#michael c hall x reader
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A New Moon
[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: Despite his gut telling him he shouldn’t, Dexter can’t help but fall deeper into the trap of his own emotions. And the more time he spends with you, the more he starts to realize what exactly those emotions are. {GIF Creds: beautifulguycollector}
WC: 2889
Category: Slight Lime/Spice, Friends to Lovers + Forbidden Love (if you squint) Tropes
Gotta keep this fandom alive somehow 🥲 (also… why are titles so hard to write? That and the synopsis are harder to write than the actual fic)
『••✎••』
You were too good for him. Plain and simple. You were a smart, beautiful, hard-working woman who had goals and dreams. He was a cold-blooded killer. Not to say that he hadn't been there for you, though. The two of you had been friends since… well, a while. A long while.
He couldn't quite pinpoint the moment he started to notice the changes in your relationship. It was a slow, subtle buildup, and the first time you called him your friend, Dexter thought nothing of it. The second time, it made him pause, but not enough for him to consider what the implications of you saying that to him could mean.
But when you said it again and again and again, he realized the meaning behind your words, the affection they held. Dexter couldn't say that he was particularly close to many people. There were a select few he'd consider his friends, but he wasn’t emotionally invested in any of them. And he didn't think he was invested in you, either.
But maybe he was.
Debs was different, and it made him question how much he was supposed to care about someone. But that was his sister, the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally. That reason alone made his relationship with Deb unique. He was sure of that.
The same went with Brian—his brother, as it turned out. And Harrison, his son. Dexter felt things for those people, but they were different. Those were family, the people he was genetically tied to. Of course, he would care about them.
But you weren't family, and yet he still cared about you. It was a different kind of caring. And it was confusing. Harry was right, after all. He didn't feel. Dexter had convinced himself for years that he was a high-functioning sociopath, but lately…
Lately, he was beginning to question if that was true. Simple glances from you could bring an unwelcome smile to his lips. And when he heard the sound of your voice, he could feel his chest warm. It was a nice feeling, something he'd only experienced briefly with Rita. But then, that relationship was different too.
It was hard to put his finger on it, but being with you was just… easy. And it didn't feel like work. There was no pretending. Dexter didn't have to act when he was around you. He didn't need to try to be someone he wasn't. It was the real him.
It was terrifying.
Because now, as he sat on your couch, watching as you moved gracefully around your small apartment, the feeling was back, and he didn't know how to deal with it.
He should have been home with Harrison, but the little boy was staying over at Debra’s tonight, so he didn't have any responsibilities. The passenger within him didn’t see it as a problem either, considering he’d just recently “disposed" his latest target.
It was nice, Dexter decided, to relax every once in a while. Work and family didn't give him a lot of opportunities to do so, and now that the two were temporarily taken care of, he felt he deserved to be lazy for a bit.
You didn’t have a TV in your living room, so the two of you settled for movies. Dexter didn’t really have a preference for them. He could watch a comedy, action, drama, or horror and not feel strongly for or against any of them.
Apparently, you didn't mind what he watched either because he could see the spark of excitement in your eyes when you pulled out the case for one of the worst comedy films Dexter had ever seen.
He'd seen it before. Not with you, one of the movies Vince shoved down his throat when he planned a night out with him, Angel, and Quinn.
It wasn't his favorite, not by a long shot, but the grin on your face and the way you eagerly skipped to the DVD player, set the disk inside, and closed the hatch made him bite his tongue.
Dexter had learned a long time ago that you were a very expressive person. And even though most of the time your feelings weren't displayed on your face, your eyes told another story. Such opposites to his own, Dexter often found himself fascinated by the light they held.
You had a passion for life that was rare, and it drew him in. It was a quality he lacked, and he could see it in everything you did. Whether it was talking about the newest book you read or making coffee, you put all of yourself into your actions.
It was something that Dexter had never understood. How could you have such a strong sense of self? Didn't it get tiring, having to live up to a standard of being so… so good?
But then again, you'd always been better than him. He might’ve been smarter in some regards, but what was smart if it didn't come from a place of morality? You were better, purer than him. He knew it, and everyone else did, too, even if they weren’t aware of how pure he wasn’t
That's why this was so wrong. This thing that had been going on for the past couple of months between the two of you. The subtle touches, the longing stares, the late-night calls. It was all wrong.
You were similar to Rita in some ways. You were kind and compassionate, always looking for the good in others. You had a knack for taking care of people, whether they needed it or not.
Dexter could tell that was your nature, and it was one of the things that initially attracted him to you. All the things he lacked, you had. But that didn't mean that you could replace Rita. He didn’t want you to.
And that was the difference. While he may have found qualities in you that resembled the ones he'd found in Rita, you were not her. Rita was gone, and it was his fault. She didn’t deserve to die, and yet she did. She deserved to grow old, to see Harrison grow up.
She deserved better.
The same went for you. You didn’t deserve a monster like him. The more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that he should stay away. It was for the best of both of you.
And yet he was here. On your couch, watching a shitty movie and drinking the beer you'd offered him. Because, despite his efforts, he couldn't keep his distance from you.
He should've known. When it came to you, Dexter didn't have a choice.
His gaze drifted over to your form as you sat down beside him. You were smiling, your eyes bright and focused on the television. A lock of hair fell across your face, and you pushed it back, the sleeve of your hoodie falling down slightly.
Dexter had never been so tempted to reach out and touch someone in his life.
It was a feeling that had been creeping up on him the last few weeks, and now, sitting with you, watching a bad movie, it was at an all-time high. He'd never craved intimacy. But there was something about you, a pull that he couldn't deny.
It gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. Reminded him of that need with Lila. God, Lila. What a mess that had turned out to be. Another thing to add to his growing list of mistakes.
And yet, the longer he stared, the more he found himself leaning forward. He didn’t register what he was doing until his lips were a hair width away from yours.
You froze but didn't move away. The only indication that you were startled was the widening of your eyes. They bore into his, unflinching. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
He was scared. Scared? Yes. That was what he was feeling. Why? He didn't know. Fear was new. It was a feeling reserved for Deb and sometimes his son, but even then, it was different.
But as Dexter gazed at you, so close and so beautiful, the fear melted away. It was replaced by a warmth that he was quickly becoming familiar with. It made his body thrum and his blood rush. It made him feel alive.
You were the first one to make a move. Well, not really a move, just the smallest shift forward, and then you were breathing the same air as him. You weren't kissing. You were just… waiting. Waiting for him to make the final move.
It was like an unspoken rule between the two of you, the power dynamic. He was the dominant one, and you were the submissive. You had never fought against it. You were a people pleaser, and he knew that.
It was one of the reasons he knew this was wrong. Because he couldn't stop, and you would never ask him to. Even now, as he hesitated, you waited patiently. You trusted him.
Why did you have to trust him? Why couldn't you be more selfish, more like him?
But deep down, Dexter knew that it wasn't your nature. You couldn't change, not any more than he could.
So, after another agonizing second, he closed the distance between you.
It was gentle, the way his lips pressed against yours. A stark contrast to the usual forcefulness he applied when taking his victims. No, with you, he was careful. Almost timid.
Your lips were soft and smooth, and the kiss was sweet. Nothing more than a simple caress. Dexter didn’t expect the tingling sensation it would cause, but the slight brush of your mouth sent shivers down his spine.
The kiss was short and chaste, but it was enough to leave him feeling dizzy. The heat spread through him, from the tips of his toes all the way to his cheeks.
Dexter pulled back, and you stared at him. His breath hitched in his throat at the look in your eyes. There was something there, something that mirrored his own emotions.
Was it possible? Was he really capable of such intense emotion?
Maybe he was.
You didn’t move. It was like time had stopped, and the only sound that could be heard was his own uneven breathing. That, and the movie playing in the background, which was forgotten as soon as your lips touched.
The urge to reach out and grab you was there. He could feel the need deep in his bones, in his soul. But instead, Dexter sat, staring. Staring into the eyes of the woman who had somehow managed to break down all the walls he'd spent his life building.
You didn't speak. There was nothing to say. No words could describe the feelings that had surfaced between the two of you. So, instead, you smiled. A simple, beautiful smile that had him feeling weak.
He could have stayed there forever, just looking at you, taking in the beauty that was you. It was a new experience for him, and it was nice.
“Debra is going to be pissed," you finally said, breaking the silence. “I’ll be bullied into telling her every detail."
He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, his lips curled up in amusement. It was true. Eventually, she’ll figure it out. Maybe she already knew but was waiting for confirmation. Debra was good at figuring out things, even if it wasn’t the most obvious answer.
His sister was good at a lot of things, like being a detective. And, apparently, being an interfering matchmaking nuisance.
At least she wouldn’t call you the things she called Lila.
The thought made him chuckle, and you looked at him in confusion, but it would have to stay a mystery to you. For what was life without a few private jokes between siblings, right?
You didn’t press for answers, though. You did what you’ve always done and waited for him—waited for him as if it was his turn in Chess.
And he did the only thing he could think to do. He kissed you again. And again. And again. And again. Until he had you pinned beneath him, your arms around his neck, and your breath coming out in heavy gasps.
The kisses were still innocent, just as you were. But he could feel the passion behind them, the hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that. It had been a long, long time.
But the longer he kissed you, the more the heat grew, and soon, he was lost in the sensation. Your hands found their way into his hair, and you tugged at the strands. His heart was racing, and the sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears.
It was exhilarating.
Your lips parted, allowing his tongue to slip inside, and the innocence was gone. Replaced by a desire that left him trembling. The feeling of your tongue against his, the taste of you on his lips, the smell of your shampoo mixed with your unique scent—it was all intoxicating.
The movie continued to play in the background, forgotten as you pulled him closer. The warmth in his chest intensified, and Dexter didn't fight it. Instead, he embraced it. He gave in to his emotions and let himself feel.
He didn’t go too far; he knew you weren't ready for that yet. The craving was there, and it was strong, but the moment wasn’t right. Instead, he satisfied himself by touching your skin, mapping out every inch of it, memorizing the way it felt under his fingertips.
And, when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, he held onto you, refusing to let go. His eyes searched yours, searching for something. Anything. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he didn’t find it.
He mostly saw fear, anger, and some regret when he had them pinned down beneath him. Of course, that was usually the case with his victims. Fear, anger, and regret were normal emotions—a reaction to being trapped by their own demise.
Having someone look up at him with emotions on the other side of the spectrum was different. Not a bad different, just... different.
Rita had been the first to look at him like that. Lumen did, too, once upon a time. And Lila, well, her emotions were never consistent.
But you? You looked up at him with an expression that was all too familiar and yet not quite the same. Your eyes were full of affection and desire, yes. But they were also filled with something else. Something he couldn't place.
Something he couldn’t understand.
"Dex,” your voice was so soft, a whisper. He almost didn’t hear it, and yet, he felt it. He felt the way his name rolled off your tongue, and it was like music to his ears.
"Yeah?" he whispered back. He didn’t know why he did that; it wasn't like the two of you were speaking in a library or something. Maybe it was the way the light danced in your eyes, the way the colors reflected off the white walls, casting an ethereal glow.
"I didn’t expect you to be… like this," you murmured. You ran a finger over his cheek, down to his jawline. He swallowed thickly. He could feel his pulse quicken.
"Like what?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Not bad," you replied. Your lips curved up, and his eyes were drawn to them. They were red and swollen from kissing, and it was such a contrast to the pale skin of your face.
"You think I'm not bad?" he said, raising his brows. "I'm flattered."
You shook your head. "You know what I mean," you said. "I just meant that you're different than how you come off. I didn’t think you'd be so... bold.”
He snorted. Bold. If you only knew.
"I guess I'm full of surprises," he said, smirking. You rolled your eyes and punched him lightly in the shoulder, only for him to catch it and press a kiss to the back of your hand. It was something he picked up from a movie once, and it seemed to be a pretty romantic gesture. And by the look on your face, it seemed to be appreciated.
You didn't say anything else. You didn't have to. There was nothing else to say. The two of you simply enjoyed each other's company, content to just be together. The movie might've been a failure, but the night wasn’t.
And when Dexter finally left, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Not the type of relief he felt after a successful kill, but the type of relief one feels after a burden is lifted off their shoulders. The type of relief one gets when they are finally honest with themselves.
Rita was gone. Lumen was gone. And although his guilt and shame were still there, his self-loathing and fear were slowly starting to fade away. It wasn't gone, it was never going to be, but it was a start.
A fresh start.
A new beginning.
A new moon.
Yes, tonight was the night that changed everything. Tonight, Dexter Morgan learned that maybe he was more than the monster he thought he was.
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Hello, You. (Dexter Morgan x Stalker!Reader) PROLOGUE
a/n: hello, you. (get it? hehe). ANYWAYS sorry i've been gone for a while. i've literally been depressed for like months but I'M OKAY NOW. i promise. so, in honor of my mental health being good now, i wrote this story about a reader who REALLY needs to see a doctor.
word count: 1,466
warnings: dead dove: do not eat, mentions of attempted rape (and rape in general), assault, borderline psychopath reader, stalking, like one mention of abortion, joe goldberg core
Hello, you. Dexter Morgan, you sick and beautiful freak of nature. I know what you’ve done. I’ll stay quiet for now since I’m such a good girlfriend. Well, about the girlfriend part. You don’t know yet. But you will soon, my love.
I would tell you how long I’ve been following you, but I fear it would make you more likely to run the other way. But the thing about that is I don’t want you gone yet. You don’t know yet that you desire me to. The same way I enjoy and crave you.
Ever since Rita died, your life has been fading colors, Dexter. You lack a desire, a need to kill, and feel that release. And I understand that better than anyone. Sure, the context may differ for us, but it always leads down the same path. You don’t have that drive, but I do. And more importantly, I want to give you that purpose you feel you lack. I’ve done everything to get your eyes to meet mine, but everything never works. It’s like I’m some piece of glass you can ignore. You want to look past me, Dexter, but I find that incredibly flustering when I’m standing there. I’ve quit jobs at places frequently and wore heavy makeup and ugly clothes, all for you. You can’t ignore me forever, Dexter.
Now I sit in a nearly empty store, just for you. It’s like I said, you can’t ignore me for long.
The store is bland and uninteresting, a place I would never expect you to be. Of course, this is where you’ll see me finally. You wouldn’t be able to unsee me. I’ve dyed my hair and changed my appearance. It’ll be hard to recognize me of the changes I’ve made. I know you’ll think: I’ve seen this girl before, but I can’t place where. But the truth is that you’ve noticed me in everything your eyes have touched. At supermarkets and malls, where I just watch you and your children enjoy a day out together. Then, your wife was murdered brutally by the Trinity Killer. Now, did I have connections to the Trinity Killer to cause her death? No, unfortunately. The death of your wife was still all him. But I quickly struck when I knew it was my time to shine. The children, not including Harrison, were finally gone. Now that I can manage. You, Harrison, and I could finally be the perfect family together.
But you had to make things complicated. First, it was Lila West. Now, I don’t like cheaters, Dexter. But here’s the thing about that. It's hard to compare all of your actions and say that cheating on your wife is the worst of them.
She was a serial arsonist. Lila didn’t understand anything about you, but she was good at taking care of your so-called addiction to heroin. You told her what she wanted to comprehend. Lila tried to save you when you were unsavable in her eyes. She wanted to save the unsavable.
Next thing you know, she’s off to France after almost killing you and Rita’s children in a house fire. She ran from you when you didn’t choose her over your wife. Pathetic, honestly. As much as I can say that I would do the same, I would be wrong. Dexter, I’ve known you for years now. We were coming up on our fourth year together. My fourth year in your life without you knowing of my existence.
Then that girl came into your life. What’s her name?
Oh, right, Lumen—the poor girl from Minnesota who sweetly begged for your help in the killing of her rapists. As much as she got in my way, I will admit, I did like her for you.
If I failed to exist, you would've destined to be with her. How funny fate works, though, since she left your sight in the blink of an eye. Was that my doing? For the most part, it was all her. Lucky me that I didn’t have to do anything before she told you that her dark passenger had left her and how she finally managed to heal from the torment. It's funny how someone so tortured by her past could move on so quickly, unlike you, who seems forever stuck in that cargo container.
My point is every girl in your life has left you in some capacity.
And the only male figure in your life failed you. I, however, understand that you don’t need saving or fixing. Killing is a part of you. Harry made that very clear to you. He tried to save you by shaping you into a hero. But as we both know, that didn’t last very long.
Now you’re here in Iron Lake, New York. Ten years clear from killings. I’m sitting outside the homely yet bland store, waiting for you to leave. Yes, I plan to follow you home. But I have a good reason. Tonight’s the night I tell you of the accident you saved me from, how you caught the man that could’ve killed me that very night. You rescued me by slaughtering him.
You probably don’t remember that night. I don’t blame you for that. It was just another kill for you. But allow me to enlighten you.
It was when you were still in Miami, November 1st, about nine at night.
I was leaving a bar after another sad night alone. A man follows me out of the bar. I can’t remember his name or his face. You would be better at recognizing his name and his face than me. All I do recall is someone grabbing me as I left, pulling me into an alley. His hand covered my screams, his other holding a hunting knife to my throat.
"Shut the fuck up, or this goes straight through your fucking neck." The man threatened, pressing the knife deeper into my neck.
I’d be powerless my whole life, always a second choice, but I never pled for what happened to me. But I don’t blame him for what he targeted me—a vulnerable young woman leaving a bar in early November. It’s a recipe for murder.
My voice tries to scream out more, my body thrashing against his. The man's grip moves away from my mouth, moving down my body. I feel tears swell in my eyes as his hand pulls up my skirt and pulls down my panties. I knew where this was going, and I was terrified. I couldn’t afford a police investigation or an abortion. I would have to carry the baby, that fucking rape baby.
Suddenly, the knife he was holding drops out of his hand. His threatening pleas of my silence turn hushed as I hear his body thud against the pavement. The loose rocks and debris scratch against his body as you drag him away. My eyes are shut tight, too scared to open them. But I knew it was you, the Bay Harbor Butcher. Things like this were happening all over the city. Stories of your heroism, saving all walks of life. You were a hero, never the villain. I just never thought it would happen to me.
The dragging briefly turns shushed as I feel your eyes on me. "Go. Run far." You say in a hushed tone.
My eyes shoot open, and it feels like my feet think for me. I do as you say. I ran, and I ran fast. My feet and lungs held my body as upright as they could. Finally, I reached a gas station near my apartment before I became tired. I ran five miles the night, just on adrenaline alone.
That’s how you saved my life that night, Dexter. Three words. You had given me a purpose and something to fight for.
It wasn’t hard to find you after that. I searched in forums across the internet, talking of this Bay Harbor Butcher persona of yours. Of course, I never encountered you on any of those, which I should’ve figured. So, my search efforts had become ten times harder. So, I did what any logical person would do and found patterns within your murders, all criminals who either went under the radar or were recently released. You try to save the people, like some sick and twisted Batman. When, if anything, you follow closer to Bateman than the caped crusader. I did what a cop or detective couldn’t have done in a year. After all that time and effort, I found your name and shady Iron Lake cabin: Dexter Morgan, a man in the countryside with a girlfriend who's a cop. Shame for her since she won’t live to hear my declaration. But even if she does, she won’t like what she hears.
#dexter morgan#dexter showtime#michael c hall#dexter morgan x reader#send help#i want him#dead dove do not eat
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Taunt
obviously, i feel very normal and chill about ewan's new performance in saltburn. anyways lmao this is my version of michael gavey from the vibes i got from him in the 5 seconds he's in the trailer! i have no idea if this is accurate to how he is truly portrayed in the movie! if the movie comes out and i'm totally wrong, then i don't care bc i got to have fun writing about a cheeky lil oxford student!!
summary: you're nearly failing statistics and the student your professor asks to tutor you seems to gain a sick satisfaction from seeing you squirm; he hates you...or so think.
pairing: michael gavey x reader
warnings: mature, 18+ (minors, do not enter!!!) no use of Y/N, afab reader, profanity, smut, piv smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub, brief daddy kink (literally one mention), dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation (only a bit), size kink if you squint, mild angst but happy ending, choking i guess (barely), public sex (they're alone but like it's still public lmao), brief discussions of math -- please let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 10.5k (dear lord)
a/n: baby's first fic omg! if you enjoy this one and want to see more from me, please feel free to send in requests! (GoT, HoTD, Stranger Things, Marvel, etc!)
PRAISE | Taunt Part 2
MAKING AMENDS | Bonus
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!🌟
“Right, so,” Professor Davies began, pulling a thick textbook off the shelf next to his desk, “Since we’ve only just returned from Easter holiday, I thought I’d go easy on you today.”
A few quiet groans could be heard around the room, a couple students turning to look at one another with grimaces; in the few weeks you’ve been in Professor Davies’s class, he’s never once gone easy on you. With a small sigh, you shuffle through your spiral notebook until you come to a blank page.
“D’you think you’ll go to the party this weekend?” Louise whispers, leaning over closer to you as she twirls a pen around in her fingers, “I heard this one is supposed to be fucking insane.”
“Like any of Felix’s parties aren’t insane?” You whisper back, smirking as you doodle a small flower on the corner of a page of paper, “Of course I’ll be there,” you murmur, watching as Professor Davies writes an intricate formula on the chalkboard, “I could really use a break, anyway…I’ve been so stressed recently.”
“Christ…” A boy, in the row of desks in front of you scoffs, just barely shaking his head as he copies down the formula, his handwriting sharp and choppy. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes, staring intently at his sandy hair. You didn’t really know him, this being your only class with him, but you’d seen him around campus, regularly passing by him in the halls. Oxford may be a large university, but when you’re on campus everyday, you begin recognizing familiar faces.
He didn’t run in the same crowds as you at all, and you got the distinct impression that he looked down on you and the rest of your friends, but you knew his name – Michael and that he was incredibly smart, his hand promptly shooting into the air anytime Professor Davies asked a question. In the few weeks you’d been in the same statistics class, you had yet to see him get a question wrong, watching as he grinned, cocky, everytime he was praised for correctly solving even the most intricate of formulas.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more the opposite, always shying away and praying not to hear Professor Davies call your name in his deep, baritone voice every time his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a volunteer, or victim, more like. While Michael clearly enjoyed the class, practically glowing with an arrogant confidence as soon as he walked into the wood paneled lecture hall, you were simply here to check it off as a requirement of your major, hoping to survive the class with a C and nothing more.
It was annoying, you wouldn’t deny that, the way that smug smirk seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, how that stupid taunting glimmer was an ever-present fixture of his blue eyes — blue eyes which, seemingly, always managed to find their way to you, one way or another.
His attention was intimidating at first, his cold stare leaving you unsure of what exactly his intention was. Was he trying to challenge you? Trying to determine if he knew you from somewhere else? A small part of you, a naive part, hoped that his staring was meant to be affectionate; he was cute, you’d admit it! Always showing up to class in cozy knit sweaters, his wavy hair still ruffled and untidy as if he’d just gotten out of bed, gold rimmed glasses perched atop a strong nose.
You quickly tear your gaze away from the back of Michael’s head, biting your bottom lip as you begin copying down the problem on the chalkboard, pausing briefly when you see, from the corner of your eye, his head turn as he glances at you over his shoulder. You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, that small, sanguine voice in the back of your head cheering.
“Now, then,” Professor Davies booms, dropping the textbook down on his desk with a cacophonous thud before sweeping his eyes across the classroom, “A bit of review before we really dive in…” He continues, pacing around the front of the room as he explains the various parts and pieces of the equation on the board.
“What do you think you’ll wear?” Louise asks, leaning over once more to whisper in your ear, you can smell her signature floral perfume on her hair, “I was thinking I’d do that new blue-ish dress I got, you know, the strappy one?”
“Might still be too cold for strappy,” you whisper back, half listening to the professor drone on as you continue doodling on your paper, pausing every few minutes to jot down a few haphazard notes, “I was just thinking I’d do a jumper, probably a skirt and tights–”
Suddenly, you hear Professor Davies call your name, your cheeks practically stinging as blood rushes to your face. Sitting up straighter, you finally find the courage to meet his stern gaze, “Since you seem all too eager to share your thoughts,” He continues slowly stalking towards you across wooden floorboards that softly creak beneath his feet, “Would you care to enlighten us with the solution to the quadratic equation on the board?” He comes to a stop, hands clasped behind his back as he patiently waits for you to answer, a small, knowing smile poised on his lips.
“I– uhm, well,” you stutter, glancing back and forth between your barely there notes and the chalkboard, throat growing tighter as you feel everyone's eyes on you, “Don’t you need to solve for G first?”
“And how would you go about doing that?”
“Well, you would…” You trail off, desperately trying to remember the lessons you’d had before Easter holiday, absentmindedly picking at your cuticle as you pray to be anywhere but here or for a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole, “I…I don’t recall, professor. I’m sorry.” You finally say, not being able to meet his gaze as you stare intently at your lap, desperately willing yourself not to cry, even as you feel your eyes stinging.
“Perhaps, in the future, it would be of benefit to socialize with your friends outside of my classroom.” Professor Davies admonishes, giving a sharp glare to Louise as well, who manages an apologetic smile.
“Yes, Professor.” You whisper, keeping your eyes downturned.
Finally, you hear the floorboards softly creaking once more as Professor Davies makes his way back up to the podium at the front of the room and once again resumes his lecture. You can’t help but pause for a second when you hear a small snicker from the tall boy in front of you, sensing as he peers at you over his shoulder once again.
“Would anyone else like to take a crack at the problem on the board?” Professor Davies asks, leaning against the old, worn podium at the front of the room. Like clockwork, Michael’s hand shoots into the air. Somehow, that makes you blush even harder.
Eventually, Professor Davies finishes his lecture and retrieves his dark leather briefcase from under the desk, pulling a thick stack of papers out and sitting them on the podium, leaning over it with a sigh, “I have your tests graded. Most of you did very well, you should be pleased with yourselves. Some of you, however,” He says pointedly, “Could benefit greatly from a closer study of the material.”
Slowly, he walks around the room passing back tests, throwing out a comment here and there as he did so. You already know you hadn't done well on that particular test and dread getting it back and confirming your suspicions, so you keep yourself busy, choosing to meticulously pack up your things instead.
“Mr. Gavey,” he said a few feet away from you, papers rustling as he slid the test across the wooden surface of the long bench desks, “Once more, an outstanding job! Top of the class, keep it up.”
“Thank you, Professor,” you glance up, watching as he takes the paper with a humble nod, that same, oh-so pleased smile gracing his angular face. He must sense you looking at him and quickly shifts his gaze in your direction, eyes glimmering with self-satisfaction behind his gold-rimmed glasses as his smile quickly turns into a smirk. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his with a small, bewildered huff. Why did he seem to get so much satisfaction from besting you, of all people? It’s not like you were exactly an academic threat.
“Ms. Bickerstaff,” Professor Davies says, finally appearing next to the table you and Louise sat at, “Not bad, a bit more effort next time and you’re sure to be on track,” he remarks, sliding her paper across the desk. Louise thanks him with a small smile as she flips through her test, eyes scanning over his marks.
Finally, Professor Davies stands before you once again, your paper the very last in his hands. You hear him mutter your last name before he slides the paper across the desk to you, and you can’t help but deflate as you see your grade; you knew it would be bad, but that? How on Earth were you going to recover your average? What if you had to retake the whole course? What if you failed out of Oxford entirely? Your parents had sacrificed so much to help you get here, spending years and untold amounts of money on private tutors and extracurricular materials, all to help you have an impressive application! Not to mention the money just for the course fees! Unlike most of your friends, you didn’t come from piles and piles of money and status – your family was alright, sure, but you were definitely several tax brackets below them.
As your thoughts spiraled, you felt Louise elbow you in the side at the same time you heard Professor Davies address you again. Shaking your head to clear your scattered thoughts, you clear your throat and finally turn to look up at him, “Sorry, yes, Professor?”
“As I was saying,” Professor Davies continues, tapping the papers in front of you, “I would like to discuss your performance with you today, after class. Please meet me at the front of the room before you go.”
“Yes, sir.” you mumble dejectedly, nodding as you quickly flip the test over, embarrassed at the thought of anyone else seeing your grade.
“I’ll see you later, babes,” Louise says a few minutes later as everyone is clearing out of the room, “Good luck!” She whispers, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making her way to the door.
“Thanks!” you smile weakly, swallowing the lump in your throat before picking up your things and heading to the front of the room. The afternoon sun is already getting lower in the sky, beams of light shining into the room, bathing rectangular swaths of the floor in bright, golden light and highlighting motes of dust as they scatter in the air. Only a few students are left in the classroom, some of them finishing up notes while others type out quick texts. As you walk by his desk, you notice Michael scribbling down notes in his planner.
You shuffle your feet nervously as you stand in front of the sizable oak desk that your professor sits at, watching as he adds a sticky note to the top of another stack of papers, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”
“Ah, yes!” He says, looking up at you over his glasses. He quickly caps his pen and stands, walking around the desk to stand in front of you, “I know this class has been quite the challenge,” he begins, leaning against the desk, “But, I think I’ve found a solution for you.”
“You have?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion.
“I think you could benefit greatly from a tutor, perhaps a peer who could explain the material to you in a different way,” he continues, “And I have just the student in mind.” Instantly, you feel a pit beginning to form in your stomach, biting your bottom lip as you watch Professor Davies motion for someone behind you to come up to the desk, “Mr. Gavey, if you could join us up here, please.”
You freeze when you feel him saunter up beside you, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye. He was so much taller than you, your head barely grazing his shoulder, as he came to a stop next to you, standing casually with his backpack slung over one shoulder.
Professor Davies once again turns his attention to you, motioning to Michael as he speaks, “Mr. Gavey here is one of my most capable students,” you can’t help but notice him stand up straighter at the comment, growing somehow even taller, “I’ve taken the liberty of asking him if he would be so kind as to assist you with some of the course work and he agreed.” You freeze a little at that, stunned that he would be so quick to help you when he seems to relish any opportunity to make you squirm. “I’ve given it some thought,” the professor continues, fixing you with a stern gaze, “And I’m willing to let you make corrections to your test and resubmit it for half credit.”
“Oh, thank you so much, prof–”
“However,” he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, “This will be the only time I do so. From now on, I suggest you see Mr. Gavey here on a regular basis; the material is only going to get more challenging as we begin this next unit.”
“Of course, professor. Thank you again.” You respond quietly, shifting uneasily as you stand between the two men.
“Right, well, now that’s sorted,” Professor Davies says, clapping his hands together once as he turns and makes his way back over to the desk chair, sitting down with a tired sigh, “I trust the two of you can come to an agreement upon when and where to meet. I’ll see you again Monday, have a pleasant weekend.” He says, waving his hand dismissively as he goes back to organizing his papers.
The two of you murmur your goodbyes before making your way into the hall, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as he follows you out of the classroom. Eventually, you come across a small alcove in the hallway; finally turning to face him, you let your eyes sweep up his body, finally coming to meet his blue eyes, slightly hidden behind the glare of the hallway lights on his glasses.
“So,” you clear your throat and shift on your feet awkwardly, “Uh, what time works for you? I really can’t do Saturdays–” you begin, only to be cut off.
“Shame,” Michael sighs dismissively, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, “Saturday is the only day that works for me.”
The tone of his voice and the mirthful glint in his eyes makes you very much doubt that, your gaze narrowing, “Okay, well Saturday’s are the only day I have off,” you huff, only growing more annoyed as the stupid smirk on his face grows with satisfaction, no doubt pleased that he’s being a nuisance, “Besides, I super can’t tomorrow, anyway. I already promised my friends I’d come with them to this party tha–”
“Oh, I know about your little party,” Michael scoffs, “Trust me, love, the whole damn class heard about that stupid fucking party with the way you lot were running your mouths earlier,” he chuckles coldly, continuing in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, one hand coming up to mime twirling a lock of hair, “Oooooh, it’s so cold, can’t wear the fuckin’ strappy dress, gotta wear me jumper and little slutty skirt, la-dee-dah.” He finishes with a final huff of laughter.
“What is your deal with me?!” You finally snap, glaring at him, even as you feel your face redden, “You’ve been a dick all semester and I haven’t done anything to you! I’ve never even talked to you!” Glancing around the empty hallway, you cross your arms over your chest, praying no one’s in earshot to hear your hissed tirade.
“I might not know you but I know plenty about your little friends,” he sneers, shaking his head like a disappointed father; the sight makes your blood boil.
“What does that even mean?” You demand, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did your friends have to do with any of this? None of them ever spoke about Michael, none of them even knew him as far as you were aware.
His face softens, if only for a moment, as he registers the genuine confusion on your face, smirk faltering as his eyes narrow. He leans in closer to you as he begins speaking again and you can’t help but get a brief smell of the cologne he wears, something warm and woodsy that makes you think of a bookshop and the smell of the forest after it rains, “Come on,” he starts, blue eyes flitting between both of yours as he looks at you intently, “Felix Catton? You and your little friend, the one from class, you go around with him, yeah?”
You nod, giving him another puzzled look, confused as to what the hell Felix has to do with any of his disdain, “Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, “But, what does he have to do with anything?”
Michael huffs once more, almost laughing to himself as he shakes his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “See, we went to school together, him and I – some of primary, all of secondary,” he shrugs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he traps you in his gaze once again, “And I just don’t fucking like the guy. Can’t stand him, never could’ve.”
You’re silent for a second, and now it’s your turn to flick your eyes back and forth, searching each of his for some sort of coherent answer and yet you come up empty. “But, what does that have to do with me?” You ask slowly, making sure to carefully enunciate each word.
“Don’t trust the people around him either,” he mutters, gazing down at his shoe, “Weirdos, the whole lot. There’s something…off about the guy. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something dark there, all around him. Like he’s putting on one big show. All his little gremlins do too, they all act the same.”
The two of you are silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say next. You chance a glance up at him, nearly gasping when you find him already gazing at you – an unreadable expression on his face. Yet a light blush still blooms on your cheeks as you quickly look away once again, your heart thudding so loudly you’re wondering if he can hear it – hell, you’re wondering why you’re reacting this way at all, why you’re so shy and skittish around him.
“M’not like that,” you very nearly whisper, finally seeming to regain your voice. Only to lose it once again when he takes a half step toward you, suddenly crowding you further into the small alcove.
He makes a small noise, damn near cooing at you, tilting his head to the side when he notices you flinch as he raises an arm, gently raising your chin with one hand, angling your head up to meet his gaze, that signature smirk once again taking hold on his face as he looks at you curiously, “You’re not like that, are you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy.
You quickly shake your head, blinking up at him, unsure of what exactly he wants from you. You feel your cheeks stinging for the umpteenth time today with how hard you’re blushing, a strange feeling taking root in your stomach the longer you stare at him, that small voice in your head positively cheering.
But, as quickly as whatever spell he seems to have on you takes hold, it’s broken as he suddenly lets go of your chin and steps back, casually pursing his lips and nodding to himself, coming to some unknown decision in his head, “Meet me in Bodleian, tomorrow at five. There’s hardly anyone up on the third floor on the weekends, so we'll be able to focus.” He says simply, turning on his heel to leave without even giving you a second to answer.
“But I’m bus–”
“D’you want a good grade or do you want to go get drunk with your creepy gremlin friends?” He asks, peering over his shoulder as he saunters down the hallway, raising an eyebrow at you over the shiny gold rim of his glasses, “S’your call, love.” He finishes with a shrug, disappearing as he turns a corner and leaves you standing there alone, frowning and dumbstruck.
“Bodleian at five it is,” you mutter to yourself, sighing as you turn and walk the opposite way, desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the fog in your brain.
Your shoes tap against the stone pavement as you walk up to the old library, backpack slung over one shoulder; reaching into a pocket of your backpack, you blindly grab for your phone as you pull open one of the heavy, old wooden doors and step into the atrium. Out of all of Oxford’s libraries, you had to admit that Bodleian was one of your favorites; it had such a soothing atmosphere – from the way the evening light trickled in through the old glass windows, to the intricate wooden decor, and the way the entire place smelled of the old, well-loved books that lined the countless rows of shelves.
Stepping to the side of the entryway, you check the time, your hand shaking a bit as you unlock your phone – 4:53pm, a little early, still. Sighing, you crane your head, nervously looking for Michael. Not seeing him, you decide to bide your time examining one of the tall bookshelves near the entrance, eyes skimming over their titles as you fiddle with the strings of the hoodie you’d decided to wear. Smiling, you lean up on your tiptoes to grab a copy of The Two Towers, happy to see a familiar book. Just as your fingers graze over the embossed gold lettering on the spine of the book, a large pair of hands grab you by the shoulders.
“Boo!” Someone whispers, close enough that you feel the warmth of their breath on the side of your neck.
You spin around with a small shriek, jerking your head to the side when a hand is suddenly clasped over your mouth.
“Shh! Hey, relax!” Finally managing to focus on the face in front of you, your breathing slows as your gaze meets a pair of round blue eyes. Michael’s face is only inches from yours, concern evident, even behind the mask of a smirk he wears. “It’s only me.” He says softly, smirk softening into a genuine smile that sends a frantic tingle down your spine, which you desperately try to ignore as you nod against his hand, gasping in a small breath as it lowers once again to rest on your shoulder.
“Hi.” Blinking up at him, you breathe the word more so than say it as you settle back on your feet, cheeks flushing as you realize he has his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward ever so slightly, like he wanted to make sure your head didn’t hit the sharp edge of one of the shelves; the voice in your head purrs as the butterflies in your stomach summersalt.
“Hi.” He answers and you feel the hand on your shoulder twitch, the ghost of a comforting squeeze or rub causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end as some strange, warm weight settles in the pit of your stomach.
Suddenly, whatever spell the two of you seemed to be under broke and you quickly clambered away from one another. Michael cleared his throat, running a hand through his wheat colored hair as you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, trying to look anywhere but in his direction. “Should we–” He starts suddenly, nodding his head to a staircase at the other end of the room, “It’ll be quieter up there.”
“Sure!” You chirp, giving him a curt nod, “Lead the way, you seem to know the place better than I do.”
“Well,” he chuckles, keeping his voice low as he moves past you, “S’what happens when you don’t spend all your damn time at weirdo parties.”
You roll your eyes behind him, huffing as you start following him up the staircase, one of your hands gliding across the smooth, polished wood of the bannister.
“Sorry.” He says suddenly as you reach the third floor of the library, running a hand through his hair once again as he stands at the top of the staircase.
“What?” You ask, coming to a stop on the last step and looking up at him, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the handrail.
“For earlier,” he explains, gesturing for you to follow him as he starts making his way to the back corner of the large, open space, the one furthest from the stairs, “Scaring you, I mean. Didn’t mean to.”
You’re quiet for a moment, following him as the two of you walk past aisle after aisle of towering bookshelves. The area is definitely quieter than the main floor, nearly vacant aside from one or two lone students sitting at the long wooden study tables. It’s calm up here, evening light filtering in through large windows on either end of the long room, casting large shadows on the floor and vaulted ceilings.
Eventually, the two of you come to a stop at a table, the very last in its row, tucked away in a corner. “It’s alright,” you shrug, trying to keep your voice soft in the quiet space as you sit your backpack on the edge of the table, “I don’t know why I’m so jumpy today, maybe the tea from earlier.” You lie, hopefully smoothly, and quickly grab a pen and notebook as well, before sitting down.
Michael huffs to himself as he sits his things out on the table as well, like he’s laughing at a joke you can’t hear, “Maybe it’s all that tension.”
“Wh– tension?” You question, cringing at the urgency in your voice as you pray that he doesn’t pick up on it, shifting in your seat as he pulls out the chair next to you and plops down, completely relaxed as if he owns the place.
“The stress? That you were meant to be working out at Catton’s?” He gives you an odd look, resting his head against his hand as he leans his elbow on the table, “Couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation yesterday.”
“Oh…” You breathe, a pink haze settling over your cheeks once more as you fidget with your pen, acutely aware of how easily he seems to be able to make you blush.
The smirk on his face widens as he narrows his eyes, studying you in a way that makes your heart squeeze, your thighs clenching together as that heady weight from earlier makes itself known again in your stomach, “You can’t keep one thought in that head, can you, love?”
You blink, unsure of what to say, as two halves of your brain argue with one another. Why is he so mean? You wonder to yourself, eyes searching his, as you frown, And…God, why do I like it?
“Why don’t you like me?” You ask, finally breaking the silence with your small voice.
He scoffs again, shaking his head as if the answer should be obvious to you, “You don’t take it seriously. You come to class and whisper and gossip with your damn friend or doodle in your little notebook, but you don’t fucking listen.” He sits back up, frowning, “I work hard every fucking day in there, for fuck’s sake, I only agreed to help you because I want to be Davies’s teaching assistant next year! Yet you and Catton and everyone like you can just pay their way in here, collecting a little diploma from Oxford just so their parents can brag about it with their stupid fucking rich friends.” He finally finishes, turning his head to stare out the window.
“Told you, I’m not like that,” you whisper after a moment, voice wavering from the tightness in the back of your throat, “I’m here on scholarship, same as you.”
His eyes flit back to you, his frown deepening, “How did you know ab–”
“Like I’m not going to ask around about the guy tutoring me?”
“Fair enough.” He concedes after a minute.
Silence settles over the two of you again, like a stalemate, waiting to see who would crack first. Finally, you turn to him with a sigh, nodding to your test paper on the desk, “Can we just get this done? I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”
“Ah, of course,” he nods as he picks up your test, looking over the first incorrect problem, “Catton’s big important party. And you’re stuck here with a loser like me; must really be doing your head in, huh?”
You want so badly to correct him, to tell him that no, actually, for once, you were kind of excited to not be at one of Felix’s parties. You wanted to tell him that you’d hoped things would be different, maybe if it was just the two of you he would drop the arrogant asshole bit, that you stupidly hoped it was just an act.
Instead, you bite your lip, determined not to lash out and give him another reason to dislike you, “I don’t think you’re a loser, Michael,” you say, tiredly meeting his gaze, “Can we just focus on this now, please?”
He’s quiet for a moment, frozen like you’d said something groundbreaking. Finally, he nods his head, almost imperceptibly like he’d come to a decision you weren’t privy to, “Sure,” he says gruffly, grabbing your test and reading over the first incorrect problem, “S’not like I’m the one failing.” He finishes, his voice tight and determined, like he knew it was something he’d regret saying even as the words left his mouth.
See? You think silently, pointed words aimed at that stupid voice in your head, Told you so.
It’s barely an hour later and you already feel cross-eyed, groaning as Michael flips your test over to the next page and you see you’re only just now halfway done correcting the ones you’d gotten wrong. You hate to admit it to yourself, but his tutoring was helping — problems that you’d hardly been able to finish the first time seem far less daunting as he explains them to you. Even he seems less daunting as the hour goes on; shockingly, he doesn’t make anymore snide comments and you can tell that he genuinely enjoys talking about the subject, patiently helping you through each problem.
“Can we take a break?” You grumble, laying your head down on top of your textbook.
“What?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he checks his watch, “It’s hardly been an hour and you’re ready to give up?”
“‘M not giving up,” you mumble, “I just think we could use a little break…” You say hopefully, looking at him with a small smile. When he doesn’t break, holding your gaze with a frown, you sigh, “Just, like, ten minutes, please?”
You want to groan again when you see that formidable smirk make its home on his lips again, “Say please again.” He commands, his voice low.
“Huh?” You balk, nearly dropping your phone as you retrieve it from your pocket.
“Say please again,” he says slowly, his smirk only growing wider as he watches your cheeks redden, “Beg.”
“W-why?” You question, face burning as you try your damndest to look unbothered by his request.
He shrugs dismissively, “Makes you squirm,” he answers finally, leaning back in his chair, “I like that.”
“Why?” Your voice is so small you doubt he’d even know you spoke if his eyes weren’t fixed on you.
He hums, a satisfied noise, like you’ve finally managed to meander into a trap he’d set ages ago, “S’fucking cute,” he huffs out a laugh when he sees your eyes widen, “Makes you blush and act all dumb.”
You know you should be offended, but you can’t find it within yourself to care, “You think I’m cute?”
He chuckles, sighing, “That’s what you choose to focus on?”
“Do you?”
“Fine, yes.”
“Please, Michael,” you say suddenly, the words feeling practically punched from your throat, “Please, please can we have a break? Please, only ten minutes?” You beg, breathing hard as you quickly scan the room, shoulders relaxing when you don’t see anyone else sitting at the study tables.
You see the way his eyes widen behind his glasses, like he can’t believe you actually did it, before they narrow once more, overtaken by a satisfied gleam, “Ten minutes.” He says simply, leaning back in his chair yet again, letting his head flop back, relaxed, and closes his eyes.
You don’t move for a second, letting your eyes study the side of his face, looking over his sharp jawline and the curve of his nose. After a moment, you look away, deciding to pull out your phone.
A few minutes go by as you answer a few texts from Louise, telling her that you miss her too and how you wish you were at the party — a lie, though you can’t find it within yourself to care. You busy yourself for a while longer, watching a few people's Instagram stories, the volume on your phone muted as you watch your friends dance under colorful strobe lights, blowing smoke at the camera and clinking drinks together.
“I meant what I said.” You say finally, laying your phone on the table and picking at one of your cuticles.
“Hm?” Michael questions, not bothering to open his eyes.
“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you answer, fidgeting, “I never have. I think you’re…intriguing.”
“Intriguing?” He asks, finally sitting up and looking at you with a questioning stare, “How so?”
You swallow, tucking your hair behind your ear with a shrug, “You’re smart…you know you’re smart,” you start, voice small and shaky, “I like that.”
“You like that or you like me?” He’s looking at you like a cat playing with a helpless mouse, looking at you like he knows he’s already won a game you don’t even know the two of you are playing.
“You.” It comes out as a breath.
He doesn’t answer and eventually you look away from him, choosing to stare out the window at the streetlights outside, the sky dark.
Finally, the silence becomes overbearing and you break first again, “Thank you,” you smile at him, keeping your voice low even though you know the rest of the floor is vacant, even though the noise of the floors below has drastically faded over the last hour, “For helping me, I mean. You probably have a dozen things you’d rather do on a Saturday.”
He stays quiet for a few seconds, “I didn’t really have anything better to do,” he smirks, “No parties.”
“None?”
“Never,” he shakes his head, shrugging, “Don’t get invited.”
“Oh,” you answer simply, “Well, still, either way, thank you.” You smile again, but it falters when he leans forward suddenly, crowding into your space with a sly grin, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck.
“I know a way you could repay me, love,” he whispers lowly into your ear, your hair standing on end, “Only if you want to, of course.” He adds, his long fingers toying with a strand of your hair.
Your eyes grow comically wide as you process what he just said, “H-how do you want me to repay you?” You whisper, your eyes finally meeting his.
He laughs softly, letting go of the strand of your hair to rest his hand lightly against the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheek as he watches a rosy hue settle across it, “I can think,” he starts, thumb moving lower to skate across your bottom lip, slightly tugging the skin with it, “Of one very fucking good way to put this mouth to use, love.”
You part your lips slightly, letting the tip of his thumb into your mouth, just barely holding it between your teeth as you lightly run your tongue over it, heart skipping a beat at the way his lips just barely part in shock as you do. The voice in your head purrs again, roaring back to life, and you nod, smiling around his finger.
“Yeah?” He questions, smirking as he watches your lips twitch around his thumb, “”Y’wanna?”
“Yes.” You reply around his thumb, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearm, the fabric of his rust colored sweater soft under your hands.
“Beg.” He commands again, eyes twinkling.
You take in a breath, eyes slipping shut as your thighs clench around nothing – missing the way Michael glances down at the movement, a knowing grin forming on his face, “Please, Michael.” You practically whine.
“Ooh,” he coos, finally moving his thumb from your mouth, only to trail his hand down your neck, lightly resting it against your throat, “I think you can do better than that, pretty. Open your eyes and damn beg.”
You follow his orders, a small whimper skirting past your lips at the new pet name as you open your eyes, “Please, Michael, please let me repay you, let me thank you, please.” The words tumble out, your eyes wide and pleading.
“How’re you planning on doing that, empty headed little thing?” He taunts, the hand around your throat just barely tightening but it’s enough to make you let out a small, desperate whine. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, moving close enough to you that the front of his chest is plastered to your side, his heart beating against your shoulder, “Ask for what you want, beg properly.” His breath fans across the side of your face again, the feeling of his lips brushing over the side of your jaw making you jump.
“Please, God, Michael,” you whine, squeezing your legs together so hard you’re surprised they haven’t fused together, “P-please let me suck your cock — to thank you, thank you for helping me.” You add quickly, breath shaky as you turn your head to look at him imploringly.
He chuckles, but he looks pleased as he leans back momentarily, craning his neck to make sure there isn’t anyone around, “Alright, alright, love,” he soothes, coming back to face you, nodding his head to the empty space in front of his hair, below the table, “Not God, but I’ll give you what you want.” He teases.
Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at the floor beneath the desk, then back up at him before nodding, “Yes, sir.” You push yourself off your chair, sliding down beneath the desk.
“Goddammit,” you hear him groan above you, running his palms over his thighs as he parts them, making room for you, “Keep that up, love, might even give you extra credit.”
You rest your palms against the tops of his thighs as you move between his legs, getting comfortable on your knees, the old wooden floor cool against your skin, even through your black leggings. Finally, your eyes settle on the sizable bulge, covered by his dark jeans, and you can’t help the small whine that leaves your lips. Slowly, you move your hands up to the button of his pants, quickly popping it open and dragging the zipper down, smiling when Michael sighs above you as he pulls his sweater up out of the way, exposing the pale skin of his stomach. You let your eyes roam over him, warmth settling between your legs as you spot the dusting of light hair that starts beneath his belly button and leads downwards, disappearing under his plaid boxers.
You move closer to him, crowding in between his long legs, as you hook your fingers over the tops of his boxers, before finally looking up at him, “Can I…?” You ask, nodding to where his cock is straining against the fabric.
“Don’t be shy now, princess,” he groans, running a hand through your hair as he stares down at you, “Get on with it.”
You keep your eyes on his as you pull his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, watching the way his chest heaves as he lets out another relieved sigh. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his as you look at his cock, gasping in a breath as you do. As far as dicks go, Michaels is impressive, beautiful even – long and thick with veins running up the underside, leading up to a flushed, leaking tip.
You take him in your hand tentatively, squeezing him lightly around the base, your confidence growing when he grunts, breathing heavier. Finally, you lightly lick the tip, eyes sliding closed at the pleasant, salty taste of his pre-cum. You take the tip of him in your mouth, humming around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, lightly pushing on the back of your head, silently urging you to take more of him.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he roughly groans, managing to keep his voice low, “Knew that pretty fucking mouth was good for something.” He moves his hips, impatiently thrusting his cock an inch deeper into your mouth, breathily cursing under his breath.
You start bobbing your head up and down over his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, more of his pre-cum leaking onto your tongue as you feel his dick throb and twitch in your hand. After a moment, you take a deep breath through your nose and remove your hand, resting it on his thigh, as you take him all the way to the base, your nose nestled in the short patch of hair there as you breathe in his heady scent, your eyes glazing over as you savor the feeling of him at the back of your throat.
“Jesus!” He grunts, louder than he meant to, keeping your head in place as he thrusts his hips up again, keeping you in place at the base of his cock, “Fuck, that’s it,” he praised lowly, your center throbbing, no doubt leaking onto the fabric of your leggings, “Look at me, wanna see your eyes while I fuck your throat.”
You whine, desperately blinking back tears as you look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out, licking lower, down toward his balls, relishing the way his eyes roll back as you do, stomach muscles twitching as he continues thrusting his hips up into your mouth, soaking his boxers and jeans with your spit.
“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he groans, looking down at you, his eyelids heavy, “God, yeah, cry on my cock love. Fuck, you look so pretty crying on my cock.” He mumbles, talking to himself more so than you.
His words send a shiver down your spine, adding to the heat in your center, and you whimper when he finally moves his hand from the back of your head, allowing you to come up for air. You do, with a gasp, thin strings of spit connecting your reddened lips with the flushed head of his cock. You keep your eyes on his as you wrap your lips around him once more, running your tongue along the thick vein on the underside before sucking at the swollen tip, relishing the way it makes him clench his jaw and gasp through his teeth as you stroke the rest of him with your hand.
Above you, he smirks again, gently running his hand through your hair but making no move to press your head down again. He cocks his head to the side, studying you, grinning at the far-off, foggy look in your eyes, “Not a thought in that pretty head, is there?” He asks, bringing his hand down and gently patting your cheek; the ghost of a slap making your thighs clench, making your head dizzy with need.
You nod around him, moving your head up and down along his length. You feel yourself throbbing with need, pulsing with heat; almost automatically, your hand starts to wander, a small sigh escaping you as your hand presses against your center through your leggings. You feel a warmth settle across your cheeks again as you feel your own wetness, leaking through the fabric just as you’d suspected. You whimper as you press down again, your eyes falling shut as you let your hips grind against your fingers, the wet fabric creating a delicious friction against your clit.
Which you get to feel for all of five seconds before Michael is suddenly yanking your head from his length, causing you to yelp as he tugs your hair. “Did I say you could touch your cunt?”
“N-no,” you whine pathetically, eyes watering from the harsh hold he has on your hair, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t think—“ You try to explain, only for him to cut you off with another harsh tug, making you mewl.
“That’s a pattern with you, isn’t it?” He asks, looking at you with a condescending smirk, studying you again, “You were being such a good girl earlier, what happened? Hm?” He questions, pushing his chair back enough to pull you out from under the table.
You get to your feet, suddenly feeling shy in front of him once again despite having his cock in your mouth mere moments ago. “I…got distracted.” You answer finally.
“I got distracted….who?” He asks, looking up at you expectantly over the rims of his glasses.
“I got distracted, sir,” you quickly correct yourself, eyes frantically scanning the still vacant floor of the library, “I’m sorry.”
“That’s much better, love,” he drawls, placing his hands on your hips, “Now, what could’ve been so fucking distracting, huh?” He starts moving his hands, slowly, toward your center, still looking up at you, his eyes questioning. You nod your head, just barely but enough for him to understand, and any hesitancy from him quickly disappeared. “Could it be this, I wonder?” He questions sardonically, suddenly cupping your heat in his large hand, the warmth of it nearly making your knees buckle, even through the thin fabric of your leggings. He hums, the sound low in his chest, when he feels how much you’ve soaked the fabric,
“Oh,” you whimper, grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself balanced as his fingers continue to tease you, rubbing circles into your clit, “Oh my God, fuck.”
“Christ,” he breathes, staring up at you with dark eyes, “So fucking wet, love, holy hell. Did you get this way just from sucking my cock?”
“Yeah,” you whine, nodding your head desperately as you try to swallow all the small noises you want to make in your throat, your hips rutting against his hand, “Please, sir!”
“Oh, so now that dumb brain has no trouble remembering damn instructions, huh?” He taunts, a wicked grin on his face as his fingers rub your clit in smaller, harsher circles, making you see stars, “Need your wet little cunt played with to be able to do as you're told?”
You nod your head frantically, tears nearly spilling from your eyes at the zaps of pleasure radiating from you, your walls clenching around nothing. Just as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, he stops, jerking his hand away from you with a knowing chuckle, “W-what?” You question, eyes blinking open, “I was so close!” You whine, nearly stamping your foot on the floor like a petulant child.
“Told you,” Michael shrugs, pulling you to sit in his lap, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. His breath tickles the side of your neck and face when he speaks again, “You’re so fun to tease, love, can’t help myself.”
You wiggle in his grasp, making him groan as your ass grinds against his hard length, desperately trying to get your hands free to touch your pussy again, nearly out of your mind with need. “P-please, sir, please touch me!” You finally gasp out, knowing he won’t give in until you do.
“Now there’s a good girl,” he says, voice pleased and cocky as he plants kisses along the side of your neck, “Since you asked so nicely…” He says, letting go of one of your arms, letting you grasp the arm still wrapped around you with your hands, as his free hand skirts down your stomach to the top of your leggings, pausing long enough for you to nod again, before he finally touches you.
You whimper, jerking in his lap at the feel of his warm fingers directly on your heat for the first time, spreading your wet folds with a satisfied hum. His long fingers move down to your entrance, gathering some of the wetness there, “You’re so fucking wet,” he marvels, dragging his fingers up to your aching clit, “Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He murmurs in your ear, nipping at the side of your neck and sending tingles down your spine as he starts rubbing tight, wet circles against your bud.
You tilt your head back, resting it against his shoulder as your chest heaves. A moan leaves your mouth, louder than it should be, and Michaels free hand shoots up, wrapping around your mouth. “Gotta be quiet, love,” he whispers, not slowing down the movement of his fingers in the slightest, “Wouldn’t want someone to interrupt, hm? Make me stop again?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, whining desperately against his hand as he moves his fingers against you, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your whole body lurches atop his, making him suck a breath in through his teeth as you move against his cock, still hard and hot as it presses against your lower back, when he moves his hand lower, plunging two fingers into your tight heat with no warning. “Fuck!” You yelp, muffled against his hand; tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he moves his fingers, scissoring them into you relentlessly as his thumb circles your clit.
“S’fucking tight,” he mumbles lowly, voice vibrating his chest against your back, “God, you’re tight.” He grunts between clenched teeth, repeatedly crooking his fingers inside you as he fucks his fingers in and out of your heat, letting out small, barely there groans every time your pussy squelches around his fingers as he punches muffled whines and whimpers from you. He crooks his fingers up suddenly in a way that makes you see stars as you writhe on his lap, your knees shooting up off the floor as you attempt to curl up on yourself, “That the spot?” He teases, relentlessly rubbing his fingers against it as his thumb quickens against your clit. He adds a third finger without warning, curling them up against that rough patch inside you as he bites down on your shoulder, muffling his own groan as he feels you clench down on his fingers.
“You gonna come?” He mumbles, grinning like a cheshire cat when you frantically nod your head, tears leaking onto the hand still wrapped tightly around your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he commands, not stopping his movements, “Want you to watch what I’m doing to you when you fucking cum.”
At the promise of finally getting to come, your eyes shoot open as you pick your head up off his shoulder, looking down the length of your body to where his hand disappears under your leggings. You practically come undone at the sight, watching as his hand moves against you through the dark fabric, maintaining a careful rhythm. “Michael, please!” You whine against his hand, desperately trying to keep your eyes open.
He chuckles lowly, clearly proud of how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into a begging mess, the sound reverberating off your back. “Fucking come,” he commands, doubling his efforts, “Soak my fucking hand, love.”
The coil in your stomach finally snaps and you sob, eyes snapping shut as your whole body clenches, shaking in his lap, as fireworks burst behind your eyelids. Your entire core clamps down so tight he has to fight to keep his fingers within you, muting the sounds of his groans against your neck and shoulder as he feels your cunt pulse against his fingers. He doesn’t let up, pressing incessantly against that spot within you as you come, until he finally gets what he wants – both of you groaning together, noises muffled, as a stream of fluid seems to erupt from your center, soaking his hand and the inside of your leggings, though you can’t think enough to care at the moment.
“Goddammit,” he grunts, finally removing his hand from your leggings, running his fingers through your folds one last time just to make you squirm. Suddenly, he’s lifting you off his lap enough to turn you around, maneuvering you to face him. You’re practically boneless in his lap as he lifts you just enough to pull your leggings down over your ass, pressing his bare cock against your still throbbing center when he sets you back down, “Gonna let me fuck you, love? Hm? Want me to make you go dumb around my cock?”
You nod your head weakly, not bothering to lift it from his shoulder as you straddle his lap. He doesn’t make you beg this time, too desperate to feel your wet heat around him, as he swiftly lifts you up again, just enough to align his length with your entrance.
Both of you moan as he lets you sit back down, his hard length disappearing into your warmth. He holds the back of your head, pressing your mouth against his neck to muffle your cries; you can feel his jaw clench with the effort of keeping his own muted. He fills you deliciously, thick cock pressed against every part of you, as your clit presses against the small thatch of hair above his length.
“Fuck,” he huffs, the word hissed between his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way your pussy pulses around his length, the way you desperately mouth and lick at his neck, “God, knew you’d feel good.”
Somehow, that remark works it’s way through the fog in your brain, “Hm?” you hum against his neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his golden hair, “You thought about me?” You whimper, words whiny and breathy as he rocks you against him, spearing you on his length again and again, head kissing your cervix just enough to knock the air from your lungs every time he lowers you back down.
He sighs, as if just now realizing what he’d said, and nods, swallowing down a moan before he speaks, “‘Course I did,” he admits, grinding you down against him, his hips pressed against yours. “Looked so damn pretty in class,” he continues, “So cute all, fuck, all flushed and embarrassed every time you got asked a question.”
His admission makes you clench around him, heat flooding through your system as you process what he’d said. Your clit grinds against his body again, just as the head of his cock brushes against that spot in your center, and it’s like your brain has been whited out, all you can do is mewl against his neck as he rocks you up and down along his cock.
“Fuck, I feel this sweet cunt getting tight, love,” he says, breathing heavily as he gets closer to his own release, “Y’gonna come?”
“Yes!” You whimper, voice high-pitched and broken as you nod frantically against the skin of his neck, now wet with your spit and tears as you rock yourself against him, moving your clit against the hair at the base of his cock.
“Hold it,” he commands softly, more breathing than speaking. He chuckles when he hears you whine, loving the way you mewl for him like a soft little kitten, and the hand still holding your head against him strokes your hair, soothing you. “Want us to come together,” he huffs, cursing under his breath as he feels you grow somehow tighter around him, “Fuck, I’m close just hold on.” The hand on your hip tightens, grinding you tightly against him, groaning as he feels your center milking his cock, your walls clenching around him desperately.
“F-fuck, Michael,” you whine, breath hot against the column of his throat as you feel yourself tipping over, “Please! Please I can’t hold it, please!” You beg beautifully, weeping against his skin, trying so hard to keep it down to a whisper so you don’t draw attention, not this close to your release.
“Where, fuck,” he curses, pulling your head up to look in your eyes, the blue in his nearly swallowed by blackness, “Tell me where.” He pants, his voice urgent.
“Inside me!” You breathe, cunt clenching around him as you feel him twitch inside you.
He groans, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second as he tries to maintain control, both of his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises, “Are you s–”
“Yes!” You nod, resting your forehead against his when he picks his head back up, “‘M on the pill.” You reassure him as you keep nodding. The two of you move together for a few more seconds, wildly grinding together, before the coil in your stomach is finally wound too tight, “Michael, oh, fuck!”
“Fuck,” he gasps, seeming to get somehow thicker inside you, “Come for daddy, fuck, be good and come.” He commands, his own voice low and frenzied.
Hearing him call himself that does you in, and you shatter around him, walls gripping him tightly. You open your mouth, unable to control a loud moan, which he quickly hushes by pressing his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he thrusts up into your center harshly a few times, each rise of his hips accompanied by a grunt into your waiting mouth as you mewl at the heat of his cum filling you up, extending your own release.
The two of you stay quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as you sweetly kiss, tiredly pressing your lips together. Finally, you pull away from him giggling shyly when you meet his eyes, blushing as you feel his length slowly softening inside you. “Getting shy on me now?” He teases, smiling at you as he gently plays with your hair.
You smile back at him for a second before suddenly coming to your senses and remembering where you are, “Shit,” you whisper, hopping up off his lap, “I cannot believe we just did that!” You quickly scan the floor with wide eyes, shoulders visibly relaxing when you still don’t see anyone.
“Wasn’t in my plan,” Michael starts, tucking his member back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans, “But I’m certainly not complaining.” He finishes, smirking at you before standing. He leans down, helping you pull up your leggings. He doesn’t miss the way you grimace when the damp, now unpleasantly cool, fabric presses against you. “Sorry,” he apologizes, gesturing to them, “I should’ve…controlled myself better with that one.” He finishes, awkwardly scratching at his chin.
You laugh quietly, trying to play it off although you’re dreading the half hour train ride back to your flat. That feeling doubles when you look down, eyes widening as you see the dark patch around your crotch, hardly visible on the dark fabric but enough that it makes you nervous, “Getting home is gonna be fun.” You joke, turning to begin gathering your things.
You’ve gotten your textbook put back into your backpack when you feel a tap on your shoulder; turning your head, you look wide-eyed when you see him sheepishly smiling at you, holding his red sweater out as he stands in a band t-shirt, “Here,” he says softly, waving the sweater at you, “You need it more than I do and it’s my fucking fault anyway.”
You blush, taking the sweater from him with a small thank you, tying it around your waist as he busies himself with picking up his things, before putting the rest of yours into your backpack as well, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that!” You tell him as you finish situating his sweater around you, satisfied that the stain is covered.
He huffs out a laugh, “You sucked my cock on the floor of a library,” he jokes, eyes sparkling with mischief yet again, “S’the least I could do.”
You laugh, playfully shoving at his shoulder as you put your backpack on. The floor is truly, blessedly, empty as the two of you leave and walk downstairs, not seeing anyone on the second floor either and only a few stragglers on the main floor at this hour on a Saturday evening. He pushes open one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance, holding it open for you as you duck under his arm. The door thuds closed behind you as you both stand outside the library, the air cold now that the sun’s gone down.
“I really like them, that band,” you say, nodding to his shirt, “Their last album’s really good.”
“Oh!” He says, eyebrows raising in surprise, “You know them?” He asks, smiling when you nod again, “Their new album is probably my favorite too, actually.” The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a second later before he notices you shiver as a breeze blows through the stoney courtyard. “D’you live close to campus?”
“Half hour on the train,” you shrug, pulling your phone out to check the time, “I should probably go soon if I’m gonna catch the next one…”
“You could come to mine?” He asks, his voice hopeful, “It’s only a walk from here, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?”
Your eyes widen, having not expected his invitation, but you nod nonetheless, “If you’re sure,” he nods, “Then, yeah! That would be great.” You smile, walking beside him as you start heading in the direction of his flat.
“Would you maybe want to get lunch sometime?” He asks, glancing down at you.
“I would love that,” you smile, your hand brushing against his as you continue down the sidewalk, “I think I might need more tutoring, too…”
His hand catches yours, your fingers intertwining as he smirks, “Will you suck my cock every time?” He teases, grinning as you laugh, the sound echoing off the buildings and filtering into the night air.
Told you so. The voice in the back of your mind echos as you lean your head on Michael’s shoulder.
tagged lovelies: @schniiipsel @arcielee @darlingofvalyria @aemshaircare @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog @fan-goddess @drakonflames @helloworldiamnotarobot
(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)
#michael gavey#michael gavey fic#michael gavey smut#michael gavey x reader#michael gavey x you#michael gavey fanfiction#michael gavey oneshot#saltburn#saltburn fic#saltburn smut#saltburn fanfiction#saltburn oneshot#ewan mitchell#ewan nation#ewanverse#ewan mitchell fic#ewan mitchell smut#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#my writing
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sleepless in chicago // c. berzatto
HI!! here is my first ever dad!carm fic because i simply couldn't get him out of my head. i just love this sweet, little fic so much?? because it just felt so cosy for me when i was writing. i hope you guys love it, too :) and also, i'd like everyone to welcome little riley michael berzatto <3
- clarke
pairing: carmy x fem!reader (no description, use of fem pronouns)
The streetlights glowed like stars as you drove home, humming along to the radio. After a long lecture, you were ready to take a long, hot shower and collapse into bed with Carmy.
In the cup holder, your phone began to ring, Carmy's name popping up on the screen. Flicking the Bluetooth toggle on your steering wheel, you answered the call.
"Hi, Bear, I'm almost home."
“Hey, honey,” his voice was low, quiet, and you could hear Riley’s soft coos and babbles in the background. “How was class?”
“Good, yeah. Long, though. Is everything okay? Did Riley lose his paci again? Why isn’t he asleep?”
“Hey, shh, it’s okay, mommy’s coming home, alright?” Carmy cleared his throat, glancing at his son in the bassinet, unable to fight his smile as he watched Riley squirm, reaching his little hands up toward the mobile, sea creatures swimming through the air. “He was asleep, but I was folding laundry in our room and I just heard him start babbling, just saying ‘mom’ over and over. He’s not upset, he’s just, like, awake. And no matter what I do, he won’t settle.”
You smiled to yourself, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel as a red light gleamed at you.
“Try taking him out of his sleepsack, he probably just wants to snuggle.”
“I think he misses you,” he said, voice moving away from the phone with each word. “Isn’t that right, Bug? We miss mommy, huh? But she’s learning, Buggy, she’s so smart. Yes, she is.”
Grinning, you turned onto your street, able to see the lamplight from your bedroom already. One window lit up, a beacon against the otherwise dark house.
At first, when you’d found out you were pregnant, Carmen had been worried. The two of you had agreed to start actively trying to have a child, but when it came to fruition, there was a tumultuous night spent with him, clinging to you, worked up into a state of panic.
‘What if I can’t do it, what if I fucking suck and I fuck it all up, and our baby-’
‘Stop it. Stop. Carm, look at me. Look at me and just shut up for a second.’ You pulled him close, his head resting in the crook of your neck. ‘We will figure it all out together. We’re going to be fine.’
He’d been so worried that he’d grow to create a fucked up family, just like the one he’d escaped from. But seeing him now… He never gave himself enough credit.
Toeing off your shoes by the door, you crept down the hall and into the bedroom. Kicking off your jeans in exchange for a pair of sweatpants, you were lifting your shirt over your head when the bedroom door creaked softly. You glanced over your shoulder and there they were; Carmen stood in the doorway, shirtless, gold chain gleaming, in a pair of boxers. With Riley on his hip, sleepy eyes bright. Your son babbled, reaching for you with soft, chubby fingers.
“Hi, mama,” Carmy smirked, gaze darting over you. You wandered over to them, dropping your shirt on the floor, swatting your husband playfully. Carmen pulled you in, his hand cradled the back of your head as he pressed an almost desperate kiss to your lips.
With Riley sandwiched between you, his warm little body like a heater, his curious hands playing with the strap of your bra, you rested your forehead against Carmy’s, just relishing the moment with him.
Your little family.
And you’re struck, all at once, by the memory of every moment you’d spent wishing for something like this. It had all seemed so unattainable, so out of reach; but you’d just been a lonely teenager, stuck in your hometown. The world hadn’t opened up to you yet.
But now?
If your younger self could’ve seen this, this little moment between the love of your life and the joint result of it, your son…
Well, they’d be proud that you never gave up searching for that comfort, that peace, you’d always craved.
#the bear#the bear fx#carmy berzatto#carmen berzatto#jeremy allen white#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x you#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto x you
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Michael x GN!Reader
Warnings: None
No gendered term is used except Michael’s
He chose to forgo grabbing his belongings from the car, muttering to himself about “fuck that shit, it’s too cold”. Michael hurried up the steps of his home, his raven curls being pushed softly by the cold wind. Goosebumps pricked up on his skin as his hand fumbled with his key ring. He finally found the one that unlocked the glorious warm paradise inside, and he quickly shuffled in, shutting the door softly behind him. His dark brown eyes glanced over at the clock, the obnoxious bright green light reading that it had just turned 12:15 AM. He rolled his eyes at no one, and began his tredge up the stairs into his bedroom.
From the top of the stairs, he could hear his band softly playing over a speaker, and a soft smile ghosted over his lips. He picked up his pace to the end of the hall. The music played quietly from behind the door, his hand reaching out to turn the knob. His eyes scanned the room quickly before settling on what seemed to be a lump on his bed. His grin grew slightly as he softly stepped to the edge of his mattress. Quickly taking off his shoes and discarding his clothes, he changed into his pajamas, a simple pair of sweatpants and some old t-shirt he’s had since highschool.
Softly, he pulled the blanket back, uncovering the figure that was curled up in his bed. His partner lifted their head up, hissing at the sudden chill that passed over their body. Their (h/c) hair was plastered all over their forehead, messily strewn about their head seemingly from the caccoon they had put themselves in to escape the cold. They sat up, and through sleep filled eyes that they could hardly open, they spotted the Michael at the end of the bed, a teasing smirk on his face, one hand still holding onto the blanket he so rudely ripped from them.
“Michaelllll,” the person from the bed groaned, trying to tug the blanket back. The tall man laughed at their struggle, and then again at their pout as they crossed their arms, dramatically shivering. Michael shook his head and rolled his eyes, quickly crawing back into bed and replacing the covers after pulling his partner tightly into his chest. His freezing body was greeted with their warm one, although they squirmed at the sudden temperature change. Michael threw a leg over his partner’s to stop their squirming, his eyes closing as he sighed into the top of their head. Drifting off to sleep, he felt his partner snaking their arms around his chest, pulling him close to finally share their body warmth with him. He smiled, finally getting to sleep, wrapped in the arms of the person he loved.
#sp michael#sp tall goth#sp goth kids#sp fanfiction#sp michael x reader#gender neutral#no genders mentioned besides Michael’s#south park headcanons#south park michael#south park goth kids#i dont truthfully know if i like this or not#felt weird writing again#the last time i wrote fanfiction i got a wattys award
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Regrets - Neville Longbottom x Female Reader (One Shot)
⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨sweetpandorabox୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆
⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎…⋙
Synopsis: You and the known incompetent Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom have been in a relationship together for a year now. He couldn't be more perfect as a partner he's sweet, affectionate yet shy and he's the best he can be around you. There isn't really a word to justify how joyful the both of you were, but now coming into your 2nd year of dating a certain boy has caught your attention more than you like, you had no problem committing to Neville fully before because you love him, but somehow this particular boy has changed your mind that made it hard. To sum it up you're in love with Neville and another, but your solution to this was to cheat due to you being scared of letting Neville go, yet wanting to pursue more with the other not realizing how much you'd regret your decisions in the end.
Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Female Reader
Story Settings: This fanfiction is set in your 6th of Hogwarts, during the Half-Blood Prince time (You're a Gryffindor student for this one and you're also in Harry's year group). Anything that's bolded and in italic is a flashback scene.
Terms 📖:
Y/N : Your name
Y/L/N : Your last name
Y/E/C : Your eye color
Y/H/C: Your hair color
Warnings⚠️: Angst & Cheating
Word Count : 3,372
✯¸.•´¨*•✿ Regrets ✿•*¨`•.¸✯
The great hall was bustling and lively with chatter amongst chatter during tonight's supper, you sat next to your boyfriend Neville wrapping your left hand around his arm as he chats away with Dean and Seamus about an upcoming assignment in Transfiguration. Your eyes were wandering around as you feed yourself a piece of your dinner before your eyes landed on the Ravenclaw table across the room. You didn't know it but you were looking for a particular person, a person you've had your eyes on who's able to look at you once and managed to shout everything out like the world is meant for no one but the two of you, and there he was. Your eyes landed on the dark skin boy with eyes so alluring it drives you into madness, sitting next to Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot, Michael Corner was discussing something amongst the two other boys, something funny that brought a smile to his face that flutters your stomach with butterflies. You stared at him with adoration sparkling in your eyes before Michael's eyes meet yours, you panicked at the sudden eye contact with the long-haired Ravenclaw boy but all he did was smile almost in a flirtatious way before getting back to his friends.
Your heart managed to skip 2 beats faster as he left you there love-struck, he's even managed to redden your cheeks and left a feeling you never felt for another aside from Neville. "Uhm Petal, hello are you alright?" Neville asks gently as he lay a hand on your lap, his touch managed to awaken you and bring you back to consciousness over what's going on around you. Dean, Seamus, and Neville simultaneously gave you a confused yet concerned look wondering what had your attention just then "Oh Uhm yes I-I was just, I'm sorry did you guys say something?" you failed to explain, giving each of them an equally apologetic look over your sidetracked. Neville gave you a sympathetic smile before repeating the question he just asked you, "It's alright flower, I and the others were wondering what topic you're going to choose for your essay in transfiguration" he repeated kindly rubbing your thigh under the table, "Oh I see well I was thinking..." you went on to explain what your plan was to the three boys before finishing the last bit of your dinner and heading back to the Gryffindor tower with the others.
After walking up several changing stairs hand in hand with your tall boyfriend Neville to keep steady you've finally reached the 7th floor before Seamus gave the fat lady a password "Caput Draconis", she opens the door welcoming and letting every Gryffindor student inside the common room after a fulfilling dinner. You make your way inside the warm red and gold-themed common room watching as everyone makes their separate ways, some head to bed, some stick around to sit on the couch with friends, and some sit on the available table with chairs opening books to revise today's lesson or homework that they might have got. You let out a tiresome sigh before getting on your tippy toes and wrapping your arms around the shy Gryffindor's neck looking up at him, "I think I'm heading to bed early tonight, I've got a competitive quidditch game against Ravenclaw tomorrow after all and Harry's been making us train like there's no tomorrow" you explained before giving Neville's soft and angel-like lips a quick kiss. He kissed you back before letting a shy smile slip out afterward before pulling your waist close to him with his hands.
"Of course flower, that sounds like a good idea, I wouldn't want you to be tired and worn out before tomorrow's game" He replied kissing you once more. You giggled during the kiss leaving Neville to giggle too, You stared deep into his ethereal emerald-like eyes rubbing his left cheek with your thumb. "Will be there to watch me play tomorrow? and you know to come and support me?" you asked gently, his smile grew bigger "Trust me petal I wouldn't miss it for the world, I'm your biggest fan" he stated before turning around telling you to hop on his back for a piggyback ride to your shared dorm room, leaving the both of you to roar with laugher ending the night in the best mood possible reminding you that this is the reason why you fell in love with the shy and the underestimated Neville Longbottom in the first place. The morning went by fast, you scarf down your cereal quickly to gain just enough energy throughout the whole Quidditch game, Neville had given you a good luck kiss an hour ago during breakfast and you instructed him to meet you inside the great hall for lunch after the game has finished since you'll take a while to shower and change.
"All right everyone all I wanted from each and every one of you today is to play your hardest and give it all that you've got, we've trained so hard for this and I couldn't be prouder" Harry mentioned before continuing with what game strategies he's expecting form each member of the Gryffindor quidditch team, all the talking and the bustling cheers outside the team tents with audience upon audience waiting for the game to start brought the feeling of nausea as nervousness swarms your whole body, but all you had to do is fiddle with a bracelet Neville had given you after the both of you shared your first kiss together and say the words I love you for the first time on that cold December night. It's a brown leather string beaded with beautiful green and turquoise beads, and a silver sunflower is placed as the centerpiece of the bracelet. It brought a smile to your face and a sense of comfort no one nor other objects could. "I got you this because I always want you to know that no matter how scared, how nervous or how sad you are that I'll always be here for you even if I'm not there physically, I love you flower and there's no one else in this world I'd rather be with" he murmured to you gently.
The memories of his words and the kiss the both of you shared calm your nerves down, leaving you with a stupid smile on your face, and before you know it your team has marched into a 2 single file line ready to fly out the team tents as the game is about to begin, and the rest was a blur. "200 - 40 to us what a game" Harry excitedly shouts inside the team tents, "Okay everyone each and everyone one of you has done a tremendous job today, you can change now. We shall celebrate later on at lunch" Harry dismissed the team before heading for the boys changing rooms, you've felt proud about all the blocking you did today, being a Gryffindor keeper after Oliver Wood has lifted your self-esteem extremely high not to mention the look of proudness displayed on Michael Corner's face at your performance it made you extremely joyful leaving a visible blush on your cheek as you entered the shower. "Hey Y/N, some of the boys are planning to throw our quidditch team a celebratory party inside the common room tonight at 9 are you coming? Katie Belle asks kindly before heading out the door with Ginny behind her, you smile back holding your towel close to your body after coming out of the showers, "Oh yeah of course I'll be there I'll see you girls at lunch in a bit though" you replied excitedly as Katie and Ginny part ways with you.
You hurriedly put on your jeans and a bra before taming your wet and shiny hair after a long and hot shower, since you were the last one in here you wouldn't want to be late for lunch leaving Neville waiting there all alone, but just before you have a chance to pull your wand out to dry your hair, you heard "Hey great blocking out there today" a familiar voice rings out, you paused for a second before turning around to find Michael Corner sitting on the bench seat next to your belongings. "M-Michael wow I-I uh thanks, you weren't too bad out there yourself" you stammered blushing hard at his compliment, he chuckled before raising himself up and making his way closer to you. "You know I saw the way you were looking at me. In class, in the great hall, and all the time we ran into each other in the hallways" he teased scanning you up and down as if he spotted something so worthy to him, your whole body was inflamed with fire by how close he was getting to you, you couldn't look him in the eye as all you can do is smile to yourself as he tucked a piece of your wet and shiny Y/H/C hair behind your ear. "Also I've never noticed just how special you are, you're gorgeous and you're a talented Quidditch star... I'm baffled about why you're going out with a loser like Neville instead of somebody like me".
Michel's words strike a sort of guilt inside your heart because of how much you've taken an interest in the Ravenclaw boy when you're supposed to focus on the one person you're with, Neville. "Where is she? everyone from the Gryffindor team has arrived, she should be here by now" Neville mentioned to Dean and Seamus as he shake his leg nervously under the table. Dean and Seamus looked at each other simultaneously before Dean encourage Neville to go find you himself, "Oh good idea Dean you know what I'll just bring her BLT sandwich and some water while I'm at it, lunch is about to end soon anyways I'll see you guys tonight at the party" Neville farewelled the boys as they did vice versa. After a minute of silence, you finally gathered the courage to look up at Michael's face only to find him staring at you the entire time leaving the both of you to chuckle, finally, Michael made a move to caress your cheek gently leaning in close as you did the same before your lips touched each other, tuning the once gentle kiss into a hungry and much needed one, he placed on hand on your cheek and one on your hips to pull you close to him while both of your hands rest nicely on his muscular chest not knowing who'd just witnessed the forbidden kiss.
After a while, you decided to pull away from his kiss, unable to open your eyes from the event before hearing a noise of a flask full of liquid and a paper bag fall on the floor that burst your eyes open, and there he was. The guy you've loved for a year standing there with tears puddling in his eyes with his mouth gaped open as he was in shock before taking no time at all to turn around and leave you behind, but something in you finally strikes as you break free off Michael's touch and quickly grab on a shirt and wore it calling out after Neville out the door. "Neville.. wait love please just wait" you shout out as he stops dead on his track, "Y-You... I-I thought you loved me, I thought I was good enough for you...you said it yourself" he sobs unable to face you clenching his two fists by his side, your heart shattered at his expressions still unable to processes how big of a mistake you've just made. "N-Neville I love you. I love you so much and it-it wasn't you love I swear, I- I made that choice on my own. I don't know what came over me and I haven't been quite honest with you either, I've taken an interest in Michael since September of this year there's just something about him that...that drives me crazy and he drove me away from what I'm supposed to care for the most and that person is you" you admitted, "I'm sorry Neville I love you and I wasn't ready to leave you but I really fancied Michael and I really wanted t be with him too b-but".
"You were selfish" Neville murmured with another sob, "Stay away from me, I never want you to talk to me, or be around me ever again let alone look at me... I've loved you Y/N Y/L/N but apparently, I wasn't enough for you... have a nice life" Neville sobs before rushing away towards the Hogwarts castle, your heartaches with pain and guilt as your brain finally comprehends that you've lost the love of your life over a forbidden kiss, someone who's been there for your through your happiest moments and saddest moments, your best friend and your guardian. You realize no one and nothing can ever compare to him but finally, tears start streaming down your face bit by bit over your loss. After an unfortunate day you spent most of it alone worrying about Neville and being ashamed about what you did, but the afternoon sky is slowly replaced by an evening one reminding you that it's time to head back inside the castle, you've skipped dinner tonight and headed straight for your common room only to find the place blazed with student celebrating over today's win with butter beers and music blaring over somebody's phonograph. But none of that particular things pique your interest because right now you're scanning all over the room for the one and only Neville Longbottom, but of course, you didn't find him out here so you quickly take yourself through the crowd only to bump into Seamus Finnigan himself.
"Oh, Seamus thank Merlin have you seen Neville anywhere tonight?" you asked with worries trailing behind your voice only to find Seamus giving you a disgusted and disappointed look, "You know Neville told me and Dean about what happened at the changing rooms this afternoon, just so you know me and Dean are beyond disgusted over you action Y/N, Neville loved you wholeheartedly and would give you the world if he could and you know that, in the meantime don't attempt to talk to either me or Dean. There's no use of you asking his whereabouts we're not going to tell you" he warned in an aggressive tone before heading back to the boy's dormitory area. You were left empty inside as if a dementor has performed a kiss on you, and at times like this when you needed Neville the most he was not here and won't be anymore. Several weeks have passed since the cheating scandal, the first 2 days were rough for both of you, Neville would show up to class with swollen eyes, and the area under his eyes was red because of the obsessive rubbing of tears, he was broken, broken enough that even Draco Malfoy himself didn't have the power to pick on him for a week, and he wouldn't show up to breakfast, lunch or dinner either for that 2 days unless Dean and Seamus drag him out to do so.
And as for you people started to piece the puzzle together that something happened between you and Neville, and as gossip would pass around like Chinese whispers people found out about the scandal quickly, but the worst part is that Michael Corner defended himself and told everyone that you made the move first by coming on to him inside the guys changing rooms after quidditch, so people wouldn't paint him as the bad guy. But you didn't bother to clear the gossip, all you care about is getting Neville back to you and apologizing. But every time you tried, he leaves you alone and acts like you don't exist and it's the same when he's around his friends just that when you approach Seamus and Dean would tell you to go away as you weren't wanted there, it was tough and Neville wasn't the only one who's been crying but after that has passed, Neville looked so much better, he started being the normal him again and focusing on what he loves most which are herbology, and he starts smiling and laughing again like he used to which made you happy but extremely miserable because he's moving on and part of the moving on processes is to not associate himself with you in any way shape or form, he doesn't even look at you, he just passed you by like you're just another ghost roaming around the Hogwarts grounds.
While he's back to normal you weren't, you're heartbroken and you wake up every morning regretting what you did and falling asleep to a stream of salty tears down your face. There's not one day where you stop regretting what you did but now here you are, sitting down at the red and gold table for yet another breakfast before class sitting quite further away from Neville so you won't ruin his mood or day toying around your spoon inside your cereal filled bowl not taking a single bite of it as the once crisp cereal turns soggy, all you can do is stare, stare at Neville's much happier face you haven't seen in awhile being surrounded by the people who cares about him most like his friends and a new herbology book he's been carrying around and reading for a few days. Looking at him had floated back all the happiest memory you have with him front and center, bringing a sense of sadness and loneliness right back just like day one but all you can do now is fiddle with your bracelet which you've never taken off despite you and Neville separation, for some reason you couldn't let it go as it was the only reminder that Neville had loved you once.
Tears start puddling in your eyes as you keep your head down low hoping no one would notice your clear signs of sadness trying your best to not let those tears fall down your cheek in a room full of people. Once you've composed yourself enough you looked back at Neville who's excusing himself from his friends with his Herbology book in hand heading for the exit out of the great hall. All you wanted to do at this point is stand up and yell at him to stop so you could just kiss him in front of everyone and show him how sorry you are and how much you regretted your choice, but your feet feel bound to the ground as you're unable to make yourself do so, and as you watched him go, Thud! Neville has bump himself into the small-figured Hannah Abbott, knocking all the books she's been carrying into the ground, luckily it didn't catch anyone else's attention but Hannah quickly laughed the whole thing off and apologized as did Neville, but before she could pick them up Neville insisted on picking it up for her and as he got up to hand her book back their hand brushed against each other.
You couldn't quite see Neville's reaction since his back is turned on you but Hannah's face was notably bright pink as she suddenly couldn't hold eye contact with the emerald-eyed boy. She thanked him greatly and he told her not to worry about it, but a couple minutes later went by before Neville rubbed the back of his neck signifying that he was indeed nervous, but he proceeds to ask her something and she gladly accepted it with a smile and the next thing you know you watched as Neville offered to carry some of her books for her as they walk out side by side laughing and smiling at each other as those tears you tried so hard to hide finally emerges back in your Y/E/C pair of eyes, but this time you let them fall freely down as you watched the guy who used to love you walked away from you leaving you to live with the feeling of regret.
What the bracelet looks like in my head 👆🏻
#neville x reader#neville longbottom imagine#neville longbottom x reader#neville longbottom x you#neville longbottom#hp fanfcition#hp fanfic#hp fandom#hogwarts#gryffindor#harry potter angst#harry potter imagine#harry potter series#harry potter fandom#harry potter fanfiction#imagine#one shot#female reader#gryffindor reader
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Let's try this all again.
RZ Mikey x Trans(F to M) reader
TW, the reader has PTSD and has flashbacks to his horrible transphobic mother.
It was a rainy Halloween evening, you sat upon the window sill of your room. You watched the small people wondering around, Children looked so tiny from so high. You heard there laughing and giggling, there screaming and crying. You closed your eyes and saw it, saw that day......that night ....
" how could you do this to me!!!?"
"You've become a disgrace!"
"I hope you suffer in hell you-"
Your eyes shot open as your breathing grew heavy, he looked out to notice evening had turned to night ... you heard as the doctors opened your door
" come on now Y/N, it's time for the movie."
"Movie?"
You thought in mind. You were still slightly out of it...but when you came back you jumped up and rushed to the doctors who gave you a chuckle
" took you a minute there...everything alright?"
You flushed and nodded as they explained how movie night will be....different tonight, they explained that how they felt some of the patients didn't seem to make friends or get along, course you were easy to get along with and they praised you on that, then...there faces went sickly pale as they stopped infront of a hall,
"...we've decided to pair everyone up with another patient....."
they began to walk
" ....and you got...Michael. "
you stopped and stared in pure shock
"....Michael.....as in...Michael Myers?"
they nodded gently
"....you've been very good at making friends Y/N...even the most challenging patients......we hoped you could...try with Michael?"
They moved out if the way your eyes trailing off to the door, you gulped
"....you sure bout this?"
they nodded
" Loomis told us...you may be our last chance of...fixing...Myers "
you cringed at the word "Fix" but agreed, you had nothing to honestly loose anymore....they gave you 2 bahs of candy. Then they opened the door and called in to Michael before allowing you in and quickly shutting and locking you in. The TV was on. And Michael was sitting at his desk making another mask. You peer around at all the mask in awe
"...hey...Michael....did you..make these?"
he slowly peers back and looked you up and down a good few times. He then went back to work ignoring you
"......ok..then"
you sat infront of the TV, your back to him which you hated. You turned on the movie and sat there terrified
"....."
you remembered the bag of candy,
" o-oh hey! I think I'm suppoto give you this c-"
you were cut off by a sudden grip on your sides, you turn around and jumped seeing him sitting there
" shit!.....you scared me....I didn't hear you mikey...."
he cocked his head slot to the side and then looked looked the bag of candy and pointed to it, then to himself to ask if it was for him. You nodded handing him the bag which he gladly snatched up. He pulled you closer making you sit in his lap as he lifted the mask slightly a ate his candy. You ate yours nuzzling into his warmth. You closed your eyes again.
"How could you!?"
a familiar terrified voice screamed
"Momma?..."
you said as you walked down a cold hall that slowly built itself as you walked. You were afraid. When you got to your mother's room, you screamed. Her Pale body laying in the pool of her own blood.....her dead eyes stared into yours. You looked down at your shaking bloody hands. Your eyes shoot open as you screamed, you had scared Michael, he wasn't expecting that, he looked at you confused and jabbing you roughly with his finger, then...you let out a distraught cry as you choked on your tears, he panicked and dropped his candy grabbing you and putting his big hand over mouth, his other hand had went up your shirt. He flinched feeling something weird under your chest. He lifted your shirt to see your scars. He pondered for a moment staring them down. He ran a finger over them. He looks at you seeing how terrified and sad you were. He let go and shaking, he pets your hair softly. You looked back at him, he pointed to your chest
".....my...scars? Oh..i...uh...."
you took a breath and explained your transition. He listened carefully, and in the end he puts a finger on your chest writing Boy on your chest. It made you giggle and wipe your eyes
"......yeah...boy"
he nodded. He cuddled you watching the rest of the movie sbd eating your candy. You smiled taking a deep breath, you felt safe.
#slashers#slasher community#slasher movies#rz michael myers x reader#rz movies#fucking finally#slight tw#slasher fics#slasher fandom#slasher#slasher x reader
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Revenge Is A Dish Best Served With Raw Cock: Michael C Hall
Summary: After discovering his wife’s affair, Michael finally is liberated to pursue his best friend.
Warnings: M/M smut (21+), Bareback (Wrap Before You Tap!)
You had been going about your business when you got a text from your mate Michael. As you opened it, you saw a message that would dictate how glum the rest of the day would be ‘Bitch is cheating on me, moved my stuff into baggage, need to crash at yours’. You were fine with him crashing, however you knew of the marriage problems, how depressed it made Michael, so you were not prepared for your happy mood to be turned into a disaster.
You messaged him saying it was ok for him to stay, then started making a Pizza order for lunch, ‘He’d probably need Uber eats comfort food’ you thought. Michael rocked up sometime afterwards, you quickly gave him a hug “Oh man, I’m so sorry about this” you told him, Michael let out a feint smile “Don’t apologize, you’re not the one who fucked her”, you let out a chuckle & sat down. “So if you don’t mind me asking, how did you find out?” Michael swallowed “Well I was in my house, and I happened to glance out of my window & caught her fucking the neighbor across the street” you spluttered in shock “What?!” “Yeah, and as I was standing there in shock, she looked up, saw me and grinned, how fucked is that?” You were horrified, how could someone be so callous with your friend? “Man fuck her, I bet the neighbor is one of those basic Christian men that marry the Karen’s who demand to speak to the manager.” Michael laughed at this, you both knew it to be true. Michael’s soon to be ex was rather frigid and seemed to put your friend into some type of cage, he was free to be happy with you but whenever they were together, you saw the light leave your friend so she probably did cheat with a man who was similar to her in that regard.
“I’m still shocked, how could someone pass you up. You’re a fucking good looking man, you deserve someone who’s gonna appreciate that, someone who enjoys seeing you light up and be fun, be yourself” “Someone like you?” You halted, you had a crush on Michael for a long time, but you kept it to the side due to his wife & you weren’t about to bring it up whilst he was in pain. “Michael I” you had barely gotten the words out before he kissed you. “You’re right, I’ve had a crush on you for a long time Y/N, and I should have been brave & told you, but I went with her because I was scared and I dimmed my light, never again” shocked was an understatement, you were floored by Michael’s reveal. “Michael I don’t want you saying this & not meaning it, you caught your wife cheating, I think you need time to” he cut you off “I’ve had time, nights after arguments I’ve spent thinking about it, awake at early hours thinking about it. In her shitty own way, she liberated me. I know what I want, and I know you want me as well, so stop worrying, I’m all in”
You finally crumbled, kissing Michael back. He practically ripped off your clothes before ripping off his own. “Fuck I want you so bad!” he hoisted you up & carried you to the bedroom before throwing you down, he slid over, kissing you. ”I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve Y/N, you ready?” Finally having everything you had wanted for years, you nodded. Michael shoved in “Oh fuck! Man, your hole’s nice and tight, Fuck yeah!” He set a brutal pace which left you screaming, scratching his back which only made the fuck even better “You love this don’t you, your best friend fucking you like he should have been doing 28 years ago. Don’t hold back, fuck me back like you have wanted to for all that time.” You shoved back screaming as you both matched each other’s pace, it was true. Over two decades of sexual frustration had led to this, the sound of pounding filling the house, moans and groans littering it as well with grunts of ‘FUCK!’ & ‘YES!’.
“I’ve got a messed up idea.” Michael grunted, lifting you to walk over to where his clothes were. He retrieved his phone & made his way back to the bedroom, throwing you back onto the mattress. “I’m gonna make a video, telling her that I know she’s cheating, that I’ll leave her & already have the hottest man to fuck, she’ll be furious.” You were absolutely frothing with need “Do it.” Michael grinned down at you before starting the video “Hey Morgan, I saw you fucking that limped dick neighbor of ours, so I got myself a fuck as well, the only difference is, he can take my cock bare” he flipped the camera round as he slammed down making you scream in pleasure “OH FUCK!” Michael chuckled, “Y/N, how good is daddy’s dick?” “Oh it feels so good, it’s thick, it’s dripping with precum, it’s so fucking good. I bet that fuck was slow and vanilla Morgan, you could never handle being fucked by this God of a man” Michael grinned as he continued to fuck, groaning as he brought the camera back up “I’ve already moved out, you’ll be served divorce papers tomorrow. See you in hell, BITCH”
He ended the message, and sent it off to her before throwing his phone down & pounded into you really hard “OH FUCK YEAH! You’re so fucking good for me, taking daddy’s dick like he deserves, taking me better than anyone else. I fucking love you Y/N.” You moaned, wrapping your hands on Michael’s head, kissing him “I love you Michael” he started to get sloppy with his pace “Fuck man, I’m gonna cum! Clench round me, take my cock! FUCK!” the last word was yelled out so loud as he shot his load. You had shot your load at roughly the same time, both of you falling back, looking all sweated out and messy as hell. Your silence was broken by the door being knocked on “OH SHIT! The pizzas!” Michael started to laugh loudly, as you hastily grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom & your clothes & tried to get ready in time, even you had to laugh at the chaoticness of it all. Michael had that light back in him again, you finally got your dream man, everything was all right.
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Micheal Myers x F! Reader
Smut, Fluff, Rough Submissive
Wet Dreams
You straightened out the ruffles in your skirt. Your fishnets squeezed against your plush thighs. You were doing a last check of the cells before you could head out to a party. Everything was nice and silent until a faint whimper broke the air.
"Y/N" You immediately noticed the gruff voice and broken syllables. "Micheal?" You paused, walking down a closed off hall. This part of the asylum held only 1 cell, protected by different chambers and the latest locks.
You quickly rushed down the narrow halls, afraid something must've happened the the broad male. You clawed at the high barrier window on the cell door. The window had been modified to Micheal's height and you could barley get a steady peak.
You huffed, unlocking the thick door. A loud creak echoed inside the darkness. "Micheal?" You paused to remove your shoes, remembering how Micheal easily got irritated at the clicking on the floor. You squirmed to his crowded desk, flicking on the lamp.
"Jesus! Micheal you scared me" You jumped as you turned around. Micheal was wide awake, sitting on the edge of his bed. His eyes roamed over your figure. "I just heard you call my name and you seemed distressed" You muttered, shifting the weight of your body on the balls of your feet.
You slowly took note of the tiny beads of sweat stuck on his skin, uneven breathing, anxious bouncing leg, and bulge in his pants. "Oh! Micheal it's okay- sometimes we have dreams- and we can't control what we dream about"
You internally started panicking, eyeing the closed door. You tried to shuffle past Micheal but he made a firm grip on your wrist. You didn't want to make Micheal feel ashamed and you couldn't judge him when you've had more sinful thoughts.
You sat next to him on the bed. "Heard they're moving you tonight" You fiddled with your fingers, watching the boner twitch underneath Micheal's sweatpants. "They even got you cleaned up" You inhaled his new scent.
It was made of vanilla body wash and herb-infused shampoo. You brushed through his protective wall of brown strands. You hesitantly rubbed on the stubble coating his chin. Micheal flinched but leaned into the touch.
It happened in a flash. The pulsing under your skirt sent impulse through your veins. Michael wasn't an experienced kisser. So it was messy tongue and pants. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your thighs together.
"Micheal" You broke free from the kiss. He seemed to partly nod before leaning back down. "Stop--" You grabbed his face to get his full attention. "--Please when they move you don't do anything stupid. They're already careless enough with their guns as it is. I don't want you to get hurt"
Michael huffed. But you took it as a yes. He kissed, it was gentle and slow. His hand intertwined with yours, bringing your palm down to his erection. Through the thin useless cloth, you could feel every twitch and pleas.
Micheal shifted to face you, his lips sucked and pulled around your neck, licking strips of your pulse point. "Be a good boy for me k?" You tugged on his roots, keeping eye contact with him. Some would say the eyes of Micheal Myers we're empty.
However, to you, they seemed hungry, alone, and full of emotion.
Micheal nodded along to your fulfilling words. "Show me what you dreamed about" You softly moaned as he squeezed your neck, bringing you into another kiss. The thirsty feeling in your abdomen was growing by the second.
Micheal's lips parted and then closed. He didn't speak much, only small mutters and broken syllables. You learned habitats to decipher his new bland language. He nervously eyed the ground and his eyes had been trained on your lips.
Also, the multiple sloppy kisses were a slight giveaway. "Micheal, you're a very naughty boy aren't you?" You pouted, calming his bulge with your hand. Micheal flinched, his hips squirmed around. "Want me to suck you off, huh?"
You looked up at him for confirmation. Besides the burning red covering his cheeks, he nodded. You skimmed down to your knees. Micheal spread his legs. You pulled down the sweatpants, allowing his cock to stretch against his abdomen. A glistening substance coated the tip.
Beads of precum over spilling from the pink tip. You hesitantly caressed the shaft. Your hand struggled to close around the girth. You took the overwhelming weight into your mouth. A scorching irritation scratched your lips as you opened your mouth wider.
Tears already had begun spilling down your eyes. You moved your hand, still grasping on the base, up and down. You bobbed your, tongue swirling over the satly taste. Micheal's fingers dig into your roots, pushing down your head.
Insignificant amounts of air was doing a poor job of fueling your lungs. "Does it feel good?" You finally got a clear intake of air. The cool crisp air packed your shaking lungs. You spread your wasted saliva around his cock with your tongue.
Micheal moaned, moving his hand towards your neck to urge you to go on. "Use your words, Micheal" You squinted at his gesture, trying to get a precise idea of what he what trying to say.
You let wet delicate kisses around his throbbing mast. Micheal's nails dug into your skin, leaving irritated crescents into the fragile flesh. You put his cock back into your mouth, sucking hard enough to make your cheeks hallow.
You couldn't comprehend the heavy breathing at that moment. Until hot droplets of white painted your throat. You gaged at the huge load of the sticky substance. You gulped down the heavy liquid.
You giggled while looking at the quick climax that consumed Micheal. You licked up his shaft, sucking at every spilled droplet. Micheal put a hand over his face, he whimpered from the sprouting sensitivity. "You cummed rather quickly" You let out a soft laugh.
Micheal's thumb darted in between your lips, pressing down on your tongue. He pressed down on the musky sticky shallow puddle. You closed your lips around his bitter skin. You twirled your tongue around his thumb, seductively moving you head.
Micheal's erection grew alive once more. You stood up, pulling down your undergarments and stockings. You climbed over his lap, positioning his tip below your entrance. The vast length stretched your flesh walls.
"Shit-" You stopped sinking on his cock. Tears sliced your eyes. A wide blur covers your vision. You gripped his shoulders. Micheal's hand squeezed your neck, pushing you further down. "Micheal- Wait it's too big"
You talked in shaky breathing. Micheal pressed his fingers into your collarbone. Micheal gripped your hips, slamming you down on his thick erection. You gasped, the air being forced out of your lungs. Steaming tears plummet off your cheeks.
Micheal threw his head back, bucking his hips up. "Micheal, you said you'd be a good boy for me" You panted, gaining consciousness of the situation. "I am" His voice cracked, his nails desperately clinging onto your skin.
You smirked, a threatening idea coming to mind. You lifted your hips and slammed them back down. You bounced on the hardening length. Tiny fireworks went off underneath your skin. Your chest floated as your imagination swirled with dopamine.
Micheal gripped your neck. You were purposely going fast and then slowing down to bring Micheal closer to the edge. His cock brushed deeply on your gummy walls. His tip ghosting sweet spots and plunging into sensitivity.
Heatwaves slithered over your skin. You were going at a steady pace until Micheal started moaning. His soft whimpers made your core melt. The minimum amount of lubrication allowed you feel every inch sliding into you.
Micheal embraced you, keeping your skin close to yours. His hand stayed on your neck, alerting you of when his orgasm was close. His other hand wandered over your body. Slipping under your shirt, squeezing your breast, applying pressure towards your hard nipples.
The overwhelming feeling prodded at your velvet gummy walls. Micheal's rough finger wiped away a tear on your cheek. Micheal gave your neck a harsh squeeze. You hauled your movements. "You're close?" You hummed, shifting your hips around.
Micheal whispered an inaudible statement. "Y\N, please let me" He grunted, repeating his broken words. "You wanna cum inside me?" You hummed, gaining speed. Micheal whined, thrusting up into you.
"I want to" He begged, hoping the exploding pleasure wouldn't end. The tight twisting in your stomach finally reached its boiling point. Your hole clenched around the wide girth. "It feels so good" Micheal's syllables were slow and weirdly adorable.
The rope inside your abdomen snapped. Mixing fluids leaked down onto the sheets. You clutched the hem of your skirt in your hand. Serial shivers leaped up your spine.
You moaned loudly, crashing your lips onto Micheal's. Your tongues dashed out, making you gag a little from the force. Micheal squeezed your neck, bringing your form closer to his.
"I'm going to miss you, Michael" You sighed, the scent of sex lingering in your nose. Micheal brushed his thumb over your cheek, smearing a sticky tear trail into your skin. "I won't leave" Micheal grumbled, hugging you tighter.
"Yeah... let's get this cleaned up" You chuckled, smiling at him but your heart still curled.
Master list
#fanfic#x reader#fluff#smut#rz michael myers#micheal myers x reader#micheal x reader#micheal smut#micheal myers x you#micheal myers#slashers x reader#slasher x reader#slash fanfiction#slasher imagines#slasher headcanons#slasher#rz micheal myers x reader#asylum micheal myers x reader#micheal myers x reader fluff#micheal myers x reader smut#micheal fluff#micheal myers fluff#micheal myers smut#slasher smut#slasher fluff#micheal x reader smut#micheal x reader fluff
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No Need to Imagine
submission for: @suckerforsugawara 's A First Time for Everything Collab
features: tetsuro kuroo x f!reader (college au)
synopsis: when you two met for the first time in university, you never thought that your first kiss with him would lead to you two losing your virginity to each other.
warnings: consumption of alcohol, virginity loss, fingering, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), hickeys, protected sex, overstimulation, based on a real-life experience, kuroo is so good at aftercare omg
song: heaven by julia michaels
number of words: 4k (okay, I never thought it would be this long but here I am lol)
beta reading: @wakatshi @saltyvanilla @mrskenmakozume (ily all thank you so much 😭)
tagging: @beware-of-the-rogue @rueren @cirigiri @sabyss @festive @megumischubbycheeks @solamoure @wakasa-wifey @p-antomime @mxonigirimiya @oikawas-milk-bread @lunaevangeline @tetsoorou @hyeque @novaresque @jordyn-degas
(taglist form / library account, turn on notifications to be updated)
a/n: blame it on the haikyuu oneshot that gave me a major kuroo brainrot and so i decided to write this earlier than expected. i hope i do justice to writing this story ‘cause i’ve not written smut in ages and i’m feeling nervous lol. likes, comments, and especially reblogs are appreciated.
You began checking the email addresses of fellow students who had been accepted along with you as soon as you received the email informing you that you had been accepted to the Nekoma Student Association, and one ID stood out to you: [email protected]. While that intrigued you, you respond that you accept the position and look forward to attending the meeting.
When you walked into the meeting hall the next weekend, your gaze was drawn to a six-foot-tall, jet-black-haired man dressed in a tan-leather jacket over a black shirt, blue jeans, and white converse shoes. As you approached the group that was conversing amongst themselves, his hazel eyes darted to your (e/c) irises, causing him to smile warmly. “Hi, I am (F/N) (L/N), are you all a part of the new team?” you said confidently as you greeted everyone. Everyone nodded, and the guy who first noticed you shook your hand and said, “Hi, (L/N)-chan, I'm Tetsuro Kuroo,” he said, smiling, “I can't wait to get to work with you!”
Following the orientation session, the President directed you to interact and bond with the new team members. As you began to learn more about your fellow members, you noticed Kuroo's gaze on you from the corner of your eye for the longest time. As you all decided to go out to eat, your peripheral vision lingered on Kuroo as you all laughed at his jokes. When everyone had parted ways, you felt a tap on your shoulder, which prompted you to turn to Kuroo, who then inquired, “Shouldn't we? This is where my house is,” pointing in the general direction of your house.
“Wait, do you live here as well?” you asked, your mouth agape. He chuckled when he found out you two were neighbours. You sauntered beside him, shrugging your shoulders and conversing about various topics. You then discovered that he loved volleyball and had represented his high school as Captain at Nationals. “You are, indeed, interesting, Captain,” you wink as you two walk to your houses. He smirks a little, replying, “I like it when you call me that,” approaching you to sultrily whisper in your ear, “do it again,” winking as he went towards his house, your cheeks reddening and your thighs clenching.
Time passes, and you spend more time with Kuroo, bonding with him as you prepare for your first events as a member of the organising committee, all of which were successful. You found solace in studying together without saying anything, just sensing each other's presence. There wasn't a night that went by without your long walks and late-night talks that always included some beer cans, despite the fact that beer wasn't your favourite drink and you wanted to change the taste with the taste of his lips. You gulped in some air, shaking your head in denial, oblivious to Kuroo's gaze on your lips and his mental desire to slowly unravel you.
The chilly winds were beginning to blow one day, and you receive a text from Kuroo in which he announces that he has a part-time job for the first time, and as a celebration, he proposes to finish a Cabernet Sauvignon bottle that he recently purchased. You accept his offer, chuckling to yourself, and rush to the kitchen to grill some chicken. You've just finished cooking when you hear a knock on the door. You smile as you rush to the door and see Kuroo standing in front of you with the wine bottle. He beams at you, showing you what he bought along with the wine: your favourite box of chocolates.
If anyone was to come and see you two, they'd think that you and Kuroo have been friends for years. There was a sense of comfort that took over the feeling of nervousness, as you two spoke about anything and everything. What you two were choosing to ignore, however, was the number of stolen glances and accidental touches towards each other. This is when Kuroo asked, “So (L/N)-chan, what was dating like for you? How many people did you date and sleep with?” This causes you to cough in major nervousness.
Taking a deep breath, “Kuroo-kun, you know you can call me (Y/N) right?” Chuckling, he replied, shrugging, “I know, and you can call me Tetsuro, you know that right?” You smile, take a deep breath, and muster the courage to let him know, “I've dated men, yes, and I just got out of a 2-year relationship months ago, but I've never slept with anyone, just made out.” Looking down at the ground, you confessed, “I was always scared that my first time wouldn't be special. Also, lately, I've been having thoughts, musings if you will, about a certain someone that makes me go insane.”
After humming and looking down, Tetsuro looked into your eyes, realization hitting him, “Oya?” while raising an eyebrow. He smiles and continues, “It's the same for me, y'know? My ex called it off with me recently, because I didn't want to go all the way. So I'm hoping our first time will be special,” he said, biting his tongue when he realized his mistake. A wicked smile crept across your face as you said, “You mean your first time.” You grin and draw in closer, whispering to him, “Maybe it's the wine, but I miss being kissed and held, and perhaps I want to get over with it.” He draws closer and admits he feels the same way.
There was so much tension that a knife could cut right through it. Even as your thighs clench and you take ragged breaths, you both maintain eye contact. As you draw closer, your lips brush against his. Just as you're about to kiss for the first time, one of your phones rings, and you jump in fright. On Tetsuro's phone, the text read “Taketora Yamamoto.” You'd learned that Yamamoto was an old school friend of Tetsuro's that he played volleyball with. He was reminding Tetsuro of a university-related event that all of you were supposed to attend at night.
After you both realized you were tipsy, you decided to go for a walk to shake it off. Several minutes later, when the event ended, you all decided to walk home, but you felt dizzy. So, instead of hailing a taxi, you yelled at a white pickup truck that was approaching and yelled “Howdy!” The two boys were shocked and delighted and jumped in the back of the pickup truck as it took you back home. Yamamoto walks off and you two stare at each other, but then you both turn around and go back to your apartments.
Upon reaching home, you get a text from him, saying, “Oi, just to let you know, I wanted to kiss you, I wanted to stay. I wanted to sleep while hugging you.” You started twiddling your thumbs when he calls, causing you to confess that you needed it just as much as he, and that you were standing outside your apartment, waiting for him. The moon and stars were the only witnesses to your wanton need for him. The rustling of the leaves, along with your languid breaths and pacing heartbeats, were the only sounds you could hear on this calm November night.
Not for long though, because suddenly, you heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs to your apartment. You turned to your left to see that he was wearing a navy-blue t-shirt and black sweatpants with flip-flops. All inhibition seemed to slowly fade away and turn into a desire to feel every inch of him, caressing his cheeks, kissing his lips, wondering what it would feel like when he was totally in sync with you.
You didn't have to wait for long as he approached you, his lips landing on yours, while you two cupped each other's cheeks, and ranked nails through each other's hair. To you, his lips felt cold, touch-starved, but tasted sweet and intoxicating, just like the wine you two had. To him, your lips were warm, like a calming beach, where you'd be sipping on sangria. Lost in each other, you walk backward and he forward as you lock the main door, ignoring anyone else's presence. Both of you then dash toward the bedroom, locking the door then jump on the bed, kissing hard, sucking on each other's bottom lip and swirling your tongue around his and vice versa, to gain control, until he stopped you, and he purred, reassuringly, “(Y/N), I want to let you know that I'll be gentle, and I'll take my time. I want to know you, every part of you, and hopefully claim them all to be mine.”
When you nodded, giving him permission to continue, you started taking notice of every movement of his. You continued kissing as he hiked up your (F/C) sweatshirt to let his fingers run through your waist, the chilly air from the ajar windows grazing your skin, causing you to tremble and tilt your face upward and your mouth a little open, causing him to kiss you hard, rasping, “Do you want me to take off your shirt?”
While you hummed in response and kept your arms up, and your lips were glued to each other, sitting up with your elbows, he took off your sweatshirt. Then, you rolled up his t-shirt and took it off as soon as you got out of the kiss, carefully inspecting every inch of his beautiful physique with your fingers. You were clearly in awe of him and this moment. “I can’t believe I get to do this with you,” you murmur as your eyes got to see everything, finally your gaze landing on his hazel eyes.
He holds you by your waist, picks you up, perches you on your lap, and puts his arms around the small of your back as you straddle him with your arms around his neck, the two of you do not stop smiling. “Have I ever told you, (Y/N), that you’re beautiful?” Tetsurō tells you with a soft smile, causing you to blush and look the other way, the incandescent light of the moon shining on your face. The moon and the stars were the only witnesses to the two of you exploring intimacy in a whole new dimension. He lifts your chin with his finger, bringing you to look at him as he carefully unhooks your bra, peels it off, and discards it on the ground, with your breasts on display.
This time, it was Tetsurō who had his mouth wide open, gasping, “I can’t believe you hid them from me, (Y/N) ‘cause they look so perfect,” and he cups both of your mounds and fondles with them, his thumbs flicking your nipples, causing your pussy to throb, and you tilt your head backward, biting your lip. He increases the pace of his flicking, causing you to whimper further, and grind slowly on him. He then says, “can I go down on you, would you like that?,” and you smile and nod as he picks you by your butt, you wrap your legs around his waist, and places you gently on the bed, with your head on the pillow.
With careful intention, he slowly and gently takes off your black pants and sees your lace underwear, causing him to smirk as he sees the wetness through. He teases while splaying one of his hands over your tummy, “seems to me like you’ve been waiting for it for a long time, don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” He slowly takes the lace off your legs as your wetness was a full-on display for his ravenous eyes while licking his lips.
“I’m going to do it slowly, please tell me if you like it or not,” Tetsuro breathed, causing you to nod and his fingers start to explore every part of you, the wetness, the clit, the folds, every single touch was sending you into a frenzy. He finds and then starts rubbing your clit in a clockwise motion. Closing your eyes harder, you whimper while you’re arching your head up, crying out his name and whimpering, “Oooh Tetsuro, it feels so nice.”
Both of you started to speak an unspoken language full of intense eye contact, moans, and groans as he kept stroking your clit, increasing the pace and intensity. The words, “it feels so good, please don’t stop,” were reverberating in the air in the room. As you were breathing heavily and trembling, he kept quietening you saying, “it’s going to be okay, I got you. Then, with your wetness as lube, he inserted one of his slender fingers into your pussy, the slightest movement causing you to arch your back and mewl louder.
“Oh, my, shit,” Tetsuro cried out, “you really are tight. Damn, I love this pussy already,” while pushing the finger in and out slowly, stimulating you in a way you’d never felt before. You then cry, “please go a little faster,” while biting back a moan, to which he replies, “with pleasure, baby,” as he increases his pace. “Don’t hold back, I want to hear you moan,” he says as you move your hips along the fingering movement, continuing to moan. That’s when he inserts another finger and says, “I’m going to start to exploring you with my mouth, so why don’t you spread your legs for me, hmm?”
As an act of obedience, you spread your legs, showing him with great detail how it looked. He first starts to kiss your clit, still maintaining eye contact with you, but you break it to close your eyes and be lost in the pleasure. As he kisses your clit, he sucks on your folds, slowly, while still fingering you with two fingers. Your hands were fisting on the sheets, and you couldn’t hold back your screams as he was doing it so well.
For a brief moment, you remembered something. You couldn't believe it was his first time too, because, he seemed to know his way around your body much better than you did while you were touching yourself when you were alone. A coil was slowly building up within you as he took out his fingers and fully eat you out with his hands on your thighs until you yell, “Tetsu, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, ngh-” your legs start to tremble as the coil snaps.
He holds you steady with his hands, causing you to have your first orgasm of the night and him to slurp in your essence. He then kisses your pussy, gets up, sucks on his fingers to taste your slick, towers over you, with his tummy pressed against yours as he kisses you fervently, both of you get to taste how you tasted. You definitely liked it, you liked the way he did it and would thus never stop asking him from now on.
“Let me make you feel good too,” you plead to Tetsuro as you sit up, putting your hands on his shoulders, making his half-naked body lie down as you perch on top of him, and straddle him, as you lean forward and kiss him sloppily, but you couldn’t care. All your hidden feelings for him were slowly starting to creep up as you released yourself from the kiss and watch the moon reflect on his eyes. You think to yourself, “oh god, how is he so…beautiful?”
You move to a side as he slides the sweatpants off only for you to see him in black boxers. “Damn, you’re packing,” you gasp as you see his bulge. Both of you chuckle, as your hands stroke him, causing him to lean his head back against the headboard, and close his eyes. You peel the boxers off of him, to see his dick slap against his abdomen. “Tetsu, it’s big,” you whimper in nervousness, to which he calmly replies, “(Y/N), baby, I believe you’ll do well. Please take it in, I can’t wait.”
He then starts to feel your lips wrap around the head of his dick, touching nothing else, just your tongue swirling around slowly, getting a taste of his pre-cum. “Baby, please open your eyes and see if I’m making you feel good,” you cry out to him as he tilts his head in your direction and his gaze fixates on you. While maintaining eye contact, your mouth slides all the way down to the base of his dick. You suck, hard, just once. But it's enough for him to feel like you’re pulling the cum out of him.
Tetsuro's lips gaped open and his eyelids rolled back as he closed his eyes, his face flushed with delight. You start moving your lips up and down, back and forth, pushed against his firm length. “Ngh, this feels so good," he whimpers, "I’m so glad that you’re my first.” With a smile on your face, you take one of his hands, run the fingers through your hair, and ask him to guide your speed. Tetsuro took small breaths, lightly thrusting into your mouth, not wanting to actually harm you because he didn't want to overwhelm you.
Tetsuro's lips gaped open and his eyelids rolled back as he closed his eyes, his face flushed with delight. As he brushed his tongue over his teeth, he swallowed, a lump in his throat. Only your low-sucking sounds could be heard as you continued to bob your head and groaned once or twice more. He breathed, "(Y/N)," writhing into your mouth, his nails digging into his calf. He also notices that your hands are caressing his balls. You slide off his dick and spend some time licking and sucking his balls, while stroking the length with one hand, making him moan, as the other hand rubs your clit, quickening the tempo while your knees sink deep into the mattress.
“Baby, that was so incredibly fantastic, I want to enter you,” he cries as you rise up and off the bed, still hooked on him. "Can I? Would you be able to get a condom out of my pants for me?" As he gets up, you walk over to his sweatpants, grab a condom package, hand it to him, and lie down on the bed, ripping the plastic and sliding the rubber on him. He noticed your lips quivering, and you exhaling deeply out of sheer nervousness, causing him to furrow his eyebrows. That’s when he approached you, tummy pressed against yours yet again, and intertwining his fingers with yours. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Tetsuro leans towards you closely and asks out of sheer concern.
When you looked at the reflection of the moon from his eyes, you noticed a sense of sincerity and security from him. You’d always wondered how your first time would look like. How it would feel like. You’d heard a lot of things that happen, including the deep pain you experience, but were curious to experience it yourself. Never did you think, however, that you’d be losing it to someone that you’d bonded with over the span of a couple of months. You’d always viewed him as a friend, but circumstances had caused you two to be closer and eventually start innocently flirting with each other.
One thing led to another and you’re here. Caressing his cheek with your knuckles, you started to feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He always made you feel some type of way, but you never realized how until this very moment. For a split second, however, you thought of your exes, who’d hurt you and betrayed your trust, as flashbacks popped into your head, but you decided to quickly shirk your fear off. You were here, in the moment, with him. That’s when you smile at him, replying softly, “I’ve never been more sure.”
Tetsuro then smiles, leaning forward to whisper in your ear, adding, “I'm going to enter you slowly, okay?” while leaving open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder and sucking on it. He then aligns the clothed dick with your entrance, continuing, "Please let me know if it hurts,” while you nod. Slowly, he teases your entrance sliding up and down, watching you bite your lower lip as your cunt throbs. Tetsuro then pushes in slowly, with the tip stretching you out, causing you to moan his name and writhe in pain as it stings you a bit. “Baby, it’s okay, I’m here, breathe deeply for me,” he urges, as you regulate your deep breaths while he rubs your clit to help you relax. You then plead, “Baby, ‘s too big, I want you to fill me up,” wrapping your legs around him and arching back, the pain then turning into pleasure as he goes deeper before eventually bottoming out, you throwing your head back and moaning loudly in response.
He then grabs your chin to tilt your head down, maintaining eye contact as his hands push into your hip as he’s thrusting in and out of you. Eventually, he increases the pace as his hands travel to yours, intertwining fingers and pressing his forehead against yours. “Is this okay, baby?” Tetsuro asks, nervously, causing you to tilt your head a bit so that you could kiss him, and you respond by moaning, “Yes, baby, it feels big, it feels amazing. Please, don’t stop,” while scratching your nails on his back. This causes him to groan and increase his pace, and suck on the nipples, before eventually hitting the g-spot. You then curl your toes, while Tetsuro starts to kiss you, muffling your moans as he keeps going.
The sounds of skin slapping and both of you moaning reverberating in the air, with the smell of sex being obvious. Both of you were too intoxicated in the moment, the pleasure overwhelming you two, while Tetsuro explores the upper part of you with his lips. He kisses all over your neck, sucking in on some places marking you and kissing you on those very places. He continues to sink into your cunt as you two kiss each other sloppily, eventually causing you both to reach your high. “Baby, I’m cumming again,” you breathily cry out as he slows down his thrusts lazily, “Yes, baby, go on, cum for me, cum for me,” while he circles your clit with his thumb. With a final thrust, you cum together, his cock twitching and him releasing in the condom, and you gripping him tight and creaming him.
As he pulls out and discards the condom, he notices you whimpering in pain, prompting him to go to the bathroom, pick you up, carry you to the bathroom where you can smell dried flowers and scented candles, and lay you down in the bath tub where he locks the door and joins you. “Are you all right?” Tetsuro inquires, concerned, as your body sinks deep into the water, the warmth relieving the pain. “I've never been better, Tetsuro. I had no idea my first time would be so memorable. Thank you, you admit, exhausted, as he grabs your hands and forces you to lie down on his chest.
“You know,” he nuzzles into your neck, “maybe we should think about dating for real? Given that I've always liked you, and that I'm glad I got to lose it to you as well.” “Babe, I'm so sorry that I never got to ask you, did you like it too?” you ask, widening your eyes and turning your head to face him. Chuckling at you, he strokes your cheek with his knuckles, and says, “I couldn't imagine a better way to do so than to lose it to someone I like,” causing you to blush, nod and lock lips with him. With Tetsuro Kuroo, it truly felt like an endless period of ecstasy.
After that, he gets out of the bathtub, wipes himself, puts another towel on the bed, returns to the bedroom, and wipes you dry. He then urges you to wear his t-shirt, which may appear oversized to you, but you adore the gesture, while he wears boxers. You then put on some music, cover yourselves, and he kisses your forehead and gives you a peck on the lips before snuggling into him and drifting off to sleep, looking forward to more nights with him. You didn't have to imagine how you felt at the end of the night because there was only one word to describe how you felt: heavenly.
© Shyna 2022 - Reposting on another platform is not allowed
#afirsttimeforeverythingcollab#shy pens it out#kuroo tetsurou#kuroo x y/n#kuroo tetsuro x you#kuroo tetsurou smut#kuroo smut#haikyuu smut#haikyuu oneshot#college au#tw alcohol#tw alcohol consumption#tw hickeys#tw fellatio#kuroo tetsurou x reader#let shy bite your lower lip#shy's a slave for kuroo tetsurou
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Burning Bridges
[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: Upon an incident that was out of your control, Dexter comes to the realization that it wasn't just a coincidence.
WC: 1951
Category: Slight Angst, Hurt/Comfort
I forgot how much I missed this show (him), so I decided to write another. It's been so long since I last wrote for him that I actually see the difference in my writing. It's wack.
『••✎••』
Dexter was many things… a brother, a son, a pro bowler, a serial killer… but what he lacked was being a good friend.
He didn't understand friendship or its value. It was something that he simply couldn't grasp. Sure, he was able to fake it well enough in order to make sure that people liked him and didn't find him too creepy or strange, but there was never any real emotional connection. In his mind, everyone was either someone he needed or someone he didn't need, and he would treat them accordingly. The only exceptions to this rule were his sister, Debra, and you.
The two of you had met back in college, having been assigned to be each other's partners for a group project. It was a poetry class and a course that Dexter hadn't really wanted to take, but a general education requirement and the promise of an easy A convinced him to at least show-up and suffer through it. Well, for a guy who had to fake every single aspect of his personality in order to fit in with society, it turned out that poetry didn’t come quite as easily as he thought it would.
He had always found the art form to be rather silly, with all the emphasis on metaphors and flowery language. There was no purpose or goal other than to be creative and artsy, and it bored him to no end. The first time you had sat down with him to discuss the project, you could tell how much he didn't want to be there, and the look of complete disinterest on his face as he tried to figure out what your poem meant was the most hilarious thing that you had seen in a while. You couldn't help but laugh, the sound of which made him sit up and give you a quizzical look.
"What?" He asked, tilting his head slightly, confused.
"Nothing," you replied, still giggling. "It's just that I can tell that you don't like poetry."
"Why would you think that?"
"Because you haven't said a word; you're just sitting there, staring off into space and twirling your pencil between your fingers," you told him, and he glanced down at the utensil as if he didn't realize that he was doing that.
"Oh. Sorry, I guess," he apologized, his tone making it clear that he was actually a little annoyed at having been called out on his inattentiveness.
"That's okay. I like poetry, so I'll be happy to do most of the work," you offered, smiling sweetly, and his eyebrows raised.
And that you did. In fact, you loved it so much that you majored in English and planned on getting your Masters, while Dexter got his degree in criminology. It was a nice trade-off because while he struggled in poetry, getting down into the debts of his feelings that were nonexistent, you struggled with chemistry, unable to wrap your head around the subject no matter how hard you tried.
So, the two of you had a mutually beneficial agreement. You did all the work for the poetry class, and in exchange, he tutored you in chemistry and made sure that you got a decent grade. Once the class was over and done with, the two of you stayed friends, though you had very little in common. Dexter had no interest in books, and you had no interest in criminology. He was a loner, and you had plenty of friends. You were a romantic, and he was completely unromantic. He didn't even have a girlfriend, and you had been in three different relationships over the course of the two years that you had known him.
Still, the two of you got along well enough. You were one of the only people that Dexter could actually stand for more than five minutes, and he was the same to you. So you went out to the bar sometimes, hung out with his sister, and did your best to keep him company while also doing your best to try to set him up on dates, hoping that one of these days, he'd actually find someone. It eventually did work out when you found him Rita, but as of right now, she had broken up with him, and he was back to being a lonely bachelor which it didn't bother him much until now.
You were in the hospital, your head wrapped and bandaged like a mummy. You were apparently attacked outside the grocery store, and if it wasn’t for the small instructions he had given you for self-defense, you most likely wouldn’t have survived.
At first, Dexter didn’t think of it as anything important in terms of his line of work. He believed it to be a coincidence, a random crime in the night. But it turned into something more the night he decided to visit with some cake.
“How’s the head?” He asked as he came inside, seeing you propped up reading. Of course, you were reading.
You shrugged. “Like I’m wearing a sweater hat, but it doesn't hurt, so there's that." You paused, setting down your book and glancing at him. "I’m still salty about my groceries. Almost two hundred dollars I spent on that stuff. Gone. Wasted. Poof."
Dexter had to chuckle a bit. "Hey, I can't do much about the food, but I brought you something," he said, revealing the white box.
"Is it chocolate? If it is, I love you," you joked.
"No, it's just vanilla. But, here."
He opened the lid and showed you, and you immediately lit up.
"Awww, Dexter! You are the best friend ever," you gushed, giving him a warm smile.
He smiled back. "It's the least I could do."
He was cutting it up for you when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. You didn’t seem to notice, but out in the hall, a shadow passed by the window. His body went on alert, eyes flickering towards the door. He couldn’t see much, but he could make out an elderly man with gray hair and a beard.
Dexter's face remained unchanged, though his body language betrayed him as he sat the cake knife down. He knew that look. That look in a man's eyes when he was looking at prey. This was a predator.
"Hey, uh, what was that description again? Of the man who attacked you," Dexter asked, his tone a bit distracted.
"You mean Santa Claus on drugs? That pretty much sums it up. Why?" You looked up, confused.
"I don't know. It's probably nothing."
But it was something. The man had apparently come back to finish the job, and Dexter's jaw clenched at the thought. He was already planning his death in his mind. It wouldn’t be pretty.
He gave you a piece of cake, swearing that he’d be back soon before going after the man. He stopped at the lobby momentarily, informing Angel to keep an eye on you, which, of course, the cop complied with.
Angel was a good cop. He was loyal, smart, and a damn good shot. But there was one thing that made him a great cop. He cared about his city and the people in it. He would protect the innocent no matter the cost, especially when it came down to those he was closest to. He was the kind of guy who would risk his life without a second thought if it meant saving others.
This is why Dexter liked Angel and why he was the only one that he trusted with this job.
Finding the man was extremely easy on his part. Dexter already knew what the guy’s plan was, so he stuck around outside the parking lot, watching the shadows. After a few minutes, the man appeared, heading towards the entrance once again.
He never got that far.
A hand was clamped over his mouth while the other dragged him away from the double doors and towards the side of the building. Dexter didn’t pull out his knife, though, only resorting to his arms as he applied pressure against his throat. The man fought, trying to break free, but he didn't get the chance. Dexter didn’t kill him, no, not yet, but his arm was still strong, and he had no plans to let go.
“Listen closely. If you so much as look the wrong way, I will rip your heart out and shove it down your throat. Understand? Nod if you do," he threatened, his voice calm and even.
The man nodded, terrified, his eyes wide.
"Good," Dexter replied, “Why are you here?"
The man was quiet, but he was breathing heavily, and his eyes were watering.
"Talk. That girl, why are you after her?"
"I’m not—”
"You attacked her, and now you came back to finish the job, did you not? Who sent you?"
The man was sweating; his face was flushed and red. Dexter was pressing too hard, and his victim was starting to lose air. He didn’t care.
"Who?" He repeated.
The man choked, unable to speak.
"Last chance. Who sent you? And don't lie to me."
The man didn’t answer, and Dexter tightened his hold. That finally did it. The man began to squirm violently, trying to break free, but it was too late. His face started to turn purple, and Dexter had to adjust his grip and pull him closer.
“It wasn’t personal! I had to! I didn't have a choice! It was just a job!" He gasped out, struggling for air. “I got paid to do it. I was just doing what I was told! Please, please, don't kill me."
"Who was it?"
"I—I don’t know. It was some lady. I met her at a bar. She didn’t give her name, but he wasn’t American. She gave me ten thousand dollars and told me that the job was to attack this chick in the parking lot and make it look like an attempted robbery. Said it had to be done in a couple of days. Listen, man, I didn't want to do it. But the money—"
"What did she look like?" Dexter cut in.
"Dark hair. Young. I don't know! I don't know, I swear. She wore sunglasses the whole time. Please, don’t kill me. Please."
Suddenly, it hit him like a ton of bricks. The Dark Passenger was roaring, the realization washing over him like cold water.
Lila.
Everything made sense now. The way she had suddenly showed up out of nowhere, the incident outside the bowling alley, her sudden interest in you. It all made sense. She was behind it. She had done it.
Dexter wanted to snap the man's neck. He wanted to rip his throat out. He wanted to take his knife and stab him over and over again, to punish him for what he had done to you, but he refrained. He had the answers he needed, and the cameras around were still running.
He dropped him and watched him collapse, gasping for air. He didn't move, too scared and in shock to do so. Dexter didn’t say a word; his anger was silent, but it was boiling beneath his skin.
He was going to kill her. He was going to hunt her down and end her, and there was no place on Earth where she could hide.
“You ever, and I mean ever, come near her again; I will tear out your spine and make you choke on it. Understand?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I understand."
Dexter didn’t say anything else; he simply walked off, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He had a lot to think about.
#dexter morgan x reader#dexter#dexter series#dexter morgan x female reader#dexter x reader#dexter x female reader#debra#debra morgan#deborah morgan#dexter morgan#michael c hall#michael x hall x reader#florida#slasher#slasher fandom#dexter fanfiction#dexter fandom#dexter tv series#dexter tv#darkly dreaming dexter#angst#hurt/comfort#protective!dexter#dexter book series#fanfiction#reader#x reader#plot driven fic#heavy angst
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Opera/Chapter 1: A Mistake Waltz
Serial Killer!Michael Langdon x Y/N (ballet reader)
Plot: A delusional fan obsessed with a ballerina...what will Langdon do?
Warnings: Obsessive fan, delusional Michael Langdon, talk about parents death, reader is a perfectionist, and passionate but has self doubts, not sure if this should be a warning but also toxic sibling?, mention of death, noncon voyeurism, depicted graphic murder, mentions of arsenic poisoning and dissection.
Let me know if i missed any warnings please! and this will get darker lol, please don’t read if you don’t feel comfortable!
Disclaimer: This fic is inspired by one of my favourite films Opera by Dario Argento (one of my favourite filmmakers ever!) and Phantom of the Opera! This is dedicated to those who inspired me they know who they are by now, one them has their name is in the fic! Also of course based in the 70s, none of my fics are based in the present lmaoooo.
Word count: 2.5k
Also the pictures don’t depict the reader, I will be mentioning Edgar Degas paintings in the chapter hence why I used those pictures, but I tried my best to make it inclusive! I am new to writing!! 🥺
7th of April 1974, “Dana, The most viewed ballerina since Anna Pavlova, The Dying Swan” was on New York Times, It was also the talk of their small town Beacon, New York. Shared between people and all over the radio and television in New York City. Dana is loved internationally from Russia, New York to Paris. Nicknamed, “The Pride and Bride of New York City”. However, her sister Y/N isn’t.
The Opera House, despite it being in a small town, it attracts a lot of attention thanks to Dana. Nicknamed the “Broadway of Beacon”, now the best-known landmark, a performing arts facility with 3000 seats in the concert hall, it is host to symphony concerts, choir performances, and ballet shows. With the neoclassical architecture built in the mid 19th century; marble Corinthian columns and bronze busts, expensive velvet and gold marbles for the interior.
The only place Y/N wasn’t allowed access to are the mysterious cellars under the main stage, their manager telling them that the owner’s daughter died there, Unknown circumstances. Her unborn child was found bloodily deformed, hidden in the window seat of the owner’s office.
Rumours were going around of a killer on the loose, murdering women in their 20s. Another rumour states that the murderer likes to uses arsenic, to knock them unconscious and then dissect them, as if they were his own musical instrument. The owner was able to hide it from the tabloid, to avoid hurting the image of the Grand Opera House. The sisters never bothered checking it out, after hearing about the daughter that will remain forever nameless, what didn’t help is their manager brushing it off every time they tried to ask questions, concerning the mysterious disappearance of the body.
—————-
Before their performance of Swan Lake Acte Un, Y/N and Dana are in their room, Dana’s station is full of roses, dandelions and daisies bouquets varying in colours like their costumes, accompanying the flowers are 100 fan letters delivered by hand, while Y/N’s station is empty like Dana’s love for her sister.
As Dana finishes applying the tinted red blush on her cheeks, Dana looks up to Y/N in their shared mirror and sees Y/N looking at one of her fan letters, stating in big red lines with drawn hearts all round it that she is a way better performer and more flexible than her sister.
Y/N lost in thought, her only fan didn’t send her a scented letter today.
“You know nobody cares about you, except for me…. of course”, Dana utters with a sarcastic tone
“Thanks, I guess”, Y/N snaps out of her ritualistic obsessive routine of snooping through her sister’s letters and continues applying her mascara.
The manager, Jade yells at them to finish up as the show is about to start.
They start finalizing their visages and their looks with the help of their assistant, tying down the final net layers.
The costume was designed and hand sewn by a known French Designer, Étienne Lefleuve. A blue tutu with silver diamond glimmering against the big studio lights, and accompanying the tutu, a bodice that contains a black tulle, decorated with feathers and rhinestones, and a wing-shaped piece of lace around the waist, the design going all the way to their chest.
However, Dana being Odette, her costume stood out so much more with her top skirt garnished with sapphire lace embellished with feather patterns. White feathers decorating her earlobe, and a cut crease look, a black eyeliner that help contrast her emerald eyes.
-
For Y/N, The Opera house is her haven but also her inferno. Despite her strong apparent appearance, before a performance, she recites “Memento Mori” three times before entering the stage. To ease her nerve and to remind herself that she is doing what she is passionate about, her first love and only love, ballet.
-
As the Y/N opens the big red wide curtains to the audience of the Opera’s house, she sees him.
He is here again.
A man in the audience always stood out to her, sitting in the front row seats. Long blond locks, plump lips and blue eyes as the colour of a clear blue sky in a summery day. Wearing the same Victorian-like attire when he sees her performance every weekend: a crimson necktie, and a black cloak staggering on the seat, showcasing his broad shoulders. He doesn’t seem like he belongs here... in this time period. He didn’t seem to fit it in. An eidolon. Like her.
He has been infatuated with her for months, obsessive and crazy about her. His mind has caged her dazzling movements. She is not Odette, but he always imagined that she is his Odette, his swan princess. Mailing her letters every morning to her workplace as soon as he opens his eyes and sending her letters to her private home every time the sun goes down without her sister noticing. Hoping one day instead of the hassle of mailing her letters, he would just voice his comments to her. Scared of rejection, for now he loves her from a distance.
He watches her movements attentively on stage. She dances flawlessly, like fragile wings trembling by the wind. Her eyes are closed to focus on the rhyme of the music, lost in its’ chorus. Effortlessly, she moves from one spot to another, her feet touching the ground with her pastel blue slippers, her tuff going up and down from the intensity of her movements. He thought she looked divine, her ballet costume, full of rhinestones making her look like an angel with a halo surrounding her, forgetting about the outstanding scenic design behind the players.
——-
While dancing figuratively on stage, forgetting her sister is around her, she decides to squint her eyes open. She sees a single tear dropping from his exquisitely structured face, trickling down his sharp cheekbones. Her heart skipped a beat, this time not from the rhythm of the music but rather from the emotion portrayed on this young man. She never saw him cry before. Was he crying because of her? She thought to herself. First time being swayed by something else besides the music. Halfway through Act 1, Scene, in the heat of the moment, she trips over her sister.
She was overwhelmed with the interest of the stranger in her art and in her. Overwhelmed with the sadness echoing from his deep sombre eyes matching the main’s theme,“the music of the grief soul”
She did not realize the pain coming from her sister, tell she heard her scream echoing in her eardrums, and a clashing sound.
“Ouch!”
She looks at her sister’s pained ankle, did not realize she was in pain too, till she left the stranger’s gaze.
She was shocked.
She made a mistake.
She was hurt.
Not bothered by the physical pain but by her perfectionism routine being ruined.
She looks at the crowded audience again, but the seat that her eyes mostly lingered on the past shows was gone..his red velvet seat was now empty. She, however saw his back figure, walking out of the big theatre. She felt that he was the performer and not her, his hands opening the black curtains to exist the theatre.
Her performance moves him softly, makes his heart beat and makes him feel human again, but then when he saw her in pain, he discovered a new emotion he never saw linger on her face. he realized he is like the devil feeding on her pain, but he didn’t mind, His mind is consumed with the thought of her delicate small neck and the rhythm of her heartbeat, on his thick veiny hands. He thought even Mozart would be envious of him.
Despite the distance, she stood out to him. He liked how her eyes changed when they are in pain, her eyebrows furrowed forming a shape similar to a swan’s smallest feather. He liked that now he has another different vision of you in his head now.
It will be easier to kidnap her with a tortured ankle, less work and less the fuss, he thought to himself.
She will be his eventually, in desire and in flesh. He however wasn’t sure if he wanted her for a quick fuck, wanted to kill her, or actually wanted her. He usually obsessive over specific women that he wants to murder, an instinct he calls it, but things were different with how he felt with her, his heart usually skips a beat from the thrill of murdering and seeing blood pouring out of bodies, he thinks it’s like looking at dripping chocolate sauce on a sundae... on a hot summer day.
He never forgot the day, he discovered he actually sexually desires her. After a performance, she was in the changing room. The assistant helping out with the complicated layers of the garment, untangling the ropes of the bodice. He can see her refection on the standing baroque mirror, and that was the first time he saw her completely unveiled. His lustful eyes raking down her body. Instead of his heart throbbing, this time it was his cock. Unconsciously, His palm was over his bugle, rubbing himself through his trousers, while looking at her slowly getting revealed in front of him like a little present. From then on, he couldn’t fuck any of his victims, every time he tried to, her naked body would flash as a mental image, like an intrusive thought.
——-
The curtains close, ceasing her view of the audience in horror. Despite the warmth coming from her pained ankle, her whole body felt frozen.
“you fucking jealous bitch, you will pay!”, Y/N hears her sister’s voice drifting further away in the distance. The only thing that isn’t drifted is her heart thumbing loudly
She felt chatter behind her, but out of shock she stood still, feeling disconnected from reality.
Wrapped inside her head with so many questions left to answer, the tabloid already didn’t like her, what will happen now after this? She never realized he was that captivating till she saw a single tear fall from his eye. She thought even Adonis didn’t stand a chance.
Did she move him that much? She felt that she was out of breath, adrenaline bursting into her views, which usually for her, comes from the effect of Tchaikovsky compositions and not a man’s endearment.
Is it an endearment?
his eyes portrayed so much agony, or did she misinterpreted that? What was weird is there were no emotional reaction to when he witnessed her mistake waltz.
The Buffy manager wearing a black suit and tie, taps her shoulder, making her snap back to reality
“what was that all about?, we had to end the show early because of your fuckin mistake!...act one!” Jade’s voice burning Y/N’s eardrums
Oh right…her sister.
She looks at the wooden floor on the right side, where her sister was performing she realized she wasn’t there anymore..
She blinks her eyes several time and pinch her wrist to make sure she is not dreaming, still giving her manager her back. Her pacing heart felt like a wrecking ship drowning and her head pounding with tension
“I am talking to you!” The manager twirls her body around with her brawny hands to face her, while her bulky body overshadows Y/N’s figure and the lights of the Opera house
“where is my sister?” She quietly mutters the words, looking at Jade’s eyes that has a menacing glare.
“Well, where do you think?, she states sarcastically, “ they took her to the hospital after that stunt you pulled”
She felt her body tense up, when did that happen? And also why didn’t they think about her pained ankle too? She thought to herself.
“How’s she?” Her voice is soft, worried about her sister.
There was a small stiff pause
She hears her manager sigh, “Well, we will find out”
She lower her gaze, trying not to get emotional and hoping no tears come out of her eyes.
“I know what you’r thinking”, the manager who usually is expressionless, snarled with a smile
When Y/N’s manager uttered those words, she look at her, to give her a sign to continue what she is getting at. Jade’s sly smile turns into and a smirk, “ but you ain’t going with you’r sister” she leaves her hardened grip that was on Y/N’s shoulder to circle around her physique.
“Your sister has to be treated separately, especially being the “The Pride and Bride of New York City”…you know better than that Y/N”, Jade stated over her shoulder.
Of course, the favourite sibling. Y/N felt her heart ache, She has never been the first choice for anyone. Even their parents before their car accident which sorrowfully took their lives, 5 years ago. They were hardly any childhood photos of Y/N. They always left Y/N with her self-conscious thoughts when Dana criticized her and judged her. She never got positive affirmations from their parents like when graduated at the top of her class in high school and when she won a swimming competition at a local sports club but they congratulated and threw a party for Dana when she won a small piano competition at school.
Maybe that’s why she didn’t feel bad over her sister’s stay at the hospital, caused by her mistake waltz.
Y/N thinks back to her manager, she knows she was not her favourite but she was never this blunt with her.
Y/N huffs and decides to start walking away from Jade to help stop her pestering inner dialogue, “No worries, I don’t need to be treated anyways, I got it myself”, She, however, suddenly felt a sharp pain, like knives piercing deep scars on her tender skin, but she didn’t want to show her manager that she was throbbing in pain. Trying to hide her whimpering by biting her mouth and slowly going to her room, taking hard steps despite the slippers. She can feel them echoing through the hall.
-
She gets back to her room, finding a letter waiting for her. Surprised she received one, especially after what happened today.
By the colour, She can tell it was from that person; a ballet slipper pink envelope with a red wax steel stamp. With no name attached to it, but they call themselves “Your Beloved”, which kind of did put her on edge because isn’t that what people address their lover?
But it did make her heart swell to know she is this person’s first choice. For once.
She smells the envelope like she always does and the scented letter habitually has a soft fragrance of vanilla mix with lavender remains of a flower that once bloomed. It is as if they know that her favourite flowers are lavender and her favourite ice cream flavour is vanilla. She never mentioned that to the press, not that they did care about that. They always interviewed her sister over her.
She opens the yellowed letter that always seemed somehow ancient, precisely with the scripture writing but this time the cursive writing is decorated in blood red, it did not feel like a fountain pen or a quill this time.
She realizes only two sentences are written.
“Don’t worry my beloved, I will protect you….I am coming for you….
“Despite seeing your dashing performances, I get so tired of watching. I want to start doing.”
But there are initials this time.
Signed M.L
Who the fuck is M.L?
taglist: @bloodcoatedeclipse @king-with-no-crovvn @9layerdevilfoodcake
@revengeoftheantichrist @plymptxn-reborn @waltzwiththedevil @wroteclassicaly @angelicmichael @ramona-thorns @anakinsslag @ritualmichael @sojournmichael @kitty4860 @deliciousartpoliticsdean @darkladyslytherin @wasteland-babe @chicaluna2410 @we-did-it-joe @beautyiswithinchaos @devilish-hecate @rexellaaa @thatbit5 @d3monslust @luciahoneychurch @saamwilsonn @codyfernuk @melodylangdon @anojaisasleep @manmadewhorror @wroteclassicaly @naughtygranger @brooklinn13 @wormycircumstance
(I tagged people who wanted to be tagged or who I thought might be interested to read the fic!)
Sorry Dana , your character is kinda bitchy lmao😭, wanted to dedicate you somehow!!!🙈
#Michael Langdon#michael langdon x reader#michael langdon x you#michael langdon x y/n#Dark!Michael Langdon#Soft!Dark Michael Langdon#American Horror story#American horror story fanfiction#American Horror story Apocalypse#american horror story: apocalypse#Michael langdon fanfiction#michael langdon smut#michael langdon story#michael langdon imagine#michael langdon fic#cody fern#cody fern x reader#michael langdon blurb#dark story#michael langdon fiction#outpost michael langdon#outpost michael langdon x reader#reader insert#cody fern fanfic#michael langdon x fem!reader#AHS fanfic#AHS fanfiction#ahs: apocalypse#AHS: APOCALYPSE FICTION#Ahs: apocalypse fiction
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michael myers | 1.1k
clyde logan x female reader
cw: clyde dresses up as michael myers and you give him a blowjob, fake blood, fake knife, scary clyde
an: no, serial killers are not cool it is all fiction
“Clyde, honey? You almost ready?” You called out while adjusting your costume in the mirror. You had been itching with anticipation the entire night. Clyde had decided to keep his costume a secret up until now, Halloween night. You had been begging him for weeks to divulge his secret, or at least give you a hint or two. His resolve remained rock solid, and at some point you stopped prying.
“Clyde?” You called again. The trailer was eerily silent. Clyde had disappeared into your shared bedroom about fifteen minutes ago to get ready. You peered out of the bathroom and carefully crept down the hall. You slowly leaned into your bedroom, hoping to catch an early glimpse of his costume. No such luck, as the room was uninhabited. Your brows pulled together as a confused frown settled onto your face. Trick or treaters would be comin’ round any minute, and Clyde was nowhere to be seen.
Floorboards creaked softly under worn carpet, Clyde’s work boots thudding quietly against the floor. His eyes met your tensed shoulders through the two small holes in his mask.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he reached you. His eyes burned holes into your back, waiting for you to spin around and meet your fate.
“Jesus christ, Clyde!” You practically yelped. You clutched your chest, drawing in shaky breaths. As the initial shock wore off, you were able to fully take in his appearance. His face was obscured by white latex and silicone. He wore dark blue coveralls that his chest filled out just right. “I-I thought you said you were gonna be a pirate?” You stammered.
You were right, that is what he told you. Clyde didn’t tell you he’d been planning to play into a little fantasy of yours. You knew your affinity for the grueling killer was taboo, which is why you never spoke on it.
He saw the way you ogled at Michael Myers when the two of you watched the 1978 classic. You were always amazed at his sheer strength; he could toss bodies around like nothing. And his body, his chest was so broad, and his thighs so firm. It just so happened your Clyde had a strikingly similar build.
Clyde loomed over you, and you could hear his steady breaths underneath the mask. He picked up a lock of your hair, rubbing it between his thumb and pointer finger.
“Clyde, Jimmy and Sadie will be here any m-minute.” Your breath hitched, a mixture of fear and arousal pooling in your abdomen.
Your usually so friendly giant had transformed into a spine-chilling killer, and he played the part a little too well. He was hauntingly silent; the only sign of life Clyde possessed at this point was the heat radiating from his skin underneath your fingertips and the subtle rising and falling of his chest.
You swallowed thickly, taking small steps backwards to put some distance between your body, and he took heavy steps forward. Soon, your back was crowded against the wall. His hand found your neck, wrapping around your jugular, but not squeezing, only feeling. Feeling your throat fill out his grasp with every shallow breath you took. Your smaller hand met his forearm, tugging his hand away from you.
“C-Clyde?”
He finally pulled his hand away, letting his fingers trail down your chest. He stood firm in front of you, unwavering.
“We really can’t. Trick-or-treaters will start comin’ by soon and-” His hand returned to your face, this time clamping over your mouth. Your lips were squished against his fingers, saliva meeting his flesh. You nodded, understanding he needed you to shut your mouth. His newfound ability to command you without words made your core ache.
You squeezed your thighs together and practically mewled. He allowed you to unzip his coveralls, but when your fingers tugged at the bottom of his mask, he was quick to grab your wrists and pull them away from his body. His stern gaze was warning you don’t do it again.
You had unzipped his coveralls down to his bellybutton, the beginnings of his happy trail peeking over the silver zipper. He stopped you before you could pull it any further, tugging at the hem of your shirt. You knew what he wanted. He wanted you naked.
Trick-or-treaters be damned, you were happy to comply. He stood stock-still as you pulled your shirt over your head and yanked your bottoms off. You were breathless by the time you stripped down completely. He made no move to touch your naked body, still breathing mathematically under his mask.
And sweet, sweet Clyde, might have been experiencing a bit of a power trip. He liked the way your hands trembled as you ran your hands over his exposed chest. Your hand moved back to his zipper, and he allowed you to continue. Soon, you were revealing the black mess of curls that shrouded his half hard cock.
You sunk to your knees, peering up at him innocently. You tried to make out his honey brown eyes through the latex mask, but you could only see black. Nimble fingers pulled him from his polyester confines. He was heavy in your hands, his heady scent already filling your nostrils. You nosed at the base of his cock, inhaling deeper.
That’s when he grabbed a handful of your hair, forcing his tip to rest against your plush lips. He prodded them for a moment, played with you, toyed with you. You finally took him into your mouth, slick heat surrounding him instantly. Your costume lay abandoned on the floor behind you as you found your rhythm, closing your eyes and humming around him.
You waited for him to thrust into your mouth, buck his hips and sigh softly, whisper delicate praises, pet you gently. Such niceties never came, though. He was unmoving still, watching you intently as you choked and gagged.
When he filled your mouth, he did not so much as grunt. He did allow you the privilege of watching his abdomen flex from your spot nestled against his groin. Your puppy dog eyes met his unfeeling gaze, and he almost broke. He needed to collapse onto the floor with you, pull you close to his chest, cup your cheeks, feel your warmth against his palm. Even so, his resolve was ironclad.
You flashed him your tongue to solidify a job well done. He began to soften right in front of your eyes, still impressive as ever. He nudged his head in the direction of your costume, and you scrambled to dress yourself.
Soon enough, Jimmy was ringing the doorbell, Sadie dressed as Batman in tow. His transition back to good ole Clyde was seamless. In no time, he was chasin’ Sadie around the yard with his fake knife caked with bright red corn syrup and handing out fun sized candy to trick-or-treaters. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had anything else in store for you that night.
TAGLIST: @mollysolo @cornmousequeen @sprucewoodlover @i-love-scott-mccall
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veritaserum — draco malfoy
pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader
request: Hi I want to request a Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw reader please! a spell gone wrong makes Malfoy can say nothing but the truth throughout the day. Scared but too embarrassed to approach a teacher, he decided to go to y/n instead because she’s the top student of their charms class to help undo the spell but what he didn’t consider is how he would later straight out confess his attraction towards her, going on and on about her hair, her eyes, etc and they just share a heart-to-heart moment
a/n: i did Not proofread this so i apologize in advance if there r any typos!! also i made a v minor change to the req but other than that bon appetit
Someone spiked Draco's morning pumpkin juice.
It would have been really helpful if he'd noticed it before he laughed at Snape's face and called him a greasy git, after which his eyes grew comically wide and and he tried to hurriedly apologize (more out of fear for his parents than Snape)—only for his mouth to tell Snape to "go wash your hair for bloody once".
Veritaserum. Someone put blithering Veritaserum in his drink, and now he can't open his mouth without spitting out several of his deepest, darkest secrets.
"Two points from Slytherin for your uncharacteristic and very offensive behavior, mister Malfoy," Snape had sneered. "I will only tolerate this foolery once. The next time you dare to speak to me like that, I will not hesitate to treat you the same way I would treat any other student."
Draco would have tried to defend himself, but he isn't stupid enough to let another truthful insult slip out by accident, so he'd kept his mouth shut and nodded.
If one were to go into detail, they would tell you about how Draco had tried to ask Madame Pomfrey to help undo the potion's effects only to severely insult the poor old lady's hair, and how he'd also tried to ask McGonagall only to admit the fact that he'd cheated on her transfiguration test two years ago. He has insulted every single person he has tried to talk to so far during the day. He's called Crabbe an illiterate oaf, told a random Gryffindor couple passing by that they look absolutely dreadful together (something that he doesn't really regret blurting out, but he could have lived without letting them know), and admitted to Professor Flitwick that he'd paid someone to do most of his essays.
But if one were to put it simply, they would go like this: Draco is in a dilemma, and he needs help, fast.
Except he has severely offended every single person he has tried to ask for help, and will no doubt do the same for anyone he plans on asking. Draco is desperate. He is halfway through the school day and the effects of the truth serum have yet to wear off. At this rate, he's going to lose all of his friends, as well as lose his teachers' favor.
Draco can't ask a teacher in fear that all of his good grades will slip from his grasp at a single (honest) insult. He can't stick it out for the rest of the day, either, because when he spends too long a time not talking to anyone, it seems that the truth potion grows impatient and starts making him blurt out a bunch of his innermost secrets.
He has already shouted "I peed my pants when I was eight" in the Great Hall; there is no time to waste.
Potions class comes around right after breakfast and brings with it the inevitable need to face Snape again. Uncharacteristically enough, Draco doesn't swagger into the dreary dungeon classroom. Instead, he keeps his head down as he perches himself on his usual seat right—which is, of course, right in front of Snape's desk.
When the last of the students have filed in and Snape closes the dungeon door shut to begin the lesson, he makes sure to fix Draco with a long stare; one that Draco only holds for several seconds before he sniffs and casts his eyes away to look at his desk instead. You'd think that a Potions master would be able to tell when someone was under the influence of a truth potion—but then again Snape might also have known, but was too offended by Draco's jab about his hair.
He looks up sometime along the lesson and catches sight of the light reflecting off of Snape's greasy hair; well, Draco had been telling the truth.
For today's lesson, they're tasked to brew some sort of calming draught. Draco can't entrust Goyle—his partner—to even as much as get the name of the potion right, so Draco shoots the poor boy a familiar scowl and proceeds to do everything on his own. But Draco is no Potions expert, so instead of the faint lilac hue the liquid inside their cauldron is supposed to have turned into, it becomes a violently bubbling pink substance.
"Four slices of the bat spleen, mister Malfoy, not five," Snape drawls, peering down at Draco's cauldron through his hooked nose. "And you have been too heavy-handed on the lavender. Shame. I expected better."
Draco suppresses a sneer. Snape usually never points out his mistakes—that sort of treatment is reserved for other houses. Snape, it seems, took his insult to heart, the greasy-haired bloke.
Feeling severely irked, Draco slumps down in his seat, folds his arms over his chest, and stops trying entirely. He may be acting like a sulky five-year-old but so be it because Draco is not in the mood. He has humiliated his own self far too many times in one day (and been humiliated by Snape approximately ten seconds ago)—he wants this day over, fast, and with any luck, the Veritaserum out of his system by the end of it.
But he can't see how, so Draco does the only thing that he can do to help himself: he keeps his mouth shut.
The annoyance on his face shows as he surveys the dungeon room with a sour glare. Stupid Potter and Weasley are laughing over something at their shared table; why isn't Snape telling them off? Bloody slimeball. How dare he even speak to Draco like that? It's not like Draco lied. He has never seen anyone in such dire need of shampoo as Snape.
Draco shoots the back of his head a nasty glare from where he's standing all the way on the other side of the room, looming over a table of two Ravenclaws. One of them looks bored and the other seemingly immersed in potion-making; her movements are quick and precise as she pours one ingredient after the other into their cauldron with the same kind of effort Draco would put into making his afternoon tea—like what she's doing is an absolute piece of cake.
"Sit up, mister Corner," says Snape curtly, voice echoing throughout the dungeon and ceasing all chatter as he fixes the bored-looking Ravenclaw with a stony gaze. Draco recognizes him now—Michael Corner, some annoying half-blood he shares a few classes with. As for the girl beside him.. Draco tries to angle his head to see her properly, but her head is bowed over her cauldron and her hair blocks her face from view. "If you think you'll be getting the same outstanding grade as miss [Y/L/N] without even as much as lifting your pinky finger, then I assure you, you are terribly mistaken. I do not tolerate free riders."
[Y/N]. Draco knows her. Some Ravenclaw he has several classes with but has never spoken to—the one with the pretty eyes, Draco vaguely recalls himself thinking at one point, back when he'd first laid eyes on her. And truth be told her eyes are pretty; a lovely shade of [Y/E/C] that Draco has only seen up close once or twice.
But that is hardly the topic of concern, because if Draco turns his head just the right way and sits up a little straighter, he can see that the liquid inside of her cauldron has turned a glossy shade of faint lilac, which, according to the instructions written on the board, is what is exactly supposed to happen. [Y/N] finishes faster than anyone else, even Hermione Granger, and Draco sees Snape give her an appraising nod before moving on to criticize some other innocent student.
So it seems Snape isn't the only Potions expert in the room.
He perks up a little in his seat and fixes the Ravenclaw girl—[Y/N]—with a discreet stare out of the corner of his eye. [Y/N] sits down properly in her seat so that Draco gets a good view of her face (not a bad-looking one, an annoying little voice says inside his head). She hasn't even broken out in a sweat—it seems that potion-making isn't as difficult for her as it is for other people. Draco pictures the truth serum in his veins quivering in fear (although physically impossible) because he is pretty certain he's found the answer to his dilemma.
The rest of the class passes by annoyingly slow—or at least for Draco—because it seems like ages until Snape finally dismisses them for lunchtime. Draco just about jumps right out of his seat and strides straight towards [Y/N], who is currently in the process of stuffing her books inside her bag.
Draco clears his throat.
She turns around, and he's suddenly reminded of why he'd dubbed her as "the one with the pretty eyes", because she truly does live up to the name. Her eyes are strikingly [Y/E/C]; even the whites of her eyes look like they're tinted with gold. He finds himself incapable of speech for a brief moment, but then she raises her eyebrows and offers him a grimace of a smile, and Draco is back to himself again.
He opens his mouth to say "brew me something that'll stop me from blurting out the truth every bloody second" but instead what comes out is: "I've never spoken to you before but that's mostly because I have an irrational fear that I haven't quite admitted to myself yet which is that I'm scared of talking to pretty girls in fear that they'll reject me and my pride will be in tatters."
There's a split-second in which Draco stands there, his own words not having sunken into him yet, and then his face slacks.
[Y/N] stares at him, evidently baffled. And then she opens her mouth, eyebrows furrowed in apparent bewilderment, and says, "Um," she swallows, forcing out an awkward laugh as she takes a step back. "Wow. Okay. Thank you..?"
If Draco had been thinking straight—if he hadn't been so flustered and if he wasn't rushing to take back his words—he would have probably paused, realized that talking would have made the situation worse, and left. But Draco is flustered and he isn't thinking straight, so instead he opens his mouth to take his words back only for the following words to leave his mouth in a rapid burst: "Your eyes are a really lovely shade of [Y/E/C] and you have a beautiful smile and I've never heard you laugh before but I bet my inheritance that it's one of the loveliest sounds to ever exist."
[Y/N] looks flabbergasted more than ever. She doesn’t even look flustered—just utterly confused. For a few seconds, all she does is stare at him, frowning.
And then, looking as though she wants to thank him but not entirely sure it would be appropriate, her gaze darts away from his momentarily before she purses her lips. Excruciatingly slowly, she repeats, “Your.. inheritance.”
Draco grits his teeth.
Apparently there are several truths that the Veritaserum in his system thinks appropriate to reveal to [Y/N]—truths that even he hadn't been fully aware of. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it again. At that moment he catches sight of the quill and parchment in her hands that [Y/N] had been in the process of stuffing into her bag; hurriedly, he grabs it from her (much to a surprised [Y/N]) and begins to write down the following words (seriously, why hadn't he thought of this before?): accidentally drank truth potion, brew me a remedy.
He practically shoves the parchment into her hands. Still looking wildly confused, she takes it from him with the cautiousness of someone being handed a firecracker. Her eyes dance across the words on the paper for no more than two seconds before she looks back up at him; realization slowly floods her face and her eyebrows rise even higher as she mouths, mostly to herself, "Truth potion."
Draco nods, eyes darting around the classroom. most of the class has already left. Snape is at his desk, fixing the two of them with a frosty stare. When Draco meets his gaze, Snape flicks his eyebrows up at him and asks, in that same drawling voice Draco despises today, "I was under the impression that lunch time meant all students had to be at the Great Hall."
Draco's brain doesn't operate well when he's annoyed—that's something he's realized today. Against his better judgment, he opens his mouth to sneer a retort without even pausing to think about the fact that he might blurt out some other offensive truth, but [Y/N] cuts him off and says, "I'm sorry, professor, but Malfoy's asked me to help him with homework and I thought it'd be nice to help him." She stuffs the piece of parchment into her robe and side-steps Draco so that he's not blocking her from Snape's view. "Would it be okay if we stayed here for lunchtime?"
Snape's lip curls in apparent amusement. Staring at Draco, he drawls, "That’s quite convenient. I had been thinking of assigning mister Malfoy a tutor; it seems he's been having trouble holding his tongue—alas," his mouth twists into a sneer, "I meant potion-making. Forgive me."
And then he heads to the dungeon door, leaving Draco behind to stare at his greasy head on his way out.
[Y/N] purses her lips, cheek twitching with the threat of a smirk. "I’m guessing you've offended him somehow? Veritaserum and all?"
Draco opens his mouth again—really, remembering to keep it shut is easier said than done—and instead of the reply he'd been intending on saying, what slips past his lips is: "Has anyone told you you're one of the prettiest—"
"Okay!" [Y/N] 's eyes widen and she rushes to clamp her hand over Draco’s mouth, looking actually flustered now. "Okay—stop. Just.." Slowly, she pries her hand away from his lips, movements cautious, and Draco stares at her, body completely rigid as he registers the fact that they're a mere few inches away from each other and she'd just put her hand over his bloody lips. And this is the first time they've ever spoken to each other.
"I’ll brew you the remedy," she says, grimacing. There seems to be a hint of a faint pink blush spreading across her cheeks, but that could just be because the dungeon lighting is poor. She turns on her heel and makes her way to the ingredients cabinet all the way on the other side of the room, calling over her shoulder to Draco, "Just sit tight there—and keep it zipped before you say anything you don't mean."
The last part she says in a quieter tone, but Draco catches her words anyway and he finds himself thinking that maybe he did mean them.
Because [Y/N] is pretty—prettier than most. She’s not breathtakingly beautiful, but there's something about her that seems to have always drawn Draco, though he might not have ever thought much of it. Maybe it's why he always finds himself staring at her whenever they come across each other in the hallway. Maybe it's why he'd thought of asking her to the Yule Ball last year, but chickened out at the last moment.
He leans on the desk, arms folded across his chest whilst watching [Y/N] rummage through the ingredients cupboard. A moment later she turns around bearing an armful of different potion vials.
Draco means to ask her if she needs help carrying them (because yes, he may regularly be a prick but he has common courtesy). Instead, the Veritaserum still inside his bloodstream urges him to say, "I wish I’d asked you to the Yule Ball last year instead of Pansy."
He freezes.
At that moment, Draco swears to himself that he will inflict pain onto whoever poured Veritaserum into his pumpkin juice. He will have his revenge—no matter what it takes—and although he hasn't quite figured out how exactly he'll be doing it, all Draco knows is that he will.
He can't bring himself to look at [Y/N] any longer, so he plays it off by picking up a book on the desk he's leaning on and rifling through it. It only takes him a moment to realize that it's [Y/N]'s; her name is written across the bottom of the cover. Almost every page Draco flips through has tiny scribbles written in-between the lines—countless of notes, it seems, but so many of them that the actual text is almost indiscernible. Draco almost snorts. [Y/N] seems to be the quintessential Ravenclaw, if he has ever seen one.
She sets down the potions onto the desk, Draco still flipping through the pages. "I’d ask you how you accidentally drank Veritaserum," she says casually, "But I don't want you fawning over me even more than you already have."
Draco glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She’s in the process of uncorking two of the vials, both of which she pours into the now steaming cauldron. Whatever, he thinks to himself, rolling his eyes in an effort to convince himself that he's not embarrassed (even though he totally is: he's bloody blushing).
But then again, whatever. He’s totally not flustered. Totally.
Draco reaches the final few pages of [Y/N]'s Potions textbook without having even registered most of the ones he'd flipped through. The last two pages, like every other book, are completely blank save for the—
Draco's eyebrows furrow. There are drawings of all sorts on the back pages of her textbook, from cauldrons and brass scales to places in the castle that Draco recognizes.
But what has him most intrigued is the faces, all drawn so vividly and with so much detail they look as though they had been brought to life on paper. Draco sees Snape’s deprecating sneer and Michael Corner’s familiar face of boredom, sees Hermione Granger with her brows knitted together at the middle as she leans over her cauldron, Ron and Harry with their heads bowed over a piece of parchment—and then he sees himself, arms crossed over his chest as he fixes something with a stony gaze. But the more Draco’s eyes explore the pages, the more of himself he sees. There’s him slicing what looks like a dragon heart, scowling at someone that looks like Goyle, and another one of him smirking—
And then the book is snatched from his grasp by none other than [Y/N] who looks wildly panicky. "You—I—" she blubbers, gaping at him for a moment before whipping around, turning her back on him as she stuffs the book into her backpack. "How much did you see?"
Slowly, a grin breaks out on Draco’s face. "Enough," he says—and apparently it's the truth, because it's what he actually meant to say. A little surprised, he tries his luck again and means to say so you draw? But instead what leaves his lips is something so excruciatingly blunt and embarrassing part of him wants to dive under the table and hide there for the rest of his life: "I’m assuming because you've drawn me more than anyone else that you find me attractive so I’m going to go ahead and thank you for that, but unfortunately you're a half-blood so I might have to get my parents' permission before I think of asking you out."
A moment of silence, only interrupted by the sound of the antidote bubbling. Draco has to physically suppress himself from diving straight into the cauldron and never coming back out.
[Y/N] scoffs a little, uselessly fanning her face with her hand like doing so will somehow rid her of the blush on her cheeks. Draco grits his teeth and fixes his gaze on the stone floor, refusing to meet her gaze.
She clears her throat in an attempt to quell the sudden burst of suffocating awkwardness now resting between the two of them. Not quite looking at him, she peers into her cauldron and mutters, "I just like to draw all sorts of things. People, as you've seen," she adds, pressing her lips together abashedly. Draco watches her out out of the corner of his eye, lips twitching. "And I don't find you attractive. You just have.. a nice face. For drawing, I mean. It comes out nice on paper."
Draco’s eyebrows flick up of their own accord. He has a nice face. Are those butterflies he feels in his stomach, or is it just the Veritaserum?
It takes no more than a minute or two of silent awkwardness before the antidote is finally finished brewing and [Y/N] pours it into a small vial, which she hands to Draco.
Draco eyes it skeptically, holding the vial up to the light and swirling it around a little. It definitely doesn't look pleasant; a stark contrast to the clear hue of Veritaserum, the antidote is a murky brown in color and vaguely reminds Draco of mud and manure.
You expect me to drink this? Draco means to ask, but instead says, "You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen."
And just like that, Draco, exasperated and embarrassed out of his mind, uncorks the vial and takes a large swig.
The feeling of the liquid sloshing down his throat is an unpleasant one; he coughs a little, face scrunching up with disgust as he swallows down the last of the antidote. But not long after the vial is emptied, a tingly feeling spreads from his fingertips to his entire body and has him feeling weightless for a few moments before it fades and Draco feels normal again.
He sets the vial down on the table, rubbing his throat. When he looks up, he sees [Y/N] already cleaning up, throwing away the empty glass vials and emptying the cauldron with a single flick of her wand. She’s taking all of her things and shoving them into her bag, and Draco watches as she slings it over her shoulder and makes for the door—
“You’re leaving?” says Draco without really thinking about it. “Already?”
She stops in her tracks and turns around, already a few feet away from him. Eyebrows raised, lips twitching up at the side just the slightest bit, she shrugs. “Well, yes,” she purses her lips. “Was there something else you wanted me to brew?”
Draco’s hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck. “No,” he says hastily. But he hadn’t been expecting her to leave so soon—not after his, ah, countless confessions.
What had he been expecting, though?
“Well, I’ll be going now,” [Y/N] says slowly, a little awkwardly, gesturing to the door. Draco watches her as she takes a backwards step away from him—but he knows a chance when he sees one, so he blurts out, “D’you wanna go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”
Her eyebrows rise even higher as a genuine look of surprise floods her features. Draco doesn’t know what the bloody hell he’s onto, but whether or not he regrets it is entirely up to [Y/N]’s answer.
She lets out a breathless laugh, looking dubious. “You’re being serious?”
Draco stares at her for a little while—Merlin, she really does have pretty eyes—and then he shrugs a casual shoulder, nodding.
She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, but there's still that hint of a faint smile resting on her lips. Draco finds himself wishing he’d see her do it more often—in front of him, and not halfway across the classroom. She feigns a look of contemplation, tilting her head at him, now full-on smiling in a manner Draco thinks might be playful. (Alright, those are definitely butterflies in his stomach.) "And what d'you have to offer?" she asks him, eyebrows raised.
It’s Draco’s turn to narrow his eyes at her, unable to suppress the tiny smile that slides across his face. He pauses to think about his answer first, all the while holding her impish gaze, before finally shrugging and saying, "My company. And not everyone gets to enjoy that," he adds as an afterthought, and it's true—Draco is very picky with who he graces with his presence.
But then [Y/N] replies, "Well, not everyone gets to enjoy mine, either," and her tone is almost challenging. Draco, for some reason, finds himself on tenterhooks. Something about her is drawing him in; he can't quite decide whether it's her coyness or her eyes. Likely both.
Severely amused, he leans on the desk and inclines his head a little towards her. "So would you do me the honor of blessing me with your company this weekend?”
There’s a beat of silence—this time not at all awkward—as they stare at each other, a sort of tension between them that Draco finds himself enjoying. And it's a blessing that she breaks it because if it had stretched on for any longer Draco would have lost himself in her eyes completely; “Alright. Sure. No harm to it,” says [Y/N] with a light laugh, nodding.
Draco’s lips break out into a grin and he nods, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Maybe you can tell me more about your drawings. Well,” he pauses, brows raised teasingly. "Drawings of me, to be specific."
She lets out a scoff, rolling her eyes, but she's laughing. "Okay—and maybe you can tell me about how much you love my eyes."
Draco’s face falls. [Y/N] grins, beginning to walk towards the dungeon doors. "I’ll see you around," she sings, and her back is turned but Draco can hear the smile in her voice. Just before she disappears into the corridor, she pauses at the doorway and looks back at Draco, and her eyes are positively sparkling. "Try not to get lost in my eyes too much. Wouldn’t want you tripping over yourself."
With one last playful grin, she leaves the Potions classroom.
And while, just a few minutes ago, Draco had been prepared to get revenge on whoever put Veritaserum in his pumpkin juice, now he feels like thanking them.
#harry potter#harry potter oneshot#harry potter oneshots#harry potter imagine#harry potter imagines#harry potter x reader#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter fanfic#draco malfoy oneshot#draco malfoy oneshots#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy imagines#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco malfoy fanfic#draco malfoy#draco#malfoy
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Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part I
Summary: When Will asks him to pick Michael up from school, Spencer may or may not develop a schoolboy crush on the kindergarten teacher.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
Category: fluff
Warnings/Includes: none
Word count: 2.5k
a/n: Here she is! I’m not sure exactly what it is about Spencer Reid x teacher!reader, but it is my most requested fic topic, and I am happy to oblige! This is the first in a multi-part series. Weird is Good also takes place in this verse. Any teacher!reader requests will be folded into this verse as well, so feel free to continue sending me those!
Series Masterlist
Click here for the story mentioned, read by everybody’s fave Michelle Obama.
———
“A strong geographical profile is one of the most important pieces of the overall behavioral profile; it significantly narrows the area the team has to cover, allows for law enforcement teams to prioritize and maximize limited resources, and helps focus the investigation in conjunction with the other elements of the profile. And that wraps our section on building geographical profiles!” Spencer smiled at the faces in front of him, gesturing to the board. “The information we covered today will make up a significant portion of your midterm, so make sure to review it before next week. See you all next Thursday!”
As his students began packing up their things, Spencer’s phone rang from inside his bag. When he retrieved the phone and saw Will’s name on the caller ID, his brow furrowed in concern. “Will— everything ok?”
“Hey, yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” he assured him. “I’m sorry to ask, but JJ’s on a case, and my partner and I just finished our last call clear on the other side of the city. Henry’s got soccer practice, but Michael’s gotta be picked up in about— well, shit, right about now. Would you mind picking him up and bringing him ‘round to the house?”
Spencer looped the strap of his bag over his shoulder and started up the aisle out of the lecture hall. “Yeah, of course! It’s over by the Naval Observatory, right?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. If you pull ‘round the parking lot, they usually come out the side door. His teacher’s real sweet, Ms. Y/L/N. I’ll let her know you’re picking him up.”
“Okay, sounds good.” Spencer pushed open the door and made his way down the hall.
“You’re the best,” Will drawled. “I’ll only be about half an hour.”
…
When Spencer pulled the baby blue Volvo into the parking lot of the school, he saw Michael and Ms. Y/L/N sitting on the steps of school. Their heads were so close they were almost touching, looking down at a book laying across their laps. Her legs were stretched out straight and she pointed down to the page, saying something that made Michael throw his little head back in a laugh that floated in through the open window of the car. Spencer grinned at the familiar sound as he pulled around the carpool loop.
When he recovered from the giggles, Michael caught sight of the car and waved his hand excitedly at Spencer. Ms. Y/L/N looked up and gave a wave as well, albeit a little less vigorous. She closed the book and turned her torso slightly to unzip Michael’s backpack and drop the book into it.
Spencer put the car in park, stepped out, and walked around the car to meet the two of them. Michael was already up and running, throwing himself at Spencer’s legs and hugging them tightly. He leaned down to return the hug. “Hey, buddy! How was school?”
“It was amazing,” Michael gushed, pulling out of the hug to gesture wildly. “We learned how to write the zzz sound, and now we know all the sounds! Oh, and then we used blocks in math, and that was so fun, because Ms. Y/L/N let us build with them when we were done counting. Oh, and then we learned about frogs, and they are so cool. Did you know that frogs have night vision? Oh, and Ms. Y/L/N said I could borrow my favorite book from the classroom library! She read it to me already while we were waiting for you, but maybe you could read it to me, too? I can read some of the words but not all of them yet, so I still need some help.”
Spencer smiled widely at him. “Wow, that does sound like an amazing day. I did know that about frogs, actually! And of course, I’d love to read with you.”
“The book’s called Giraffe Problems, and it’s about this giraffe named Edward who doesn’t like his neck.” Michael looked at Ms. Y/L/N. “What’s the turtle’s name again?”
“Cyrus,” Ms. Y/L/N reminded him.
“Right, Cyrus.” He looked at Spencer. “See, that one is tricky because c’s don’t usually make the sss sound, but sometimes they do. Ms. Y/L/N’s teaching me about it, even though she said it’s kinda hard for kindergarten.”
“Because you’ve got a big, powerful brain, right?” she said, tapping her temple and winking at Michael. “I’m Ms. Y/L/N, by the way. You must be the infamous uncle Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Then she smiled at him and his big, powerful brain melted inside of his skull.
Michael continued talking, and Spencer briefly wondered if this is how people felt when he rambled. Michael lost his attention immediately, because all he could do was stare at Ms. Y/L/N. Her eyes glinted with humor as he chattered on. She followed his expressive motions with well-timed nods and mhmms, a skill she’d no doubt honed through years of indulging kindergarten babbling. She met Spencer’s eyes every so often, only a slight eyebrow raise indicating her amusement. Her hair had been tied back, but soft pieces had come loose throughout the day, falling into her face and around her shoulders. Up close, he could see that the print of her collared a-line dress was hundreds of green frogs. On her feet were a pair of beat up, low top converse, and Spencer thought he could physically feel the crush branding the chambers of his heart. He was jolted out of his thoughts by Michael’s hand tugging on his pant leg, and he looked down to see him looking up expectantly.
“Sorry, what?” Spencer asked him.
“I said,” Michael repeated with a sigh, “can we look up the author and see if he has any other books?”
“Oh, um, yeah. Of course, buddy.”
“Jory John has lots of amazing books,” Ms. Y/L/N confirmed. “You’ll love the series he wrote with Pete Oswald.” She smiled at the pair of them before checking her watch. “I’ve gotta go pack up, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael.” She winked at Spencer, and he almost swallowed his tongue. “It was nice meeting you, uncle Spencer.” She waved again and then turned up the stairs to disappear into the building.
Spencer let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, and then turned to Michael. “Well. All right, are you ready to go home?”
…
They were settled into the car and halfway home before Michael finally needed to take a breath. Spencer capitalized on the break in conversation.
“So, Ms. Y/L/N seems pretty cool,” Spencer hedged.
“Yeah, she’s the best,” Michael confirmed with a nod. “On Fridays she lets us put on the smocks and paint. And she has really good story voices. Oh, and she also has these really cool blocks that stick together—magnet blocks. And when I fell off the jungle gym and got a big scrape, she gave me a Paw Patrol bandaid! And she gives great hugs.”
“Good story voices, huh?” Spencer met Michael’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Better than mine?”
Michael tilted his head in deep thought. “Hmmmm. It’s pretty close. Your wizard voice is good, but she does accents.”
Spencer blew out a dramatic breath. “Guess I’m going to have to up my game.”
“You’re gonna have to practice a lot, because Ms. Y/L/N reads to us every day.” Michael raised his eyebrows in a challenge.
“Hey!” Spencer looked incredulous. “I read every day, too!”
“Yeah, but do you read with story voices every day?” Michael clarified.
Spencer sighed. “Well, I guess not.”
“It’s okay, uncle Spencer,” Michael soothed. “You can’t be the best at everything.”
“So they are better than mine?”
Michael pressed his lips together, and Spencer almost laughed at how much he looked like JJ. “... maybe.”
…
A trail of shoes and school supplies led to the couch, where Spencer and Michael sat shoulder to shoulder. They were on their second read of Giraffe Problems. Spencer took a long, dramatic breath before launching into Cyrus’ banana speech, and Michael burst into a fit of giggles. With his best theatrical voice, Spencer read down the page. “Yet, day after day, I’ve felt like such a fool as I stretched my neck toward those greedy branches, only to be limited by my own physical shortcomings.” He flipped the page and changed his tone. “You… want a banana from a tree?” He looked at Michael and said, quickly and in a low voice, “That’s what I said, yes.” Michael wheezed out another laugh.
Spencer finished the story, Michael mouthing the words along with him. When they reached the last page, Spencer softly closed the book and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “That’s a pretty great story.”
“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “Ms. Y/L/N said she likes it because it reminds us that we gotta love ourselves and our bodies for how they are.”
Spencer nodded. “Absolutely. We’re all different, and that’s what makes us special.”
“Yeah. I just really like when he’s wearing all the scarves.” Michael burst into another fit of laughter, and Spencer couldn’t help but laugh with him.
The front door opened, and Will was smiling as he stepped over the threshold. “I could hear y’all laughing all the way down the sidewalk.”
“Daddy!” Michael jumped up from the couch, and Will bent to scoop him up, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“Hey, kiddo. Sorry I couldn’t pick you up. It sure sounds like you and uncle Spencer had fun, though.” He shot Spencer a wide smile.
“We read Giraffe Problems. Can we read it again later?” Michael asked.
“Sure thing. We can read it before bedtime.” Will set him down, furrowing his brow. “Wait, Giraffe Problems? Is that a new one?”
Michael shook his head. “Ms. Y/L/N let me borrow it from the library. I have to give it back in two weeks.”
“Man, Michael, you really lucked out, huh?” Will posited. “Ms. Y/L/N is so good to you.”
“Jeez, everybody’s saying that today,” Michael sighed. “Yes, Ms. Y/L/N is amazing, we all know this.”
“All right, sass monster. I didn’t know uncle Spencer thought she was amazing, too.” Will grinned. “We gotta go pick up Henry in a few minutes. I’ll get you a snack, and you can pick up your things?” He gestured to the mess of shoes and school supplies in the foyer.
Spencer smiled sheepishly. “That’s probably my fault. We were just so excited to read the book.”
“Ah yeah, I know how he gets.” Will crossed to the kitchen. “A one track mind, that one. Thanks again for picking him up today.”
Spencer stood from the couch and followed, hands stuffed in his pockets. “It’s no problem at all! I can do it any time.”
“Well, I don’t want to bother y—”
“It’s not a bother!” Spencer schooled his voice back into a normal register at Will’s raised eyebrow. “It—It’s not a bother at all. I, um— I have a lot of free time when I’m on sabbatical. Especially since I’m only teaching one course this semester. Plus, I love seeing the boys.”
“I’ll remember that.” Will smiled. “So… Ms. Y/L/N’s amazing, huh?”
Spencer just knew that his cheeks were as red as the apple Will was cutting up. He tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Yeah, she was— she was really nice.”
“She’s not bad looking, either,” Will supplied. When Spencer’s mouth fell open, Will continued, “What? JJ thinks so, too. Don’t tell me you didn’t even look, because I know that’s a lie.”
Spencer sputtered, “I— well, I—”
“Daddy, can we get an ice-cream on the way home?” Michael interrupted, completely unfazed.
Will laughed. “Saved by the bell, uncle Spencer. Yeah, buddy, we can get ice-cream.”
…
“It’s not weird to look her up. I just want to know more about the person who’s educating my godson,” Spencer tried to reassure himself as he pulled up the school’s website. He scrolled to find the teacher pages, a little smile crossing his face when he saw Ms. Y/L/N’s picture— white ruffled shirt, red bow, and black hat. A perfect tribute to Mary Poppins.
He dropped his smile. “She barely said five sentences to you, and you didn’t say anything back.” His eyes wandered over the links on the side, landing on the About Me section. “But she did say she’d heard a lot about you, so it’s only fair that you get to know a little about her.” Against his better judgment, he clicked the page link. A photo of Ms. Y/L/N— grinning and holding a very distraught-looking black cat— popped up on the screen, and Spencer laughed aloud.
I grew up on a farm outside of Fayetteville, NC before moving to Boston to complete my undergraduate degree. I moved to DC to earn my Master’s in Early Childhood Education, and I have been teaching here for 8 years! I love working with young learners, because children grow so much in their foundational years. Watching a child have a lightbulb moment is one of my greatest joys. When I'm not in the classroom, I love to read, travel, play scrabble, and spend time with my cat Roald (pronounced Roo-all)!
Spencer scrolled through the pictures of Ms. Y/L/N and her students. There were pictures in their “smocks,” which Spencer discovered were really just old t-shirts. There was one of her in the middle of some very animated story telling, and another of a field trip to the zoo. In each one, the smiles beamed out through the computer screen in a digital portrait of unbridled joy, contagious even over the waves of the internet. Smiling to himself, he clicked on the tab labeled Teaching Philosophy.
I believe that every child is an extraordinary and essential piece of our classroom puzzle. In order to nurture the unique individuality of each of my students, I work hard to make our classroom a safe, positive, and supportive community where students are given the space to express themselves. Our classroom culture is also one of kindness and creativity, where each individual is valued and celebrated for who they are!
Spencer swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat as he thought back on his own school career. While his teachers had always appreciated his intelligence, he honestly couldn’t recall a moment where he had felt valued for just… being himself. The majority of his time in school had been spent unsuccessfully fending off bullies, completing other students’ homework, or being gawked at like some sort of alien. He was grateful that Michael would hopefully never go through anything like what he’d experienced; at least not while Ms. Y/L/N was around.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he leaned back in the desk chair to pull it out. He swiped it open to read the incoming text.
JJ: So......... you like Ms. Y/L/N, huh? 😉😉😉
Spencer: What?! Did Will tell you that? I didn’t say that.
JJ: Some things you don’t have to say out loud, Spence.
———
Tags: @spacedikut
#spencer reid#spencer x reader#spencer x y/n#spencer x you#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fluff#dr spencer reid#professor!reid#professor!spencer#teacher!reader#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds self insert#homoose writes#TMSIDK
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Michael Myers X Short! Reader
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
I wrote this story on Wattpad (@Red_scarfed_person) and decided to post it here lol. If you saw this on Wattpad and don't believe me, you can go to my page on Wattpad and see that in my Messages, I talk about having a Tumblr account and left my Tumblr username there :)
And rereading my old story scared me. If you're here expecting a violent, fearful story, please don't read this. This is full of the sarcasm someone who lacks sleep can muster.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ah yes. Y/N's favorite part of the day. Trying to cook. Was that sarcasm? Partially.
Y/N loved cooking; it was so satisfying to see people enjoy her food. But the part she hated was trying to reach the goDDAMN bowls and ingredients from the cabinets. Why did the construction workers have to put them 17 light years high?
Of course, it wasn't the construction workers' fault. It's just that Y/N is the size of a fifth grader. 4'6" tall. What makes it harder to live being so short? Living with someone who's 6'7."
You see, a while ago, there was a certain incident...
A tall male in a white mask and blue jumpsuit, brown hair and blue eyes, found himself in the home of another. He silently panted in his mask, in pain even if he wouldn't show it. Rolling up his sleeves and pulling up the bottom of his shirt, Michael started checking for severe wounds.
"Damn, you're hot..." Some short woman mumbled, turning on the kitchen light. Michael perked up, pulling his shirt back down and reaching for his knife.
"Oh, damn, wrong time to speak up? Sorry," Y/N said, not even knowing if she was being sarcastic in that sentence or not. Mainly since author-san doesn't know if their being sarcastic or not. Anyway--
Michael started walking towards her with the knife, not running since we all know that Michael can walk and still win Olympic runs. Y/N just grabbed a candy bar in her cabinet, opening it and taking a bit.
Michael was confused as hell. As a result, he stopped walking and lowered the knife. "So, you're not gonna kill me? That sucks since my dept is unbelievably high." Michael blinked quickly in confusion, thinking, then it might not be too high with short you are.
Y/N sighed, then gasped. "Oh wait! You're that boogeyman guy who everyone is scared of!" Y/N said with a small smile. She wasn't sadistic or anything, but she was sorta excited to see him.
Michael just stood there, not even knowing how to react for the first time in his life. Y/N then sighed again, throwing away the wrapper to the candy bar and shrugging. "If you decide to kill me later, stab my neck. It's very sensitive. Oh and my room is down the hall, to the left. And my couch is comfortable if you wanna sleep there."
And with those last words, Y/N walked to her room, closing the door behind her and getting it bed. Leaving a confused serial killer.
The next morning, Y/N yawned as she walked out of her bedroom and to the kitchen. Her kitchen and living room was one large room, the kitchen set to the right near the front door, and the living room on the other side of the room.
Between them is a hallway that leads to a bedroom and bathroom. It was a two story house. The top two floors had an office room, another bathroom, and a storage room.
Anyway, Y/N rubbed sleep from her eyes as she walked over to the stove and grabbing a pan. She also pulled out milk, pepper, salt and eggs and set them ok the counter. But now she needed a bowl to even put those in.
Michael heard noise from the kitchen which resulted in him waking up. He slowly sat up on the couch, turning to face Y/N. He got up and walked towards her.
"Why is this so high up," Y/N mumbled to herself as she tried to reach a bowl from a cabinet. She couldn't even reach the handle on the cabinet. Growling in frustration, Y/N gave into defeat.
But then comes Michael opening the cabinet for her, making her help and turn around. "W-Who the hell are you!" Y/N shrieked, blushing a bit. I mean, here she is, a tiny gal blocked in the corner of the kitchen by a tall, mascular guy.
Memories came flooding back and Y/N remembered who he was. "Ooooh, so you're that boogeyman guy? I remember now...wait... I let a damn serial killer into my house!?" Y/N shrieked again as Michael set down the bowl, turning on the stove.
As Y/N went through her epiphany, Michael actually started to cook. It wasn't until he was done did Y/N snap out of it. He set out two plates and cups, putting the scrambled eggs on them and filling the cups with F/D.
"W-Wait...so you aren't going to kill me? You're really gonna..." Y/N mumbled as Michael grabbed a nearby receipt and pen. He wrote down something, making Y/N shush and lean over at what he's writing.
"My name is Michael. I'm not planning on hurting you anytime soon. What is your name?" it read. Y/N was confused as hell now. Why would he spare her? What is so special about her? I should just be grateful, Y/N thought.
"I'm Y/N, Y/N L/N..." Y/N said, looking up at Michael. She blushed a bit, making eye contact. Michael grabbed a plate and cup and handed it to her, then grabbed his own and sat down at the small diner table. Well, way to go from one thing to another, Y/N thought as she sat down next to him.
As much as it confused her, Y/N still wasn't sure how she was still alive. But she was grateful she was, anyway. She always the tall male attractive, but never had feelings for him until recently.
Even if he'd refuse to get things for her that were high up, give her looks that just screamed out about her being short, and wrote down short on sticky notes and put them everywhere, she fell for him. What a lovely crush.
"Why the hell are the damn cabinets 17 light years high," Y/N growled as she climbed on the counter. Just as she was about to grab a bowl, she yelped when large arms wrapped around her an pulled her down carefully.
"Michael! Hey, let go!" Y/N yelled, trying to be serious despite how much she wanted to smile and laugh. Michael shook his head, hugging her tighter.
Despite how badly be wanted to tease her about her height, he kept quiet of course. He didn't just want a hug, either, he wanted to pull her down so she'd have to struggle to get back on the counter again. As said before, what a lovely crush.
Michael eventually pulled away, taking a couple steps back. Y/N looked over at him with a sour-sweet look, blushing a bit. She crossed her arms, "so, was that all you wanted?" Yeah, is that all you wanted, baka? ≧n≦
Michael shook his head, pointing to the bathroom. Y/N raised a brow. "What?" She asked, thinking for a moment. "You need a towel or something?" Michael then nodded.
Y/N smiled a bit, nodding. She walked to her room, Michael following until they reached the door. Grabbing a towel, Y/N walked back over to him and handed it. "It might be a bit small for a giant such as yourself, but here."
Michael nodded, then walked towards the bathroom and went inside. Y/N smiled a bit, thinking to herself about what he'd look like once he got out. It made her cheeks heat up and her heart beat a bit faster.
And about 15 minutes later, Y/N was back in the living room, watching TV. "C'mon, Saitama, beat the hell outta them..." Y/N mumbled under her breath, watching an intense fighting scene.
Y/N perked when she heard the bathroom door open and looked over. Long story short about that was happening in her mind: bad idea.
"MMMM-" Y/N screamed muffledly, having covered her mouth with a pillow that moment. Her face was red, blushing hard from the sight. The towel covered just enough on Michael to where nothing was shown, but he was h o t. Even the scars on him weren't seen as disturbing or anything.
Michael cocked his head, holding his clothes in his hands. He ignored Y/N's reaction to seeing him, since he only cared about his jumpsuit being cleaned. Of course he would act like that--
Y/N, already knowing what Michael wanted, slowly stood up and walked over. She was figitting, clearly still flustered as she grabbed his clothes. "I-I'll just, uh, go wash these..." She mumbled as she walked passed him quickly, to the washing machine and dryer.
Michael blinked a couple times, thinking about the hell he's supposed to where for the time being. Just the towel?
About five minutes passed, Michael was still waiting next to the bathroom for Y/N to come back. He just wanted something to c h a n g e i n t o.
Alas, the moment finally came. Y/N walked back out after almost crying to herself in the laundry room. Typing this out now made me realize I'm making it sound like Y/N was-- well, if you know, you know. But no, that wasn't happening. Our child, Y/N, was just flustered, ok? Yes, our child. I care about you so much reader and I love your OC even though idfk what they look like. They're a beautiful specimen. :):):):):):) Anyway, back to the story.
"H-Hey," Y/N stuttered as she walked out, waving as Michael. Michael, who kept his mask on by the way, just rolled his eyes from inside the mask, handing her a piece of paper. It said that he needed a change of clothes, to which Y/N just chuckled about. "I-I mean...Do you reallllyyy? Can't you just stick with that? You don't look too bad in it, heh heh."
Michael have her a dull look from under his mask, making Y/N sigh. "Fine, whatever. But let's be honest, I'm not gonna have anything that fits you. You should just stick with that," she said, shrugging and pretending to calm about seeing him like that. She was clearly in a flirty mood, which she sometimes gets like when she wants to annoy Michael.
He likes to out sticky notes everywhere with the word short on it, pull her off counters so she has a harder time getting stuff from cabinets, and put his hand above her head as if he was saying, "You're not tall enough to do ____." So it's only normal she would flirt to get him back. But mayyybe acting like that isn't a good decision on her part.
Michael sighed silently, grabbing Y/N"s wrist softly. "Wha--" Y/N cut herself off when Michael pulled her close, leaning down to get his face close to her's. Then, for the very first time in years, Michael spoke.
"Whatever makes you happier~" Michael whispered in her ear; his voice was low and husky. Y/N turned red immediately, incapable of even coming up with a response. Hold on- a tall, mysterious guy with a good figure pulled me close and now can speak, in a hot goddamn voice at that, Y/N thought.
Michael caressed her cheek, pulling away. Y/N had her mouth slightly parted, her eyes widened. "Yo...You can..." Y/N stuttered, not even able to come up with a sentence. So instead, she just nodded slowly, slowly walking into her room and gesturing for him to follow. Michael smiled proudly under his mask, following her.
Yes, what he did was small but Y/N was the kind of person to be a bit extra about these things. Of course it affected her. Anyway, about five minutes later, Y/N couldn't find anything for him to wear other than a large hoodie and very oversized sweatpants she got from a Plot Convenience Sale, which was kinda tight for him. But at least she had a use for the sweatpants, since that was kinda just in her closet.
Y/N took a deep breath once Michael was done changing, coming out of her room. Of course, she left the room when he got changed so don't think dirty, precious readers. Y/N looked over, smiling a bit with heated cheeks at Michael. The small moment from earlier was still bothering her.
"Does it fit?" she asked, raising a brow. Michael nodded, putting his hands in the hoodie pockets. "That's good," Y/N mumbled, staring at the ground awkwardly. A couple moments of silence later, Michael smiled from under his mask, taking it off while Y/N was too busy being lost in a daydream to notice.
"Thank you," Michael whispered as her kissed her forehead, making Y/N flinch. Because Michael appears to be as fast as light, he was already putting his mask on by the time Y/N looked up. Her face was red again, but even worse than before.
"M-Michael, did you just--" Michael was already walking away, brushing her off. "Hey, listen to me!" Y/N yelled as she caught up to him. Like hell that was going to be a one time thing, Y/N thought. I'm going to see his face eventually, she promised herself.
#slashers#slashers x reader#slashers x you#michael myers x reader#michael myers#old story#horror movies#short reader#reader insert#x reader
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