meaningless fling to him, despite the amounts of passion you'd experienced.

The internal turmoil left you in a relentless tug-of-war between contentment and bitter disappointment. With every missed touch, resentment began to coil in the pit of your stomach. Despite yearning for the way he made you feel, your chest was a maelstrom of conflicted emotions. Gratitude warred with irritation; you were thankful that your life lacked complications that could jeopardize your post-graduate career, yet infuriated that Mattheo hadn't even tried to fight for you.

It stung, the way he seemingly dismissed you as though you were just another girl, another notch on his belt, disregarding the depth of what you shared.

Or, you guessed at this point, what you thought you had shared.

As you settled into the quiet solitude of the Astronomy Tower, the vast expanse of the night sky above became your sanctuary, the stars twinkling like distant diamonds against the vast canvas of space. It was your haven, a place where you could lose yourself in the mysteries of the universe. Surrounded by your celestial charts and notebooks, you immersed yourself in your research, the quill in your hand gliding over the parchment as you recorded your observations.

In the midst of your cosmic exploration, a sudden intrusion shattered the tranquility of the Astronomy Tower. Mattheo, his presence unexpected, settled down beside you. The mere sight of him sent your pulse racing, a rapid drumbeat in your ears. You shot your head around, scanning the surroundings as though you'd forgotten where you were, your mind racing with questions. Why the fuck was he here? The unexpected encounter left you beyond shocked, your eyes wide with surprise and curiosity.

"Matt-" your voice faltered, the surprise of his presence momentarily stealing your words.

"Couldn't sleep," he muttered, his voice carrying a weight of restlessness, as if the night sky outside held answers he desperately sought. "Don't allow me to interrupt."

He cut you off before you could regain your composure, not even bothering to spare a glance in your direction. His eyes remained fixed on the stars, his silence echoing louder than any words he could have spoken. The unspoken tension between you hung in the air, heavy and palpable, a reminder of the unresolved emotions that lingered beneath the surface.

"Um, okay." You cleared your throat, attempting to steady your voice, and resolutely returned your focus to the celestial tapestry above.

The stars glittered, seemingly oblivious to the complicated tornado of emotions unfolding below. As you continued your silent analysis of the night sky, you became aware of Mattheo lighting up a cigarette. His movements were deliberate, every flicker of the lighter, every draw from the cigarette, seemed to carry a weighted significance. Despite your attempt to ignore him, you could feel his eyes on you, his gaze like a tangible presence that bore into your skin, even without direct contact. The night stretched on, the only sounds the soft crackling of burning tobacco and the occasional rustle of paper as you made notes, each moment steeped in a tense stillness, waiting for something to break the fragile equilibrium.

And then, Mattheo's voice sliced through the quiet of the night, his question hanging in the air like a challenge. "What are you even doing?"

His question caught you off guard, a shock registering in your eyes as you assumed he was merely asking to mock you. Nevertheless, you gathered your composure, your passion for your research overcoming your initial surprise.

"I'm studying how stars and planetary alignments affect magic," you explained, your words measured yet enthusiastic. "The positions of celestial bodies influence magical energies, shaping the potency of our spells. Understanding these cosmic patterns is like deciphering the universe's manual for mastering magic."

Mattheo's eyes narrowed, a hint of skepticism coloring his voice. "Stars affecting magic?" he said, his tone dismissive yet laced with a sliver of intrigue. "Seems a bit far-fetched, Raven."

His words hung in the air, laced with icy indifference, yet there was an undeniable glimmer of curiosity, a flicker of interest that betrayed his cold exterior. You met Mattheo's skepticism with a determined gaze.

"It may sound far-fetched, but it's already been proven that magic is intertwined with the cosmos," you replied, your voice steady. "The alignment of stars and planets creates unique energy patterns. Understanding these patterns can give us an edge in harnessing magic. It's not about belief, it's about tapping into the natural forces of the universe..." you let your words linger for a moment, finally dropping your quill and releasing a long sigh. "Why are you always so dismissive of everything? Don't you have dreams Mattheo, don't you have passions?"

Mattheo took a slow drag off his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly before he released a plume of smoke that danced in the air, curling and twisting like ethereal tendrils. His eyes, usually guarded, met yours, holding a glimmer of something unreadable.

"Everyone dreams, Raven," he said, flatly. "But life isn't a fucking fairytale, sometimes dreams are crushed before they're born."

Your silent reaction spoke volumes as you studied his face, the way his chocolate curls framed his brooding eyes, holding countless secrets within their depths. Mattheo's words slowly dug into your shoulders, heavy with the weight of harsh truths. You released a long sigh, the reality of his words settling in, before you cautiously spoke.

"If everything was dipped in gold, it'd never grow..." you whispered, your voice soft yet resolute, as you turned your eyes back to the stars. "And not everything sweet is sugarcoated, Mattheo...sometimes life stings, and you have to fight for what you want, but that doesn't mean you toss away the wand, does it?"

For a moment, Mattheo's silence hung heavy, punctuated only by the soft exhale of smoke curling from his lips. The tendrils of fog obscured the canvas of stars, casting a mysterious veil over the night sky. When you turned to meet his gaze, you discovered his eyes already fixed on you, their depths shimmering with an enigmatic intensity.

"Even stars burn out, Raven," he said, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that seemed to echo the somber truth of the universe. "Sometimes, there's nothing you can do but watch."

Something panged in your chest, a jolt of pain spreading through you as Mattheo's words settled into the night air. For another brief, fleeting moment, your eyes met, and there was a flicker of understanding between you. You glimpsed his lips, and he glimpsed yours, a silent exchange of unspoken sentiments.

Swiftly, you looked away, turning your attention to the moon, its silvery glow casting an ethereal light upon your face, silently gathering yourself as you fought off the heat that was swarming your cheeks.

"You know what I appreciate more than the stars?" Mattheo's voice cut through the night, a hint of intrigue in his tone as he finally shifted his gaze off of you. "The moon."

You raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "And why is that?"

"It's the one constant," Mattheo replied, his gaze fixed on the night sky. "Stars might fade, flicker, but the moon persists...it's just...there." His voice was calm, almost distant, as if he was lost in thought. "No drama, no shows...just silent influence--one that can pull an entire fucking ocean from shore to shore...that's a power that can't be diminished. Subtle, yet absolute."

You nodded slowly, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the night. The world around you seemed to fade away as you felt your pulse increase, an unspoken tension hanging between you.

"Silent influence," you murmured, your voice thoughtful. "A power that commands without demanding, a force that shapes without shouting…I think it’s a potent reminder of strength in simplicity."

"Beauty, too," he whispered, his voice almost a caress. "A reminder of the beauty in simplicity."

The words danced around you, laden with prescribed meaning, and you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to this conversation, something unspoken yet deeply felt. A vast silence filled the space around you, thick with a growing tension as Mattheo's eyes, intense and unreadable, locked onto yours, their depths echoing a multitude of emotions. You felt his fingers graze against yours as they were planted on the ground next to your thigh, a subtle yet electrifying touch.

At the feeling of his flesh grazing yours, even in as something as simple as this, your breath hitched, and a rush of heat surged through your body, making every nerve ending tingle with anticipation. After two whole fucking weeks, just as you’d finally stopped moping, just as you finally felt as though you could breathe without thinking about him, it was as if the universe itself had conspired to bring you two together in this charged moment, leaving you both suspended in a space where words were unnecessary, and the raw connection between your souls spoke volumes--his hand, touching yours, this is how galaxies collide, you thought.

"It's been two weeks since you've even bothered to bloody look at me, Mattheo..." you whispered, your voice trembling like fragile autumn leaves in the wind, scared to acknowledge the reality of your situation, but knowing you needed to. "It all meant nothing to you, yeah?"

Mattheo's gaze remained unwavering, his expression stoic and seemingly emotionless as he absorbed your words. His silence spoke louder than any response he could offer, leaving you with a hollow ache in your chest. The pain of his indifference cut deep, a stark contrast to the fiery passion that once consumed both of you.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and filled with a restrained yet undetectable emotion. "Even if I said it didn't, would it really fucking matter, Raven?"

At his words, your heart rung, realizing that no matter how desperately you clung to the fragments of what you once shared, the reality was undeniable--the passion that once ignited between you two had flickered out, leaving only smouldering embers in its wake, and there was no reason for you to be upset over it--given that this was exactly what you fucking wanted.

Yet, with a heavy heart, you turned away, your gaze fixed on the distant horizon, searching for solace in the vast expanse of the night sky. You found yourself unprepared for the intricate complexities of your current reality--finding it amusing how your parents had dutifully cautioned you about the monsters lurking under your bed and the cruelty of schoolyard bullies, but never bothered to forewarn you about the captivating chaos that a disheveled boy with pretty eyes; ones that seemed to hold the fucking galaxies in their midst, and a demeanour infused with smoke and silver-tongued eloquence, would bring into your life.

"It would matter to me, yes." Your voice quivered as you confessed, the vulnerability in your words palpable in the night air--you kept your eyes fixed out in front of you, not daring to look at him. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, Mattheo..."

Mattheo scoffed, pulling out another cigarette, his movements deliberate yet filled with a sense of bitterness.

"You seem perfectly happy distracting yourself with my brother," he retorted, the words laced with a harsh edge.

Frustration welled up within you, your hands rising to your face as you rubbed the tension from your eyes, trying to find the right words amidst the chaos of emotions.

"Gods, you're unbelievable...that's exactly what ruined us, Mattheo," you said, your voice firm and weary. "Your constant issues with your brother, your need to control every damn thing... I just can't decipher your fucking intentions. Whatever 'us' meant, it drowned in the chaos you brought into it."

Mattheo's expression remained unreadable, a storm of emotions flickering behind his eyes. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke calmly before he finally spoke, his words weighed down by an unspoken burden.

"Maybe some things are just meant to drown, Raven." He said, bluntly. "You and I both know that."

You met Mattheo's gaze squarely, your eyes filled with hesitation and the weight of unspoken truths--his flat dismissal of your words bothered you, sparking irritation through your veins, but you couldn't drop his prior insinuation regarding his brother--it was time you cleared that up once and for all.

"For the record," you began, your voice faltering slightly, "I don't feel anything for your brother. I never fucking did. It was never, ever about him." The confession hung heavy in the air, your heart pounding as felt as though you’d revealed a vulnerable piece of your soul. "It was always about you," you added, your voice barely above an audible whisper. "I..."

"Stop," he said, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and desperation. His body tensed, as if bracing for an impact. "Whatever you were about to say, don't say it."

Mattheo's voice came out as a sharp command, cutting through the tension like a knife through the darkness. His words lingered in the chilled night atmosphere, a heavy barrier between you, guarding his emotions like a fortress wall. Your throat tightened, constricting like a vice around your words. Each beat of your heart felt like a war drum, its thunderous rhythm drowning out any other sound.

"Why?" You hardly croaked.

"Because," Mattheo replied, his jaw clenching with the intensity of his suppressed emotions. "There are two fucking things in life you can't take back, Raven--bullets and words.“ he paused for a moment, inhaling a sharp breath. “Always make sure you hit what you aim at, and that you mean what you fucking say.”

Mattheo's words hit you like a tidal wave, crashing against the fragile walls of your resolve. The words rolled around you, creating a unstable bridge that stretched across the chasm between your bodies, threatening to collapse under the weight of suppressed emotions--and after a moment that felt like an eternity, you exhaled, accepting his now-hardened demeanour and deciding to just drop it, you switched the subject.

"I...I was just going to say...Tom invited me to the party in your common room on Saturday," you whispered, voice trembling as much as your fingers were. "I plan on going."

Mattheo's body tensed, his jaw tightening even further, as if to mask the rising anger within him. He avoided your gaze, his fists clenching involuntarily, struggling to contain the emotions surging beneath his calm exterior.

"And do you think that's a good idea?" His words sliced through the air, sharp and pointed, echoing the turmoil within him. "Have you ever attended a party here, even once?"

You shook your head, your voice barely audible as you admitted, "No, but I can't say no to him, Mattheo...I can't jeopardize my position in the guild. I've worked so hard for it, my entire educational career..." the desperation in your tone was palpable, the weight of your responsibilities bearing down on your shoulders. "It's rather maddening how quickly I transitioned from one Riddle capable of shattering my fucking future to another...it's like I can't catch a break."

The space between you and Mattheo sat heavy with unspoken words, an abyss of silence that seemed to stretch on endlessly. The soft glow of the dim light accentuated the shadows dancing across his face, emphasizing the muffled frustration etched into his features. Each puff of his cigarette punctuated the quiet, adding to the palpable tension in the air.

"I wasn’t planning on going to that," he finally replied, his voice carrying an unusual firmness, as if he was trying to convince himself too. "I quit all that shit."

Your voice caught in your throat, shock freezing your words as you tried to process his revelation.

"You-" you began, but he cut you off, his tone flat, devoid of its usual edge.

"Drinking, drugs," he said, his eyes meeting yours with a glint of determination before he gestured towards the cigarette between his fingers. "These are next."

You struggled to find your voice, your mind racing to comprehend the magnitude of his decision. The man who had drowned himself in alcohol more times in one week than you could count on two bloody hands had fucking quit it all. It was almost impossible to believe.

"Wow," you breathed, your words laced with a mix of disbelief and exasperation. Part of you still rolled with disappointment over his absence at the upcoming event, but a flicker of hope dared to spark within you. "That's great, Mattheo...that's a huge step for you..."

Mattheo's silence hung in the air, his eyes searching your face as if seeking answers in the depths of your gaze. Time seemed to stretch, the weight of the world seemingly sitting heavy between you. With deliberate slowness, he blinked, extinguishing his cigarette on the ground beside him, never breaking eye contact.

"You're too good, Raven," he whispered, his voice surprisingly steady, resonating with a mixture of admiration and regret. "Such an angel...you should know, I was never unaware that you fucking saved me."

His words hung there, pregnant with meaning, as if he was acknowledging a debt he could never fully repay. The vulnerability in his eyes was a stark contrast to the usual stoic facade, revealing the depth of his emotions in that fleeting moment. Mattheo's gaze continued to bore into yours, his eyes intense as if he had stumbled upon something precious he couldn't bear to lose.

In a move so gentle it felt like a caress, his hand lifted to your face, his thumb tracing a feather-light path over your cheek. His voice, soft and tender, carried a weight of sincerity that resonated deep within you.

"Everything will work out..everything you've worked so fucking hard for will eventually pay off," he whispered. "I would have never deserved you."

Your stomach twisted, and your heart seemed to pound against your sternum with a deafening resonance, drowning out the world around you. You couldn’t feel your fingers or the cold or the fucking emptiness of your heart because all you could feel was him. All you could focus on was the overwhelming fucking urge to climb into his lap and kiss him until you couldn’t breathe, kiss him until the only thing embedded within the tastebuds on your tongue was his fucking taste. He is everywhere, he is everything--in every pulse of your desires and the depths of your soul, and then he whispered,

“I will be there, for you, on Saturday,” his voice was a low, husky murmur, filling you with warmth. “Just incase.”

And as he withdrew his hand from your face, the loss of his touch was like a phantom ache, a reminder of the connection you desperately fucking craved. His eyes, deep and intense, lingered on your lips for a fleeting moment, a silent testament to the desires that simmered beneath the surface. As he pulled himself up to his feet, he broke his eyes from yours, and with deliberate steps, he retreated, the distance between you growing--but just when you thought he would disappear into the night, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“And to answer your question--yes, I have dreams…” his voice, laden with a mix of vulnerability and yearning, hung in the air like a fragile promise. “But they’re only good when you’re in them.”

——————-

Find sixteen->

#mattheoriddle #mattheosmut #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #mattheoriddlesmut #matt riddle #mattriddlesmut #theo nott x reader #theoriddlesmut #theodorenottsmut #theodore smut #theo riddle #theo nott smut #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott smut #tomriddle smut #tomriddle x reader #tomriddlesmut #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #marcus lopez smut #marcus lopez #benjamin wadsworth #benjaminwadsworth #mattheo smut #mattheoxreader #marcus lopez x reader #marcuslopez #draco malfoy smut

[gogotti]

Michael Myers/GN! Reader - NSFW

Here we go again with another Michael fic, this time it’s Kinktober and not just me horny posting on main LMFAO

This fic's prompt was Humping

WARNINGS: Michael humps you so nsfw, Michael pins the reader down but reader is into it. This is the tamest thing I’ve written in months so there’s not much else I can add warning wise.

It wasn't often that the massive man who occupied your home needed something from you other than basic necessities, but it was a nightmare trying to figure out when he did. Michael didn't talk and didn't bother trying other ways of communication, so he was basically a brick wall that moved around and routinely demanded food from you. Most days, when he'd decided that he wanted to be difficult, you'd struggle endlessly trying to figure out what he wanted, but this time you tried something different. Your plan was to give him a list of all of the things you could offer him at the moment, and then get him what he needed, simple enough. You went through the entire list, even adding things onto the list that you didn't even want to do, just to not get any response from him. After the second attempt, you didn't even bother anymore, instead staring at him in silence. He still didn't acknowledge you at all, not even by tossing an unopened piece of candy in your face like he normally would have. To say you were confused was an understatement, and you couldn't help but let fear crawl up your spine.

You didn't think he was sad or anything since he wouldn't be sitting on your couch clean if that were the case, and if he were hungry he would have already picked you up from your spot at the other end of the couch and placed you in front of the fridge. You slowly scooched over to him, keeping a safe distance just in case he was in one of his choking moods.

“Michael? You okay?”

Obviously, he didn't respond, and a part of you wanted to go back to your comfy spot and relax again, but you knew whatever his problem was would become a you problem if left alone. You reached out to touch his shoulder and Michael quickly took the opportunity to grab at your wrist and use his strength to twist you around and lay you flat on your stomach. You could only sigh uncomfortably, letting him adjust you to his liking before resting his body weight on you. You couldn’t stop him, you could only let your eyes widen slightly as you felt the source of his problems rest on your ass.

“oh.”

He huffed at you, grabbing your waist and seemingly feeling things out for a while. He didn't make much noise as he did this and only seemed to get impatient since he couldn't properly help himself. You sat in silence for a moment, contemplating whether or not to help him or let his frustration get the better of him, which would most likely end up with someone's dead relative on the news the next moring. You sighed again, you were not going to let innocent people die all because the infamous Michael Myers couldn’t figure out how to hump you properly. 

You arched your back, trying to angle yourself into a good position to make things easier for him. You succeeded in this, as the next time Michael grinded against you he let out the shakiest of sighs. You couldn't help but feel accomplished as he quickly found a rhythm; you also couldn't help the fact that with every low groan Michael let out above you, you felt a shock of pleasure hit you where it counts.  

He suddenly repositioned, now using one hand to grab onto your hip tightly and the other was placed above your head for stability. He picked up the pace as he humped you, the change in stance now giving him the friction he needed, and you could hear how much he enjoyed it. Low groans, grunts, and occasional growls left his mouth and left you a silent mess. You didn't know he would be so noisy but you couldn't care less, as every sound that spilled from his mouth you happily relished in, letting your mind wander to places you wouldn't have dared think about before this moment. 

You felt his humping become sloppy, and listened to his groans turn into huffs as he got closer to cumming.  Suddenly, he came crashing down on top of you, his arms now positioned above your head and his body completely engulfing yours, still humping you desperately as he almost silently whimpered at the feeling.

Once he stopped moving, he breathed heavily above you, and you relaxed your body, muscles slightly sore from holding the position for so long. The peace only lasted a short moment before Michael got up, not caring about you resting underneath him. You could only peek at him as he walked to the bathroom, catching a quick glimpse of the dark spot on the sweatpants he was wearing. 

You sat up slowly, the only things on your mind at the moment were mentally reviewing everything that happened for fuel on lonesome nights, and the creeping suspicion that this might become a regular occurrence. Either way, the result of either thought didn't bother you. In fact, the thought of the big bad Michael Myers humping you as if his life depended on it was something you quietly hoped for.

#rz michael myers #michael myers #slasher fanfiction #slashers x reader #michael myers x reader #rz halloween #Gogotti’s Kinktober #kinktober

[jazeswhbhaven]

Hello!! I'm not so sure if you've done something similar, but could I request a headcanon for the kings + lucifer and the seraphims on how they react if MC doesn't like getting carried and even if they try to carry them they're just trying to break free and doing shits to make it ”impossible” to carry them and to like avoid it because they think they're heavy? Thank you!!

Hi anon, thank you for waiting! I haven't done anything like this before so yay :D Let's start with our seraphim first <3 Michael: He only needed to carry MC because they were walking too slow, he's got places to be. MC refuses, shoving his arms away and even sitting down on the ground to say they'd wait for him to come back instead. After two minutes of arguing, he scoops them up anyway and throws them over his shoulder while they hold on for dear life thinking they'd fall. Wait...is he f l y i ng????!!!

Gabriel: He's only managed to get his arms around them before MC literally scratches his arm trying to tell him to put them down. This surprises the angel so much that he makes it a goal now to pick them up. MC will have their arms wrapped around whatever object they can, everyone else looking at the two of them bickering in the street over Gabe trying to carry them to prove a point. He does give up eventually.

Raphael: He doesn't take no for an answer, scooping up MC in bridal style and smirking. "See, light as a feather." MC at this point is shoving his face away and demanding they be put down immediately but this angel likes teasing MC in anyway possible. After a few curses and face shoves he does put them down and plans on doing it again later.

Satan: He loves getting an opportunity to attempt carrying MC, only because they chew him out so much. There was one time where MC bit him, and well...let's just say they made it worse for themselves in the end, being that he picked them up anyway, carried them to his room and neither of them came back out for hours. *wink*

Mammon: He's so used to being beat up by Satan that MC's hits on his massive chest mean nothing as he picks them up. However, after hearing out MC, Mammon doesn't carry them anymore. Instead he has other things carry MC, as in a custom floating chair powered by one of his AIs. He simply just doesn't think his Master should have to walk is all when Tartaros. Beelzebub: He only attempts to pick up MC as a form of teasing. He likes to see them try and make their weight heavy so he can't pick them up, he'll even pretend he's struggling or is about to drop them. But he will playfully laugh, leaving MC alone after they start to make a serious face (which is one of his favorite faces of theirs) Leviathan: MC doesn't have to worry about this king too much on picking them up and carrying them. He simply refuses stating that they can walk and he shouldn't have to 'baby' them. But there was one time during an attack on Hades, where an angel targeted MC and that was the only time MC was carried, indirectly by a series of tentacles that Levi summons.

Lucifer: He doesn't really understand why MC insists so much that they don't like be carried. Especially when they injure themselves. Luci does respect their wishes, but doesn't take no for an answer when they're badly hurt, scooping them up and carrying them bridal style to Morax's office to be healed. Not much MC can say when there's blood running down their leg and it hurts like hell.

#whb #what in hell is bad #jwhbasks❓ #whb kings👑 #whb gabriel #whb michael #whb raphael #haha i'm the type of person that also doesn't like to be carried because i think ppl will drop me #ppl will still attempt tho

[charliedawn]

Heyyy :) glad your back 🖤🖤🖤 I don’t know if your doing requests or not but if you are could you do, how would the slashers flirt with nurse? (Particularly five since he is like a old man I thought that would be funny) no worries if you can’t, I love your work ❣️❣️❣️

Warning: Highly suggestive.

Bo Sinclair :

"Well…Hello there, sugar pie. Ya lookin’ mighty alone. Mind if I change that fer ya ?"

Captain Smooth and Sailing. Bo knows how to be charming and he’d just waltz in with the biggest grin on his face and lean back before shooting you a smouldering gaze.

He knows what he wants and will go to any means to get it. And I mean any…

Bo *sneaking up on you from behind and wrapping his arms around you before giving you a kiss on the shoulder* "…Good mornin’, sunflower…How ya doin’ ? Good ? That’s great…" *whispers in your ear* "Bet I could make it better fer ya though."

He can be smooth, but also filthy. Depends on the day. One day he’ll be whispering sweet nothings into your ear, the next he’ll be slapping your ass and calling it a day.

Pennywise:

Pennywise doesn’t touch. And doesn’t like being touched. His flirtation will be very limited and subtle. It’ll mostly be grins and cackles and mocking huffs…

Pennywise: "Well…Hello there, beautiful. Do you know that your hair is a mess and you look more like an asylum patient than a nurse today ?"

You *roll your eyes and start walking away* "Good morning to you too, Pennywise."

Him *snickers behind you* "Good morning indeed. If I still had to spook children to get my food, I’d certainly take your morning face…That’d do the trick."

Yeah…That’s Pennywise flirting. He wouldn’t flirt with you face to face…but he’d still do some things from time to time.

For example, you may find breakfast magically appearing on your desk, or a cup of (h/d) next to you when you finally sit and take a break.

Penny :

Penny *hugs you tightly and refuses to let you go*

You : "…Penny. I need to work."

Penny *squeezes you harder*

Yeah…You won’t get any work done. That’s for sure. Penny is stubborn. He will not leave you alone and will keep holding you until he has enough.

That’s his way of flirting.

But…He has another side to him.

He bites. He can use it to show affection. He does it sometimes with his brother and the other slashers, but he’d be extra gentle with you and be careful not to hurt you.

He’d bite your wrist, your neck, your cheek…Just to say that he appreciates you. And even if it’s just to say hello. That’s Penny flirting. He doesn’t use words, but actions.

Vincent :

He takes pictures of you. They were pretty innocent at first. He’d take pictures of you walking around the hospital and taking care of the patients. The staff even used his photographs to advertise the hospital.

But quickly…the photographs became recurrent and more intimate. He’d follow you around and almost beg you to pose for him.

He’d become obsessed and bring you some of his morbid art pieces for you two to simply talk and be close to you.

And you try to deny him attention ?

The man knows how to get what he wants. He’s similar to Bo in that way, but where Bo is demanding ? Vincent is all about begging and whining.

He’d go down on his knees and grab the hem of your shirt to pull you towards him and beg you to let him take photographs of you and keep them. Take some for his…personal use.

Vincent flirting is desperation.

He’d beg you until you give him the time of day.

Michael Myers :

Michael *wordlessly pats his thigh*

The seat is all yours if you want it.

Kidding. Or not.

*cough cough*

Michael likes to cook and he’d fix you meals to cheer you up and listen to you if you need to. He’d be the perfect gentleman and even though he can’t talk, he’d make it obvious that he likes you through other means.

He’d protect you and make sure you are happy.

Unfortunately, because he can’t help bu want to kill you all the time, it’d be very difficult for the both of you to actually go on a date or go more than flirting basis. But, he’d still try to let you know that he likes you sometimes.

Michael *takes your hand and pulls you into a tight hug*

Michael may look or sound unapproachable at first, but it is because he is afraid of giving into hate and just lose control over the little humanity he has left…

Freddy Krueger :

"Yo. Wanna bang ?"

Freddy is NOT subtle. He’s a slimy and sleazy little goblin who loves nothing more than touch, grab, grope and squeeze.

He’d follow you around like your personal horny demon.

"Coooome on ! I know ya wanna see what’s in my pants ! Just say yes, sweetheart ! See how daddy does it !"

Filthy language and sleazy smirks all the way. He’d be whistling after you and tip his fedora at you or lick his lips while looking you up and down.

To make it short: Flirty is his middle name and he’d just make sure to let you know that he is ALWAYS available and ready.

Freddy *smirks and takes your hand before dancing with you* "COME ON ! Move those curves, lovely !" *cackles*

Freddy may look and sound like a scumbag most of the time, but he is capable of being romantic. He only lets special people see it.

Jason :

Jason is shy and will never be confrontational when it comes to flirting.

He maybe waves at you and hugs you sometimes, but not enough for you to understand what he means.

But, he is good with his hands and soon enough, goes to work.

Jason leaves you gifts. On your desk, on your nightstand, or any place he thinks you and only you would find them.

He carves little wooden figurines, mostly of frogs that he leaves around for you to find. And you always do. You then put then on a special shelf in the living room for everyone to see and admire.

It may not have been the initial goal, but he is happy to see you smile. And that is all he needs…

Norman Bates :

"My darling…Would you…Would you do me the honour of going on a special outing with me ? Just the two of us ?"

Norman was an anxious wreck. He had sweaty hands and an nervous smile on his face. He wanted you to say yes. He had been thinking about a way to approach the matter with you for weeks…

You smiled back and when you accepted…he was overjoyed.

Norman is rather old-fashioned. His way of flirting is asking you out and treating you like a princess (or a prince)

He’d be more than happy to compliment you all day long and simply brush his fingers against yours while you stare deeply into each other’s eyes.

Five Hargreeves :

"Tell me, Y/N. Are you alright ?"

You glanced back at him and blinked twice at the child who just asked you that question.

"…Last time I checked. Yes."

You then focused back on your work and tried to forget about it, but then Five sat down on your desk to look at the papers you were signing.

You didn’t think much of it until he rested his hand on the back of your neck and his thumb traced circles there.

You looked up at him, and he stared right back. You knew he was technically older inside but…You still swapped his hand away.

"Okay. What do you want ?"

"You. Me. Drink."

Your eyes widened and you looked around.

"How about you come back to me when you are…say…15 years older ?"

Yeah. He may be older in his mind. But his body is still very much the one of a child so…Wait and see.

Patrick Bateman :

"Y/N. It has come to my attention that we haven’t had sex yet. Care to explain why ?"

That man has the ego of a mansion. He wouldn’t be flirting, he’d be practical.

Who needs feelings ? Who needs flirting ? He knows you find him attractive. And you know he finds you attractive. Why waste time on things like flirting ?

Patrick Bateman is a business man.

He sees a relationship as unnecessary as long as it doesn’t bring him anything.

So, if he starts showing interest in you ?

…

..

.

Run.

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #pennywise 2017 #pennywise 1990 #slashers #pennywise x reader #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger x reader #jason voorhees x reader #five hargreeves x reader #norman bates x reader #patrick bateman x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #slashers au

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Like we're going to hustle the shit out of his brain.❞

part 01 | it's called a hustle, sweetheart

chapter summary:

[ The math is easy in Helaena's head. One brother, heartbroken and moping and in a red flag relationship redder than Mars, and one hot best friend who is definitely his type. It's 1 + 1 = 3, really. ]

[ 2,345 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader & aemond targaryen x alys rivers,

contains— this is going to be comedic and stupid in its comedy, bear with me - fake dating, fwb situation, toxic on and off alysmond, no use of y/n - mentions of sexy times but no sexy times yet (it'll be coming though, so minors gtfo) - multi parts - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— the main vibe is silly and sexy !! you're hel's hot friend !! you getting it down with cregan stark (as you should) !! dunno yet how many parts, but we vibing !! comment, reblog & like at will, mwa ♡

You and Hel watch her baby brother, Aemond of usually calm and pretty countenance, drag and wince as he took a mug of coffee- a slow, almost painful affair - mumble something, somewhat of a gratitude and an apology 2 in 1 special, and reverse drag and wince back into into the room.

It's a painful shuffle. A Michael Jackson awkward moonwalk attempt. A pitying regression from the usually very pretty boy you've made it a habit of teasing.

In the past few months, there hadn't be a lot of teasing from you.

When the door clicks, you turn to Helaena with an absurdly amused snort. "He's really such a pathetic little meow meow, huh?"

She slaps your arm. "Stop it. He's really down. Alys really did a number on him this time."

"She always seems to do a number on him every time they breakup." You fight the urge to roll your eyes, for the sake of the concerned frown on your best friend's pinched, starlight eyebrows.

After all, this isn't the first time of the very many on and off moments of the Alys and Aemond Train. You bore witness to it like you're sat in an empty cinema, popcorn stale and it hurts your jaw to chew, and the train has come unloose from the tracks about thirty minutes into the film, but the plot is predictable because it recycles.

Which makes it a garbage film you can hardly stomach, rolling your eyes and getting the fuck out of the cinema about to demand a refund.

Sure the first time, you felt bad, felt horrible for the both of them as it did seem like they loved each other. You had even commended the maturity of their decision, expressed sympathy and an even pious comments of 'but you were both so good together!'

But then the pity kind of loses its momentum when it's been the third time. The fourth. The fifth. So on and on and on...

At some point, you start thinking that maybe Aemond Targaryen— of pretty Jupiter glaze and cherry-pinched lips, a Greek god humbling at the image of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen's genes combined— third time's the charm! or fourth in Viserys' case, snort  — is kind of a masochist.

Because despite saying that they're growing toxic for each other, he comes back.

Every.

Goddamned.

Time.

The maturity made way for screaming matches, bolts of peaking jealousy, and purposeful social media posts made to hook, line, and sinker the other person— like. Gods.

There was pettiness. There was red flags. And then there was the Wikipedia page that pops up when you search 'who is the worst toxic relationship?' and it doesn't even have a paragraph. Or a sentence. Just a picture of Aemond and Alys.

If Aegon Targaryen was made of easy vices and churlish, lazy smirks— his fingers, though cold and sometimes clammy, are still nice against your shoulder when he makes lazy circles at an attempt to flirt before you laugh it off and threaten rip his balls off, because if there's a few things that piss off Helaena, it's her older brother trying to go near any of her friends —

Aemond liked it in deep, ruby-red shards of a cracked heart being put together again and again. At first with superglue. Now he was more or less going with prayers and spit.

At some point, the pity turns to amusement turns to a roll of your eyes turns to concern shifting from the young man to his sister, your best friend, left somewhat the only one left to care for her crash and burn of a baby brother.

And you know for a fact that Daeron Targaryen is a menace on a dirt bike, and yet out here, in these streets, Helaena was worrying for Aemond.

Their mother's favourite child, their grandfather's most studious, and the pride and ego of Kings Landing U Business Department.

Helaena isn't used to worrying about Aemond like this.

You're not used to Helaena worrying for Aemond like this, and the usually pretty boy you liked to tease was starting to piss you off because of it.

"Hel," you start carefully, knowing you're threading on dangerous waters. As much as Hel adored you and no matter how many times she says her brothers are idiots cut from a blended cloth of her Hightower and Targaryen roots— she was also unmistakably protective of them.

She sighs, putting down the pancake batter she was mixing, and you, who was in charge of actually frying them, turn. She had hoped to talk to Aemond when he woke up, but clearly he was still very much smashed at any attempts of comfort or reprimand, even she wasn't sure anymore.

"I know, okay?" Hel mutters. "I know it's stupid."

"It's not stupid," you rush. At her doubtful look, you insist. "It's really not. I care about the little punk too. Even though lately I kind of just... want to hang him by his boxers on the balcony... make him see reason from there."

It works, Hel laughs. Then she smirks. "That little punk is only three years younger than you and a whole foot taller, babe." Then she blinks. Eyes going wide as saucers, which would be comical if not for the fact that she looked like she got the prophecy of Bathroom Urge Number #1. "Oh gods. Oh my god!"

"...Did you poop yourself?" Her face descends into a scowl, swatting you with the bowl. You yelp, giggling. "Hey, hey! Stop- Hel, you're going to spill everywhere! You know kitchen rules! No violence near the stove!"

"I was about to say I got it, you harlot! I didn't shit myself!" But she stops pestering you with the bowl as you snort.

"Okay, one, harlot? Who are you? A medieval peasant?"

"Please. If we were in the Middle Ages, I'd be a princess."

"That's actually too true, my princess, how dare I."

Hel raises an eyebrow. "But back to point- wait, actually, damn, where were you last night?"

Helaena already knew the answer. Apart from the fact that it is a best friend's duty to be apart of every slight and win in another's life, you had used your regaling tales about Cregan Stark as a means to distract Hel from worrying about her brother every time he broke up (or her; they're very gracious to each other as they take turns in piling to this toxicity), once again, with Alys.

"At Cregan's," you respond lightly, turning to flip another pancake into an awaiting plate. You were at Cregan's last night, so you only found out about Aemond's newly- and briefly - placed single status this morning when you got into the apartment you shared with Hel. She promptly placed her brother in her room while she, seeing as you weren't in yours, slept on your bed.

"And what did you do?" She knew exactly what you did— what you both did, every time since meeting again two months ago at the bar you worked.

"I helped him, uh." You stuck your tongue out, busying yourself with breakfast to clench at an excuse. "With his taxes."

Helaena snorts. "What does taxes have anything to do with the hickies? Gods, you look like you got mauled."

You snicker, fingers briefly dancing over the blue and violet marks over your neck and collarbone. It dipped lower to your chest and thighs, but you weren't going to tell your best friend that. By her wry grin, she already knew anyway.

"Okay, okay, enough of that. You said you 'got it'? Got what? A way to stop your brother's toxic relationship with the very hot older woman that we all known and adore as Alys Rivers?"

"Yes!" Then she hesitates. "But... are you and Cregan...?"

"What? No! I told you." You roll your eyes. "It's just a thing with us. We're both single, not really ready for the dating scene. He broke up with a serious relationship not long ago, he's not ready for it, and I'm sorry, but unlike your brother, is dealing healthily with it."

"With you."

"With me, yes." You shrug, turning off the stove once you've scraped the entire bowl. "So no, we're not in a relationship. But what's your plan got to do with my amazing- and frequent - sex life?"

"And you're sure you don't like him like that?"

You roll your eyes. Hard. "Yes, my royal pain the ass, I am."

Before you can react, Helaena has grasped you by your arms, watery lavender eyes wide and begging.

"Hel, I love you, but I don't like you like that."

"I love you too and same, no, no—"

"What do you mean 'no, no'? That is so offensive—"

"—I mean Aemond."

"I don't really love your brother either, though, I find him extremely pretty," you muse.

"Good! Might help with my plan!"

"What is your plan?"

"I will owe you, so, so much."

Your eyes narrow. "The fact that you're not telling it to me straight means it's a big ask, Targaryen."

As guilt flashes in her eyes, you know you're right. "So, so much. I swear. I will do your laundry— the chores! All of 'em! For a month!"

"Helaena Targaryen, I swear to the gods—"

"Canyoupleasefakedatemybrother?!"

You blink, triyng to unwound what she just spat in one exhale. "I am not fucking the sad out of your brother, that is also not healthy."

"What!? No!" Hel inhales, enunciating better now. "I said, Can you please fake date my brother? My poor, heartbroken, wonderful, you said so yourself 'very pretty', baby brother?"

She blinks, owlish and pityingly, the way you know she knows has gotten her out of a lot of messes. Has gotten her brother, Aegon, out of a lot of messes with their grandfather, who you know to be an asshole to anyone— the incident when he sideway called you a whore, still very bright in your mind; a grudge that keeps on going — but his granddaughter.

"Hel, I adore you, but that's the single most, stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"No, no, it's a lot more complicated than just you fake dating him, duh, I mean like, he knows it too! Like we're going to hustle the shit out of his brain!"

Your eyes flicker to Helaena's room where said sad sack she wants to hustle the shit out of, is in. "Elaborate."

"I meant like. Okay, so we know how this is going to go, right?" She rolls her eyes, her voice lowering to a hush, but her grip on you is just as strong. "They're broken up, he mopes around for a few days, goes to the seven stages of grief the on steroids version, making weird posts and baits against Alys until one of them takes a bite, then they meet trying to feel each other, suss each other out, next thing you know, they're in bed together and we're back to the Good Days of Aemond and Alys as seen on TV! But oh wait, it's worse every time it recycles! Like your favourite show but with butt-ugly new cast they never address!"

Hel takes a deep breath, defeated and desperate all at once. "I am so tired of it. Mom is so tired of it. You're tired of it. And I know, deep down, Aems knows this isn't a sustainable way to love someone. To be in love with someone. But he doesn't know anything but Alys. She's his first everything- yeah, I know about that too, it's disgusting. But now... there's you! My very hot, very beautiful, very amazing best friend."

You nod. "I am agreeing with most of your points so far, especially the compliments geared toward me."

She playfully slaps your arm, continuing. "If we pitch this as like, you helping Aemond make Alys jealous... make it seem as if we're helping him out by sussing her out... you're a total bombshell, babe, Aems will see that there's more to love and lust than just Alys Rivers. It doesn't have to tell all, start and end with her. Every time." She grins as if she's so smart, finally releasing you and placing her hands on her hips to complete the look of 'Yeah, my idea is brilliant, I know'.  "We just need to get his eye away from the not really prize, and make him realise there's more than just the toxic in and out of a failing relationship with your first love."

It's hard to tell her that her idea might not be so bad after all, but Helaena is already grinning as she reads your face like an open book, jumping and clapping around silently.

"Hold on, girlfriend," you say lamely. "How are we even sure I'm his type? Imagine thinking all this, and I'm a plate of grass to a carnivore."

Helaena snorts. "Please, girlfriend. You're older than him, hot as hell, and has a coochie that keeps Cregan Stark well entertained that he's politely said no to the female population that wants him. You are not grass. You are a prime rib-eye they need to ship from the other side of the globe and further ruin our climate."

At your snort, a blush spreading across your face, you press your tongue against your cheek, not willing to concede just yet but feel your will slipping with all the positives.

First, no chores for a fucking month.

Two, you'll have fun (in his own way), adorable pretty boy Aemond again, sans the toxic.

"He can't fall in love with me, Helaena," you say carefully. "I'm serious. I don't like him that way."

She is already shaking her head.

"Of course not, he won't. We just need him to focus on anything else other than Alys. Gods bless her soul."

"She's still alive, Hel, Jesus."

"But you're perfect for this. No ones going to fall in love with anyone. I promise." Helaena grins, tearing a piece of pancake and popping it in her mouth. "My plan is foolproof."

A few thousand hours later, her plan, is in fact, not foolproof.

TAGLIST (message to be added! please ensure you are able to be tagged to get notifs): @fan-goddess @snh96 @valeskafics @opheliaas-stuff @tempo-rary-fix @fantasticpeaceharmony @diannnnsss

#aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #hotd fluff #hotd crack #aemond fluff #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #hotd x reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #helaena targaryen #alysmond #tshbft ༊*·˚ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ

[2kmps]

BED-REST IS BEST

howl pendragon x sick!reader | 2.1k

synopsis; while sophie and michael are away fetching you bone broth for your illness, howl decides to pay you a visit.

story warnings; sick!reader, howl is a pompous turd, book!howl-coded, interrupted kiss, roughly proofread, posted 2021.

Sophie supposed the malady came on the winds of spring, carrying with it all manner of sickness, unpleasantness, and turbid air just the thinnest tinge of green from particles of pollen. She herself felt the effects of the great thaw, the budding tulips of richest hue, and the haze that drew over head like a personal cloud of suffering all her own.

Of course, Old Sophie had a way of dramatizing, meanwhile simultaneously catastrophizing stuff, so you knew to listen to her words loosely, with a solemn nod that you also shared similarly in those feelings. To a lesser degree than her, you were already aware your forced bed-rest could be attributed to allergies.

Or, something else you considered, it could have been the number of sputtering children who yet not knew to duck their faces in a tissue or their arms; it could have been the last embrace you shared with your sickly aunt. It could have been so many things that you had to press the pads of your fingers into your temples to subdue the stab of a headache building beneath them.

“Michael and I are going to Market Square to get supplies and bone broth. That’ll whip you into shape in no time.” Sophie anchored her fists against the bulky layers of her skirt, nearly losing them from how deeply they sunk. “Don’t you dare think about moving until we get back, hear me?”

“What about customers?” you couldn’t say you were disappointed by her firm demand, though all the same it made you restless. Even in times where illness or injury got you down, rest eluded you like fine sand slithering through crevices in your fingers. “Howl went off and blew half our income on that- that, damn, what was it? Some kind of enchanted flute? The more customers we serve, the more we can stash away.”

Sophie’s nostrils widened while her shoulders sagged forward with her breath. Her eyes lost their hardness, ebbing into something far warmer, motherly, almost. As you shifted anxiously beneath the covers, she came back around and began tucking them under your body once again, sure to secure you tighter than before. In fact, you were so caught, so much in your cocoon that you only saw the gray ball of wadded hair pinned atop her head bounce as she rounded you.

“Just stay down you worrywart,” she sighed, heels tapping the floorboards in a collected gait. At your head, she was careful to fluff the feathers in your pillow. “Between us, I’ve been putting a bit aside here and there. Just enough so he can't go buy another one of those enchanted suits. I’d like to know the dealer he’s getting them from and have a word with them myself.”

Your lips curled up at the mention and, honestly, you believed she actually would. “Where is Howl, anyway? I thought he was around.”

“Good grief, I almost wish he wasn’t. He’s been banging around in his room for hours now.” Old Sophie threw her hand towards the adjacent wall, upper lip curling as she continued, “says a lot that you haven’t heard a lick of it.”

That was enough to get you to concede to her obstinacy, letting the weight of your head- suddenly a strain on your neck- fully rest atop of the pillow she had fixed. The more she talked about you needing to stay in bed, drink bone broth and saltines, the more you felt the lead in your limbs rooting you to the mattress and the world floating around you when you closed your eyes.

It was any guess to you when it was the moment Sophie slipped out of your room with that hobbled gait of hers. You had been vaguely aware of her giving your cushion a bit more lusciousness, and then warmth of her palm covering the space of your forehead, giving a fretful tongue click. Behind your heavy eyelids, your eyes floated after her tiny footfalls, but that at once made your bed feel like a boat crashing through cresting waves.

So, you finally resigned to your fate of her and Michael’s care, finally let the stone in your bones meld you into the bed like beige boulders sinking further into the earth and undergrowth with coming centuries.

The silence that surrounded you was enthralling, probably the only true amount of peace you had had in a long time, considering your days were often brimmed with mediating Sophie and Howl’s explosiveness, meanwhile, still cooking up meager spells and manning the business with Michael.

In your weariness and delirium, a thought crossed your mind in a drawl: what about Calcifer, did he need more wood? You anticipated his voice bursting out soon, imploring attention in any number of ways. What of the front door? You expected a knock to come soon, and then another, and another, and perhaps a dozen more. That was money well needed.

What of Sophie? Your thoughts continued. Would she need you to help with scrubbing the floors? Maybe she wanted to give you a knitting lesson later, or expand on her tutelage of weaving hats.

Oh, and Howl—

God, how could you forget Howl? The man felt like a job all on its own. 

Surely he intended to go out again and woo many of the loveliest in Market Chipping, or hell, maybe he’d move the castle somewhere else for the night to do that. You expected him to hunt you down, throw open your door, barge through the threshold with his hair aflutter and eagerness in his eyes—where did you and Miss Nose stash his suits? His guitar wasn’t where he left it, where was it? Neither of you meddled with the charm over his door, right?

As it turned out, you mumbled in your sleep, or at least in your discombobulated state. Your head rustled the feather pillow, lolling to one side and then the other as sweat prickled your forehead in cold beads. Behind your eyelids, Sophie’s nimble and darkly spotted hands worked on a suit, meanwhile Michael was ran ragged around the castle to try to fulfill orders, Calcifer bellowed for attention and eggs and bacon, and Howl’s hair whipped up in the breeze as he spun round and round with another lovely.

Your entire face twitched when a large hand smoothed across the top of your head, a damp weight of something laid spread across your forward, unpleasant and clammy unlike Sophie’s warm hand. “Hey. Don’t take the newt from the shelf, it’ll get on the floor.”

Howl gave a bemused smile that took a while to dissipate. You continued to babble incoherently here and there about things that didn't matter while the peaks of his knuckles simply rocked across your temple and cheek.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I pray that Sophie has made herself useful instead of sticking her nose in on us again.” He said with lightness in voice, peering across his shoulder towards the bolted doorway to be sure. “Good. She seems to think I only make you worse in these states. I would never.”

You were sure you were hearing his voice at this point, rousing you from the cluster in your head until your eyes fixed with his, wonderful and marble-like. They were softer than usual, glittering like the sea when the sun hung highest, making the water like a trove of dazzling treasure.

“Your eyes are amazing, Howell.” You whispered hoarsely, swallowing through the desert in your throat. “I don’t notice them enough.”

His smile took on something brighter, almost as though delighted you took notice of something that menial. “I would agree with you there! You can look as long as you’d like. Tell me more about it.”

“I think about us sometimes, Howell.” It was a strange feeling right now, the words you spoke were the first to float forward in your mind. You knew you were speaking garbled silliness, still you didn’t think better of it. “I remember college together, before we came to Ingary. I remember how you used to look before you… started doing the enchantment stuff. I feel like I’ve forgotten you.”

The lines in his lips were significantly deeper as they pulled down, his hand halted against your skin. It was either the thought that you felt such a disconnect from him, or the reminiscence of who he once was that brought the sullen look of his on. No longer was there a glitter of childish joy, but rather of anxiety, of concern.

“Nonsense. You’re talking nonsense just like Sophie and Calcifer.” He moved closer to you on the bed, rolling your arm from its spot as the mattress bent. Next, the pillow cradling your head flattened, his hands cuffed into the thick fabric as he leaned across you, your eyes only able to see him. “I… I’m still here. I have not left you, I wouldn’t entertain the thought. Didn’t I tell you that wherever I’d go from here on out, you would have to be right with me?”

You only wished he’d tell you such things in every other state of being, instead of during the peak of being bedridden. “I want to believe you, but in this world I am as ordinary as the hat makers and bakers. I’m replaceable. I wonder if that will happen one day.”

Noticeably distraught from the creases deepening around the corners of his mouth, and his eyes flitting wildly around your face as though in panic. He came down onto his elbows, caging you below him as his fear neared, his hot breath inches away.

“What makes you think I could ever replace you? Has someone put that bull into your head? Was it Calcifer—the pest? Was it a panderer we met the other day?” Now that he was so close to you, his voice had lowered and it rumbled. “Or, are you so sleep deprived, so loopy that you’re finally now telling me your heart?”

“Does it matter what I confess to you now?” you asked, pushing your head deeper into the feathers and farther from him. As you turned your face away, he shifted to gently coax your chin forward with the daintiest touch of his fingertips. “I would be alone in that venture. In a matter of five, six, ten years—I’ll have all the age and lines you hate. I’m sure I’ll shrink even more.”

“You do realize we have someone in our house who already looks like that.” He said this jokingly, of course, but even in your fever, your hand shot up to pinch his arm. “H–Hey, stop! Furthermore, you’re making up stuff, who would be to say you’d be alone with your heart?”

The explanation to that was obvious, considering the whole business with Calcifer and the Witch, but you didn’t want to think about it. In fact, at any opportunity to steer your mind away from that debacle, you found it.

Once again, you tried to look away from him—both sleep was beginning to weigh on your bones more than what you imagine Howl would if he were to collapse, and away from the furor gleaming in his eyes. And once again, he pulled you back towards him.

“Sick as you are, I’d like to prove it to you.” It was an unusual thing to hear from him considering all his caution with appearance and health. You wondered if he was desperate to alleviate your distrust. “Why are you looking at me like that? Close your eyes—yeah, I would rather not risk your germs, but some things can’t be helped.”

You weren’t sure if your eyes slid shut from gravity, or from some sort of internal desire for him to do this. Either way, his hand returned adjacent to the other near your hair, tugging slightly at the strands and his breath came so close you felt it tremble against your lips.

And then, all at once, his breath snagged in his throat as the door was thrown open, bouncing off the wall with such force it vibrated. In waddled Old Sophie, arms conveniently free of anything other than an old wood broom with long, spidery bristles that she held aloft across her shoulder, eyes blazing and the most malicious you had ever seen them.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with this dog! This cretin, vile imbecile! This complete, utterly hopeless dolt!” She screeched, the layers of her dress billowed behind her as she started into the room as fast as her creaky old limbs could. “Get out, get out, get out! Away with you, you absolute user! Away! Away! Away! Begone!”

Howl yelped in surprise as the tiny old lady swung the broom with enough ferocity for you to feel the air gush and whoosh around you.

“You demented old coot! Swinging brooms and the like around, are you completely classless?!” he propelled himself upright, expertly ducking her onslaught until he was well out the door into the hall. “I won't forget this!”

As luck would have it, their bickering continued on even once they were out of the room, even fifteen minutes later when Michael weaseled through the threshold with your bone broth and bolted the door behind him.

divider by @/anlian-aishang

reposted from my deleted blog officiallytheduchess/cardeneiv

#howl x you #hmc howl #howlscastle #howl's moving castle #howls moving castle #howl pendragon #howl x y/n #howl x reader #howl pendragon x y/n #howl pendragon x you #howl pendragon x reader #hmc imagines #hmc fic #howl hmc #hmc book #hmc #2k writes

[nobodyfamousposts]

The Hero of Paris

...so when Gabriel was in the bathroom on that train when he transformed and tried to akumatize someone...

...you think anyone could have just...I dunno, recorded it?

__________________________

Michael Donahue was the hero of Paris.

In truth, he was an American tourist. And about as American as one could get.

And AS a young American in a foreign country, he did what most Americans do: abuse his phone's camera function for anything and everything he thought was interesting and likely to get him likes on social media.

He recorded a man feeding pigeons before being run off by a police officer.

He recorded some curator at a museum telling a wild fanfic idea at the Louvre.

He recorded a bunch of people chasing after a blond haired kid and screaming at the sight of him. Which...okay, weird?

Well, he'd known Paris would be weird. But he didn't think it'd be THIS weird.

But then THAT day happened. And what he thought was perhaps the silliest…even the downright dumbest thing ended up being what made him go viral in the last way he ever expected.

Some would consider it uncouth. Most would have just politely ignored it.

But Micheal was a young American with a need to record everything.

And he was already in his seat in a train waiting for it to depart for his next travel destination...only to be delayed due to some reason that he, not being French-speaking, didn't understand.

Ultimately, that made this the perfect combination of bored and impulsive in JUST the right way to achieve a miracle.

So when he heard what sounded like shouting and insane laughter coming from the bathroom on the train, Michael—in true American fashion, decided to record it.

"Dude, some guy has taken over one of the restrooms and is yelling like crazy!"

…and for the sheer hell of it, he started livestreaming.

And his chat started to come alive.

What's going on?

"The train's held up. My French isn't that good. An 'akuma' or something?"

What's an akuma?

He looked over his shoulder.

"I dunno. But that guy in the restroom has been shouting about it a lot."

On the other side of the door, the faint sound of yelling could be heard. Most of it garbled that Michael couldn't quite make out except for a few words.

"—akuma—"

"—Ladeebuug!"

What's he shouting?

"Something about Ladybugs and noir? Is he shooting a movie or complaining of a lack of pest control? Lol."

Out of all his vids and livestreams, he hadn't expected the one about some random making a scene in a bathroom to be the one that got attention, but more people were joining the chat and he saw his numbers rise more than they ever had.

"Wow. Okay. Didn't expect to get this level of response."

He made sure to keep the camera on the bathroom door the noises were coming from rather than himself. It was what the people wanted to see apparently and it allowed better audio quality.

What was perhaps the most interesting was that he started getting comments in French.

In all caps.

With many exclamation points.

Is this real!?

HAWK MOTH!

IT'S HAWK MOTH!

WHERE IS HE?!

"Hawk Moth? What?"

Then a particularly insistent commenter named LadyWifi joined and started to spam the chat.

Où est-ce?

Où est-ce?!!

OÙ EST-CE!!!

"Wait hold on. What?"

Où

où!

WHERE?!

WHERE IS IT

OÙ

wherewherewerewhere?!!!!!!!!11!!1

He balked at the repeated demands. Given the chat seemed to be repeatedly questioning where in English, he could only presume that's what they were asking in French, too. But he had no idea why and no explanation was forthcoming! Any attempts anyone made to tell him what was going on quickly got lost in the flood of comments demanding a location.

Before he could comment further though, his thoughts were interrupted by a cry of outrage from the restroom, loud enough to ring his ears.

Silence.

Then…

"Nooroo, detransform moi."

There was a strange sound from inside. Muffled, but distinct enough. Like how sparkles should sound? Something from one of those magical girl shows his little sister watches.

A click signaled the door unlocking.

"I think he's about to come out!"

The chat was going wild. Everyone commenting. Making random names? Maybe trying to guess who the person on the other side of the door was?

Then some blond guy in glasses and a really unfashionable suit came out of the restroom.

…and his livestream promptly exploded.

#ml fic #gabriel is an idiot #ml oc #ml crack #ml funny

[domreader-headcannon-scenarios]

Hello! I really love your works sm, can i request a sfw or nsfw head cannons of the angels from WHB? Thank you!!

I’m so glad you liked them!! So I’m tryna write the angels as best I can Gabriel is the only one I’ve met outside of a event, I’ve seen the other two in the Halloween event! I like em but ngl they have…unique kinks I needed to google hifth

I hope you enjoy!!

Over all cw: blaspheme (I think?? ((Angels worshiping you)), death (not main characters), abuse of power

Sfw/nsft hcs on Angels!

-

Gabriel

Cw: inappropriate boners,

He basically a guard dog standing over your shoulder 24/7 to keep you safe, he calls you his ‘Lord/Lady/Highness’ and has an army of angels who think the same of you

He’s not very affectionate but if you just say ‘hold me/my hand’ or ‘kiss me’ he’d do it in a heart beat. As his God he only wants you pleased

He’s a terrible cook and somehow steals food and is terrifying good at getting away with it (it must be an angel thing??) he dosent even lie saying he made it, he’s just vague where it came from (only once have you caught him in the act and you made him apologize, but the person gave him the food regardless)

He dust a lot in your home and you cant help but notice the ‘home made’ duster he ‘found’ has feathers matching his wings…

Nsft

Canon Kink: Hierophilia; deriving sexual pleasure from religion, religious places and objects as well as find the act itself religious

He enjoys watching you participate in religious activities…maybe too much. He also finds pleasure in treating you as his god.

You jokingly thought of making him go to church, only for him to jump at the chance. He lowkey regretted it when you didn’t touch him, and made him stay squirming in his seat instead of helping him get off. He for whatever reason thought you’d let him jerk off or would touch him yourself as you were holy, nothing you did was wrong but…touching himself in this place is

You’ve actually caught him touching himself to you praying before, he got bashful upon getting caught but you swear you’ve heard him doing it after that, you just don’t catch him in the act (though you’ve caught him awkwardly standing by and adjusting himself)

He’s got a adorablely small and sensitive cock and he genuinely doesn’t need it touched to cum, roll it between your fingers for a few minutes and he’s trembling as he spills out all his cum

Michael

Cw: murder, inappropriate boners

He’s strict with everyone around you, but not you, in his eyes you are the law since he serves only you, you cant do wrong

He’s terrible if you have guest, he demands they now to you and though he’ll settle if you tell him to, he watches them like a hawk and makes sure nothing gets out of hand

You see that leash? If you get mad and pull on it, he will calm down and you have his full attention, give it another tug downwards, and he’ll drop to his knees in front of you, and anyone else in the room

He likes brushing and styling your hair, he’ll try to help you bathe, insisting you don’t need to lift a finger, he will take care of everything, just relax

Nsft

Canon Kink: Erotophonophilia; ‘Muder kink’, deriving sexual gratification from killing or watching someone get killed (BOY IS THIS A HARD KINK TO CASUALLY WORK WOTH)

If push comes to shove he has a habit of killing people who harass you too much/threaten you, but he gets…really excited afterwards and is pressing his thighs together to hide his erection, especially if you’re clearly not in the mood

You’ve seen him get in fights while still aroused from the last kill an honestly, when in public you sometimes just force a chastity cage on him to discourage him acting out

Though he believes self pleasure, or just the act in general is…sinful, he will do anything for you with no qualms, he only feels good when you touch him anyway

He suffered from wet dreams whenever you’re around him or he has objects with your scent

When he want to fool around desperately he will walk right up to you, kneel and beg you to touch his neither regions, stroking, slapping, pinching, doesn’t matter as long as you touch him

Raphael

Cw: messy kitchens, messy person, furniture abuse,

He’s messy and kinda gets annoying at times since he discovered how much fun it is to smash condiment packages

He’s good about cleaning, and he even cooks to make up for the mess…but he’s a sloppy cook too but at least it’s not intentional this time

He doesn’t understand that the furniture isn’t trying to hurt you and doesn’t need to be punished. He’s broken threee tables, one bed post and five chairs since he’s moved to being your ‘Guardian Angel’, all for tripping you or you stubbed your toe on them

He’s not affectionate but he’s not distant, he just follows your lead, he stands close by and if you ask him to come over he flops in your lap and looks up at you like a puppy. He likes when you watch tv and let him lay across your lap, he falls asleep easily that way

Nsft

Canon Kink: Automysophilia; getting sexual gratification from defiling oneself, being dirty or defiled

He enjoys getting messy with cum, blood, dirt, just about anything. He will be blissed if you strip him and cover him in…well it’s up to you ;)

He has no qualms with jerking off in front of you if you don’t want to touch him while he’s too messy, but he wants you to be fully clothed while he’s sprawled out naked in front of you

He’s fucked slime before since it feels…weirdly good around his shaft, to the point he gets excited when he sees it around the house. You had to punish him for thinking he could ‘fool around’ with it then hide it away again

He’s got a very sensitive halo, while other angels get off to them being touched like a devils horns, he avoids it since it brings him to his knees in seconds

#what in hell is bad #whb #Gabriel #Raphael #sub Gabriel #Michael #sub michael #sub raphael #dom reader #Gabriel x reader #raphael x reader #michael x reader #headcannons #nsft #sub whb Gabriel #sub whb Michael #sub whb Raphael

[bloodywickedvamp]

Two's Company - What The Hell Is Six? Part 3

Poly!Lost Boys x GN Reader x Michael

Series Masterlist

Summary: It's date night

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: swearing, touching, angst, arguments, flirting, lil kiss

I really cannot believe it took me so long to finish part 3 like...where did the time go?? It was almost an entire year...I just struggled to find the motivation but I finally did! Not sure if this is even good it's so late when I finished writing lol, hope you enjoy!

Dividers: @saradika & @firefly-graphics

“Okay…I’ll do it.”

“What?” Michael turns towards me and asks bewildered. I can’t blame him, I’m a little shocked by my own acquiescence. 

I tear my gaze from David to Michael and briefly at our fingers laced together before meeting his eyes. 

“I know this isn’t ideal Mikey, but you heard them, they won’t stop. We can talk about this more later, okay? Just trust me.” Squeezing his hand so tight, to help him to understand why I’m doing this. Why I didn’t have a choice other than to accept their ‘offer’. To protect him from whatever they’re truly capable of. If I said no, they’d take it out on Michael, I know they would. 

He takes a moment to respond. Taking me in from top to bottom and squeezing back a non-verbal response before speaking. With more understanding than I initially thought he’d be capable of granting, he nods, brings our hands up to his lips to ghost them over my knuckles and finally lets out a soft 'okay' with a gentle smile only meant for me. I mirror the sweetness in his face back, until the moment is interrupted. 

“Well that’s just adorable.” David snorted, all too eager to have our attention not on each other. 

“But if you’re finished I’d like to get back to the date you just agreed to.” He directed impatiently. 

“Fine, but there are some ground rules we need to establish first.” I said.

“Oh?” questioned David. He seemed amused by my answer, curiosity slipping through at what I could possibly come up with. 

“First, no kissing or inappropriate touching-”

Paul cut me off to complain, “damn babe, those are all my go-to moves.”

Dwayne swiftly takes it upon himself to reprimand the wild blonde with an elbow to the side and a ‘shut up Paul’. While said blonde untangles his arm from the taller man's shoulders to soothe his aching side with a look of exasperation, like he’d been completely put out by the interaction. 

“Ow, I was only kinda kidding. You can’t hit me like that man, you know I'm sensitive.” He croaked out in a very childlike manner accompanied by a pouty bottom lip. I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually got into the fetal position next with how dramatic of a person he seemed to be. In a different circumstance I would’ve found the exchange funny and how close the two are adorable. 

Instead of dwelling, I decided to continue. “Second, we won’t be going anywhere private, we’ll be in public the whole time. Third, no threatening or hurting Michael for any reason. No matter what happens on our ‘date’ you don’t get to do anything to him.” Emphasizing date with a quick eye roll. I may have agreed to this but I don’t have to be happy about it. 

Michael let out a small chuckle from my right before he leaned down to whisper in my ear “My hero.” I try my best to hold back the smile threatening to sneak its way past my serious demeanor but it’s useless and I crack. I can never seem to hold myself back when it comes to Michael, he pulls every part of me to the forefront, good or bad, he always embraces it with open arms and a warm smile. 

“Is that all or do you have any more demands princex?” Marko piped in, once again directing our attention towards the boys in front of us. 

“That’s all for now, but if I think of any more I’ll be sure to let you know promptly.” I finish with faux nicety and the sweetest smile I can muster. 

Pulling a sarcastic laugh from him followed by an even more sarcastic “Can’t wait.” 

It seems Marko and I will be having the most lively time together on our date, if we don’t kill each other first. 

This time, I hear a genuine laugh come from the same curly headed boy. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

I’m baffled at the comment. His joyous response sounded like it was directed at my previous thought, one I definitely thought to myself and didn’t voice aloud. 

“Wait, I didn’t say anything. How-”

Paul decides to answer me first. “We've got all kinds of tricks we can show you baby”, with an additional cheeky grin thrown my way. 

While David finishes with a “but we’ll save that for next time. We’ll meet back here tomorrow night where we usually park the bikes, right after sunset. Don’t be late.” He looks between Michael and I as the quartet begin to make their leave. Each boy giving their own version of a goodbye with waves and ‘catch ya laters’ till they’ve vanished from underneath the boardwalk back towards the stairs. 

“So…we should probably get home and maybe figure out what the hell you just agreed to.” Michael announces after a bout of silence following the departure. 

After Michael drives us back home, he seems to be in a better mood than I expected. He’s acting like his old self again, not letting go of my hand or some part of my body since we arrived. The truth coming out makes him much more at ease, which I can appreciate. The rest of the family noticed his sudden presence at the dinner table with stunned expressions, Sam even commenting ‘what were you dying for moms lasagna or something bud?’ as Lucy shoo’s that off with a wave of her hand and says she’s happy to see everyone together again for dinner with a beaming smile along her face, quickly changing the topic to grandpa’s aversion to giving him an overdue haircut.

Later on, Michael and I found ourselves in the bedroom we share. After a lengthy discussion of the night to come and having to only calm him down a couple of times from leaving to find the boys again and telling them to fuck off, we agree on sticking it out just for tomorrow. After the dates I tell them it won’t work and we can put this mess behind us, hopefully. The matter of Michael being a bloodthirsty creature of the night has yet to be discussed. 

“I still don’t like this plan, just so we’re clear.” He proceeds to tell me one final time as we start to lay down to sleep with a few hours of darkness left cloaking the sky before dawn breaks. 

“We don’t have any other options…unless one of your new special tricks includes time travel to before you met them.” I jokingly tack on as I cuddle further into his side. 

He releases a light chuckle while rubbing my back soothingly. “Sadly no, that’s not in my abilities.” 

“It’ll be okay.” I say, not certain if it’s more for his sake or my own. He silently agrees with a kiss to my forehead and a soft goodnight as we both fall asleep in the comfort of this small window of time we have together. 

Michael and I silently wake up just hours before we would need to leave, having mostly slept the day away together. As dusk quickly approaches, getting ready seemed an easier task than I initially anticipated. He showers after me and dresses in his usual attire of blue jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, and his newly acquired leather jacket that I can’t help but start to like the more I see him in it. While I put on a nice tank top, black jean shorts, and sneakers, dressing fairly casual but also something I would wear on a date with Michael. My outfit showed a bit more skin due to the heat. 

He gives me a once over before asking ‘Is that new?’ as he points to my top. I nod with a look of ‘yeah why?’ and he only shakes his head back before answering, “nothing, you just look nice…and not to sound like a jealous boyfriend but…I can’t say i’m happy seeing you wear something new for them.” 

“Hey I can chan-”

“No.” He stops me before I begin. “Like I said you look good and I’ll just have to get over the fact that they’re getting to be with you tonight and not me, when all I want to do now is rip your outfit to shreds and toss you back in that bed till morning.” He says, as he grabs my hips pulling me into a heated kiss. Only allowing himself to pull back as I’m gasping for air. 

“Very tempting offer.” I breathlessly snicker while running my hands through his thick head of curls. He pulls me back in for one more peck and reluctantly drags me along to the front door so we can head out.

We arrive at the boardwalk and Michael parks his bike exactly where David said they’d be, watching the crowd go by and laughing amongst themselves till we’ve made our way into the group beside them as they take notice. Michael helps me off his bike as we stand in front of them, hands still intertwined. 

David looks at us like it’s cute we’re still trying to hold up some type of front to the situation, and I guess in a way he’s right, they have the upper hand. 

Surprisingly Marko is the first to speak, “And here I thought you were dreading going out with us, but by the looks of that outfit I’d say you were trying to put on a show, feel free to show off even more skin if you’d like.” It takes everything in my body to stay calm because I know that comment is only meant to get a rise out of me. I won’t give him the satisfaction. 

After I take a soothing breath I reply, “It’s hot outside and I’d rather not keel over from overheating, that’s all.” 

He leans closer with a smirk and gives a half-hearted “whatever you say sweetheart”, before leaning back and giggling like school girls about it with Paul. I simply roll my eyes and turn my attention back to David. 

“Let’s go.” He announces to the group as we all start to follow his lead. Dwayne walks in stride with Michael and I, sandwiching me between them, with Marko and Paul tailing behind us. I decide to chance it and look at Dwayne as he leans down towards me, not breaking eye contact for even a moment as we continue to walk. “Don’t let him get to you, he just likes to ruffle feathers. But for what it’s worth, you look lovely.” His lips lift into a half smile, half smirk once he notices the heat rising to my cheeks at the complement. I attempt to brush it off with a quick ‘thanks’ and steal a glance at Michaels now taut jaw and lingering gaze on us. I turn my attention forward as Dwayne’s hand coyly slides up my waist and is gone again before I even have time to register it as he picks up his pace to step in time with David. Michael lets out a scoff and pulls me closer to his side by our joined hands. 

David walked us to a section of restaurants with outdoor seating we could all gather at, choosing a wooden picnic bench for us. Michael and I are sitting on one bench with the two natural blondes and brunette sitting on the other, while David decides to grab a lone chair from a different table and pull it up on the side so he’s seated at the ‘head’ of the table. 

“So how is this going to work exactly? Are we all doing this together or…?” I decide to voice my curiosity before the conversation inevitably gets side tracked or leads to another argument.  

All eyes turn to David as he fills me in. “We’ll each take you out individually - Dwayne’s first.” Nodding his head in the direction of his friend. My own gaze found its way back to his dark brown eyes, that same smile from earlier plastered on. In that moment a wave of familiarity washed over me, like I’ve gotten lost in those eyes a million times before and would continue to do so for as long as I’d be allowed to stare into them. Like how it feels to look into Michaels. 

Michael.

Remembering he’s sitting right next to me I shake the previous thoughts away and proceed to stand to meet Dwayne on the other side so we can get this night started already. 

But I freeze in my tracks as it suddenly occurs to me that Michael will be all alone with the other boys for the rest of the evening, and the thought of him being tormented and teased about this situation he has no control over sends a pang of guilt through me. I decide I have to try and ease some of the tension, if I can. 

“Wait- before we go I have another condition to add.” 

David leans back in his chair with a raised brow, gloved fingers tapping along the table. “Yes?” 

“If this is going to work you can’t be at each other's throats the whole time I'm gone. Michael told me that he barely knows anything about any of you and vice versa, so while I'm on each date the rest of you are going to stay here and get to know each other - like real friends.” 

“What?” 

“I’m serious, you’re not going to sit here all night and fuck with my boyfriend behind my back, I’m not asking.” I try to muster up as much confidence in my words as I'm sure David actually has naturally coursing through him. He only ponders what I've said momentarily before giving a strained smile that doesn’t exactly meet his eyes and mutters out a quick ‘sure’. Looking towards the others that slowly nod along in agreement - even if their faces say otherwise. 

Now feeling better about leaving, I let Dwayne lead the way out of the seating area towards the  crowds of people scattered along the boardwalk for whatever he had planned.

Michael turns back to the remaining boys seated with him after staring daggers into Dwayne's back before the two completely disappear from sight. He speaks up before the others can, to get the ball rolling. “Okay so…where should we start?” He sends them each a questioning glance. 

David stares back with the most incredulous look he can muster, like he couldn’t believe he was actually going through with the ‘getting to know each other idea’. After a minute a mocking smile takes over his face. 

“Yeah…” He draws out. “We’re not doing that.” He says with little room for push back. 

Michael crosses his arms over his chest and nods his head in a similar mocking manner, amused by the reply. “You’ve got a lot to learn, they’ll come back and expect a full report on what we talked about, want specifics to make sure you followed through on your promise.” 

“We’ll make something up.” David again says matter of factly. 

Michael scoffs. “They’ll be able to tell if i’m lying, how do you think I ended up in this situation in the first place? I wasn’t able to keep what you did to me a secret.” The other boys may not want to participate in this but he’d be damned if he got into trouble for not at least trying to play nice. 

“Alright, fine. I particularly enjoyed watching you get your ass chewed out in front of half the boardwalk last night. It was the highlight of my week.” David faux relents, like he’s shared intimate knowledge of himself only few know and pretends as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders with a content sigh. Stifled giggles from the terror twins echo in the background. 

“You know what, the only one you’re hurting is yourself. Keep it up and they’ll want nothing to do with you. Which will be the highlight of my life.” 

Silence followed Michaels statement as the two were now sat in a heated staring match. The tension in the air rapidly increased as neither one backed down. If looks could kill they’d both be six feet under. Even the blondes, who hadn’t said a word since the conversation began, were forced into an awkward stillness watching the interaction unfold, waiting for the underlying hostility to bubble over. 

Paul decides someone has to try and mediate before this gets any uglier and, more importantly, his turn for a date is possibly soured by the oldest and newest member of their pack coming to blows. In his opinion the best way to deal with this would be to let them fight it out, but he knows the night can’t end with them covered in blood, scratches, and bite marks - unless they’re fucking. 

All eyes are suddenly shifted to Paul as he clears his throat obnoxiously. “Uhhh…my favorite band is Mötley Crüe.” He says with a bright smile, proud that it actually worked since the boys' body languages were all seeming to relax. 

Marko, good naturedly, pats Paul on the back as an ‘attaboy’ for the attempt. 

As Dwayne and I continue walking through the boardwalk I feel one of his hands graze my lower back and rest there. I quickly snatch his wrist and pull it in front of me.

“I said no touching.” I admonish. Before I can drop it, he seizes the opportunity to grab my hand instead. 

“I was only trying to guide you, but you’re right this way is better so we don’t get separated.” 

“Right…” I probably should have put up more of a fight, but the crowd is double the size of last night's and we could easily lose each other. Not that I really believe his reason for wanting to hold my hand is so noble. I let it slide anyways.

We make small talk about movies and music as we venture through different stalls. Anytime he asks me a question I have to mentally prepare myself before answering. His intense gaze makes me apprehensive, it's like he’s enraptured by every word and I’m nervous if what I'm saying is even adequate. He hasn’t been judgemental yet, so I let his deep baritone put me at ease when he responds to something I’ve said. 

He pulls us to a stop in front of an ice cream shop claiming it's the best in town and we should get some. After ordering and him paying for both of ours, we head towards the other side to lean against the railing while we eat. He watches as I dig out a spoonful of the sweet treat to taste. My eyes go wide from the first bite. He wasn’t kidding about how good it is and he seemed proud of himself once I told him exactly that. 

After a few mouthfuls of his own, he silently gestures towards his cup asking if I’d like to try the flavor he had and I nod in agreement. He dips his spoon in and holds it to my mouth for me to try. I squint at it before making eye contact with him and before I can even get a word out he’s anticipated why I won't try it. 

“You’re not cheating on Michael by tasting my ice cream.”

“No, but I’m not trying to swap spit by sharing a spoon.” I decline, while gently pushing his arm towards his own face to eat it and he does so with a chuckle. 

He relents and allows me to try it with my own spoon. I, in turn, make him the same offer with my cup of ice cream. 

Instead, he takes his thumb and swipes it across the corner of my mouth before bringing it back to his own and sucking on the digit. 

“Pretty good.” He says casually.

I’m in shock as my whole body is set aflame from the intimate moment. He grants me a small mercy by not acknowledging how much it affected me. I proceed to eat the rest in silence knowing if I look him in the eye or, god forbid, try and have a conversation after that I’d be a stuttering mess. 

He takes the lead once more by throwing out our trash and grabbing my hand to help me off the railing. 

“Let’s check out a few pop up booths, there might be something there you like.” He says as he walks us in that direction. 

“Like clothes and stuff?” I ask. I haven’t really explored the boardwalk before so I don’t know much about what they have or the best places to shop. 

“Yeah, that’s usually where we pick something up if we need new clothes, that’s where Marko gets all his patches because they’re…cheap.”

“Do you even own a shirt?” I jest. “Because I’ve only ever seen you in just that jacket.”

He looks back at me with amusement in his eyes. 

“I do, but the clean up from a night out is much easier without one.” 

I give him a weary look and he tenses slightly like he said something he probably shouldn’t have. 

“Do I want to know what that means?” 

He shakes his head at me, “no, probably not.” 

“Let’s just keep the conversation light for now.” I suggest, hoping not to dive into anything too heavy. I’ve enjoyed the mostly chill atmosphere so far and hope it can stay that way. 

“Deal”, he says as he gives me a genuine smile as we continue on our way.

🖤 Taglist 🖤

@britany1997 @faefairi3 @princessmads1820 @1nternetvampire @itsyoboysparkel @nataliewalker93 @thelostone91 @misslavenderlady @ursatanicbunny @warrior-616 @charlizekkelly @ghoulgeousimmaculate @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @the-faceless-bride @wickedsandwich08 @palomam18 @walt25 @phantomenby @dwaynesbiboyfriend @crustyraccoon @vampirefilmlover @certified-ghostbuster @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @solobagginses @asdorlia @besas-stuff @kathylee2003 @notfoundfootage @milfsrcool @queen-bunny @imacollasaltitan @midnight-shadow-va

#bloodywickedvamp #the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #michael emerson #michael emerson x reader #poly lost boys x reader #poly!lost boys x reader #tlb 1987 #lost boys x gn reader #david tlb #paul tlb #dwayne tlb #marko tlb #michael tlb #michael emerson x gn reader #x gn reader #the lost boys x gn reader

[yourbestprincess]

The Shape being the bestest

SMUT, Michael Myers X Fem!reader, Breeding kink, p I v, sum cute fluff, Mikey opening up more, sweet Michael, (they both want eachother) SLIGHT hair pulling if you squint, size difference, basically smut and some cute shit. kinda proof read???

After a long day of being at home, missing Michael the entire time, you finally hear the door knob wiggle open. You’d missed him all day. You knew he wasn’t super physically affectionate sometimes, but recently he had been.

You hear him taking his shoes off by the front door, so you wait upstairs in you shared room and lie on the bed. You’re wearing one of his giant white t-shirts, black socks, and a pair of his boxers that were also way too big on you. You hear his weight on the old floor boards as he walks up the stairs, feeling ecstatic to greet him with a giant hug. Michaels hugs were always the best.

He was quite bulky and definitely huge compared to you. He creeps in the doorway, still wearing his mask and coveralls. He silently walks over to you, placing his warm hands on you, cupping your face. He lets out a sigh of relief, any noises he made would make you happy.

He never talked much at all, he could go days without talking. He only talked if he was demanding something or if he really needed your attention. But at most, it would be one or two words. He never minded you talking, knowing that was how you communicated.

He walks closer until he’s inches away from you. He makes you close your eyes by placing his hands over your eyes and gently pulling your lids down. Initially, you were confused by this, he never wanted your eyes off of him. “Michael, what’re you doing?” You ask curiously with a gently smirk. “Shhh” he whispers back. You immediately stay quiet, obeying him.

You hear his coveralls unzip and some rattling of the closet doors. What’s he doing?! You feel confused but you just let whatever’s happening to happen. After this rattling is over, you feel him tap at your shoulder, knowing that he wanted you to open your eyes now. As you flutter your eyes open, you see him in all of his glory. His pretty face, unmasked, his messy curly hair framing his face, and he’s wearing loose grey sweatpants with a wife beater.

You can tell that he’s nervous to be so vulnerable in front of you like this. Not having any of his protection to hide himself. “You’re so handsome.” You say, keeping eye contact with a soft gaze. He smirks gently and leans in to kiss you on your forehead, but he can’t help himself from indulging in a kiss with you. You both could never pass it up. He pulls away from the kiss, and tucks your hair behind your ear, making you blush and smile. You twist his curls around your finger. he’s still trying to understand how you love him even though he is such a bad person.

He picks you up, gently throwing you over his shoulder. You just accept it, because you know it isn’t going to be bad.

He takes you to his room where he works on his masks and lets you sit down on his lap as he works on them. He put down whatever tool that he was working with, to see that you fell asleep on his lap, your head resting in then crook of his neck, and your arms wrapped around his neck.

He pets your hair and hums to you as he slowly gets up in his best attempt to not wake you. When you wake up, you’re in the same position that you fell asleep in, on his lap, just now on your guys couch. You grunt as you stretch your arms out.

Michael pulls you back, gently holding a fistful of your hair, he looks at your deep in your eyes, sending chills down your spine, also making you blush. “I am yours, and you are mine.” you say, nuzzling up to him. Michael points to himself and tilts his head to the left, his soft gaze locked on you. “That’s right.” You spoke, kissing him on the cheek. “Y’know I love you Mikey?” You look at him with your puppy eyes, realizing that this is the most communicative he’s ever been with you. You hear him grunt a bit, not knowing if you pushed him too much. He nods and kisses your forehead.

You just hug him back since you’re so proud of him. He brings his lips down to you and presses kisses into your neck.

He knows that you love when he talks, he doesn’t know why, but he feels compelled to do it today.

When you first met Michael, he would never speak a word, but since you’ve known him for years now, he’s just now starting to try to form words. You know not to push him though.

He presses his lips against yours to continue the kiss. He isn’t the best at kissing, but he really does try, he loves how it feels when your soft lips touch his. You didn’t expect him to kiss you as hard as he was right now. You moan into the kiss, noticing his growing bulge beneath you.

“Mmm,” you mew into his ear. “Can feel you getting hard for me.” You continue. He lets out an almost silent “mhm”.

You lightly grind into his growing erection, hearing all the quiet whimpers he’s making. You make eye contact with each other, knowing that you both want it.

You crawl off of his lap and get down on your knees as he manspreads for you on the edge of the couch. You look up at him, eyebrows turnt upwards. He nods, letting you know that you can do what you want. You look down to see his length and girth through his grey sweatpants. (He’s 8’ long and 3 1/2’ wide) You gently tug on his waistband, slipping your fingers on the inside. You get ahold both the waistband of his sweats and boxers. As you pull down, you watch as his cock aggressively springs out of his boxers, twitching and leaking pre-cum. You gently grab his full balls out of his boxers, revealing everything.

You looked up at him and could tell that he was a little embarrassed, even though you two had done this before. You shake it off as you take your small hand and slowly pump his cock. You watch his face as he goes down and reaches for your hair. He grabs ahold of your locks and basically uses you as his personal fleshlight.

Obscene noises come out of him as you gag on his cock. You make the most lewd noises as you take him down your throat.

He slowly lets you get up from having his dick all the way in the back of your throat. He pats his lap, inviting you to sit on him. You slide off your his pre-soaked boxers and toss them aside. You crawl back onto his lap and line yourself up with his throbbing tip, already wet from your saliva.

“Ready for me?” You ask, your slick practicality dripping onto his cock at this point. He nods and places his hands firmly onto your hips, forcing you to take his girth and length in his one push.

You scream and moan but he doesn’t budge. He hums in your ear, kissing your neck while he lets you get adjusted to his size. You place your small hands on his wide shoulders and slowly rise up from his length. He grunts as he feels your slick going down his cock, dripping onto his balls.

He throws his neck back, showing you how vulnerable he allows himself to be around you. He grunts and says your name so quietly that it’s basically him mouthing it.

“Michael-,” your whimpers are cut off by him smashing his lips against yours. Both of you are moaning into each others mouths at this point.

Michael notices that your legs are starting to give out and shake, so he signals you to wrap them around him and he doesn’t have to ask you twice. Once you’re wrapped around him, he thrusts into you at an inhuman pace, bruising your cervix.

“Mikey,” you rush out. “M’ close!” Your words slur from the pure pleasure you’re getting from him.

He looks at you, staring deep into your eyes. His mouth open ever-so slightly, showing the slightest bit of emotion. Times like these make you remember how much he trusts you for him to be this vulnerable around you.

He nods his head, letting you know that he isn’t far behind you.

The room is filled with moans from you and Michael. You, screaming his name and whining as you cum all over his length. Him, grunting loudly with his raspy low voice. He shoots his hot thick cum into your cunt, filling you up as much as he physically can. He always loved the thought of breeding you.

He holds you while you’re still in his lap, his open hand goes to hold your head as you rest it against his collarbone. His other hand, already on the small of your back. He pets your hair gently as both of you bring your breathing back to its normal pace. He lifts you high enough to be able to slip his cock out of you and put it back into his sweats that are now stained because of you.

After you two come down from the adrenaline, he just lays there and holds you. He knows how tired you get after he fucks you like that. He used to just rail you and then walk out. That was when he wouldn’t take his mask off, wear anything different than his coveralls, or communicate. It took him years to be able to do any of that. But, now, he’s holding you as you fall asleep on him as you both lay down on your bed.

He carried you all the way from the couch to the bed because you couldn’t walk and he knew he needed to take care of his girl.

He presses gentle kisses onto your head every couple minutes, and eventually you stopped reacting to them. Now, knowing that you’re asleep, Michael gives you one more kiss and whispers, “I love you.” Just before falling asleep to the sound of your breathing.

#michael myers smut #michael myers #michael myers x reader #slasher smut #slasher x reader #halloween #Michael Myers is so hot #slashers #horror #horror smut