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#Michael Grey X Reader
themultifandomgal · 11 months
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Michael Gray- Cryptic Pregnancy
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This was requested! Hope you enjoy
"Do I have to?" I whine entering holding onto my husbands arm
"Yes. Your part of the family and this is a family meeting" Michael tells me
"I know, it's just I'm not feeling good today. I've been having cramps. I think my monthly is on its way" I sigh
"We won't be long" Michael tells me as we enter the betting shop where the rest of the family are waiting
"I hope so. I just want to go back home and go to bed"
"Ah Michael, YN it's good of you to finally join us"
"Sorry Tommy" Michael replies
"Having some fun aye" John winks towards us, but then earns a nudge off Esme
"YN isn't feeling well so can we make this quick"
"Alright then let's get this meeting started" Tommy takes a seat in his office chair. I sit down next to Michael trying to breath through the cramps.
As the meeting goes on the cramps get worse and worse. I'm no longer paying attention to what anyone is saying. I've never had cramps like yheee before
"YN what do you think?" I quickly look up at Tommy
"I erm, I'm sorry Tommy I didn't..." just then another huge cramp overcomes me "fuck somethings wrong. This isn't my monthly" I cry out. Michael is looking around nervously. Polly is by my side in a second
"Mum what's going on? What's wrong with YN"
"I don't know, but let's get her up and lay her down on the sofa over there" Polly nods to the sofa behind us. As I stand up water gushes down my legs and I'm in even more pain
"Shit"
"Did you just piss yourself?" John asks frowning
"No she didn't. Her waters have broken"
"What?" I shout looking at Esme who's eyes are wide "I'm not pregnant, I would have known"
"Ok let's just lay you down and then I want to take a look at you" Polly says as we slowly walk over to the sofa "all of you out" she snaps "Esme, Ada you two stay and help"
"Polly how can I be pregnant?" I cry now feeling scared "I've been having my bleed and my stomach hasn't grown or my breasts" I cry
"It's rare but I've heard it can happen" Esme tells me as Polly hoists my knees up and takes off my underwear
"Bloody hell love, I can see the head"
"No no no Polly this isn't happening"
"It is whether any of us like it or not. Ok on your next contraction I need you to push ok?" Esme and Ada take both my hands and give them a squeeze
"I can't do this. I'm not ready"
"You might not be but little one surly is"
"YN you can do this. Trust me, I know it hurts and your confused, but your about to be a mum. So listen to Polly, yeah?"
"Ok" I take in a deep breath and do as I'm told. On my next contraction I push with all my might
"Ok the heads out. Not long to go now YN. Your doing so well"
That afternoon I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. I hold her in my arms, wrapped up in one of the Shelby brothers discarded blazers
"You ready for Michael to see you and the baby?" Polly asks me
"Yeah" I smile not taking my eyes off my baby girl. The door opens and in walks a stressed looking Michael
"Holy shit" he rubs a hand over his face making his way over to me
"She's a girl. I thought maybe we could name her after your sister, Anna"
"Beautiful" he kisses the crown of my head. In walks the rest of the Shelby's
"What the bloody hell happened? Why didn't you tell any of us that you were pregnant? How the fuck did you manage to hid this?" Arthur asks walking in
"I had no idea. Shit we don't have anything" I look up to Michael worriedly
"Don't worry. John and I will gather some of our things for you"
"Thank you Es" I look back at Michael "would you like to hold her?" tear threaten to fall as he nods his head. I place her gently in his arms, and I can see he's in love with her immediately
"I'll bring the car around. Drive you guys home" Tommy says leaving the room
"Is that my bloody blazer?" John asks
"I'll buy you a new one" Michael waves him off
"Well what a way to tell your kid how she was brought into the world" Arthur moves to look at the baby girl "congratulations, your going to be wonderful parents"
"Thank you Arthur"
In that moment a part of me that I didn't know was missing feels complete. My little family.
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cathrrrine · 4 months
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just eat your food and say goodnight.
erik lehnsherr (magneto) x reader, platonic! peter maximoff (quicksilver) x reader • x-men (movies) • fluff, female reader
Summary: Peter Maximoff is a mischievous little shit. Y/N Lehnsherr and her husband Erik love him anyway. AO3
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“Well, I’m calling it a night then.”
A content sigh escaped your lips as you stood up from your seat at the dining table and gingerly picked up your own dishes as well as the other empty ones left on the table. Those who noticed thanked you quickly before resuming their respective conversations — like Raven and Charles who were too busy bickering like children — while others made the effort to collect the ones on the other end of the table, namely Hank, Jean and Scott; the latter only doing so after being dragged by his girlfriend.
“Hey, you got an early class too, old man. Can’t risk waking up late with that back of yours.” You gestured to your husband, pointedly looking at him with a smirk on your face. He mirrored your expression, playfully cringing his nose to tease you but it only made you chuckle, a sound that was music to his ears.
“Good night then, everyone.” Erik stood up, following suit behind you, a melody of good night’s responding to him in different tones and variations of the phrase.
“The old man joke doesn’t age well with you, Y/N!”
Although muffled as he said it with a mouth full of food, it was clear enough for you to hear and snap your head towards him. Peter, the beloved speedster, snickered to himself at his own joke. He was too busy shoving chocolate pudding down his throat to notice that a couple of those around him had gone quiet, staring at him with disapproving eyes.
Raven reached over to flick the side of his head and Charles leaned back to give her the leeway, “Dumbass.”
“Ow!”
In your one thousand and thirty-five years of living, it was no surprise that all jokes about your age had grown stale. You hated them, having heard every single phrase on Earth…it was just plain boring to hear them make unoriginal jabs at your age at this point. If they got creative, you wouldn’t mind so much, but after hearing the same variations of the same jokes your whole life? Anyone would be understandably annoyed. Erik knew this, almost everyone at the table did as well. But, you figured it slipped Peter’s mind. It always did.
As he rubbed the side of his head, he stared angrily at the shapeshifter but was met by a pair of equally disappointed eyes that belonged to a certain Professor. A sheepish look fell on Peter’s face when he realised his mistake.
“You should know not to be too casual with your professors.” Charles raised an eyebrow.
Of course, you didn’t take it too seriously, he was a kid that meant no real harm so you didn’t really feel any real anger towards the young speedster, maybe even none at all. But he’s been bothering you too many times lately that it was starting to get on your nerves. So, you put on your Strict Professor Face and stared him down, determined to make him break a sweat at the very least. It probably wouldn’t put a cork in Peter’s attitude, but maybe you’d earn yourself a few weeks off from his incessant clowning.
Erik suppressed the grin that was starting to tug at his cheeks, he knew what you were doing, so he wordlessly took the stack of plates from your grip and continued your task for you. He caught Charles’ eye and they shared a knowing look for a brief moment.
Peter was in trroubleeeee.
“You do know how I feel about those jokes, Maximoff.”
“Funny, right?” He tried to play innocent, nervously smiling at you.
“I’ve told you so many times before that, no, I do not find them funny. We do not share the same sense of humour. Charles is right, you shouldn’t be so casual with me. We may be friends in your mind, but I’m still your professor, and I deserve at least a minimal amount of respect.”
Whew, that made even me sweat. Charles’ voice cackled in your mind.
Peter Maximoff was rarely left speechless, so it was an eighth wonder of the world to have him staring at you with his eyes widened and mouth shut. He gulped, shocked at being scolded by his favourite — although he’d never admit it to anyone — lecturer.
It hurt you too much to leave him that way, though. You were his favourite for a reason…that reason being how gracious you were to his faults that seemed to be never-ending. Relenting, you cracked a smile and used your powers to jolt him out of his daze and confusion. The sound of your chortling hit him with the reality behind the situation.
“Just messing with you, kid. I think you broke your own record for the longest time of being speechless.”
He rolled his eyes and groaned in effort to mask his relief, not wanting to admit she actually did get him back for once. “Unbelievable.”
“Serves you right for always making fun of me. I’m not kidding when I say it’s annoying!”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever makes you feel better, grandma.”
You stuck your tongue out at him, “At least I’m not the one with greying hair.”
Peter frowned and opened his mouth, about to fire back a retort but you stopped him by laughing and ruffling his grey strands, “C’mon kid, just eat your food and say goodnight. Careful though, don’t choke.”
Your feet carried you over to your original destination, the intent of loading the dishwasher now appearing at the forefront of tour mind, but it was halted immediately.
As if someone had pushed him forward, Peter sped over to the sink area before you could even turn around, mumbling something about doing the dishes. You glanced curiously at the smiling telepath who simply gave you a shrug in return.
You bid your farewells to everyone again, Peter’s quip of ‘g’night’ not escaping you either when you went to pat him on the back affectionately.
A patiently waiting Erik tugged at your hand, clasping it in his own as he led you out of the kitchen and up the stairs, swinging your hands in tandem with his.
“You think he’s gonna be okay?” You worriedly asked aloud, suddenly very concerned that Peter wasn’t aware you had been joking. The role you played in his life was somewhat maternal, and you didn’t want him to think you were actually being curt with him.
“Who? Peter?” Erik gave you a sideways glance, “That boy’s smarter than he seems, he knows what you were doing. Don’t worry so much, darling. With how fast he moves, I’m sure his mind has moved on to other things by now.”
You hummed in reply, pleased with his answer. “Sometimes I think you might be the resident telepath with how good you are at reading my mind.”
“That’s just called being married to each other, my dear.”
———
“Y/N!” The sound of his sing-song voice was not what alerted you to Peter’s presence, nor was it the sound of his shoes squeaking before he rushed over with his powers, instead, it was the lack of formality. He never called you Professor or anything of the sort.
You never chided him for it, in fact, you’d be lying if you said you preferred the title as a prefix to your name. While many of your students were comfortable addressing you as such, anyone who felt more at ease with calling you by just your name was welcome to do so.
You had a first-year call you Mrs. Lehnsherr back then, when you and your husband were just newlyweds, but Erik was quick to remind them that if they wished to call you by your last name, it was to be Professor Lehnsherr instead, because, in his words, your accomplishments were not to be diminished and should be rightfully addressed.
It led to a whole debacle of mix-ups with two Prof. Lehnsherr’s roaming the hallways, which was a minor problem compared to the confusion of the paperwork.
The days of “Professor Lehnsherr?” “Yes?” “Sorry, not you Professor Lehnsherr, I meant you…Professor Lehnsherr,” had to come to an end, so you settled for whatever it is your students decided to call you…as long as it wasn’t demeaning.
However, no one called you Y/N, just Y/N, but the one and only Peter Maximoff himself.
The young man sped towards you, his hair swaying behind him from the strong gush of wind even as he came to a still in front of you.
“Pete!” You mocked the way he called you, using the same tone.
He gave you a playfully disgruntled look before quickly reaching into his backpack — which looked more like a knapsack, actually — to retrieve a cylindrical object and hand it to you nonchalantly. As soon you wrapped your fingers around it, he sped away again, a quick and impish ‘byeeee’ being the last thing within your earshot before the gush of wind took over your senses again.
It wasn’t until your day ended that you finally had the time to completely relax, stretching your legs and unbuckling your high-waisted, straight-legged pants. You wiggled your toes, sore from being in heels all day, as you relaxed into putty on yours and Erik’s shared bed.
Speaking of the devil — Erik came in not long after, tossing his shoes off and setting his things down on the bench next to your door before throwing himself on the bed next to you, also instantly letting himself relax.
He leaned closer to your side, laying his head on your chest and draping an arm over your stomach. Muscle memory kicked in as your fingers immediately found their way to run through his hair, a familiar habit between the two of you. He closed his eyes as the sweet, heavenly endorphins that came with the satisfaction of your touch washed over his body.
“How was your day?” He mumbled, too lazy to form his words properly.
“Pretty interesting. Finally convinced Logan to come to one of my classes next week. Students have been begging like crazy to meet him.” It was a history project, of which you and the Wolverine were both well-acquainted with, given your ages. “I’m getting the feeling that they think he’s a cooler teacher than I am.”
That made your husband laugh, the sound reverberating as you continued to cradle his head on your chest. “All of the students think Logan is cooler than any of us.”
“It’s not fair, isn’t it?”
“He’s like a mystery, that’s why. Never around long enough to be the one who yells at them for almost burning the school down.” He was talking, but his lips were barely moving and his eyelids were fluttering shut. You smiled softly, trying your best to keep your movements minimal as you continued your ritual to help him sleep.
“Like a cool uncle, then.”
“Yes.” A beat passed, then he spoke again when he remembered what he meant to tell you earlier. “Peter was in my class today.”
“Yeah?” You were slowly falling asleep as well, eyes half lidded and muscles starting to feel limp.
“He spent the whole of it with his head down, though.”
The very image of that made your eyes shoot open, all hints of sleep gone. “Why? What happened?”
It was unlike Peter to be uneventful — he was always doing something , be it throwing spitballs or participating in a one-sided blinking contest with whoever’s teaching in front.
“Nothing.” Erik mumbled groggily. “He was just…working on…something.”
Your skin itched and your eyebrows strained, discomfort firing up every synapse as you went through all the possible reasons. Then, your last interaction dawned on you.
“Honey, I know you’re almost asleep, so can you please hand me my bag on the bench?”
Without saying a word, he raised the arm resting on your body and used his powers to float it towards you, the metal handles clanking together when he dropped it carefully in your grip.
You didn’t have to move your sleeping husband to grab the cylinder you were thinking about, but you did almost startle him when his snores made you lose your grip on the bag.
He didn’t notice, too busy dozing off to even pay attention to what you were currently doing. You quietly unwrapped the roll of paper, barely caring about the sound of it crinkling — you knew your husband could sleep through anything when he was in your arms — since Erik’s snores were louder anyway.
The contents were confusing at first, you had to read it twice to understand that it was a voucher of some sort. With your arm still around Erik’s head, you used what restricted movement you had with your one free arm and just your hand to flip the paper over.
“What is this, Peter?” You mumbled to yourself, reaching for your glasses on the nightstand. Your vision weakened even in your abnormal age, and being far sighted was something you dealt with long before the triple digits hit you.
As if on cue, the answer to your rhetorical question was answered by the scrawling on the back which you recognised as Peter’s boyish handwriting.
‘Sorry for calling you old all the time. You know I’m just kidding. Thank you for always being so cool with me. Hope you like the vouchers for free ice cream. One’s for Erik too. - P.M’
Next to his initials was a doodle of a face with sunglasses on, a two-toothed grin to go with it. It was hard to wipe the pleasant smile off your face, so you kept it on, succumbing to the bubbly feeling. Peter was like a little brother that you couldn’t hate no matter how much you wanted to — you’d even go so far to say he was the son you never had.
You flipped it again, only noticing the name of the store being dairy goods related as you read through it for the third time. It still left you confused, since there was no sign of anything being free printed on it.
That’s when your eyes landed on the italicised font at the very bottom, bold red asterisks between the phrase.
* SENIOR CITIZENS GET 1 FREE CONE . *
Quickly, you turned it around to look at what you thought was an innocent letter written by one seemingly apologetic speedster. You didn’t miss the joke this time, written in very, very emboldened ink, so roughly scratched on the surface you wondered how you missed it in the first place. The smile you had on dimpled into a disbelieving simper.
P.S. HOPE YOU ARE WEARING YOUR GRANDMA GLASSES :D
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bettythemouse · 11 months
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Tommy Shelby Headcannon
A/N: Hi guys! This is my first writing post on my new account, any advice or criticism is greatly appreciated, please let me know what you think!
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He sees you for the first time:
• Tommy seeing you for the first time would distract him greatly
• He’d be drinking at the Garrison, watching Arthur and John make drunken fools of themselves
• He’d go out for a smoke alone after a while, to catch his breath and concentrate on his thoughts
• And you?
• You’d be outside in the cold, smoking a cigarette of your own just a few meters away
• You wouldn’t dare go to the Garrison alone, despite how much you’d wanted a drink
• But Tommy would take the cig from his mouth, exhale, look around a bit
• and lay his eyes on you
• you
• Who were you?
• Suddenly all the plots and schemes and money stopped in his mind. He was distracted. Heavily distracted. Had he been talking with someone before seeing you, he would’ve shut up
• You didn’t see him yet. Even if you had, he stood without light in his face so you wouldn’t have recognised him or even realised who he was looking at
• But Tommy could see your face. He could see every detail, the mole on your cheek, the cupid shaped lip, the slight scowl on your face when ash blew onto your coat. And he was completely mesmerised
• You finished your cigarette, threw it to the ground and stamped on it. Cleared your throat and got ready to continue your walk-
• “Oh!”
• “My apologies.”
• “No, no, it was my fault, I couldn’t see where I was going.”
• You had unexpectedly bumped into someone. You couldn’t see them but you could tell they were male
• And polite
• You smiled at them, despite not fully being able to see their face and continued on your way, a little embarrassed
• And Tommy watched you. Watched you trail off into the night. And although he couldn’t see your face anymore, he was still mesmerised.
• And he knew
• Somehow
• That he’d see you again
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kai-n-ali · 9 months
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Chapter Nine of In The Fields of Asphodel (My Regrets Follow You to the Grave) is out!
Chapter 9: Hemlock (You'll Be the Death of Me)
Eleanor Blum didn’t know what to think of this man, this Peaky Blinder devil that made all of Small Heath cower before him, this almost-stranger with his dead wife and dead stare, but she wished he’d stop showing up at the flower shop she worked in. And that he’d stop looking at her with those blue eyes of his.
Follows aftermath of Season 03 throughout Season 04. Tommy x OFC.
Warnings: Depictions of child abuse, antisemitism towards OFC, canon-typical violence, canonical deaths, sexual themes, etc.
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chr0llossexygf · 1 year
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IN RUINS
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PAIRING: spencer reid x fem reader
SUMMARY: spencer reid has always had something against you. during a particular case, spencer snaps and says something he shouldn’t have said leaving you in ruins. but what happens when your in danger and he still hasn’t explained why he reacted the way he did. will he have the time?
“ what happened?” hotch says standing infront of the big white board that had some very gruesome pictures of 5 victims splayed out on a park bench. he’s standing tall and strong with his hands crossed in his dark grey suit. he’s looking at you and spencer, who’s walking in right behind you slamming the door close.
“ It’s her fault.” spencer says quickly moving to the other side of the room opposite you, trying to get as far away from you as possible.
you take a deep breath in trying your absolute hardest not to roll your eyes and cross your hands in annoyance and disappointment. “ it’s not my fault reid-”
“ woah woah what the heck happened?” morgan says pushing himself back in the precinct chair watching you and spencer. he looks at spencer, he sees the strong look of disgust and annoyance spencer is shooting at you. he looks at you, he notices you looking at spencer with a disappointed look.
“ she told the unsubs family we are after the unsub-” spencer spits out looking over at hotch, waiting for him to yell at you or lecture you.
“ wait spence we don’t even know who the unsub is. what do you mean?” jj says turning her head to look at spencer confusion written on her face. “ exactly! thank you jj!” you reply throwing your hands up.
“ michael miller is our unsub hotch.” spencer says completely ignoring your attempt to reason with him, his eyes stay on hotch waiting for him to snap at you or just lecture you. “ wait a minute i thought michael miller had a solid alibi.” morgan says laying back in his chair resting his arms on the arm rests. “ he does have a solid alibi it checks out-” spencer cuts you off. “ it does not check out!” spencer says.
“ yes it does! hotch we asked his dad who confirmed his son came home at 8:30 pm from football practice.” you say growing impatient looking at hotch, hotch’s eyebrows are furrowed tightly. his arms are still crossed listening to you and spencer bicker back and fourth.
“ just because his dad showed the tiniest bit of concern about his son when the fbi showed up to his doorstep does not make him a reliable source, just because you never had a dad who showed any bit of concern and now when you finally see a dad care about their kid does not mean you should not fall into their trap just because you never had a trap to fall into.” spencer spits out finally looking at you.
he watches as your expression hardens. he watches as humiliation and embarrassment fill your once determined eyes, the determined eyes who tried to reason with spencer at-least 4 minutes ago. 4 minutes, that’s how long it takes for your perspective of someone to change. he watches as your eyebrows tremble, a habit you have when your trying to fight back tears. he watches as your throat trembles too, probably trying to fight back that agonising choke you get when your about to cry.
the entire room goes quiet. spencers gaze remains on you, slowly watching your soul shatter because of his words. your gaze remains on spencer, slowly feeling your soul shatter because of his words.
the door that spencer slammed close 4 minutes ago opens, rossi and emily walking in. “ michael millers alibi checks out. we’ve got pictures of him at football practice from 5pm to 8:25pm. he wouldn’t have had the time to commit the murders.” rossi says opening the door for emily. “ also his teammates described him as an extrovert and outgoing which is not what we profiled the unsub to be.” emily says with her hands inside her pockets nodding looking at everyone surrounding the table.
“ i feel as though we interrupted something.” rossi says eyeing everyone in the room raising an eyebrow in confusion. he could feel the tension. emily could too. which is why she immediately looks over at morgan for answers. morgan looks at her for a split second before returning his gaze on you.
“ y/n-” spencer attempts. he tries to bring himself to take a step towards you, but it’s like his words somehow built a barrier between you and him that he now can’t even physically cross. or maybe he’s just scared that if he takes a step towards you, you’ll take a step back. away from him.
you swallow the gut wrenching feeling of tears crawling up your throat. you look down to your converse. “ i’m gonna go…uhm get coffee.” you say turning around immediately walking towards the door. “ excuse me.” you whisper pushing past rossi and emily.
“ oh wonder boy..” garcia says through the tv screen, her bright purple tinted lips which usually wear a bright smile on her face now wearing a frown. her tone disappointed as she presses her heart eye fuzzy emoji pen into her cheek. “ i uhm did my usual background checking on the uhm..list of potential unsubs and a uhm…scott anderson has a sketchy background. i’ve just sent his file to you my pretties.” garcia says stuttering quite a few times finding it hard to sneak her usually bubbly nicknames into the conversation after what had just happened. “ thank you garcia. jj take y/n and check out scott anderson.” hotch says looking at jj his arms finally by his side.
jj nods standing up walking towards the door “ i-i can go” spencer says turning his body towards jj. “ stay.” hotch replies his voice stern and bold. he looks at spencer his eyebrows furrowed.
jj closes the door. “ sit.” hotch says to spencer pointing to the empty seat at the table, spencer slowly walks towards the seat sitting down. “ you shouldn’t have said that spencer.” hotch says crossing his hands. “ hotch-” spencer attempts but is quickly cut off, “ i’m not finished. I get it. your worried spencer. your scared-”
“ hotch-” spencer is cut off once again. “ you may think your hiding it well spencer but your not. we know the unsub is targeting female victims which have similar features to l/n. if your too close to the case spencer-” it’s spencer’s turn to now cut hotch off. “ but i’m not too close to the case hotch!” spencer replies. he wanted the similarities between you and the victims to only be in his head because he wanted only him, himself to notice the similarities between you and the victims. you both have the same hair color, hair length, both considered to be attractive, both have similar personalities, and similar taste in clothing. he didn’t want it to be true. but now he knows that they are, and they’re not just in his head he’s even more worried.
“ your stuttering spencer. you do that when your worried or nervous.” emily says pulling a chair from the table. spencer shoots his eyes away from hotch to emily’s. his gaze softens a bit, emily’s tone wasn’t like hotchs. it wasn’t as stern or bold. it was rather understanding and gentle. “ i just cant control myself around her.” spencer says looking down at the picture of the fourth victim who had been wearing the exact same pair of converse your wearing now. “ well your going to have to learn how to control yourself pretty boy. you shouldn’t have said that.” morgan says looking at spencer. spencer sighs hiding his face in his hands. “ i just..god i’m so stupid.” spencer groans rubbing his tired eyes.
“ stupidity is what ended my third marriage.” rossi says crossing his hands leaning against the bulletin board with a small chuckle, morgan looks at rossi and laughs. “ well thank god pretty boy isn’t married. he’d be the new rossi.” morgan says tilting his head to the side looking at spencer trying to lighten the mood, spencer who still has his head in his hands. there’s a million thoughts going through his head, all of them are about you. all of them are about how he should apologize. is he even allowed to apologize? will you let him apologize to you? would you accept his apology? what if you didn’t? did he just ruin his friendship with you? no screw friendship, he doesn’t just want to be friends. he wouldn’t be as sensitive as he is to this case if he just wanted to remain friends. he’s in love with you. spencer reid is in love with you. and he just potentially ruined any slight chance of ever having you know that he loves you. just because he’s stupid and didn’t think before he spoke.
“ are you okay?” jj says both hands on the steering wheel turning around to look at you next to her, in the passenger seat. your heads turnt towards the window, your picking at your nails. a habit of yours. you turn to look at jj and nod. “ yeah i’m fine why wouldn’t i be?” you ask tilting your head to the side with a confusing smile. you know exactly why your not okay. but for some reason, you just can’t bring yourself to actually be upset over it. what’s there to be upset about? what spencer said is true. he’s not wrong. why are you making excuses for him? what he said was not okay. totally not okay. why do you have to make excuses for every male figure in your life for when they’ve done something wrong? why do you always make them the victim and you the villain. you just don’t wanna lose them right? because you know that if your the victim and their the villain they’ll never apologise and the entire relationship will disappear, it always does.
“ what spencer said-” jj is talking in that tone, that tone that she would speak in whenever something was wrong. in a motherly kind of tone. you immediately shake your head, “ it’s- it’s fine jj really, i don’t care. can we just please forget it ever happened? lets just work on the case.” you say running a hand through your hair biting your lower lip trying to stop your voice from trembling, you know when your about to cry and you have that heavy feeling in your throat? you swallow it hard. you turn your head to look at the window not waiting for a response from jj. jj clears her throat, “ no yeah of course.” she nods smiling turning her head back around.
“ this should be it…” jj mumbles stopping the car, parked infront of a 2 story cabin. you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the car door. “ it looks like no one’s home, there’s no car. we profiled that the unsub would have a van or a truck..” jj says closing the car door looking at the house. “ maybe he wouldn’t leave something so valuable to him outside, to the eye of the public. he’s possessive he thinks the entire world revolves around him he probably thinks someone would try to steal it.” you reply reaching in your pocket for your id. jj doing the same thing. you two walk to the front door, you in the front,
you knock on the door. you put your hand against your hip waiting for the door to open. “ we should ask the neighbours. maybe they’ll know-” you knock on the door again. “ scott anderson. fbi.” you say knocking on the door again. jj puts both of her hands on her waist. “ looks like he’s not home-” your cut off by the door swinging open.
you immediately turn your head around. “ scott anderson?” you ask looking at the man infront of you. you know it’s scott anderson, penelope had already sent his id picture on the drive over. he looks at you, then looks at jj. “ who are you..” he says looking directly at jj. “ i’m agent l/n with the fbi and this is agent jareau. do you mind if we come inside?” you ask smiling holding up your id.
he doesn’t even bother looking at your id. “ yeah whatever.” he moves to the side, making room for you and jj. you nod turning around to look at jj. she nods. you step inside jj following you.
“ do you live alone?” you ask analysing the house, its organised. weird for someone that’s his age. “ uhm yeah i do. what’s wrong with that?” he asks crossing his hands. you chuckle, “ no no nothings wrong with that, i also lived alone when i was 17.” you reply smiling. “ i’m 19.” he says looking at you, eyeing you up and down smiling. “ your pretty organised for a 19 year old.” jj says raising an eyebrow also crossing her hands smiling. “ guess i was just raised that way.” he replies rubbing his lips together. you nod. “ how were you raised scott..if you don’t mind me asking.” you say looking around the house. “ yeah scott how did you manage to score such a house at your age. do you work?” jj asks grabbing a picture frame. “ no i don’t work-” he turns to look at jj. “ put that down.” he snaps speed walking to jj. you immediately reach for your gun.
“ right..sorry. you don’t like people touching your stuff.” jj replies throwing her hands up in defeat. he snatches the picture frame. he grabs it caressing it gently, jj looks at you with wide eyes. you raise an eyebrow in confusion. “ scott. why do you have a picture of my colleague framed?” jj asks looking at the frame scott’s holding. your eyes widen.
“ oh god oh god. where’s y/n and jj?” penelope says aggressively tapping on her keyboard. “ what? what’s wrong?” spencer is the first to respond shooting up from the office chair just at the mention of your name. “ they’re at scott anderson’s why?” hotch says turning around, away from the white board to the tv. garcia starts tearing up, “ i-i did some deep digging and scott anderson has a blog about y/n..” garcia says in a shaky tone. no. no. no. no. no not again please.
his heart stopped for a split second. his hand start sweating. the air has been sucked out of his lungs. why is it so hard to breathe? why is there no air to breathe? there’s a million thoughts running through his head, they’re still about you. but now they’re worse. your in danger. your with the unsub. the unsub who has already killed five people. your in the same house with the unsub. the unsub who has a blog dedicated to you. and the last time you saw spencer you were teary eyed. no it can’t be the last time. no. please be safe.
his sweaty shaky hands reach for his phone. he clicks on your contact. hotch grabs his phone and immediately calls jj. spencer immediately puts the phone up against his ear. it rings. rossi and emily immediately stand up, “ penelope send us the address to scott’s house now.” emily says walking to the door. it’s still ringing. spencer starts biting his nails. his hearts pounding. the ringing of the phone case is haunting him. what is happening on the other side of the phone. why aren’t you answering. you always answer the phone. why is it still ringing? y/n why aren’t you answering.
“ god damn it!” spencer shouts into the phone as it keeps ringing. morgan stands up, “ hotch we gotta go.” he says standing up shoving his phone into his pocket.
the ringing stops. spencer’s heart stops. his breathing stops. everyone in the room looks at spencer waiting for any kind of confirmation. “ y/n you’ve gotta get out of there with jj!” spencer says stuttering with a shaky voice. hes scared. hes so so scared. hes never been more scared in his life. it’s quiet. why is it quiet? why aren’t you answering? what’s wrong. god y/n.
“ hey mom.” you reply. spencer takes a deep breath in. he stops biting his nails. he wipes his wet fingers on his pants. his hearts racing. your in danger. why are you calling him mom if your not in danger. oh god. he feels like he can’t breathe again. he can’t focus. he can’t do this. he can’t do this. he can’t do this without you. breathe spencer. she’s in danger spencer. she’s all that matters.
“ y/n. god i…” he chokes. “ you already figured it out didn’t you.” he says his throat feeling scratchy. he hears you giggle on the other side of the phone, your laugh erupts the butterflies in his stomach. under any other circumstances he would absolutely hate the butterflies in his stomach and would be mad at you for making him feel such way. but now they bring a sense of comfort, they make him feel normal for a split second. that this is not that big of a deal, he’s just calling the girl he really likes and he got butterflies from hearing her beautiful laughs.
“ yeah of course. i called aunt lizzie for her birthday mom i’m not stupid.” you respond. god your voice is so beautiful, but he can hear it. he can fear the slight fear in your voice. maybe other people wouldn’t hear it, but he can. spencer can. and it’s killing him. it’s tearing his heart apart. it’s making his legs shake. “ d-did he hurt you- is he gonna hurt you?” spencer says gripping his jeans tightly. he hears you laugh again, “ yeah mom.” you say.
he feels his legs going weak.
13K notes · View notes
aemondsbabe · 3 months
Text
Stick it Out to the End
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summary: michael is desperate to get into oxford's prestigious bullingdon club; unfortunately for him, they command him to do the impossible to gain admittance
pairing: michael gavey x bimbo!reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, bimbo reader, mentions of hazing but nothing horrible/extreme, virgin!michael, breast/nipple play, praise kink, piv sex, protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), oral sex (f receiving), consensual filming, dirty talk, cursing, what i hope is saltburn-esque humor, mild size kink, mild angst but happy ending, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 12.7k
a/n: images in the header are for aesthetic purposes only & are not used to describe the reader! she's back and she's long as hell but what else is new!!! this is my first time writing bimbo!reader and while she wasn't super bimbo-y, it was fun getting my feet wet! hope y'all enjoy!
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
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🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!
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Michael
Michael couldn’t help but feel his heart speed up in his chest as he wound through the quiet corridors clutching tightly to the cryptic note he’d found stuffed in his pigeonhole that morning – just a page torn out of a standard notebook covered hastily written red ink; wholly un-intimidating as far as cryptic notes were concerned. Really, he was surprised to see they didn’t put more effort in; with as secretive and imperious as this little club was, he had been expecting some sort of extravagant stationary, perhaps even some gold embossing. 
Coming to a stop in front of an unassuming janitor’s closet door, he narrows his eyes behind the gold frames of his glasses, staring at the door with a nearly accusatorial expression. Michael swivels his head once more, his brows furrowed as he checks and re-checks every door in the vicinity before turning back to the one he stands before. Scoffing, he unfolds the note with a little irritated sigh and quickly scans the page again, mouthing the words to himself for the millionth time that day. 
The riddle had been easy enough to figure out, some trivial little lines about dead men walking, the mob, finding God, and looking to one’s heart pointed right toward some hush hush basement beneath the Merton College Chapel. That, and it didn’t take a genius to see that each line consisted of a specific number of words, pointing him right to the very door he stood in front of now – 129. 
Fucking amateurs, he’d thought after cracking the code in under half an hour. But that was earlier. And now, as he stares at the stupid dull grey janitor’s closet door in front of him, Michael can’t stop the little tendrils of doubt from creeping into his periphery. He’s sure this is the right door and positive this is the right place and yet… janitor’s closet. He checks his watch, 11:50 PM on the dot, and glances up and down the dark, shadowy corridors once more, half expecting one of the twatty rich assholes to jump out and start snickering at him, making fun of him for thinking that a no one like him would’ve ever received an invite to a club like this. 
Shaking his head, he reaches for the doorknob anyway, he’s come this far so he may as well. He freezes a little when it actually turns and his blue eyes go wide when he pushes the door open, shivering a little as he’s met with a wall of cool, dank air – eau de basement, just as he’d expected. A little actually impressed sigh passes his lips when he pokes his head in, an apprehensive smile blooming on his lips as he takes in the eerie red lighting spilling up the stairwell from the God-knows-what downstairs. 
He winces as the door squeaks when he tugs it open but he doesn’t stop, emboldened now as he knows he had been right once again. He takes the stairs quickly, probably too quickly given that he hasn’t a fucking clue what or who could be down here, but before he can dwell on the idea too much, he’s faced with another corridor. This one, unlike the ones upstairs, is narrow and brick-lined and leads in only one direction, straight to another closed door at the other end. 
Michael squints against the bright red light coming from a spotlight that had been haphazardly set up on the stone floor and walks down the hallway, his steps speeding up as he hears the janitor’s door above him open and close once more. His breath hitches a little as he opens the second door and quickly steps inside, like ripping off a band-aid. 
He freezes once more when a strong hand latches onto his shoulder and quickly jerks him further into the room, making him yelp as he stumbles, trying to keep pace with whoever the hell is leading him. 
“What the –”
Before he has time to so much as blink, his back thuds against a brick wall and finally he looks up, the vicious scowl he’d prepared morphing into a look of disturbed confusion as he eyes a row of other students, about fifteen and all men from the looks of it, dawned with black –
Oh, Christ, are those ski masks? He thinks as he eyes them up and down, How fucking banal… at least it’s not hooded cloaks. He nearly rolls his eyes as he scans the rest of the room, taking in the dim lighting interspersed with blues and greens from more of those stupid party boy spotlights. Glancing to the side, he sees another boy in his year, some guy he only knew from a few classes and passing glances in the hallways, but even still he’s comforted to not be alone down here, no matter how cliché this whole affair seemed. 
His blue eyes snap forward as the door, the only door, to the room is opened once more and some other poor sap is hastily dragged across the room, only to be smacked on the wall to his left. Again, it’s just some other boy Michael knows from classes, though he doesn’t know why he expects any different – it’s not as if he knows many people outside of the forced proximity of a lecture hall. Which was really his only reason for putting up with this bother, for seeking it out in the first place; a quick flash of him placing a tightly folded up sticky note with his name and pigeonhole number in an old, beaten up copy of King Lear in the library played in his mind – the price he seemed to pay for loneliness. 
Distantly, the bells of the chapel began to chime, signaling the hour. Once, twice, and eventually twelve times – midnight. Time to start the show, Michael surmises. 
“Welcome, initiates,” one of the hooded men says in a tone that makes Michael glare judgmentally, his voice pitched down like some idiotic knock-off Darth Vader. He steps forward from the row they stand in and holds his arms out open at his sides, “Consider this your first foray into the Bullingdon Club.”
Again, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold in a scoff. This was all just so… juvenile? He was beginning to sincerely doubt that this was the über clandestine club that granted its members all sorts of connections to various businesses, societies, and insider information that even the richest of the rich couldn’t buy. 
Unfortunately, his face seemed to betray more of his emotions than he intended and the masked boy steps forward once more, his dark eyes zeroing in on Michael. 
“You,” he says gruffly, pointing a finger in his direction, “Something you wanna say, initiate?”
Out of habit, he pushed his glasses up on his nose before he spoke, perhaps foolishly bold given the situation. 
“Doesn’t this all seem a bit much for three people?” He scoffs, shaking his head slightly, “I mean, masks, really?”
The hooded boy stops for a second and studies Michael closely, one hand on his hip, “What’s wrong with the masks?”
“Well, what’s the point? There’s, what, fifteen or sixteen of you? And three of us?” He asks, glancing around the room, which he now realized very clearly used to be some run-of-the-mill storage room, probably forgotten about by now.
The boy laughs sarcastically and shrugs his shoulders a bit, his voice back to its natural pitch, “It wouldn’t really be a secret thing if we just invited half the student body, mate.”
Michael supposes his reasoning is sound and says as much with a little hum and nod of his head, eyebrows raising dismissively. 
“Anything else?” The masked boy asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“The masks don’t really disguise you lot that well,” he observes, pointing at one of the other boys standing in the row, “That’s Harry from Multivariable Calculus.”
“Shit…” Harry mutters under his breath, the sound carrying through the concrete room. A few of the other boys in the row lean over and place comforting hands on his shoulders and murmur words of encouragement, much to Michael’s dismay.
“Why’re you here, initiate?” The lead boy asks, turning back to Michael.
“Dunno,” he shrugs again, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Friends, I guess.”
A couple of the boys in the row make little noises, mutters of empathy that make the blond’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion as he glances up and down the line. 
“And this was your first thought? A secret society?” Harry from Multivariable Calculus asks with a little laugh, “Not like… chess or something?” 
“Don’t really like chess…” Michael says with a little shrug. Apparently a good enough answer for Harry, who makes a little noise of understanding and nods his head. 
After another moment, the lead boy clears his throat, which shuts up the rest. “Anyway,” he says, his voice falsely low once more. “Each of you will be given a task…,” his dark eyes glance between Michael and the other two boys as he paces in front of them, “Perfectly customized to challenge you, to push you to your absolute limits.” 
The masked boy pauses his little speech and gestures back to three of the other boys standing in the row behind him who then step forward and walk over to the dank brick wall that Michael and the other two boys stand against. He studies the boy that walks towards him carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion when he notices how much shorter he appears to be.
Finally, the boy comes to stand before him and presents a plain white envelope, though Michael’s lips spread into a hateful smirk when he sees an all too familiar pair of old, beat up trainers on the boy’s feet. 
“Oliver?!” He hisses meanly, shock lacing his voice as he jerks back the hand he had reached out for the envelope, wincing as his elbow collides with the cool wall behind him. He glances around the room, noting the few pairs of eyes that were on him, before fixing his gaze on the boy before him once more with a harsh glare, “You’re in Bullingdon?”
The boy in front of him hesitates for a second, cutting a sideways glance toward a taller boy that was busy presenting an envelope to the boy to Michael’s left, before he sighs and looks back at him, blue eyes peeking out of the holes in his ski mask. “Yeah,” he huffs, shrugging his shoulders defensively, “How’d you know it was me, then?”
“You look like a goddamn twelve year old!” Michael jeers, his voice low and vicious as his hands curl into fists at his sides, “How’d you manage to get into this club anyway?” He questions, seething, “They only let you in if you have the money or the marks and I know for a fucking fact you don’t have either.”
Oliver sighs again and rolls his eyes, which makes him see red and grit his teeth, although he doesn’t miss how the shorter boy’s eyes cut to the side again quickly. He opens his mouth, but before he can get a word in edgewise, the blond cuts him off with a little mocking laugh.
“Don’t tell me that’s fucking Catton,” Michael groans lowly with a shake of his head, breathing heavily as he feels the same sense of anger and betrayal he’d felt all those months ago well up in him once more, transporting him right back to the stupid damn pub, “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me, is this shite little club only full of cunts?”
“Look, I’m –” 
Oliver starts to speak again, only to be cut off when the head boy traipses over to where they are, coming to stand ominously behind him with his arms clasped behind his back. His dark eyes dart between the two boys before he speaks.
“Problem over here, lads?”
“No,” Oliver answers quickly, staring warily up at Michael as he practically shoves the envelope into his arms, “Just complete the task, initiate. You have thirty-six hours.” 
Before Michael can blink, Oliver turns his back and stalks back over to the other boys, taking his place in the row once more. The head boy looks Michael up and down appraisingly before nodding to the letter in his hands with a sly smirk.
“I can’t wait to see how you fare with that one, Gavey,” he says, his voice low and threatening, as if he’s in on the most delicious joke, “Remember, thirty-six hours, initiate.” He chuckles softly and departs, returning to stand in the center of the room. 
Everyone stands still for a moment, Michael and the other two boys to his left and right holding their respective envelopes nervously, unsure if they were supposed to open them now or not. Thankfully, the head boy clears his throat, commanding all eyes to him once again.
“Initiates,” he says slowly, his voice no doubt already hoarse from this little farce, “Failure to complete your tasks will result in a permanent ban from Bullingdon; no second chances. We expect results as well as proof of those results,” his dark eyes scan over the three boys once more, one corner of his mouth turned up into a mean smirk, “We’ll be seeing you back in this location Sunday at noon. Your thirty-six hours begin now… have fun.” He finishes with a taunting laugh before turning and exiting from the room, the old door creaking as he pulls it open before disappearing into the faint red glow of the hallway, followed by the rest of the fifteen boys in an orderly line.
As soon as the old door closes, the sound of paper tearing echoes around the dimly lit basement as Michael and the other two boys hastily tear open their envelopes. Pulling out a little slip of paper, his eyes go wide as a wave of dread washes over him. His eyes scan over the paper again and again as he nervously shoves his glasses back up his nose once more, silently willing the chicken-scratch words on the paper to somehow change, to give him some other command. 
His heart is pumping so loudly in his ears that he misses it when one of the other boys tries getting his attention, his head snapping up suddenly as a hand waves in front of it.
“Oi!”
“W-What?” 
“What did they give you?” The boy asks, nodding at the scrap of paper in Michael’s hand.
He clears his throat and tries his best to come off as casual, though he hardly cares with the way thoughts begin racing through his mind. “Oh, um,” he starts, glancing down to read over the paper once more, “I just uh, have to sleep with someone is all.”
The other two boys gape at him for a moment before groaning frustratedly. The one that had first spoken to him holds his paper out and smacks it disdainfully with the back of his hand.
“What the hell?” He asks gruffly, glancing between his paper and Michael, “Why’s yours so bloody easy?”
“For real,” sighs the second boy, rubbing the back of his head, “Ours are damn near impossible. They must already be decided on you to go so soft. How am I meant to steal the fucking Selden Map from Bodleian?” He laments, brows furrowed as he stares down at the paper in his hands.
“Yeah, and I have to transfer ten thousand pounds out of the chancellor’s bank account and into mine!” The first boy sighs, shaking his head, “At least your mum’s head of conservatorship here, you can at least get within a stone’s throw of the map. I have to commit fucking wire fraud!” 
The two boys grumble for another moment as Michael silently descends into a tailspin, his blue eyes unfocused as he stares at one of the dingy brick walls of the basement, trying desperately to formulate a plan, any plan. He merely glances up as the other to head for the door, spitballing ideas for each of their tasks.
“Isn’t your dad the president of Julius Baer? Can’t you just get him to pull strings?”
“Oh, yeah, fantastic idea! I’ll just ring him and ask the old man to commit a felony! What could possibly go wrong there?”
Michael tries to tune out their bickering as the three of them ascend the staircase and trail out into the hallway of Merton College Chapel once more; the two other boys don’t pay him any mind as they continue whispering amongst themselves, their voices trailing quietly down the hallway as he leans with his back against the cool metal of the janitor’s closet door. 
Sighing, he reads over the directive again, his blue eyes catching on the sharply scrawled letters of a very familiar name, one that makes his cheeks flush and his heart race. He swallows nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
How could they know to do this? He wonders sheepishly. It’s not like he’d mentioned her to anyone; hell, he’d never even said so much as three words to her! No, his pathetic little crush was entirely in his mind. 
Too much of a coward to even say hi, he bemoans, trying to stave off the sense of shame he felt as he considered how many times he’d finished with her name on his lips, her pretty face and soft curves and sweet smell and little girly outfits whirling around his head since he’d spotted her on the first fucking day; he’d pined ever since and she didn’t even know he existed! How could she?
This is fucking impossible, he thinks miserably, wishing that he had any other task. He’d rather steal the Queen’s own goddamn family jewels than this. He glances at his watch once more and groans when he sees it’s almost already two in the morning; pushing himself up off the door, he hangs his head as he scurries back to his dorm room, thoughts spiraling as he plots. 
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You
A laugh bubbles up past your lips as you sway your hips, your whole body vibrating as “Umbrella” blasts through the speakers while you dance with your friends, partying to celebrate the end of term. 
“You can run into my arms, it’s okay, don't be alarmed!” You sing happily, yours and your friends voices mingling together with another peal of laughter; you take another sip of your drink as you move along with the beat of the song, savoring the fizzy strawberry daiquiri as you begin to feel a bit warm from the little rush of alcohol, already on your third drink of the night. 
You smile proudly as you spot Felix in the crowd, his hazel eyes already fixed on you, or well, fixated on your chest. His attention makes you preen and you bite your lower lip, the sickly sweet taste of your cherry lip gloss filling your mouth as you purposefully bounce up and down on the balls of your feet. 
The thin straps of your pastel pink dress hold on for dear life as your chest heaves enticingly, and you giggle when you see those hazel eyes widen just a bit, no doubt tracing over the glittering chain of your necklace, following down to where it settles, a little sparkly pink diamond nestling temptingly at your cleavage. You teasingly wink, blushing a little when you get a wink back, and go back to dancing with your friends, knowing from experience that Felix preferred to approach rather than be approached. 
You dance with your friends for a few more moments, grinding up against any warm body you can find as a raunchier song begins pumping through the speakers, before you feel eyes on you yet again. Smiling at the attention, you glance around again, the low, colorful lighting of the pub making it hard to tell exactly which direction your admirer’s coming from. 
Your eyes flit over a few familiar faces, you can’t help but sigh in relief when you notice that Oliver’s eyes are thankfully planted firmly on someone that is not you, though a confused little crease forms between your brows when you realize that Felix’s aren’t either. Turning your head, you sway along to the music still as you look around quickly, your feet beginning to ache finally from the precious little satin Chanel heels buckled around your ankles. 
Your eyes finally lock onto an unexpected gaze, a fresh wash of pink coloring your cheeks as blue eyes glance shyly away from you. A little giggle titters past your lips as you lean over to one of your friends, patting her shoulder to get her attention.
“You know who that blond guy is? With the glasses?” You call over the music, nodding over in your admirer’s direction as he stands awkwardly back against the wall by the entrance, clutching a still-foamy pint. 
She glances over before turning back to you with a little shrug. “Michael something, I think!” She says, her breath warm as she leans in closer so you can hear her, “I thought Oliver knew him!”
Your eyes immediately find the brunette, predictably following Felix around like a lost little puppy, before you look back over at Michael. You can’t help but feel a bit bad when you see him quickly look away from your direction again before staring intently into his pint glass, one hand shoved in the pocket of his khaki pants. 
“I’m gonna take a breather for a second!” You yell over the loud music, leaning in close and cupping a hand over her ear. 
“Aw, babe, come on!” She pouts playfully, tilting her head at you, “Stay longer!”
You shake your head with another little laugh and gesture at your feet, “These are sooo cute but they’re killing me!” You laugh, finishing off the last sip of your drink, “I’ll be over by the notice board!” You tell her, blowing a kiss as you walk away from the dance floor of the small, cramped pub. 
Finally, you reach the little area by the front door and lean back against the wall, taking in a much-needed deep breath as you pull your little tube of lip gloss out of your bra and carefully reapply some more, smirking when you glance over out of the corner of your eye and see a certain blond boy already shyly eyeing you. 
Rubbing your lips together with a little pouty pop, you tuck your gloss back in your bra once more before slowly approaching Michael, prettily manicured hands clasped behind your back to help shamelessly push your chest out more. His wide eyed stare makes you giggle and blush as you study him, eyes flitting appreciatively up and down his lithe frame; so much potential hidden away under a little button down and khakis. 
“Haven’t seen you here before,” you tease, smirking when he blushes and all but chokes on his beer, coughing for a few seconds before finally speaking.
“I… Me?” He asks awkwardly, glancing around for seemingly anyone else you could be talking to.
Lucky for him, you find his awkwardness endearing. Truthfully, you had for months, never missing the way his eyes always happened upon you in a crowd. There was something impressive about the boy, something that had made your mind drift to him on more than one occasion, even if you were already under someone else. 
“Of course you, silly,” you laugh softly, leaning against the wall next to him and tilting your head curiously, “You’re Michael, right?”
His eyes go wide again and nods wordlessly before finding his voice. “Yeah, Michael,” he says with a reserved little smile, “Gavey! Michael Gavey…” He adds awkwardly, cheeks flushing even more when you giggle, seemingly charmed by his inability to string two words together. He nods as you introduce yourself.
“I know,” he says before blinking, eyes going wide behind his gold framed glasses as he awkwardly glances away, “I just… I mean I’ve heard your name before, that’s all.”
“That’s all, huh?” You echo with a flirty little giggle, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you let the moment linger, just wanting to push him a little. “What’re you reading?” You ask curiously, cocking your head to the side a little.
“Maths,” he nods quickly before looking down into his pint glass once more as if fizzling beer is the most interesting thing in the world, “I don’t really like it all that much, though… I mostly only picked it because I’m good at it.”
“Ooh,” you coo softly, nodding along with his words as you watch him carefully, “You must be wicked smart, I can’t do maths to save my life.” You comment with a little giggle, biting your lip when he seems to perk up at that comment and looks up at you with a little grin. 
“I can do it in my head,” he says lowly, an unexpectedly cocky edge to his voice that has your heart picking up in your chest, “Ask me a sum,” he says, a challenging glimmer in his eyes. 
You hum softly, biting your lip as you think for a second, “Uhm, seventy-two plus a hundred and thirteen?”
“One eighty-five,” he chuckles after no more than a second before scoffing a little, “Come on, give me one that’s hard, love.”
Love? The little pet name makes you raise an eyebrow before you laugh softly. “What do you mean a hard one?” You giggle, shaking your head, “That one was hard!”
“That was hard for you?” He teases, making your cheeks tingle as a pink flush settles over your skin, “What’re you reading, then?”
“Art history!” You chirp proudly, chuckling nervously when you see him roll his eyes a bit, “What? Something wrong with that?”
He shakes his head dismissively, quickly polishing off the last of his pint before setting the empty class on a table and turning back to you, pushing his glasses up his nose with a grin, “Ask me another one, then. Biggest numbers you can think of.”
You don’t know why, but something about his little challenge has you blushing again, like he’s testing you somehow. But still, you take a moment to think of some numbers, biting your lip and quirking your eyes up toward the ceiling. 
“Six hundred thirty-two times… eight hundred ninety-one,” you hum, cocking your head to the side as you watch him closely. His eyes seem to glaze over, only for a second, before once again he’s spouting off numbers like a calculator. 
“Five hundred sixty-three thousand, one hundred and twelve.” 
Your eyebrows raise at that as you gawk at him. “Wow…,” you breathe after a moment, blinking as you stare up at him, “You’re, like, super smart, then?”
“Suppose so,” he says, smiling shyly again as he tucks both hands into the pockets of his khaki pants.
You study him for a moment as the conversation lulls, finding something endlessly fascinating about the boy; the way he could swing from being so cocky and self assured to shy and awkward makes your stomach do summersaults. Turning your head, you spot your group of friends still dancing and you look back at Michael with a little sigh as another upbeat song blasts loudly through the pub. 
“D’you wanna get out of here?” You ask, smirking when he looks up at you shyly.
“W-What?”
“My dorm’s only, like, a minute from here,” you flirt, sweet and enticing as you make him blush somehow more, “We could go somewhere more… quiet?”
He stares at you for a moment, shocked that you’re asking him of all people to come back to yours before he nods and nervously runs a hand through his wheat colored hair, unsuccessfully trying to act casual. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”
“Yay!” You giggle happily, flirtatiously grabbing one of his hands as you saunter past him, heading for the exit, “C’mon, it’s like a five minute walk!” He nods wordlessly and you can’t help but smirk as he follows you like a lost little puppy. 
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True to your word, it’s only a few minutes later when you and Michael reach your dorm room, after you’d stopped for a minute at the entrance to your hall to chat with Farleigh, who seemed very interested in the nerdy boy following at your heels. You just couldn’t wipe the smirk off your face as you and Michael left him standing at the doors, mouth open and a wicked little gleam in his eyes; no doubt, he’d immediately scurried off to the King’s Arms. 
The door to your room opens with a tiny squeak, blasted old building, and you all but prance inside, turning back to the blond boy still lingering in the doorway with a smile. 
“Am I going to have to invite you in like a vampire?” You joke with a little laugh as you bend down to quickly undo the buckles of your heels, letting out a relieved sigh when you finally step out of them, leaving you in frilly white ankle socks.  
Michael finally steps into your room with a huffed laugh and quickly kicks off his shoes, you smirk when you see his Star Wars themed socks. “‘M no vampire, love,” he quips, gold framed eyes darting around your room as he looks over every detail. You grin at the little blush on his cheeks and perch on the edge of your bed to watch him, head tilted ever so slightly. 
“It’s, uh, it’s cute in here,” he observes, his voice a low hum as he takes in your frilly, lacy curtains, plush white rug, and equally girlish floral bedding, all encased in the faint pink glow of the heart-shaped fairy lights strung up around the room, “Just like how I imagined…” He breathes, so lowly you doubt he meant to say that bit aloud. 
“Like you imagined?” You echo with a little giggle, quickly reapplying your lip gloss before setting the little tube on the corner of your desk. 
“I just… I – It’s just very… you, is all I meant,” he stutters, running a hand through his hair awkwardly, the apples of his cheeks flushed a dark pink. 
His awkwardness is so endearing, you can’t help but grin. The more time you spend with him, the more interesting he seems to become; this bumbling, nervous boy is so different from the one you’ve seen on campus so many times. On campus, he’s comfortable, quiet still, but with a definite air of confidence – clearly in his element as he prowls through bookshelves in the library or explains some complex math formula in the quad. 
“So, you think about me often, then?” Your voice stays sweet, innocent almost, though you can’t help but tease him; he’s so pretty when he blushes. 
“No!” He answers quickly, whipping his head toward you from where he’d been studying the various pictures tacked up on the walls, everything from boy band posters to stills from Clueless and Legally Blonde. “I mean, yes, sometimes, I…,” he fumbles again and pushes his glasses up his sharp nose, “I think about you a normal amount.” He says finally, glancing at you quickly before looking away. 
You hum softly and stand before walking toward him with a kind smile, though you don’t miss the way he keeps glancing down at your cleavage, or the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows nervously. 
“A normal amount?” 
“Mhm,” he nods, gaze unsure as you come to stand in front of him, teeth biting into your plush lower lip as you twirl a piece of hair through your fingers, “As much as I think of anyone else.”
“So…,” you breathe, drawing out the word as you reach up and fiddle with the collar of his button down shirt, the turquoise gingham a bright blue blip among all the blush tones of your room, “Every time I’ve caught you looking at my tits in the library or in the quad or in the hallways… that was just a normal amount?”
You giggle as his eyes go wide, his lips opening and closing like a fish out of water. Deciding to take mercy on him, you run a finger down his chest, playfully fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.
“Relax, I’m not mad,” you shake your head, smiling when the tension in his shoulders visibly eases, “Why wouldn’t I want a cutie like you staring?”
His lips part at that as he sucks in a little breath, blue eyes widening behind his glasses. “You think I’m… cute?” He asks breathlessly, heart pounding under your fingertip. 
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip once more as you nod, cocking your head to the side just slightly as you peer up at him. “‘Course I do, honey, what’s not to like?”
Again, he gawks at you, blinking in shock and swallowing nervously.
“I –” 
“I do have one question though…,” you tease, pouting a bit as you slowly and carefully undo the very top button on his shirt, relishing the way his breath hitches in his throat. 
“Y-Yeah?” His voice breaks, making you giggle while he blushes somehow deeper.
“Mhm,” you nod, undoing the second button and pausing when you find a splash of hair across his chest, the same shiny wheat color as the hair on his head, causing a familiar knot to begin twisting itself up in your belly, “Why were you at the end of term party?”
He blinks for a second, evidently taken off guard. “I… W-Was it invite only?”
His question nearly makes you snort and you shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching as you try not to laugh. “No, sweetie,” you peer up at him through your lashes as you rest your hand against his bare chest, smirking ever so slightly when he shivers, “I just meant, I haven’t seen you at parties before… doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.” 
“I, well,” he stammers, the bottoms of his glasses fogging up from the heat radiating off his cheeks, “I just –”
“It’s for that club, yeah?” You ask finally, giggling at the shocked expression on his face.
“How do –”
“You lot are not nearly as sneaky as you think,” you laugh cheekily, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet, “Plus, I heard Felix and Oliver whispering about something to do with tasks a few weeks ago… and boys are very bad at keeping secrets once you get their cocks out.” You add with a little giggle, taking Michael’s hand once more and dragging him over to your plush bed. You sit him on the edge before all but climbing in his lap, smiling cheekily as you straddle his thighs, your knees digging into your soft bedding.
“So,” you start, holding onto his shoulders to balance yourself and smiling a little when he finally touches you, lightly resting his hands on your hips, “What’s your task, hm? I heard they made them, like, particularly brutal this year.”
“I don’t think I should say,” Michael murmurs with a little shake of his head, making you pout.
“Oh, come on!” You bounce on his lap a little, not missing the way his eyes seem to be drawn to your breasts like magnets, “I want to help! Is it something at the King’s Arms?”
“N-No, I really don’t think –”
“I know they keep the important rugby trophies there,” you think aloud, still playing dumb, just wanting him to say it, “Is that it? D’you have to steal one? One of the boys that works there owes me, I could get him to let you in after hours…” You prattle on, speaking faster and faster as Michael shakes his head beneath you.
Finally, he seems to reach a breaking point and his grip on your hips tightens. “I have to fuck you!” He blurts out before sighing.
“Oh, really?”
“I… I have to fuck you –”
“Mhm?”
“And prove I did somehow.”
“How interesting!”
He narrows his eyes at that and peers up at you suspiciously, studying you carefully. You can’t help but giggle, loving the way you feel when his eyes are on you, and you smirk when he finally blinks in realization.
“You… you knew this whole time, didn’t you?”
A sly smile spreads across your lips as you nod, squirming excitedly on his lap. “Like I said,” you chuckle with a little shrug, “Not. Sneaky!” You tease, punctuating each word with a little boop to the tip of his nose, unable to resist. 
He stays silent for a moment, gazing up at you with a strange mixture of awe and unease before he finally speaks through a deep sigh. “So, I suppose this is the part where you tell me to leave?”
Well, that comment throws you off. You cock your head to the side, confused, as your eyebrows furrow together. “Why would I ask you to leave?”
He sighs again and grits his teeth, looking dejectedly at the floor. “Come on, love,” he mutters, looking anywhere but you, “I-It’s not like you’d ever want to –”
“Ever want to what?” You ask with a frown, gently grabbing at his chin and tilting his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze, “You think I don’t wanna fuck you, honey?”
“Well, I –”
“Michael,” you say pointedly, raising your brows as you smirk slightly, staring deeply into his blue eyes, “I’m the one that came onto you, yeah?”
“I… I suppose.”
“Mhm,” you hum, nodding your head as you run your fingers through his short hair, not missing the little sigh that leaves his lips when you push yourself closer to him, your chest pressing tightly against his, “And while I’m not thrilled at our first time being for some stupid little task –”
“It’s,” he cuts you off shyly, shaking his head ever so slightly, “It’s – I’ve never…” He stammers, nervously gripping at your waist once more. 
You can’t help but smile softly, so charmed by him over and over. You nod your head knowingly, raising your brows just a bit. “I know, honey,” you whisper reassuringly, “We don’t have to, I’ll let you take a pair of my panties or whatever else, but we don’t need to do anything.”
He sighs up at you again, so taken with you he feels like he could scream, and shakes his head more, grabbing at your hips tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “N-No, I… I want to,” he nods, swallowing anxiously, “I do, I just… don’t really know what I’m doing.”
You nod again, listening carefully as he speaks. “So, is it all new or…?”
He shakes his head and smiles a little, shyly, though the sight of it still makes that knot in your belly tighten further, making you blush on his lap while butterflies swirl around inside you. “I’ve kissed before,” he says lowly, chuckling awkwardly as he seems to get bolder, causing you to shudder when he lightly rubs his hands over your waist and hips, “And done… hand stuff.”
You giggle at his boyish explanation and bite your lip when you smile at him, wiggling in his lap as a heat begins to settle at the apex of your thighs. “Can I kiss you, honey?” 
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat again, making you want so badly to press soft, glossy kisses to it, but you resist, determined to make this good for him. 
“Yeah,” he nods eagerly, blue eyes fixated on your lips.
You smile softly before leaning in and finally pressing your lips against his, both of you sighing at once. One of his hands stays at your hip while the other comes to rest in the small of your back, pressing you more tightly to him as your lips move together, his motions surprisingly fluid and practiced. 
You make a small noise in the back of your throat when you feel his tongue licking at your bottom lip, and eagerly allow him access with a little sigh. Your fingers busy themselves with unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, making him shudder beneath you when you skim your hands over his bare chest and stomach as his tongue flows with your own, the bitter, coffee-ish flavor of the pint he’d had earlier still on his tongue.
Impatient, you pull back long enough to look at him for reassurance, smiling when you earn a little nod. You kiss him once more before tugging his shirt off, flushing when he groans lowly as you trail kisses down over his jaw and neck before swiping your tongue greedily over his Adam’s apple, making his breath hitch. 
“F-Fuck,” he sighs brokenly, bolding tracing over your thigh until his fingers are tucked up under the silky, baby pink material of your dress. His touches make you shiver as goosebumps bloom over your skin, making you whine against the pale column of his throat, “Can I?” He breathes, fingers toying with a strap of your dress while the others slowly inched the bottom of it up higher and higher. 
“God, please,” you mewl, nodding against his throat, your head on his shoulder. He shudders at the feel of your breath on his neck and nods once before tugging at the bottom of your dress. You sit up to help him, whining when you feel his hard length pressing against your thin, lacy underwear, “You don’t need to ask, Michael. Want you to take me however you want.” You whisper as he tugs your dress over your head, blue eyes meeting yours for a second as he nods before they skim lower, widening as he takes you in on his lap wearing only a bra and panties. 
“Holy shit,” he breathes, making you giggle shyly as you lean in and softly kiss over his cheeks, “You have…you’re – you’re perfect,” he sighs, brazenly cupping your breasts, skimming his thumbs over your nipples through the thin pink fabric of your bra and smiling proudly when he feels them harden at his touch, “You’re perfect, but these are… holy shit.” He repeats, his voice breathy and mesmerized as he takes in your chest for another moment while you softly card your fingers through his golden hair. 
You gasp through a little giggle when you feel his length twitch, even through his trousers, and wiggle on his lap, blushing when the movement earns you a broken groan. “Yeah?” You whisper cheekily, watching as he marvels at your chest for a second longer before quickly unclasping your bra and shrugging out of it, tossing it down onto the floor with his shirt and your dress, “What about now?” You tease, proudly arching your back as you bite your lip.
He groans again, louder than he has all evening, and instantly ducks his head down. The feel of his soft lips wrapping eagerly around one of your nipples makes you cry out, gasping sharply as he sucks at the sensitive bud before he runs his tongue over it. You cradle the back of his head in your hands, fingers lightly pulling at the short strands of hair, as he switches from one breast to the other, kneading whichever one is free with his hand. 
Needing something, anything, you finally pull him off of your chest after a few moments, laughing when he all but whines, and smiling even more when you take in his disheveled appearance – blond hair sticking up at odd angles from where you’d run your fingers through it, cheeks flushed as his glasses sit crooked on his nose, and his blue eyes staring up at you hungrily. 
You shift back on his thighs just enough to snake a hand between the two of you and he gasps when you cup the bulge pressing against the zipper of his khakis. “You want me to suck your cock?” You ask cheekily, lightly squeezing at his length. 
He surprises you by shaking his head no,gulping slightly with an awkward laugh before answering. “I do, I really fucking do, love,” he breathes, kneading at your breasts as he stares up at you sheepishly, “B-But I really want to last and if you… if you suck it, I –”
“Okay, okay,” you stop him with a kiss, “We’ll table it for next time.” 
“N-Next time?” He questions, fighting to keep his eyes open as you press kisses against his neck once more. You nod against his shoulder and press kisses up to just beneath his ear. 
“I’m not letting you go that easy, honey,” you whisper, chuckling when he shivers. You spend another moment softly kissing and biting at his neck before speaking again, “Have you ever eaten anyone out?” You question, pulling back to look at him.
He shakes his head, his eyes flicking between both of yours as he looks up at you. “No.” He answers simply, his voice hardly a whisper. 
You can’t help but smirk coyly and cock your head to the side, running a finger through the little patch of hair on his chest just to see him shudder. “You wanna try it?”
He nods eagerly and surprises you once again by quickly swinging you around, maneuvering you until your head rests on the pillows of your bed. You squeal at the movement, laughing with him as he settles over you, his narrow hips slotting easily between your thighs as you silently marvel at his unexpected strength, the shock of it going right between your legs. 
“You want me to lick your pussy?” He asks lowly, grinning when he sees your eyes widen ever so slightly. 
“You’re quite something, huh?” You breathe, still gazing up at him in surprise. 
“Observant,” he shrugs, smirking as he sits up, kneeling between your legs, “You aren’t the only one who is, love.” He teases, quickly undoing his belt and trousers and groaning as he pushes them down his thighs, stopping at his knees. 
Your eyes go wide at the size of his length, it’s clearly very impressive and it’s not even out of his plaid boxers yet. That smirk stays plastered on his face as he leans back down to hover over you, hastily removing his glasses and sitting them on your desk before sloppily kissing you for a moment, surprising you yet again by trailing wet kisses down your neck. 
“Michael…” You sigh dreamily, arching your back toward him when he starts kissing over your chest. He groans from deep in his chest, mouth pressed against the fat of your breast. 
“Fucking hell,” he curses, teasing your nipple again with the tip of his tongue, “Say it again, love.” 
His simple command sends shivers down your spine and you mewl, squirming underneath him, “M-Michael!” You moan again, fumbling over your words as he sucks at your breast again before he lifts his head. 
“Good girl,” he purrs with a sly, easy smirk that makes your heart jump, a soft sigh tumbling past your lips. He shifts further down the bed, kissing down over your ribs and stomach, his confidence seemingly growing every time he presses his lips against your skin; the thought makes your head spin.
Finally, he hooks his fingers into the lacy sides of your panties, and his eyes peer up at you as he tugs them down over your hips before flinging them onto the floor. “Oh, my God…,” he sighs, staring greedily at your pussy, a broken groan sounds from his throat when you spread your legs more. 
You bite your lip and giggle, smiling shyly as you tangle your fingers in his hair once more. “Like what you see?” 
He nods his head rapidly, making you chuckle again as he stares up at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I… uh, w-what now?” 
He’s so endearing, you can’t help the little sigh that leaves you and you sit up a little, leaning back on an elbow as you use your other hand to spread your center open. You bite your bottom lip once more when he whines a little, seeing you all spread out before him, flushed folds already slick and shiny. 
“Lick here, honey,” you whimper as you skim your fingers over your clit, so keyed up from only a few kisses that you gasp a little when you feel yourself clench; Michael looks like he may pass out. 
Ever the dutiful student, he gives you one last look before diving in. Your head falls back with a whiny gasp as his tongue snakes over your clit, just as you’d instructed. A long, shuddery moan leaves him, vibrating against your cunt and you watch as his blue eyes all but roll back in his head. 
“Just like that, Michael,” you praise, tugging at his hair ever so slightly, which only serves to make him moan more. Your chest heaves as you watch him, determined not to let your eyes squeeze shut while he licks and kisses and sucks at your pussy like a man possessed, “Holy shit!” You whimper loudly when he pushes his tongue into you, groaning lowly when he feels your walls clench around it as he presses his nose perfectly against your clit. 
“You taste so good,” he gasps, wrapping his hands around your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants. He peers up at you through blond lashes as he feasts on you, sucking eagerly at your clit and savoring the way you shiver and squirm from his motions. 
Unbelievably, you already feel that warm, familiar tug in your belly beginning to grow, making your whole body feel flush and taut. “Just like that, just like that,” you whine urgently, grabbing onto his hair tighter and guiding his mouth exactly where you need it, your eyes finally rolling back and fluttering shut, “Holy fuck, don’t stop!” 
Michael grunts as you tug at his hair, his own hips rutting greedily against your pretty bedding — cock throbbing so hard there’s no doubt he’s leaked through his boxers. He watches you carefully, studying your movements and reactions as best he can while he rhythmically licks at your clit. 
“Oh, shit!” You cry not even a moment later, your whole body seeming to stutter as your muscles finally relax. You mewl as your high finally washes over you, savoring the way Michael groans into your cunt as he feels it contracting on his tongue. Your eyes stay squeezed shut as shivers roll up and down your spine, shuddered cries leaving your lips. 
Just as his touches begin to border on overstimulation, you have enough wherewithal to push him away, and he releases your center with a lewd little pop. 
“Was that good?” He asks through a breathless laugh, swallowing as he looks up at you, evidence of your arousal still shining on his lips and chin. 
“Good?” You huff, eyebrows raised as you gaze down at him, “You’re sure you’ve never done that before?” You question in disbelief, chest still heaving. 
He smiles shyly, already pink cheeks seeming to flush deeper from your praise as he chuckles. You cup his cheeks when he leans over you again, whimpering as you taste yourself on his tongue. 
“You’re unbelievable.” You sign as he kisses down your neck again, making him chuckle against your skin. 
“Just observant,” he grunts, shuddering when you wrap your legs around his trim waist. You gasp as his length brushes over your still sensitive pussy, impossibly hot and hard even through the thin fabric of his boxers. His fragmented sigh makes you smile and you tug his head up, blushing as you look up at him. 
“You ready, honey?” You breathe, giggling when he nods his head again eagerly, his hips stuttering instinctually against your center. “Here, let me…” You trail off, the two of you separating for a moment as you lean over and pull open the top drawer of your desk, pulling out a pack of condoms and tearing one off before laying back down. 
You watch enraptured as he kneels between your legs again, pulling down his boxers finally. “Holy…” you gasp when his cock finally bobs free, twitching up to rut against his lower stomach; he’s long and thick, curving a little as veins run up the underside, leading to a flushed, leaking head. He smiles shyly again at your attention as he shuffles awkwardly out of his trousers and underwear, kicking them off and onto the floor.
You hand him the condom and watch as he rolls it on, giving him a little reassuring smile as he does. Once it’s securely in place, you pull him back to you, eagerly kissing him once more and wrapping your legs securely around his waist. Both of you moan in unison when his length glides through your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit. 
He pulls away with a little gasp, hovering over you as he glances down at your hips. “S-So, I just…” He trails off, watching as you reach down with one hand, grunting softly when you wrap your hand around his cock. 
Carefully, you position him at your entrance and angle your hips a little. “Go on, honey,” you encourage with a soft smile, running your other hand over his chest. 
Nodding once, he presses forward and swears he sees God. “F-Fucking hell,” he groans, loudly sighing your name as he carefully guides himself into you, absolutely in awe at the way your hot cunt grips him. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips resting firmly against yours as his chest heaves, breaths coming in short, sharp pants. 
You aren’t fairing much better, head spinning at the way he splits you open, pressing incessantly at each and every sensitive spot within you. You pant against his neck as he stills, pressed deeply within you. 
“D-Do… fuck, do I just…?” Michael stutters, giving half-hearted little thrusts to test the waters. 
“Yes!” You answer instantly, anxiously nodding up at him as your hips wiggle against the bedsheets, making him swear and shudder above you, “Just move, honey, do what feels good.” 
He groans again and gives a little nod before experimentally moving his hips again, pulling out more this time before pushing back in. “Shit,” he breathes above you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he grunts with each roll of his hips. 
You pant underneath him, spurring him on by pressing your feet against his backside, urging him to move faster and faster as the frilly lace from your socks tickles his pale skin. “You’re doing so, so good, oh, my God,” you breathe, your voice high-pitched and whimpery as you tangle your fingers in his hair again, knowing by now that it drives him crazy. 
Above you, Michael’s hips slowly but surely begin to stutter, his thrusts starting to peter out as his breathing picks up. “I’m —!”
“Wait!” You blurt suddenly, smiling wickedly as he comes to a screeching halt, pushing himself up enough to stare down at you with wild eyes, “I have an idea…” You tease with a little giggle. 
“W-What?” 
“You have a phone, yeah?” 
“…Yeah?”
“One that can, like, take video?” 
“Yes?” 
“Grab it,” you laugh, pushing him off of you with a laugh. He rolls his eyes with a smirk but does as you ask, clumsily pulling himself from your heat before stumbling over to where his khakis had landed. He shuffles about for a second before pulling a silver phone from the pocket of his trousers. 
“Now what?” He asks curiously, positioning himself back between your thighs, cock twitching meanly. 
“Film me.” 
“What?!” He gapes at you, brows creased. 
“Film me, honey,” you giggle, biting your lip conspiratorially, “For your little task, you need proof, yeah?” 
“Well, yeah, b-but I can just take your panties or something, I don’t —“
“Or you could bring back something better…” You smirk, shrugging your shoulders playfully, “We don’t have to but… it could be kinda hot?” 
He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking between you, your pussy, and the phone in his hand before he nods once, curtly. “We… we can try it.” 
“Yeah? You wanna?” 
“Yeah,” he quips, catching you by surprise as a mean little smirk spreads over his lips, “Wanna see the look on Catton’s face when he sees you creaming on my cock.” 
Your eyes widen and you huff out a shocked laugh, a zing of electricity lighting behind your eyes. “You’re insane,” you say softly, an endeared smile on your lips. 
He snickers, his whole demeanor seeming to change before your eyes as he transforms from this shy, stuttering boy into an astonishingly cocky man. “You like it, love,” he teases, grabbing his dick and positioning himself at your entrance yet again. 
“Wait!” You giggle again, blushing as he groans. 
“You don’t want to anymore?” 
“No, no, not that,” you assure him, affectionately running your hand down one of his shockingly muscular arms, “You can film me… on one condition.” 
“‘N what would that be?” 
“Take me on a date.” You breathe, suddenly shy. You know he’ll agree to it, but even still, your heart pumps wildly in your chest. 
He stares at you for a second, blinking dumbly as he processes your request. “You want me to take you on a date?” He asks, flushing so deeply that the soft pink hue cascades all the way down to his chest. 
Giggling, you nod your head, giving his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “You need to start giving yourself more credit, honey.” 
He sighs at that, a little astounded huff, before he’s suddenly grabbing at your calves and pushing your legs up toward your shoulders, all but bending you in half, anxious to get his cock back into you. You gasp at the movement, and chuckle at his eagerness, a sound that morphs into a whiny moan when he slides back home. 
“Christ,” he grunts, shoulders heaving as he gets used to the way you feel around him once more, “Y-You feel so good, love, fucking perfect.” 
“You’re so big,” you whine, nodding as you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, “You’re so good, Michael, you have no idea.” 
He groans above you, hands shaking as he grabs for his phone, flipping it open and quickly opening the camera as his hips rut into you, making the springs of your bed creak softly. 
As soon as Michael gives you a little nod to let you know he’s filming, you truly put on a show — or well, you at least stop trying to quiet yourself down and be conscientious of the people in the rooms next to you. The way he has your legs bent back makes him feel somehow bigger and causes his cock to hit that sensitive spot within you with pinpoint accuracy every time he thrusts in, making you clench around him and moan loudly each time he moves his hips against you. 
You watch as he angles the camera down a bit, no doubt pointing it at the spot the two of you are joined together, letting the camera record his cock sliding in and out of you. When he moves it back up, however, to get your face as evidence, you plaster on the cheekiest grin you can muster. 
“H-Hi boys,” you tease breathlessly, smirking as you lean up on one elbow. You wave with your other hand before blowing a kiss to the camera, which makes Michael cockily laugh.
“Fuck, I gotta…” he mutters after a few more seconds, carelessly dropping his phone down on the bed before roughly grabbing at your thighs with a bruising grip, one that makes you mewl and arch your back toward him. The two of you moan and whimper in unison as he begins thrusting wildly, seemingly too worked up to care about anything but cumming. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant over and over, head spinning as he bullies your sweet spot. 
“That’s it, love,” Michael murmurs, his voice gruff and low as he stares down at you, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead; he looks wilder than you’ve ever seen him, the thought only serving to push you closer and closer to the edge. “S-Shit, that’s it. Fucking come for me, cream on my cock; please, please, please,” he murmurs, leaning down to press desperate kisses against your neck and collarbones. 
The new position causes his pubic bone to rub deliciously over your clit, making you seize beneath him with a loud whine. Your toes curl, heels still pressing into the small of his back. “M-Michael, holy fuck!” You practically squeal as your high finally washes over you once more, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you go lax and pliant underneath him. 
The feel of your walls pulsing around his cock has Michael reeling, his hips somehow thrusting even faster as he both desperately wants to cum while also never wanting this feeling to end. “C-Cum, honey, cum,” you pant softly, cupping his cheek with one hand and turning his face toward yours. 
That does him in and the rubber band in his belly viciously snaps, making him shudder above you as his thrusts come to a halt, cock twitching wildly inside you as he empties himself into the condom. You watch him in awe, taking in every detail from the way his nose scrunches up as his eyes squeeze close to the way he whispers your name over and over like a prayer. 
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The two of you lay in silence for a moment, his breath warm against your neck as he slumps against you trying to catch his breath. 
Eventually, you can’t help it anymore and let out a breathless giggle, which only intensifies when he props himself up on an elbow to peer down at you with a smirk. 
“Something funny?” 
“Just,” you breathe, trying to calm yourself enough to get words out, “Just… wow,” you finally say, giggles petering out as you look up at him, the soft gleam in his eyes makes your heart clench in your chest. 
“Good wow?” He blushes, looking down between the two of you as he pulls himself from your walls with a little hiss. 
“Very, very good wow,” you confirm, grinning as you watch him pull off the condom before he peers up at you with a sheepish grin. “Tie it off, honey,” you instruct, smirking as he does just that, before nodding to the little wastebasket by your desk. 
He gets up with a groan and quickly tosses the condom in the trash before turning back to you, the bashful look on his face making you blush. 
Unable to resist, you grin at him and spread your arms with a giggle, wordlessly inviting him for a cuddle, which he gladly accepts. The bed creaks slightly as he lays back down, relaxing his head on the pillow just beside yours. Again, the two of you stay silent for a moment, content to merely gaze at one another, before he shyly looks away and sighs. 
“I…,” he starts, blue eyes blinking and flitting around your room as he gathers his thoughts, “Thank you,” he finally says, looking back at you with a little half smile. 
Your brows furrow at this as you grin at him. “What’re you thanking me for?” 
“Well, f-for… this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the two of you before sitting up just slightly and fishing around in the blankets for a second. “And this,” he sighs, holding his phone up before twisting around to set it on the corner of your desk, turning back to you. “I just… I know you didn’t have to, is all, so…” 
You cock your head to the side as you prop yourself up on an elbow, eyes narrowing as you study him closely. “And people have the nerve to say I’m thick,” you joke, lips spreading into a wide grin as you gaze down at him, “I wanted to do all this, Michael. I’m the one that came onto you, remember?” 
“W-Well, yeah, but —“
“No buts!” You laugh, pressing a finger against his lips as you shake your head, “I have eyes too, you know.” 
“What does that mean?” 
“You haven’t been the only one watching someone for months,” you giggle shyly, pressing your forehead against his, “I meant what I said about that date, too.” 
His arms wind around your waist, holding you tight as he processes your words with a dumbstruck smile, blushing under your gaze. “Whatever you say, love,” he concedes finally, pressing his lips against yours sweetly. 
He yawns tiredly when he pulls away from you after a moment, which only makes you yawn as well, and you glance over at the little clock on your dresser. “Christ,” you gasp, turning back to him, “I didn’t realize it’s already almost four… you can crash here, if you want?” 
He considers it for a moment, knowing he has to be back in that stupid little basement by noon and making a mental map of where exactly your dormitory is in relation to the Merton College Chapel. “I… I can stay, yeah,” he finally nods after a moment. 
“You’re sure?” 
“Love, I’m not sure my legs work well enough yet to walk out of here anyway.” 
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Michael
Groaning, Michael slowly blinks his eyes open, rubbing them softly as he sits up in bed with a yawn. Blindly reaching over for his glasses, he’s confused when he doesn’t feel them in their usual spot and finally opens his eyes properly. 
He stares, confused for a moment as to how exactly he somehow got transported into what appears to be Barbie’s damn dream house, before the events of last night come flooding back to him. 
“Holy shit,” he breathes when he turns his head and sees your still-sleeping form beneath your flowery sheets, your hair tousled wildly on the pillow as your shoulders rise and fall evenly still with each breath. Looking around, he finally spots his glasses and puts them on before reaching for his phone, and cursing again when he sees the time. 
11:47 AM. 
He practically falls out of your bed as he tries to extricate himself from the sheets, and he hears you wake with a start behind him as he grabs wildly at his clothes on the floor. 
“Michael?” You ask questioningly, your voice still hoarse from sleep as you, frankly fucking adorably, rub at your eyes before fixing him with a curious look. 
“Gotta, shit, gotta run,” he explains quickly, cursing as he nearly loses his balance trying to tug his trousers on, “Need to be at Merton Chapel in, like, Christ, ten minutes!” 
“Ohh,” you giggle softly, watching with amusement as he finishes getting dressed, hair and clothes so disheveled that he’s sure he looks like the very definition of the walk of shame. 
Just as he’s tugging his shoes on and making a mad dash for the door, you stop him. “Here,” you smirk, holding out the same lacy pair of pink panties you wore last night, “For proof,” you explain, nodding to the phone in his hand, “Along with that. Should be more than enough,” you giggle proudly. 
He smiled sheepishly as he pockets your underwear. “T-Thanks,” he nods, turning to leave before you stop him once more. 
He can’t help but blush when you lean in and press and quick kiss to his lips, your cherry chapstick rubbing off on him some. Pulling away, you playfully smack his chest with a little grin. “Go get ‘em, honey.” 
Nodding, he smiles again before finally pulling your door open and bounding down the hallway. “I’ll text you, love!” He calls, peering back just before he rounds a corner, “About that date!” 
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It’s 11:58 on the dot when he flings the basement door open, only to be pulled over to the same stupid dank basement wall, his back hitting it once more with a dull thud. 
Glancing around, he sees the ski-masked boys again, all fifteen of them, standing in a row with the head boy slightly out of line. To his left stands one of the other initiates, clutching a black tube of some sort. 
The basement stays silent for a moment before one of the masked boy’s watch alarms goes off just as the bells in the tower begin to chime. 
Once, twice, all the way up to twelve. Noon.
Right on cue, the head boy steps forward even more and looks between Michael and the other initiate. “Your friend couldn’t be bothered to show his face, then?” He asks, dark eyes peering at the boy next to Michael. 
He scoffs and shakes his head, glaring at the head boy. “He’s still at the bank!” He snaps, “All the way in bloody Switzerland,” he kicks at the dirty stone floor as he explains, “Dickhead,” he finally mutters lowly under his breath. 
“Shame,” the head boy quips, clasping his hands in front of his waist, “Some men are simply not cut out for Bullingdon.” 
The boys in the row behind him nod knowingly, each making some little noise of affirmation until the head boy quickly stops them, holding a fist up by his head, bringing it back down to his side when they shut up. 
“So, initiates, what’ve you got?” 
The boy next to Michael steps forward first and hands the black tube to the head boy with a sigh. “There,” he says, gesturing to it, “There’s your bloody map. My mum could get sacked for that.” 
The head boy pops open one end of the tube, a document sleeve Michael now realizes, and gingerly extracts a rolled up piece of parchment from it, unrolling it just enough to confirm it's what they asked for. 
“Well done, initiate,” he nods, seemingly impressed as he flashes a smile at the boy, white teeth gleaming creepily through the slit in his ski mask. Carefully, he rolls the document up again before sliding it back in the tube, “Your commitment to Bullingdon will take you far. Welcome to the fray.” 
The boy stands still for a moment, eyeing the document tube with an almost regretful expression before curtly nodding and taking his place back against the wall. 
“And then there was one,” the head boy murmurs, dark faze fixed on Michael, “I seem to remember we gave you quite the… interesting task indeed, initiate. How did you manage?” 
Smiling damn near arrogantly, Michael all but skips up the head boy and proudly pulls your panties from his back pocket, letting them dangle from his index finger. “See for yourself.” 
The head boy grabs them by the edge and studies them for a moment, turning back to the row of boys behind him with a questioning glance. The boy Michael knows already to be that cunt, Oliver Quick, glances between him, the panties, and Michael, before cutting a sideways glance to a tall boy standing next to him. 
“These could be anyone’s,” the head boy says, turning back to Michael as he shakes his head, “You could’ve nicked them from your sister or something, we’ll need more than this, initiate.”
“Don’t even have a sister,” Michael quips, shrugging his shoulders with a little frown. 
“Okay, like, your cousin or something then –”
“Don’t have a female cousin,” he says with a shake of his head, “All boys.”
“The point still stands!” The head boy finally snaps, making Michael bite the inside of his cheek to hide a little laugh, though the corner of his lips still quirks up in a smirk, “You haven’t got any proof, do you? Is that why you’re stalling?”
Huffing a little laugh, Michael finally lets himself smirk meanly and steps closer to the head boy as he pulls his phone from his pocket, flips it open, and navigates to his video gallery. “Is this enough proof?” He teases, pressing play on the most recent video. 
The picture is small and grainy but there’s no doubt as to what’s happening as the sound of your pretty whimpers and moans echoes around the brick basement, along with the wet smack of Michael’s cock driving into you again and again. 
The head boy stares at the screen still as curiosity gets to a few of the boys in the row behind him and they all come crowd around Michael’s phone, eyes widening behind their ski masks and mouths falling open. 
The tallest one, the one Oliver keeps glancing at, lets out a long sigh as he peers down at the small screen and brings a hand up to his head as if he were going to run it through his hair before remembering the mask he has on. With him this close, Michael finally notices the little silver barbell stuck through his eyebrow and shivers as his lips curl up into a sadistic Cheshire cat smile, a tidal wave of savage pride crashing through his system. 
Finally, fucking finally, I get something he wants, he thinks as your breathy moans continue to pour from the speaker of his phone, tinny and muffled in some spots where he’d accidentally covered the microphone, but beautiful, beautiful and because of him.
After a moment, the video ends, the tiny phone screen reverting back to it’s little thumbnail as the head boy peers up at Michael, the rest of the club members taking their places back in line, though he can’t help but notice that Felix’s broad shoulders are slumped now and Oliver stands ever closer to him, like some kind of fucked up bodyguard. 
“I’ll be damned, initiate,” the head boy sighs with a shake of his head, “I really didn’t think you had it in you.”
He watches as Michael merely nods and pockets his phone again, holding it tightly in his fist even still. After a second, he smiles widely and claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.
“Welcome to Bullingdon.”
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Some time later, Michael finally exits the basement, a few of the club members, sans ski masks now, nodding goodbye to him as they disperse across campus, meeting adjourned. 
He wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting from the initial meeting but it was mostly them prattling on about where exactly they had all their grubby little fingers, poked in seemingly every facet of society from Parliament to local newspapers. 
Braggy cunts, Michael thinks as he ambles outside, glancing up at the sky as he steps into the Mob Quad, surrounded by stony old buildings. 
Smiling to himself, he pulls out his phone and quickly finds your number in his contacts list, blushing when he sees you’ve taken the liberty of adding some girly heart emoticon next to it. He hardly has time to press it against his ear before you answer.
“Well?” You demand with that now familiar giggle, some unfamiliar pop song playing in the background.
“I’m in,” he confirms, nodding to himself as he slowly walks in the direction of his dormitory, “Thanks to you.” He smiles like an idiot when you laugh.
“Don’t sell yourself short, honey,” you tease, he can picture your bright, glossy smile in his head, “You earned that spot.”
Michael merely shakes his head with a happy little sigh. “So,” he starts, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “About that date… I was thinking the King’s Arms? Tonight at six, if that works?”
“Oooh, tonight at six,” you repeat teasingly, an image flashing in his mind of you twirling your hair around a perfectly manicured finger, “Someone’s quite eager, hm?”
“Can you blame me?”
“Hmm, I suppose not,” you giggle, pausing for a second, “It’s a date then.”
“Fantastic,” Michael sighs, trying with every fiber of his being to sound casual and cool about the whole thing, even as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. 
“See you tonight, Mr. Bullingdon,” you tease, making a little kissy sound into the phone before hanging up. 
Michael pauses for a moment, standing to the side on the pavement as he nods to himself. If it weren’t so fucking cheesy, he’d raise his fist in the air, victorious, à la Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club. 
Instead, he flips his phone back open and navigates back to your video. Sighing, he stares at the little thumbnail for a second before deleting it, pocketing his phone once more, and continuing back to his dormitory. 
He has the real thing now.
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taggled lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild
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themultifandomgal · 1 year
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Michael Gray- Time Travel Pt2
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Thing haven't gone back to normal. Once again I get dressed and head to the Garrison. Michael is already at the bar with Isaiah
"YN hey"
"Hi. You both want a drink?"
"We'll have a beer each" Isaiah says
"Sure" I walk around the bar and start pouring them both a drink
"So where are you from?"
"Long way away" I say still so confused to how I'm here
"Ok?" Michael frowns "tell us about yourself"
"There's not much to say really. Well other than I think I've been reading about illnesses to much and now I think I'm the only who's ill" both Isaiah and Michael look at each other. I close my eyes and take a breath "sorry, I'm not good at meeting new people especially people I've heard about"
"I see. So you've heard of us then?" Michael smirks at me
"You could say that"
"So what we're you doing before you came to Small Heath?"
"Oh I was writing a paper about metal health and medicine"
"So people in the asylums" Isaiah frowns
"Yeah m, but where I come from that's frowned upon"
"Where's that then?"
"You wouldn't know" I hand Michael and Isaiah their drinks
"Are you still writing your paper?"
"I should be yeah, but I'm having a bit of writers block"
"Let us know if there's is anything we can do to help"
"Thanks" I watch the men walk into the back room leaving me alone. Will I ever get back to modern day or am I stuck here? I think to myself.
Days go by and I come to the conclusion that I'm stuck here in the 1920s. I walk into the Garrison feeling down
"YN, Tommy wants to see you in the back room" Harry tells me
"Oh ok" I frown and walk into the backroom. I knock the door and wait for Tommy to say
"Come in" I walk into the room nervously
"You asks to see me?"
"Michael tells me that your writing a paper on the brain"
"Errm yeah"
"The war fucked us all up. Fucked us up in the head. Can you help"
"Errm maybe, a little" I shrug "I'm focusing more on the asylums and how their forms of treatment aren't acceptable"
"How so?" Tommy nods to an empty chair. I sit down next to Michael
"Well PTSD is a real illness. As you call it, being fucked in the head, but you don't have to take hard drugs. Therapy work, not water therapy, or electric chair therapy, or what other forms of torture they do"
"So what do you suggest?" Arthur asks me crossing his arms over his chest
"Talking about what scares you, about what happened during the war. Finding ways to deal with it in a healthy way. Where I come from we have therapists, they help with helping the way you think. It's worth looking into"
"Huh. What else do you need to write about?" John now asks
"Well how drugs can effect the body and the mind. Cocaine, snow, they can actually make your PTSD worse. Men and woman are being put in these asylums for the silliest things. 80% of woman suffer with something called postpartum depression, they have to hide this because they are 'crazy' it's, it's..."
"Crazy" Tommy says for me
"Yes" I sigh "you keep asking me where I'm from and the truth is I'm from the year 2023. I'm at university studying to be a psychiatrist. I have a book about you guys, The Peaky Blinders and I was reading it before I fell asleep and now I'm in the year 1920 something" Tommy and his brothers frown at me confused "I know now I sound like I'm the one who needs to see a therapist, but the truth is I just want to go back home" the room is silent for some time
"Ok. I've got a deal then. You answer my questions and I'll answer yours"
"Errm ok"
"If your from the future, tell me, do we ever get caught for our illegal business?"
"Yes, yes you do" I sadly say to the man. I mean they're bad people, but over the last few days I've been able to see a side of them that's sweet.
I spend my evening chatting to the Blinders learning so much from them about what's going on in their heads. I answer their questions about their future.
I go to bed that night with a smile on my face.
When I wake up I'm on the couch with The Peaky Blinders book in my hand. I look around my room and everything is back to normal. I jump off the couch and find my phone on the coffee table. It's the day after I fell asleep. I quickly have a shower and get dressed before heading to the coffee shop where Emma is working
"Morning YN. Your hear early. Coffee?"
"Yes. Please" I stand at the counter top as Emma brings my coffee over to me. The bell rings and Emma looks up
"It's the guy again. 2 days in a row. Just go and speak with him" I roll my eyes and turn around but bump onto someone
"I am so so sorry" I gasp grabbing some napkins off the counter. Finally I look up at the stranger, he looks exactly like Michael Gray. Weird
"No it's my fault. Came up a little to close. I'm Michael Grey" I frown at the man
"Do you so happen the be related to the Peaky Blinder Michael Grey?" I ask
"Yeah" the man chuckles "he's actually my great grandfather"
"No way"
"You know about him"
"Yeah" I laugh "I've read up on the Peaky Blinders. It's almost as if I knew them personally"
"Would you like to grab a coffee? My treat"
"Sure" I smile and turn back around to ask for Emma to make us a drink. She gives me a wink before getting to work.
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sl4sh3rsub · 9 months
Text
rz michael myers hcs (nsfw: mdni)
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rz michael myers x reader (AFAB, AMAB, FtM, MtF)
warning: a lot here. mikey has a monster cock, insecure + inexperienced michael, he doesn't talk but makes noise + mouths words + grunts syllables sometimes (selectively mute ig?), oral sex (both giving and receiving), excessive creampies, fingering (receiving), no lube we die like men his dick n spit does it for him, masturbation, rimming (both giving and receiving), knife kink, excessive mentions of precum + spit + cum, creative use of cum/arousal fluids in arts projects, musk kink, choking (receiving), mentions of sex toys, thigh humping, mention of canon SA and violence (nothing w/ or directly involving reader), p in v + anal (all unprotected - pls stay safe irl), cum eating, slight somnophilia, bruises and hickeys, cockwarming, slight worship (receiving), dry humping, handjobs, 2 mentions of him having a mini shrine to you, mentions of needle hrt in ftm + mtf bits (feel free to ignore), mentions of the institute/asylum
a/n: sorta edited. tried not to be too ooc, but it's more focused on a softer side of michael - personally i think his character is very different to og/peepaw myers! rz mikey is more based in instinct rather than previous experiences/societal expectations, so there's more general hcs than separate sections this time. NOTE: feel free to read any sections, tried my best to not use gendered terms in agab sections but lmk how i can improve :3
order: general hcs first then amab + afab then ftm + mtf, different sections = different content n tried not to repeat much
_ _ _ _ _
general hcs
as michael is very inexperienced with kissing, he'll smash his lips against yours and become a huffing mess after he gets worked up from your breath mingling with his and your darkening gazes meeting
if you play with his hair and gaze into his eyes, he can't help it if he gets half-hard - his body will always needily react to your attention and affection
he's most at home in grey sweatpants - he's very used to wearing them while making his masks and associates them with comfort and the years of creatively honing his craft
so naturally, don't be surprised when his already impressive girth pulses and thickens at the sight of you bending over or reaching something off a high shelf
mikey will absolutely make you your own special mask!! although, the glue he uses for your personal paper mâché mix is a bit more,, personal. he'll also use your arousal to paint the inner layer of his favourite mask :( he simply needs to have some semblance of you with him at all times, especially whenever he's out on the town and away from your embrace
he's borderline hypersexual and gets half-hard and extremely sensitive without reason, however he doesn't always feel the need to act on his urges with you. expect him hiding his arousal during mundane activities, getting flushed and shy when he realises that you notice :<
if he's comfortable on the couch, he'll make himself at home with a horrendous manspread. naturally, this leads to him getting flustered whenever you kneel in between his legs with a mischievous glint in your eye. if you ask him sweetly, he'll be more than happy to sit you in between his strong thighs and let you hump into his hand while you both watch a movie
if he's not feeling like he wants to be inside you, he'll lie on his back with his knees up, pulling you to straddle his waist and lean back against his thighs. from this angle, he's able to watch you play with yourself and masturbate above him while feeling your weight grounding him, just out of reach but almost close enough to taste
he loves taking you from behind and kissing the base of your neck, your breathless giggles echoing in his ears as his long hair tickles your shoulders and back
michael loves having you cockwarm him while he makes his masks!! he adores it when you doze off with your cheek smushed into his shoulder during a late night arts-and-crafts session, the slow pulse of his heartbeat deep inside you
he's so, so incredibly thankful for you, that he's able to unleash his frustrations into you, whether it be about a ripped mask or just about pentup emotions. he's eternally thankful for your love and under the table support
you are mikey's angel, his true saving grace. after his long bout at the institute, he was fully convinced that being loved by anyone was impossible for him. your welcoming arms and gentle praise proved him wrong and completely changed his image of heaven - to michael, it's no longer a cloudy sky mentioned in those old books, it's your warm embrace and loving gaze. it just took him a little while to realise that he was in his own little paradise with you
he tries his hardest to treat you with absolute reverence and adoration T-T he's devoted to making you feel good with him, no matter what. usually, this means holding back from skullfucking you at a brutal pace whenever you give him head. your throat is just so tight around him :( it's got him steadying himself against a wall with his hand, shaking and sweating from holding back, with his gorgeous, garbled moans encouraging you to swallow the saltiness of his length
mikey's wandering hands always end up on your ass or tummy whenever you cuddle together, it's just comforting for him
he's one of the strongest, largest men to ever walk the earth, but the way he gently traces your facial features makes you forget that completely. michael handles you like you're made of porcelain, only using soft pressure unless you assure him he won't break you easily
he has a big, strong and beefy body. lord knows how he maintained it in the institute but with you, he's gonna try his damnedest to put all of his strength to good use - whether it be getting you off while fingering you, his toned forearms barely breaking a sweat or his tree trunk thighs tensing while you ride them
mikey is not trimmed or well-groomed downstairs, his pubes are a wild and unkempt cloud of blonde and light grey hair, so you know he's not caring about how you look at all. you're a fuckin deity in his eyes and he'll dispose of anyone who makes you feel anything other than heavenly
michael is uncut, big and thick, with a large vein running up the underside - so heavy and large that it can't even stand up against his belly, instead slightly bobbing with his pulse and hanging low. it's the type you see in lewd magazines, where it tilts down even when fully hard
when you're on your knees for him, expect his weepy cockhead to drip onto your face while you kiss and nip at his heavy, full balls
oh yeah, this man has the definition of breeder balls; hanging low, swollen and filled to the brim with his potent cum. he truly has so much to give, so you'd better be ready for multiple loads throughout the night
in contrast to michael's hard cock, his nipples are soft and incredibly sensitive. if he's trying to cum as fast as possible, he'll sneak a hand up his shirt and pinch at them relentlessly - make sure they're puffy and spit-glazed after you've been ontop, he goes absolutely feral would really appreciate it
mikey has massive hands too - his fingers are enough to fill you considerably, but he often resorts to stuffing your mouth with them or using his palm to muffle your noises if you're being vocal. he definitely doesn't want the cops called on you just because he's great at pleasuring you
his cock feels heavy inside you, almost like he's deep in your chest whenever he bottoms out. the weight is absolutely dizzying as it stretches you out each thrust and rubs all of the right places. he easily gets drunk on the feeling of you clenching around him, leading to his head being tossed back with drool dribbling down his chin at the sensation
he has the biggest size kink possible but he really doesn't want to get carried away when exerting his strength and size on you - he doesn't want to get carried away or hurt you too badly :(
michael uses whatever knife he can get his hands on during foreplay to add a bit of risk and edge. cutting off your underwear and shirt, tracing down thighs and hips and gently nicking your skin every once in a while, but he quickly tosses it if you beg him to fuck you desperately enough - he doesn't wanna hurt you that bad, not before he's even gotten started
mikey is incredibly insecure about himself and his own worth as a person. he fears your love is only temporary and that you'll move on, leaving him behind as a memory or an adrenaline rush of foolish regret :( for that reason, he's terrified to go too hard or hurt you badly - he's convinced you'll be in pain and be fearful of him if he fucks up. be sure to reassure him when you're together after you have a rougher time and he's manhandling you more <3
initially when he learnt about dry humping, he was confused as to why he craved the friction so desperately but he's learnt to give in - michael will almost immediately cum in his pants if you quietly reassure him you'll clean up the mess you're both bound to leave on his clothes. half the fun (in his eyes, at least) is seeing you get flustered over the sheer amount of his load that's seeping into his boxers from just that little bit of friction
his favourite place to have you is on his lap - cockwarming, cuddling or napping, he does not care. he needs to have your face pressed into his neck with his larger frame providing you with warmth and stability
will rarely fist his cock but if you ever catch him, you might be able to make out his lips repeating the shape of your name over and over
for a long while at the start of your.. arrangement, he had no idea how to initiate sex. he'd just hover close to you, desperately hoping you'd notice the heat radiating from his massive, obvious bulge. would start to bite the inside of his cheek and guide your body towards him in a desperate hint if you didn't clock it immediately
he also did not know shit about the human anatomy, so he'll need you to guide him to where you want to be touched and with a bit of coaching, he'll learn the correct pressure and pace to get you off easily
if you tease him while he's in his overalls, the sight of his lower region slowly darkening with his endless pre and the sound of his haggard breathing devolving into animalistic grunts is nearly enough to make your knees give out
michael isn't a massive fan of fucking you on your bed, especially if your room is in a similar layout to his back at the institute. haunting memories brought on by the guards cast negative clouds across his mind and that is the last thing he wants with you. he'd much prefer to go at it against a wall, the couch or even the floor. most of the time, around his desk is where the action happens and your bed is solely reserved for sleep <3
he loves smearing his precum all over your face, loves letting his musk seep into your skin while your eyes glaze over with lust
he cups your chin, cheek and jaw whenever you have his full attention and his heart melts when you nuzzle into him - his thumb plays with your bottom lip and if you decide to suck on it to keep your mouth occupied, so expect to have mikey silently begging you to cockwarm him while his brain goes fuzzy
while you relax for the evening, watching a movie together, expect him to position you with your head on his thigh (your face way to close to his crotch ofc)
michael loves you sucking on his soft cock and warming him with your mouth, he adores the slow feeling of him growing hard as you moan and gag around his length
when you introduce him to the concept of the sixty-nine position, he absolutely short-circuits. what do you mean you can both suffocate in each other's musk while getting each other off?? what do you mean he can prop himself up above you so he can spend time teasing you while forcing you to choke on his length???
michael always cums a bit too quickly and a bit too much - the moment he enters you for the first time, he can't help but fill you up immediately (good thing he's blessed with inhuman stamina)
he's also the biggest fan of you offering to clean up the mess of his cum dripping down his shaft - if your ass is a bit tender and sore from his rough pace, he's more than happy to soften in your mouth while the two of you catch your breath and wind down
mikey isn't very confident with toys and would much rather pleasure you by himself, but he wouldn't mind learning slowly what you prefer over time
he's also not a fan of lube - it feels too cold on his skin and the slippery nature of it scares him a little, so the best way to get him all coated in pre (for your comfort ofc) is to rim him. his tip drools and spits out so much of his arousal whenever you fuck him with your tongue, rest assured it'll bubble down his shaft and drip onto your chest. the delicious flush of his neck and upper chest is a glorious sight to behold
he first feels the urge to make love to you slowly after he sees a steamy, romantic sex scene with a married couple on television - he wants to give you the warmth and care the actors portray on screen
when you first offered to give him head, he tentatively slapped his cock against your tongue to test waters and see if you liked the taste but ended up addicted to the feeling. he'll smack it against your lips and tongue every time you're on your knees for him
his heavy balls slapping against your chin while he floods your mouth with salty, thick warmth is one of his favourite sounds
he starts breathily whimpering in his gravelly voice whenever he fully bottoms out in your heat, one of the rare moments when he totally loses control over his lust for you
he grunts out the syllables of your name when he's about to cum, digging his fingers into your hips and nipping your neck, leaving deep marks on your skin
mikey gets the same rush whenever you both cum together as to when he stabs someone and kills them after a long game of cat and mouse - there's a reason why the french call it 'petit mortis', a little death
the first time the two of you had sex, it brought out such intense emotions from michael that he was left shaken, crying from confusion about the onslaught of feelings he just shared with you. he is originally torn between holding you close and never letting you go as well as instantly leaving and isolating himself in his own space - like he's used to. he needs time to fully mull over the situation and new sensations he experienced but he would really like to have you nearby incase he needs a hug :(
on a long day, after you've given him head, he'll softly catch his breath while watching you blissfully hum and rest your cheek against his thigh. he huffs a small chuckle as you press light kisses into his softening cock
myers really doesn't want to hurt your ass or bruise your upper thighs too much as he needs to have you perched on his lap whenever he can, but you can expect tender skin from his hips slapping into you as well as bruises from his grip on your waist and hips
if he was too rough with you the night before (maybe accidentally leaving bone-deep bruises or purple marks and scratches along your body), he'll disappear early next morning and return during breakfast with a fistful of fresh tulips as an apology, with their stems partially crushed. just be sure to rinse off the dirt still attached to the roots, it's the thought that counts :<
michael may be inexperienced and bashful but he'll try anything once if it gets you off and brings you pleasure
michael loves to place his hand around your throat, just as a reminder of his sheer strength and power over you. with the slightest amount of pressure, he could make your brain go dumb and your tongue loll out
he chokes you until your eyes become unfocused, your little gasps and whines becoming softer and softer. the proud glint in michael's eyes is deserved, as you fully trusted him with your life while you were in your most vulnerable position. he holds you close while you unsteadily catch your breath, mumbling about how good you are to him and stroking your hair all the while
if you're too shy to look up at him while he fucks you or gives you head, he'll tilt your chin up and groan when your cheeks flush at his blown out pupils
he's the type to not pull out after, needing to soften and catch his breath while still feeling connected, inadvertently overstimulating you without fail as his whole body is racked with aftershocks
if he's feeling mean, michael will make you hump his thigh while he palms at his dick during one of his arts and crafts sessions
he wipes the last dribbles of his cum on your inner thighs after he pulls out. he'll clean it either way - with a damp towel or his tongue, it's up to you <3
occasionally after a spree, he'll need to let his mind rest and will use you as his cute little fleshlight, burying himself deep inside you while guiding your hips along with his rhythm at a bruising pace. if you pay close attention, you'll see his lips forming silent prayers and whispers of apology whenever you yelp from the pace
his post-kill musk is potent enough to make your head spin. if you rest your cheek against his pectoral, you'll be able to feel his heartbeat start to slow against you :<
his guilty pleasure is pulling out while cumming thick spurts, slapping his tip across your skin while smearing his load all over you, be it your lips and cheeks or ass and thighs
michael doesn't want to disturb your sleep if he's needy, so he'll slip your hand in between his boxers and pajama pants to feel your smaller hand against his throbbing bulge. he's content to doze like that but expect to feel him humping into your fist while he sleeps. you may wake to the sound of sheets rustling as he licks up the mess he made, much too tired to change sheets but not wanting it to dry and soil your sheets
he insists on placing his hand firmly on the back of your neck whenever he takes you from behind - to stop you from fucking yourself back on his cock and squirming at his pace
after sex with mikey, it's a common occurrence for you both to be a panting mess on the floor when he's done, your throat sore from mindless babbling and loud moans - all complete with a wet, drool-covered spot on your shirt from his grunts through gritted, gnashed teeth. when he's floated back into the right headspace, he's absolutely mortified by his behaviour and is tentative to even glance at you in a less than innocent way for the next couple hours
if your soft body goes limp in his arms after a mind-blowing orgasm, he gets scared at first and stops his thrusts. he's worrying he hurt you but, once he realises you're alright, he'll support your head and neck and go completely feral, thrusting and grinding until he reaches his high as well
whenever you fall asleep ontop of him, he needs to have your face tucked into the crook of his neck - the scent of your hair and sex in the air lulls him to sleep quicker than any sedative could
he adores your attention while you both bask in your respective afterglows - your hands gently cradling his face while he tucks himself away is one of his favourite, most soothing actions of yours. he'll always rub circles into your skin in return
_ _ _ _ _
amab hcs
michael is inexperienced and completely driven by instinct when it comes to giving head - he wouldn't be deep-throating, instead focusing on your tip and licking along your veins. he's a master of giving handjobs, with the amount of spit he shamelessly coats you with (not to mention his rougher hands)
if he's particularly needy, he'll come up behind you and gently undo your belt while tracing his fingers over your zipper, nosing at your jaw and softly rutting into your ass while panting above you
the moment your fly is undone, his breathing gets ragged and drool nearly starts dripping down his chin
cages you against a bench or wall to rut against your ass and breathe in your scent after a long day at work
if you introduce him to rimming,, lord save your soul. his scruff rubs your ass raw with how often he goes to town on your tight, puckered hole. his favourite bit is pulling back and admiring how you glint in the light with his spit shining all over
of course, the extra spit only helps his efforts of bullying his throbbing cock into your poor hole
whenever michael is close to the edge while buried deep in you, he starts uncontrollably twitching and bumping your prostate, causing you to let out a pitchy whine at the unexpected feeling. every time without a doubt, his eyes roll back and growls into your ear at you clenching around him
he has a small photo shrine of your cocks together, a mess of cum and spit framed for his appreciation (he's a romantic)
his dirty fantasy is getting your attention while you're on the phone in bed by mouthing and groping at your cock, working you through the fabric of your pants
michael is obsessed with rutting his cock against yours, covering each other in your arousals, cum spurting up onto your chests as you nip and kiss at each other's chest and throat
_ _ _ _ _
afab hcs
mikey loses his mind a little each time you cream on his shaft, feeling your arousal dripping down to his balls and coating the insides of his thighs. just the thought of your slick coating him is enough to make his eyes roll back
he rips or cuts your underwear off you if he's too impatient to wait for you to fully undress
once michael is fully stuffed inside you, he gently traces where you meet, in awe of how he manages to fit in your heat
his large hands span over the bulge of his cock in your tummy, making you tear up at the pressure and drip onto the sheets
leans his head closer to your ear just to make sure you hear his groans and grunts while he destroys your pussy
his favourite sight is his pearly globs of cum oozing out of your puffy, soaked hole - made complete by the fucked out glaze in your eyes as you stare at the blurry spectre of a giant between your thighs
he tentatively gropes your thighs and enjoys warming his hands by sticking them up your shirt. if you both happen to make an appearance in public, expect him to crowd around you to try and shield you form from wandering eyes - he may be yours but you're also his, so no one has a right to touch or even look at your precious body (especially not your soft tits or ass, they're for him only)
teach him to tie his hair in a messy bun or acquire a hairband for him to keep his hair from getting sticky whenever he does down on you, slurping and worshipping your pussy like it's his god-given purpose on this earth
once he tries taking you in a mating press, he accidentally discovers heaven. he can fully dwarf you in his shadow and also cradle your pretty face while erratically thrusting and groaning in that raspy voice you love. if he fucks you dumb, he's more than happy to wipe away your tears
sometimes michael hesitates pushing into you for fear of it hurting too much, unintentionally resulting in him working you up by teasing your entrance with his thick cockhead then nudging your clit, fully soaking his length in your arousal
_ _ _ _ _
ftm hcs
mikey initially gets scared if you administer hrt yourself with a needle - he knows what happens to rowdy patients who get the needle back at the asylum. however, as he slowly notices physical changes in your body, he'll marvel at your form developing before his very eyes
michael's sadistic side comes out when he spanks your cock until your sloppy boycunt is drooling onto the mattress. he makes sure to gently slip his finger in your hole every so often, his delight in your whines is very evident when you can feel him throbbing under you
his strong forearms easily hold down your hips to stop them from rutting into his mouth whenever he sucks you off, making you shiver with every thrust of his tongue. his dick is neglected while he goes to town, not that mikey minds at all. he knows he'll be able to go balls deep after you've cum at least once to loosen up for him
due to his strength, he'll keep you still even while you become overstimulated, the pleasure bordering on pain but he's too far gone to care - this man becomes so pussydrunk that he can barely process that he's stained all of the material in your immediate vicinity with your arousal; your pants, his shirt, the carpet and not to mention the couch or bedsheets from his erratic wiping of his fingers when they get too slippery
loves to have you bouncing on his cock - grabbing your hips until they're bruised to control the pace and depth, pushing you to take all of him inside
sometimes if you look extra delectable while attempting to reach something off of a high shelf, michael may not be able to control himself and his craving for your taste - he will bend you over with no hesitation and make out with your cunt, nose glistening in your folds as his chapped lips graze against your tdick and his chin dripping with your pre. his massive hands groping your ass as he spreads your legs for better access
the rhythmic clapping of his heavy balls slapping your sopping cock is forever engrained in his mind, sometimes resurfacing at the most inconvenient times - he will be forced to rush home in the middle of an attempted spree just to feel your body against his
_ _ _ _ _
mtf hcs
mikey initially gets scared if you administer hrt yourself with a needle - he knows what happens to rowdy patients who get the needle back at the asylum. however, as he slowly notices physical changes in your body, he'll marvel at your form developing before his very eyes
michael chases the sensation of having you pressed up against him while you're wearing clothing he's gotten you
he loves you feeling pretty whenever you're on top, tucking your hair behind your ear and using his thumb to swipe his cum off your chin
he will make you do your makeup before you fuck, needing you to feel as beautiful as possible while he absolutely destroys your hole - lipgloss smeared, mascara running, hair mussed and bruises all over your hips. he views you as a goddess, so expect him to make you feel like one
when you guide him to take your balls in his mouth, he'll eagerly suckle on them then return to your tip for his reward, eager to lap up your arousal with obscene slurping noises and proud huffs of satisfaction
he has a small shrine of your panties he's borrowed, keeping the ones with the dainty floral details for 'creative inspiration'
mikey gently squeezes on the back of your neck when preparing to take you from behind - he cannot simply cum from you squirming in impatience and grinding into him, he's not even inside you yet (it would be a waste quite frankly)
as his stubble rubs you raw whenever he eats you out, prepare for the bubbling heat beneath your skin to return tenfold whenever he fucks your thighs like a madman
_ _ _ _ _
sorry if writing quality dropped, this took so long lmao. art the clown is next btw, look out for that.
thanks for reading. lmk if you liked it. if i got anything wrong, don't hesitate to tell me.
stay safe.
3K notes · View notes
yellowharrington · 2 months
Text
sugar sweet -- carmy berzatto x reader
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pairing + fandom: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader, the bear fx
word count: ~2.5k
warnings: brief mention of body image issues (not towards reader) and suicide (mikey's death), eating dessert and a lot of food talk, gn!reader (but mention of wearing heels), use of y/n briefly in texts. reader is mentioned as an accountant or adjacent professional person and smoking is mentioned (reader and carmy). please let me know if i missed anything :)
a/n: hey team !! i hope y'all enjoy this fluffy little blorbo about carmy's birthday bc i needed to write about being soft to him. this is an old wip i finally finished so pls rb and leave feedback and comments ily
summary: it's carmy's birthday and you want to make it special for him again.
-`♡´-
It’s not that Carmy doesn’t like his birthday.
No, it’s not that. 
It’s just that he’s never had a good one.
When he was 9, his mom tried to make him a birthday cake. French vanilla, with buttercream icing, multicoloured sprinkles on top. But she had somehow managed to get so frustrated that she had thrown the whisk across the kitchen, the burnt cake thrown in the sink, and taken to the backyard for her millionth cigarette of the day. She was breaking down, as usual, and Carmy was the one that had to go out and rub her back and tell her it was fine. That he was fine, that he didn’t matter, and no, she didn’t ruin his birthday. 
When he was 13, he ended up spending the afternoon consoling Natalie in her bedroom, after his mom had again, made a backhanded comment about her body. That yeah, she’d gained weight in her midsection, and yeah, the stress was showing on her hips. She was sobbing into her pillows, clutching her pink sheets and wailing, leaving Carmy with nothing to do but kiss her on the cheek and leave her alone. He assured her, again, that he was fine, that he didn’t matter, and no, she didn’t ruin his birthday. 
And when he’s 24 and scrubbing the floors of The Beef at midnight, sweat dripping down his forehead and into the collar of his shirt. Michael had just died, so yeah, it was a little raw. The fluorescent lights were beating down on his back as he dumped hot soapy water on the floor and scrubbed everything away. Scrubbed away his memories, every Christmas with his brother, every screaming match. He let it all go down the drain. He’s assured himself that he’s fine, he didn’t matter, and no, Michael’s fucking suicide would not ruin his birthday.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
He meets you later that year. Sitting in the park, doing a crossword at 7:00am, your BEC and hot coffee cooling off on the bench beside you. You’re obviously a professional of some kind: tight black slacks and a matching blazer, white dress shirt stretched over your torso, hair pristinely styled. Black heels, he notices, that you’ll switch out in the middle of the day because they squeeze your toes. 
When he sits beside you, you don’t pay him any mind. He’s disheveled, sandy curls pushed back on his head, a grey crewneck sweater over a white t-shirt, collar peaking through at the neck. He sets his identical breakfast next to yours, taking out a cigarette and slipping it between his lips. You look over when he flicks his lighter, a soft exhale leaving his nose. “Oh, sorry,” he takes the cigarette from his lips and wafts the smoke away. “I forgot not everyone in this city smokes.”
You smiled tightly, nodding, letting yourself relax onto the back of the bench. “I don’t mind.” He nodded back to you, letting his hand rest on his knee as he took another drag. “Anything worth reading in there today?” He gestures to the newspaper balanced on your knee. You look at him again, shrugging your shoulders, only to tap your pen against the side of your leg. “No, there never is. I just do the crosswords. You wouldn’t happen to know a 4 letter word for ‘kitchen second in command’, would you?”
He laughs a little, taking another slow drag. “Sous?” You look down at the newspaper, penning in the small boxes, sitting back to smile at him. “Thank you,” you raise your coffee cup to him. “‘m a chef, over at The Beef in River North,” he has a mouthful of his sandwich now, as he points in the general direction of the restaurant. “Oh, yeah, I think you guys catered one of our events one time. It’s like, sandwiches and stuff, right?” He nods, taking a sip of coffee. You follow after him, letting the hot coffee touch your lips. 
“Yeah,” he laughs. “I, uh, just took it over. It’s kind of a shit show right now but we’re tryna fix it.” You unwrap the sandwich and sink your teeth into the soft bagel, covering your mouth before beginning to speak. “What happened to the guy who used to own it? Did you just buy it off of him, or what?”
“He died,” he says, deadpan, letting the cigarette come between his lips again. “He was my brother and uh, yeah - he died.” You nod at your own embarrassment, at the thought of asking a random stranger about his dead brother by accident. “Oh, I didn’t-uh, God - sorry,” you stammer, letting yourself turn towards him. “It’s fine,” he waves the smoke away again. “It’s not a big deal.” You almost laugh at his demeanour, so nonchalant. You pull a cardholder out of your blazer pocket, the small clasp opening. Cream cardstock, black writing - a business card, handing it over to him, but not before scribbling your personal number on the back. “If you need anything, accounting related or otherwise, call me.” He takes it and looks for a second, raising his eyebrow at the pristine card. “I can’t afford you,” he laughs. “No charge. Thanks for the help on the crossword…” you wait expectantly for a name. “Oh, Carmen. Carmy,” he finishes. “Nice to meet you.”
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
It had been a few months since your first meeting. Now, you chose to spend almost every Sunday with him - his one day off. He’d usually make you breakfast, sometimes an omelette with gouda cheese and chives, or fluffy pancakes with a berry compote and homemade whipped cream. For a man that cooked all day, every day, he certainly didn’t mind making any meals for you, especially when you woke up next to him in his old t-shirt and nothing underneath. 
You’d known Carmy for long enough now to have pieced together the whole story - a few nights here and there coming around The Beef after closing had granted you the pleasure of meeting Richie, who Carmy affectionately called Cousin. “He’s a little fucked up,” Richie had told you behind the slightly ajar door of the office, as you sat and waited for Carm to finish up. “With Mikey and everything. He won’t let ‘ya know, but he is. I’m happy he’s got somebody,” he looks back at the kitchen, the usual pots and pans clanging behind him. “You didn’t hear it from me, but it’s his birthday on Sunday,” Richie gets closer to you, his hand coming closer. “Back up Richie,” “Sorry. Force of habit. Do not tell him I told you. Take it to your grave. He likes red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese icing like a little bitch boy, they’re his favourite, alright?” You nod, looking to see if he was anywhere near. “Heard.”
You catch Marcus on the way out while Carmy fucks with something else in the kitchen. “Hey, Marcus,” you grab his arm, right before he’s about to put a headphone in and start on his way home. “Hey, what’s good?” “I need a red velvet cake recipe. And a cream cheese icing recipe. And a walk through of how to bake a batch of cupcakes. Please.” He nodded slightly, looking down at his phone. “I’ll text you what I’ve got. Is it a special occasion?” You look over at Carmy, who was wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Yeah, uh, it is.”
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
Marcus had let you borrow a few cupcake pans and a package of liners, as well as his KitchenAid stand mixer for the batter. You’d gathered all of the ingredients from the recipe he’d given you, set everything up in your tiny apartment kitchen on the Saturday before Carmy’s birthday, furiously mixing wets and drys in different bowls, sifting flour and separating egg whites from yolks. The cigarette was taught between your lips, tank top strap falling off your shoulder as you slowly began to mix the batter together. 
[Carmen] 11:18pm
Hey
How are you baby?
Just finishing up here
You flicked the cigarette ash onto the fire escape as you nodded your head in rhythm with the song on the speaker, letting the batter mix in the background as you started to sift the powdered sugar into the clean bowl. You weren’t even looking at the time until you heard the familiar chime of your phone, sticky floury hands grabbing your cell phone to see the text from Carmy. 
“Shit, fuck,” you turned the mixer off, putting the remnants of your cigarette out in the sink. 
[(Y/N) personal] 11:26pm
Hey, just busy right now
Will text in a bit
Love you
When Carmy reads the text he’s a little… surprised to say the least. For you to have plans on a Saturday night was not unheard of by any means, but it wasn’t what he was expecting. Anxiety creeped up a little, because what could you be doing at 11:30pm?
[Carmen] 11:27pm
Love you too
You ok?
[(Y/N) personal] 11:27pm
Of course
Come over when you’re done
A smile tugs on the corner of his lips as he continues to wipe down the stainless steel counter in front of him, nearly spotless already. Most of the other crew has gone home, save for Marcus in his station proofing his donuts for tomorrow and Richie texting someone at the expo line. He slips his phone in the pocket under his apron, undoing the knot on the back and dropping it in the hamper by the back door. “You guys can lock up, yeah?” Carmy calls, seeing Marcus nod at him and bid him goodnight with a small wave. “Heard,” Richie calls. “‘Night, cousin.”
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
Carmy had called a few times, your phone ringing and ringing, but the chaotic kitchen had forced you to miss the calls. It was past midnight now, and you’d spent your whole day in the kitchen, the night getting away from you way quicker than you had intended. You had a small box in your bedside table, a thin gold chain you hadn’t wrapped for him yet, and your apartment was a fucking mess. Pans and bowls strewn across every surface, flour on the floors and walls, and somehow, and you had cream cheese icing under your fingernails. It was a bit of a mess.
When the icing was done, you managed to squeeze some on the tops of the cupcakes just in time to hear the lock on your door click. You stood, silently, as you heard Carmy quietly kick off his boots. He thought you might be sleeping.
Ha, far from it.
“Babe?”
When he rounded the corner, it was a sight to see for sure. Your hands twisted around a makeshift pastry bag, which was really a ZipLoc with a hole cut in the bottom. Apron tied in a bow around your waist, only accentuating the curves of your body. Carmy drinks you in.
“What are you doing?”
You looked at him like a deer in the headlights.
“Baking.”
“Yeah. I see that.”
He stepped forward tentatively, an amused smile on his face. His hand reached to the small of your back, a kiss adorning your cheek. 
“Why are you baking?” He takes a finger to the end of the bag, sticking it in his mouth and marvelling at the taste. “Why are you killing it at baking?”
You smiled. “Don’t be mad.”
His eyebrow cocked, noticing the desserts in front of him, really, for the first time since he stepped in the door.
“Fucking Richie,” his hand found his forehead. “Fucker.”
“Happy Birthday, Carm.” You let the bag of icing flop on the stovetop, while your arms wrapped around his neck. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, slotting them together to quiet the thoughts in his mind. You started to pepper kisses all over his face and neck, giggling between them, before he couldn’t help but burst into laughter himself. 
“He told me they were your favourite, and I asked Marcus for a recipe and I haven’t tried one yet, even!” the words tumbled out of your mouth as he pulled you impossibly closer, swaying a little with you in his arms. 
“Sorry. Richie told me not to make a dig deal, I just thought,” you shrugged, letting your hands slide down his biceps and tracing the faded tattoos there with your pointer finger. “I thought we could make it special again. If you want.”
The wild look in your eyes was enough to have him push forward again, lips crashing into lips, the amalgamation of all the tastes from his day on your tongue.
“Thank you.” He peers over your shoulder at the cupcakes, still in the tin, suddenly very interested in tasting the fruits of your labour.
“Should we try these?” His hand drops effortlessly to your waist, letting his body push past yours. He picks up a cupcake, handing one to you and ‘cheers’ing them playfully. He unwrapped the foil on the outside, sinking his teeth into the soft, sweet dessert. 
“Mmmh,” he moans, letting his eyes roll back into his head slightly. “Wow,” the red colour coats his teeth. “Yeah.”
You nod along with him, your own teeth sinking in. “Oh yeah, I kinda killed it with these.” 
“Hm, wait,” you put the cupcake down, pushing past him. You take the opportunity to put your hand on his broad back, feeling the muscles underneath.
When you return, he’s licking the rest of the icing off of his fingers. The way his lips wrap around his fingers makes your breath hitch.
“Before you say anything, it’s just small, if you hate it you can return it, blah blah blah…” you trail off, but you can’t hide the excitement across your features. 
He pulls open the clamshell box, the gold chain reflecting against the warm lights of the kitchen and dancing along the walls. His lips part slightly, forming an “o” shape, with surprise. 
“You’re…” he seems genuinely speechless. Carmy usually isn’t a man of many words, anyway, but this was noticeably different.
“Do you like it?” Your bottom lip is folded under your teeth in anticipation, eyes flickering up to meet his. 
“You’re perfect,” is all he can say, and you swear you can see his eyes get a little glassy.
“Aw, well, don’t get soft on me now,” you let your arms wrap around him once again, pulling him into a hug this time. Your head fits perfectly into his chest, smelling the distinct scent of his signature cologne, long now covered by the smells of the restaurant. Him.
His nose fits perfectly into the crook of your neck as he leans down, deepening the hug to pull you in impossibly close. His lips latch onto the soft spot beneath your ear, enraptured by your presence. 
For the first time in his life, Carmy is actually going to have a good birthday. 
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
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cherubfae · 2 months
Text
how they cuddle || slashers x reader
With Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Brahms Heelshire, Billy and Stu, Art the Clown, Vincent, Bo, Lester, Sal Fisher, & Thomas Sawyer
tags: AFAB reader (not specified), cuddling, affection, rz!Mikey, art is his own warning lmao, terrifier 2 spoilers, little spoon!slashers, nightmares (Sal), comfort, poly!Ghostface, I low-key rant about art in Vin's lmao
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Michael
Exhaustion isn't something he's used to feeling so heavily in his bones. He feels the heavy weight rippling across his broad shoulders and spiraling down his spine in white hot pain. He's not a tame being, but he is a bit more docile in the months before and after Halloween. His knife doesn't thirst for blood quite as much as on the 31st.
Seeing you in your bed is a welcomed sight. Michael doesn't say much more than the soft grunt of acknowledgement as he sheds his coveralls from his dirt-caked skin. He has a lovely warm bath that loosens all the tight muscles of his lower back. You'll have his head later for leaving a ring of grime in the tub; Mikey doesn't care about that right now.
The fresh sheets are so comfortable, accepting them fully as Michael tucks his face into your side. His recently cut hair is still long enough to form a fringe curtain over his grey eyes.
Jason
Softly leans his chin to your shoulder. Depending on how far along you two are into your relationship, Jason might feel comfortable enough to have his mask removed. He's aware the material probably doesn't feel too pleasant being pressed to the side of your face or lightly digging into your skin.
His arms wind around your waist, happily sighing as he leans himself against you. Jason also doesn't mind if you switch things up and hold him in return, stroking the top of his head softly.
Brahms
If there's a way where he can wind his body around yours, Brahms will find it. He definitely likes keeping you away from all of the noise of the world, and while he's not mega happy about it, he knows you need trips into town sometimes. He likes seeing what kind of food items you bring back because the meals you make are simply delicious!
After dinner and bathing, Brahms snuggles beside you, clinging to you like you've been gone for ages. The chill of his porcelain biting into your skin as he happily huffs behind it. He's so glad to have you. <3
Billy and Stu
The pair are constantly together, if not with you, then they're almost always flanking each other's sides. The other is often not far from the first. Adding you into their duo to form a trio didn't change much of their dynamic. Instead of the two boys slinking around, they've got you as their third and final confidant.
Billy isn't the most touchy-feely person-- that's what he likes to claim. He doesn't really know how to ask for the things that he wants. He's different to Stu in the way that he's silent when you press your hand to the brunette's cheek, smiling as his eyelids flutter closed. Subconsciously leaning into your touch, chasing the feeling when you pull away.
Stu likes to be what he calls the mega spoon. It's him behind you, snuggled at your back, and with Billy pressed close to your chest still too proud to say that he enjoys being taken care of as the little spoon. You three make a nice, lovely three-person sandwich. Even when lying down, you're in the center with the boys wrapped around you like snakes. There is no them without you; you are their missing piece.
Art
This man is mostly, if not always, within your personal space. 'It's not yours, it's ours'. Art is rarely a being ever to break character or change out of his damned costume, and his hygiene is quite questionable sometimes; though he does in fact bathe and wash his suit. Just not often.
He's a man of very few words, especially when he's deep into his clown character and doing what he does best. Being immortal has its advantages, but his fight with Sienna really put him through the ringer. Art was decapitated! What a riot.
With his strength slowly returning to him, Art is always almost underfoot. In your bubble, seeing what you're doing. Snuggling up to you in a rare moment where his costume is off, leaning his head into your chest with an exhausted expression. It seemed that Pale Girl was allowing him some respite with you for a bit.
Vincent
He is a busy man, constantly sculpting and creating. His sketchbooks are filled to the absolute brim of beautiful works of art in all sorts of mediums: charcoal, graphite, watercolor, and ink. You're his muse, his favorite subject of which his art circulates. There's something so breathtaking about you, minute details that only an artist can see within people. An eternal, everlasting beauty.
Vincent is quick to jot down the rough outline of your sleeping form resting against Jonesy. He's smiling behind the wax mask, skilled fingers shading the crease of your eyelids then moving to sketch the curve of your Cupid's bow. When he felt it was finished enough for now, Vincent sets his book aside in favor of crawling into bed beside you.
His broad frame dwarfs yours as he curls his body around yours, his large hands slide beneath your sweater pressing across your tummy. Vincent really adores you, you know?
Bo
Not much of a cuddler, but if you get especially pouty about it Bo will roll his eyes and tug you to him. He can be a major asshole but he doesn't like seeing his baby upset.
He tucks you beneath his strong arm, his mechanic's hat resting on top of the back of the sofa. Waiting for you to settle down doesn't take long as you're soon drifting off with your head on his chest, focusing on his hand placed on your knee; gently stroking the skin there. His eyes begin to droop, feeling heavy. Cradling the back of your neck, Bo allows himself to drift off, too.
Lester
Long days certainly do get to him sometimes. Tiring him out something awful. He's prepared enough roadkill and deer for his brothers and you, enough to satiate any hunger for the time being until he finds time to run into the nearby town again.
Lester finds you lounging in his bed with Jonesy, Vincent must be working hard and the pup sought out attention where she could. He had no idea where Bo was or whatever the hell he was up to.
Collapsing onto the bed, Lester sighs deeply when you immediately comb your fingers through his messy short hair. He's out like a light soon after.
Sal Fisher
Poor guy has so much going on that sometimes he just wants to crash and sleep for one-thousand years. He doesn't sleep well on the best of days, plagued by frequent nightmares that not even the warmth and comfort of your sleeping form beside him can quell.
Another nightmare yanks Sal out of a fitful sleep. One that has him patting the sheets, searching for you. The heat of your skin against his hands sends a calming peace over him. He's scooping your sleeping form in his arms, his face hidden in your neck. Sal gives a weak smile as you snuggle into him. He focuses on your even breathing, allowing himself to fall asleep soon after.
Thomas
It's incredibly hot on the best of days in Duller County, the Sawyer family set up several oscillating fans that constantly work overtime without a proper functioning air conditioning unit.
Even the lackluster cool breeze and the sweltering Texan heat aren't enough to have Tommy pulling you into his lap and nuzzling his masked face into your hair.
You're much smaller than him. It gives Tommy a sense of pride knowing that he's your big, strong protector. :)
Patrick
He is such an enigma, a contradiction. Patrick isn't much of a cuddler or snuggler but he wants to play the role of being a dutiful partner. He is quick to become a jealous lover if you were to find someone else to give you attention while he's fretting over what sort of shade of cream or white Paul Allen's next business card will have.
|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024
A prideful, vain being such as himself would never admit how much he truly does enjoy having your curl up next to him. The warmth your body exudes is a comfort, one he finds him seeking out more and more even though your relationship is still within its earlier stages. Patrick hates that he finds himself being so undone by you, but he can't find it within himself to stop either. There's something inside of you that his fervent bloodlust can't be satisfied by.
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yellowpsyduck · 4 months
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𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮
Thomas Shelby x Reader
Warning: Smut
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Her dress was white like the Arctic Snow. 
Her cheeks were red like the Chrysler Imperial. 
A glance was all it took for one to deduce that Y/N Elliot stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of greys in the grimy streets of Birmingham. 
With her short tight curls and her eyes that seemed untinged with the horrors that plagued the notorious English town, she was a sight to behold. 
Mr. Elliot was the preacher at the local Presbyterian Church, but his daughter evoked the urge to sin in the minds of the lads of the town.
 And again, a glance was all it took for one to fixate upon this seemingly other worldly apparition that roamed the streets of Birmingham with her teasing smile and her plump red lips. 
And Thomas Michael Shelby was no exception. 
Soon the occasional glances that he threw her way should they ever cross paths turned into waiting by the front of her house to escort her to finishing school, much to the dismay of the girl’s father. 
The young Elliot girl was infatuated with the older man. The boys that previously courted her couldn’t hold a candle to his suave. With his cigarettes and his well pressed suits, Tommy Shelby was simply a dream come true for the impressionable girl. 
She couldn’t care less about her parents’ disapproval of their relation, nor did she care about what the towns folk had to say. 
‘He loves me, and I love him and that’s all that matters’ she assured herself each night. 
The two soon became inseparable, the leader of the Peaky blinders even barged inside the school and pulled his darling out of the classroom simply because he ‘missed’ her. The teachers and staff knew better than to obstruct the infamous gangster. 
The two went to the fair that day. He bought her all the dainty little trinkets that her heart desired. She didn’t go easy on the spending too; she knew his pockets wouldn’t hurt from her silly purchases. 
And for his kind generosity, she rewarded him with her first kiss. 
A simple kiss on the lips; that’s how it started but it soon turned heated and passionate. 
It goes without saying that she lost her purity to him, right in the backseat of the black Ford. 
Still clad in her school attire, she sat on his lap with his hands encircling her lithe waist. 
He left a trail of kisses down her exposed collarbone, his hands working to unbutton her shirt which her mother had carefully pressed that morning. 
The chemise underneath soon found itself discarded on the floor of the vehicle. 
Her pink coloured bra was on full display for him. The more conservatively fashioned fabric did little to hide the fullness of the plump breasts underneath. 
Her breath was shallow as she looked at him with those beautiful doe eyes of hers. 
Her cheeks tinted with arousal and her eyes misty with desire. 
She was a sight to behold as she guided his hand to cup her left breast, telling him that she was ready. 
Tommy couldn’t contain himself any longer and his fingers found themselves unclasping the fabric that shielded her modesty. He sucked with urgency on her perky nipples while he kneaded the other, giving equal attention to both of those glorious mounds. 
Y/N was a squirming mess. She loved the feeling of his hot mouth as he showered her with his touch.  
She could feel her panties dampen with each passing second. No boy had ever made her this hot and bothered. 
She needed more of him. She needed his touch. 
Tommy could feel the wetness on his thighs as the girl began grinding herself on his thighs. 
“Eager, aren’t we?” he teased with a raspy drawl. 
God! This girl was driving him crazy. 
He continued trailing his kisses down her stomach and halted at the waistband of her skirt. 
He swiftly tossed the heavy garment aside along with her garter and knickers. 
She was on full display for him. For him and his eyes only. 
He couldn’t peel his eyes off her body. 
She had bewitched him.  
Sure, Thomas Shelby had been with his fair share of women before her, but he had never felt so strongly for any woman before, nor did he think he could ever. 
Not after this. 
Not after her. 
His thumb slid across her clit, eliciting a beautiful moan from her. 
Gently, he prodded her glistening hole with a finger. 
She was too tight. 
He thrusted his finger inside her as she coated him in her lewd liquid. 
Now two fingers. 
He was thrusting her insides with just two fingers, yet it completely filled her up. 
She was a panting mess. 
She could feel his now bulging erection poking against her bare butt. 
Just as she could find her release, he extracted his fingers from the throbbing pussy, making her cry in desperation. 
“Tommy please.” she purred as she met his pale blue irises. She was a whimpering, desperate mess. 
“Just a minute darling.” he assured her as he hurriedly unbuckled his belt and freed his pulsating swollen cock. 
Y/N wasn’t sure how he was going to fit his fat cock inside her tight pussy, but she didn’t care anymore. All she wanted was for him to fill her up and make love to her. 
He carefully lined his cock that was leaking with precum to her entrance and gently entered her hole.  
Just the tip was in and even then, Y/N was threatening to spill teardrops from her lustful eyes. 
“It’ll only hurt for a second, Darling.” he whispered in her ear as he forced himself inside of her virgin cunt. 
Y/N was seeing stars. 
Oh! The pain and the pleasure; both feelings intertwined as she felt him thrusting inside of her giving rise to this otherworldly feeling of ecstasy. 
Tommy couldn’t control himself inside of her as he pounded into her. 
Her tight pussy was driving him mad with pleasure. 
He could see the scarlet testament of her purity flowing down her thighs as he corrupted her innocence. 
She was his. 
No one else’s. 
The two continued their lovemaking, completely engulfed in the throngs of their union.  
That night, as they lay in the meadow on the English countryside, with his hands around her and her head on his chest, they looked up at the sky that bear witness to their passions.  
And that faithful day, Thomas Shelby made a woman out of Y/N Elliot. 
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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 5 months
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The Golden Ratio - Part One
Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Derogatory language, angst, mentions of parental death, mentions of infidelity. Word count: ~4.5k
Chapter summary: Her relationship strains under the pressure of long distance, though she has her classmate, Michael, to help distract from the worst of it. Series masterlist.
Author's note: For @assortedseaglass. No tag list. Please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.
She is sweaty and exasperated as she drags her suitcase over the cobbles of Holywell Street. One of the already precariously wonky wheels had finally given up the ghost and broken off as she’d dragged it up the stairs of Oxford train station, making the fifteen minute walk to her accommodation more tiring than it needed to be.
But she was here, finally. Oxford University.
Her dad had sold the car to make sure she had money to live on until her student loan and maintenance grant had been paid to her. He didn’t want her taking a part time job to make ends meet, she’d worked hard to earn her place here, her focus should be on her studies. Coming from a low income family meant she had qualified for the maximum amount for both maintenance loan and grant, but her first set of application forms had been misplaced by Student Finance, so she’d had to send in a second set, meaning there would be a delay with her first payment.
An unfortunate consequence of her dad not having a car is that she’d had to get the train to London Victoria, a tube to Paddington, then another train to Oxford. But it is not the fact that she is seemingly the only student whose parents aren’t obstructing the pavements with their cars in order to drop them off that makes her feel like an outcast, there is something deeper, more sinister feeling.
She sees it as she struggles to get her bag across the lawn of the Halls, people grouped in little clusters, as though they’ve been friends forever. They dress in Juicy Couture velour tracksuit bottoms and brand name Ugg Boots, while she wears her mum’s old Dr. Martens and a tartan skirt she’d bought in a charity shop for one pound fifty. She doesn’t fit in. She feels she may as well wear the word “poor” across her forehead like a scarlet letter.
Having checked in at the Porters’ Lodge and been given directions to the accommodation, it’s lonely as she unpacks her things, her room feeling empty and quiet. The only sounds are muffled talking and laughter coming through the closed window from outside. She feels lonelier still when she pulls out the framed photo of her and Rich. They’re both smiling, his arms wrapped around her waist as she leans her head against his. It had felt like their relationship would last forever when that picture was taken. That seemed like much less of a possibility over the last couple of weeks.
She had met Rich at the beginning of sixth form. Having attended Chatham Grammar School for Girls, she had decided to stay on there to do her A levels. The mathematics department was decent, and she had heard Russell Group universities were more likely to consider applications that came from grammar schools. Rich had transferred over from Robert Napier School. Where she was shy, quiet and reserved, he was lively, outgoing and sociable. His zest for life had shone a bright light on an existence that was, for her, otherwise dull and grey.
They were an unlikely pairing. She was logical, analytical and studied maths and physics. Rich was creative, free spirited and guided by emotion. He studied art and music. They had been together for two years and she had thought he was the one. But then it came time for UCAS applications, and where she had applied to Oxford, Cambridge and York, Rich had applied to Leeds, Brighton and Glasgow. It seemed that no matter where they were accepted, they were destined to be apart.
When she had received an unconditional offer from Oxford she had been elated, however, the crushing devastation upon hearing Rich had been accepted into The Glasgow School of Art with a conditional offer had quickly dulled her excitement.
She had never felt like an outsider or a loner when she was with Rich. Basking in his sunny disposition had felt effortless, she never felt alone. He was going to take all of that away, and she was unsure of how to cope with it.
“We’ll make it work long distance, don’t worry,” he’d told her, and she’d believed him.
But then he had actually gone to Glasgow. Fresher’s week in Glasgow started a week earlier than it did in Oxford, so Rich had moved away first. It didn’t take long for the texts and phone calls to dry up into nothing. She had heard from him once in the last few days.
She sighs as she slides up the screen of her beaten up Nokia. Still nothing. She had text to let him know she was leaving for Oxford today and he couldn’t even be bothered to reply. She knows it’s his first week at university and he’s likely busy and having fun, but how was long distance going to work if they never actually spoke to each other?
Despite the loftiness of the dining hall, it feels stuffy as she moves through it later that evening, taking a seat at a long table crowded with other students. She had hoped that the Fresher’s welcome dinner would be an opportunity to make friends, but everyone seems to be deep in conversation already. The chatter hums loudly like white noise, until it comes to a sudden stop.
“FUCKIN’ ASK ME A SUM THEN!”
She turns, mouth agape, to look at the pair of boys sitting a few places up from her. One is darked haired and seems nervous and uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly in his seat. The other is blonde, an angry, intense expression on his face, shadows cast across it from the lamplight on the table, as he stares in wide eyed anticipation. It was him who had shouted, clearly.
“Four hundred and twenty three times seventy eight,” the dark haired boy asks quietly.
Instantly his friend replies, without missing a beat, “thirty two thousand, nine hundred and ninety four.”
Involuntarily her eyes widen in surprise. She sits there and does the calculation in her head, though much more slowly than he had. 
Carry the two, eight times two is sixteen, plus two is eighteen, carry the one…he’s right. How is it possible that he came to that answer so quickly?
When her gaze lifts he is looking at her, observing her doing the working out in her head. He holds her stare, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth. He knows she knows he is right, and it’s clear he feels smug about it.
Quickly looking away, she reaches for her water glass, wanting something, anything, to distract her. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel uneasy.
God, I hope I don’t have any classes with him.
She holds her timetable for the week in her hands as she moves her way through the corridors towards the lecture hall the following morning. The first week looks to be fairly light touch, with an introductory lecture for each of the courses; algebra, analysis, probability and statistics, geometry, dynamics and multivariable calculus. Today is the introduction to analysis, and she is excited to study under the tutelage of Professor Helen Byrne. Her research focuses on the development and analysis of mathematical and computational models that describe biomedical systems, with particular application to the growth and treatment of solid tumours, wound healing and tissue engineering. Professor Byrne is someone she has admired within the field for as long as she can remember, and she is very much looking forward to her tutorials with her.
Her excitement fades when she enters the lecture hall and immediately sees the angry guy from the previous evening.
Just my luck.
The only available seat is next to him, so she sits down, dropping her bag to the floor by her feet.
A hand extends out towards her in her peripheral vision, taking her by surprise and she turns in her seat towards it, shrinking back slightly. 
He seems utterly unperturbed by her reaction, keeping his arm extended. “I’m Michael Gavey.”
She blinks, regaining her composure as she leans forward, shaking his hand and introducing herself in return. His palm is clammy against her own, and she can still feel it there even after having let go and wiped her hand on her jeans.
“I saw you last night,” he says matter of factly, pulling his arm back and resting his elbow on the desk in front of him.
“Oh, yeah,” she says with a tight smile, nodding, “so you and your mate…is that like a party trick or something?”
“No, no party trick,” he says with a demure smile. “I’m a genius.”
She forces herself to laugh politely, assuming he’s making a joke, but she stops, her brow furrowing slightly when she sees he doesn’t share in the humour. He’s being serious.
Opening her mouth to ask a follow up question, she’s interrupted as Professor Byrne sweeps into the room. Her and Michael both face forward in their seats as she introduces herself to the class.
Over the next hour they are given an introduction to the course and what to expect in their first year, including an overview of the papers they will need to write and examinations that will be sat. She pays rapt attention, scribbling furious notes, until the lecture begins to wrap up.
“As it’s the first week, I will go easy on assignment setting,” Professor Byrne tells them all, “but there will be an assignment nonetheless.”
A loud, collective groan echoes around the lecture hall. Her and Michael are the only two not to join in.
“Now, now, settle down,” she chastises, “it’ll be fun. I’m sure you’re all aware of the Fibonacci Sequence, a series of numbers where each number is the sum of the two preceding numbers. Mathematically we can describe this as–”
She turns and scrawls xn= xn-1 + xn-2 on the chalkboard, before facing the students again.
“--I’d like you all to find an example of the Fibonacci Sequence in real life and present it back to the class during next week’s lecture. You’re to work in pairs, so buddy up, and see you all next week.”
Professor Byrne places the chalk back on the desk before striding back out of the lecture hall. The room is instantly a buzz with chatter, as people move between seats to find a partner.
She stays rooted in place, suddenly wishing Rich was here. It’s in moments like these that he flourishes, allowing her to take a backseat as he effortlessly navigates them through social interactions. Instead, she is alone and the space around her feels bigger and scarier with every moment that passes.
It’s only when she turns her head that she notices Michael has yet to move too. Gathering all the courage she can muster, she clears her throat and speaks to him.
“So…er…did you wanna partner up for this thing then?”
“I don’t like to work with others,” he says matter of factly, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.
“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” she says with a sigh, “but for this assignment we have to.”
“You’ve picked me because I’m a genius. You’ll expect me to do all the work while you get pissed with your mates.”
He fixes her with an accusatory stare, and she feels the heat of anger prickle her skin.
“Haven’t got any mates,” she mutters darkly.
He observes her for a few moments, elbow propped on the desk, jaw resting against his fist, and she fidgets self consciously in her seat. No wonder the other boy from last night had looked so uncomfortable. It feels like he’s studying her.
“Let’s go to the library,” he says simply, standing and picking up his bag.
“So, you’re a genius?” She asks, opening her notebook once they’re seated opposite each other at a table in the library, nervously tapping her pencil against the page.
“Hmm,” Michael nods, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, “I don’t even like maths, really. I can just…do it. Anything. In my head.”
She’s struck by how blunt he is, sucking in a breath as she considers what to say next. There is something so disarming about him, she gets the sense he’s analysing her every word and action.
“Right,” she begins, “so, er, for this assignment I was thinking about how Leonardo Fibonacci used rabbits to prove his theory. One hundred and forty four pairs of rabbits can be produced from a single pair of rabbits in a year, based on the sequence.”
“That’s fucking stupid,” Michael replies with a sigh.
“What?” She asks irritably, annoyed by his dismissal.
“What are you expecting us to do, go to a pet shop and buy rabbits? We’ve only got a week to do the assignment, we need to be more practical.”
She rolls her eyes. “I was using that as an example, not saying we do that exactly! Come on then, genius, what’s your suggestion?”
“Spirals,” he says with a slight shrug. He leans across, placing the tips of his fingers on her notebook and sliding it towards himself, before picking up her pencil. “There is a special relationship between the Fibonacci numbers and the Golden Ratio, a ration that describes when a line is divided into two parts and the longer part - A - divided by the smaller part - B - is equal to the sum of A + B divided by A, which both equal one point six one eight. This is represented by the Greek letter,” he stops to scribble a φ on the pad. “The ratio of any two successive Fibonacci Numbers approximates the Golden Ratio value.” He stops again, scrawling 1.6180339887 on the page. The bigger the pair of Fibonacci numbers, the closer the approximation. From there, we can calculate what's called the golden spiral, or a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor equals the golden ratio.”
She is stunned into a silence for a moment, a combination of his audacity to simply take her belongings, and awe at the rapidity with which his mind works. Collecting herself, she blinks a few times, looking up into his eyes.
They’re so blue.
“So…er…how do you propose we present this data back to the class?”
“A simple table is sufficient, look–”
His hand moves rapidly over the page, a complete table there on the paper when he drops the pencil into the gutter of the notebook and sits back in his chair.
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“We present that,” he tells her, his eyes fixed on the page. “Using the values of the sequence as the edge length of squares arranged in the table, a spiral is generated.”
She leans over, sliding the notebook back to her side of the table, marvelling silently at his work. He is fascinating to watch. He’s right, he can just do maths.
“It’s good,” she says, eye flitting up to meet his, “solid. But it’s fucking boring.”
This time it’s his turn to be annoyed. “What?” He asks, eyes narrowing.
“Everyone is going to present something like this, because it’s easy,” she explains, “Don’t you want to stand out to Professor Byrne? We should do something outside of the box.”
“Hmm. Go on then, what are you thinking?” He rests his cheek against his fist, leaning against the table as he stares at her.
She feels herself grow warm under his scrutiny.
Does he always have to be so bloody intense?
“There are loads of examples of Fibonacci numbers appearing in nature. We could look for some? Flowers, perhaps.”
“I’ve got hayfever,” Michael states simply.
She sighs.
Of course you do.
“Then we’ll get you some Piriton! Come on, there are studies that show seed heads, pinecones, fruits and vegetables all displaying spiral patterns that when counted express Fibonacci numbers. This fits perfectly with the brief of the assignment and will leave a lasting impression.”
He moves his hand away from his face, resting his arm flat on the table and quietly drumming his fingers against it for a few moments. “Alright then,” he finally concedes.
“Great,” she grins excitedly, tearing out a page from her notebook and writing on it hurriedly. “Here’s my number, so we can meet up to work on it, and also my Hotmail address, in case MSN works better for you.”
He huffs through his nose as he takes the paper from her, a soft laugh escaping him. “The countess at hotmail dot co dot uk,” he reads with amusement, “very droll.”
“Shut up,” she grins back, “I made that in secondary school. Thought it was funny.”
Back in her room that evening, she’s excited to see she has a text from Rich, finally.
Hope ur enjoying it. Having so much fun here!
She sighs, throwing her phone down on the bed side table. No kisses, not even an “I love you”. 
Watching out of the window, she sees the giggling groups of students making their way out into town, readying themselves to spend the night drinking, making friends and having fun. Just like Rich is doing, not giving her a second thought, while she stays cooped up in her room without a friend in the world.
Suspicion nags at her, so she turns on her laptop, loading up MySpace. Rich takes number one place on her top eight friends, and she clicks on his profile. It looks much the same as it always does, but she decides to snoop further, clicking into his friends list. She can see he has recently friended a girl named Sophie.
Sophie is pretty, bright pink streaks in her hair, and a nose ring. Exactly Rich’s type. Her most recently uploaded photos are of groups of people, clearly all taken during Fresher’s week. A pit forms in her stomach as she sees that in almost all of them Sophie and Rich have their arms around each other. Worse still, Rich occupies space eight in Sophie’s top friends.
She closes the browser, blinking back tears. Surely, she is just being paranoid. They’re just friends. Friends have photos together, and it was normal that he would make new ones when he went away to uni.
Opening MSN Messenger, she hovers over Rich’s username. Unsurprisingly, he’s offline, he always is these days. She smiles when an add request from [email protected] pops up. Of course he’d have Tau, the mathematical constant, in his Hotmail address. She clicks accept and he immediately appears in her online contacts. Looks like he isn’t out tonight either.
Double clicking his username, she chuckles to herself upon seeing his display picture is of Pythagoras. Such a dweeb.
“Want to work on our assignment tomorrow?” She types to him.
Barely a few seconds pass before she sees him typing back. “Yes. When?”
“We could meet at the Water Meadow at lunch time?”
“See you then.”
Straight to the point, no idle chit chat. She shakes her head and closes the messenger window, though finds herself strangely excited by the thought of seeing him tomorrow. She reasons that it’s because Michael is the closest thing she has had to a friend since arriving at Oxford.
She visits the nearby Tesco Express the following day, buying a meal deal for each of them and a packet of hayfever tablets for Michael. She has no idea of what Michael even likes, so plays it safe by buying a bottle of Oasis, a Crunchie bar and a ham and cheese sandwich for them both.
At precisely noon, Michael stands at the entrance to the Water Meadow waiting for her. She smiles as she looks at his t-shirt; maroon with a diagram of a circle on a gradient with a downwards acceleration of 9.81 meters per second, with the slogan “that’s how I roll”. A mechanics pun.
“Like your shirt,” she says as she approaches him.
He grins. “Thought you might, considering your email address.”
She averts her gaze. There is something about the fact that he’d thought of her when he’d chosen what to wear today that makes her tummy flutter.
Stop it. You’ve got Rich. Michael’s weird!
“I got you some hayfever tablets,” she tells him as they start to walk along the pathway that’s flanked by green space on either side. “Do you wanna have lunch first and then start looking for flowers?”
They settle, cross legged on the grass, Michael already having taken one of the tablets, chased with half a bottle of Oasis, and she spreads out the food between them.
She watches in fascination as his eyes widen at the sight of the Crunchie bars, snatching one up and tearing off the wrapper. Her mouth falls open slightly as she sees him hold it sideways, biting into it from the side, before devouring each of the pieces it inevitably breaks into.
“You like Crunchie bars then?” She asks, a little grossed out, but curious nonetheless.
He swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mother didn’t allow me to have sweets growing up, bad for your teeth, she said.”
She nods, a feeling over pity replacing the disgust that had roiled her stomach just seconds ago.
“So, is it your mum that pushed you into studying maths?” She asks, fiddling with the lid of her drink bottle.
“Sort of,” he says. “Mother never married, but she wanted a child. She used a sperm donor - a physicist, apparently - and was artificially inseminated to have me. She was thrilled when I showed a natural aptitude for maths, and has always encouraged me. It’s why I do it, why I accepted the scholarship, to make her proud. She’s been through so much to have me, it’s the least I owe her.”
Her face falls, a feeling of sadness overwhelming her, making her heart ache for Michael. There is something so tragic about the fact that he has lived his entire life adhering to the expectations of the person who had created him for their own selfish want of a child.
“What about you then?” He asks. “The bank of mummy and daddy paying for you to be here?”
She shakes her head. “I earned my place, just like you did, with straight As, though I don’t have a scholarship. Have had to take out loans to cover the cost. It’s just me and dad since mum passed away.”
“Oh,” Michael says, blinking rapidly, obviously surprised. “Apologies, I’d assumed a pretty girl like you would be the same as the rest of the vapid cunts studying here, if you can call it studying.”
She hums in acknowledgement, considering his words, turning her own Crunchie bar around in her fingers, focusing on the way the foil wrapper slides against her skin. His compliment makes her heart beat more rapidly, even if it is backhanded. “Like I said yesterday, I’ve got no mates. It was always Rich that was better at that sort of thing.”
“Rich?” Michael asks curiously, cocking his head.
“My boyfriend. He’s at uni in Glasgow.”
“Three hundred and sixty two point nine miles,” Michael states simply.
“Pardon?”
“That’s the distance between Oxford and Glasgow,” he explains, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How are you planning to make a relationship work with that sort of distance?”
“We’re doing long distance,” she argues, feeling herself growing defensive, scowling at him.
“Yeah, I bet that’s gonna work out great,” he scoffs, eyes widening, clearly mocking her.
“The Glasgow School of Art was the best choice for Rich to study what he wants to,” she retorts.
A grin spreads across his face. “Art?! I suppose you should be grateful he’s hundreds of miles away then, he sounds like a moron.”
She huffs, hurriedly shoving her things back into her bag. “Let’s just look for these fucking flowers and get this over with.”
The pair work for the rest of the afternoon in silence, the atmosphere is tense and angry, but they are productive nevertheless, settling on a patch of sunflowers to use for the assignment.
They look at the spirals of seeds in the center of the sunflowers and observe patterns curving left and right. Counting these spirals, their total is a Fibonacci number. They then divide the spirals into those pointed left and right to get two consecutive Fibonacci numbers.
Cutting down a couple of sunflower heads to use as examples, Michael also makes a diagram in his notes for them to present with their findings.
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She feels satisfied by the time they part ways, but an uneasy feeling has settled over her that has dread gnawing into her gut as she thinks about Michael’s criticism of her and Rich’s long distance relationship.
Unsurprised to see she has no missed calls or texts from him when she goes back to her room, she opens up her laptop and logs back onto MySpace. This time when she looks at Rich’s profile her blood runs cold as she sees that Sophie now occupies space number three in his top friends. He’d had time to log on and change the position of a girl he’d met a couple of weeks ago, but couldn’t be bothered to send her a single message?
Before she can stop herself, she’s pulling out her phone and calling his number. She doesn’t care if this wastes all of her credit, she needs answers.
It rings for ages, and she anticipates being sent to voicemail, until he eventually answers, sounding breathless and distracted.
“H-hello?”
“Rich, it’s me,” she says quietly.
There’s a pause before he answers. “Oh…how’s my little nerd? Everything okay?”
She ignores the familiarity, keeping her tone neutral. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”
Not giving him an opportunity to respond, she pushes on. “Has something happened between you and this Sophie girl I’ve seen you on Myspace with?”
Another pause, except this time she hears him inhale a deep breath. “I was going to tell you when we came home for Christmas break. It felt wrong to break up with you over the phone.”
It feels as though the bottom of her world has been ripped away, her heart twisting painfully as her vision blurs with tears. She swallows thickly, anger bubbling alongside her devastation, so that her tone is venomous when she replies “So, you were just gonna keep stringing me along for two months, so you could look like a good guy?!”
“Babe, no, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just–”
“You’re a piece of shit,” she cuts him off, “fuck you!”
She hangs up, chucking her phone down onto the bed, and immediately bursts into tears, holding her head in her hands as hot tears stream down her face, her shoulders shaking as her nose grows snotty.
Two years. Two fucking years and he’d chucked it all away for someone he’d known for two weeks.
She walks towards the sink in her room, looking into the mirror and sighing at her reflection. Her eyes are red and puffy, she looks a mess. Splashing cold water onto her face to rid herself of the worst of it, she then flops down onto her bed, opening her laptop.
Immediately she is met with her MSN chat window with Michael from the previous evening. He’s online.
Without thinking, she types out a message to him.
“Do you have any alcohol?”
Within seconds he’s typing a response.
“Would you like me to have alcohol?”
598 notes · View notes
keerysfreckles · 6 months
Text
safe haven - mike schmidt
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pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader
summary: mike schmidt's next door neighbor seems on edge when she knocks on his front door. the reason being remains unknown, until mike orders a pizza and lets the scared girl stay the night.
warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, mentions of an abusive and toxic relationship, slight cursing
michael schmidt wasn't used to any of his neighbors knocking on his door. the only interactions being simple waves while getting the mail, or nods of their heads when they drive by.
mike instantly recognized his next door neighbor as he opens the front door. he's seen her plenty of times before, but the two haven't spoken to each other.
he notices her shaken up appearance, as her loose t-shirt hangs off one shoulder, and the grey sweatpants on her hips are barely tied. her hair is down, but the baby hairs by her forehead are erratically skewed.
"hello?"
mike's simple gretting takes the girl out of her trance. she kept looking between mike and her own front door. she fiddled with her hands before responding.
"yes, hi, uh- look i know we've never really talked before, but can i please stay here for an hour? two at most," y/n pleads, her eyes never faltering from her front door, with worry filling her pupils.
mike nods, before opening his door so y/n can walk inside, "are you alright?"
y/n's fast to shake her head, "no, um- no not really."
mike doesn't think he's ever seen her like this. "do you want something to drink? or a snack or something?"
"just water, please," y/n shuffles awkwardly by the kitchen counter, as she watches mike grab a glass and fill it was tap water.
y/n's grateful once the cool liquid flows down her throat. all of the screaming she had just done really did some damage on her throat.
mike couldn't help but notice the small bruises covering her wrists, and the giant red mark on her neck as she tilted her head back to drink the water.
"do you want to talk about anything? you seem on edge," mike offers, as he leads the two to the living room. he sits on the couch, and y/n sits down beside him.
just as y/n opens her mouth to respond, abby comes running down the hallway, a notebook in one hand and colored pencils in the other.
"who are you?"
abby's bluntness throws y/n off gaurd, causing her to laugh. she can't even remember the last time she laughed.
"abbs, this is our neighbor, y/n. she's gonna hang out here for a bit," mike tells abby, watching as she sits at the coffee table in front of the couch.
mike and y/n both turn their attention to the tv, which is playing reruns of a sitcom. they both felt it wasn't the most appropriate time to talk about y/n's situation while abby was in the room.
"what are those marks on your wrist from?" abby suddenly asks, catching both adults off gaurd.
"oh, uh, they're from bracelets i had on earlier. guess they were too tight." mike took notice of the way y/n's voice shook at the end of her response.
"hey abby, why don't you go back to your room and draw something for y/n. yeah?" mike offers his sister, who nods in return, before she walks down the hallway back to her room.
"you don't have to talk about anything by the way. i'm not gonna force you," mike spoke softly, not wanting to scare y/n more than she already was.
y/n's knee started to shake and her voice wavered as she responded, "my boyfriend- well ex-boyfriend now uh- he got too much. everything was fine until last month when he started to get aggressive."
mike's eyes slightly widened.
"at first it was only verbally. but when i came home last week, he hit me because i stayed late at work. i tried to tell him why, but he just wouldn't listen," y/n's eyes started to water as she remembers the events that took place.
"today was just so bad. i had to get out of there before he did anything worse," y/n finally looks up at mike, and sees nothing but sincerity in his eyes. her heart slightly sped up at the fact someone was actually listening to her.
"so you came here to get away from him?" mike concluded, causing y/n to nod.
"you can stay here as long as you need to okay?"
y/n nodded once more, thankful for mike's proposal. however a harsh knock on the front door caused her head to turn quickly, and michael stood from the couch. "probably just some solicitors. i'll get them to leave."
y/n stayed on the couch while mike opened the door. his heartrate picked up once he was met with a taller man, with a scruffy beard and dark curly hair. he seemed to have a glint of hatred in his eyes, and mike could only guess this was the person y/n was hiding from.
"can i help you?"
"you haven't seen y/n around, have you? she ran out a bit ago," the man explained, seeming way too calm about the situation.
mike shakes his head, "nope, haven't seen her today."
y/n's heart races as she listened to their conversation from the living room. she can't help but worry he's going to come inside and take her back to the toxic home she just came from.
y/n picks her head up at the loud noise, and stands up abruptly from the couch once she sees mike stumble back from her ex-boyfriend pushing the door open.
"you bitch!" he screams, instantly grabbing y/n's wrist, making her yelp out in pain. "i told you not to leave! and you come over here to whore around with him?"
*brad let go," the only three words y/n manages to get out, as she's more focused on planting her feet to try and make her unmovable.
brad only pulls on y/n's wrist harder, and slaps her cheek with his empty hand. y/n cups her cheek in shock, as brad pulls her out of the house and into mike's front yard.
mike follows the two, and jogs over to brad and pushes his chest, causing him to let go of y/n.
"y/n get back inside, lock the door," mike orders. y/n's quick to run back inside as she watches mike tell brad off through the window.
a few minutes pass and mike knocks on the front door. y/n of course lets him inside his home, and as soon as he closes and locks the door y/n wraps her arms around his waist.
mike's shortly taken aback before he holds onto the poor girl. he hears her start to cry, as her body starts to shake. mike holds y/n's head to his chest and he gently sways the two side to side.
"you're okay. you're safe here," mike whispers against the top of y/n's head. "do you want to stay for dinner?" he offers, of course wanting to do nothing but cheer the girl up.
y/n pulls back from the hug and wipes her tears, before nodding her head.
mike's quick to dial the local pizza shop as y/n sits back down on the couch, her hand immediately goes to her wrist and looks at the new bruise already starting to form.
mike walks down the hallway to abby's room, for two reasons. he first asks if she heard any of the yelling, to which she responded no since she had her radio playing. and secondly he asked if she wanted to join him and y/n in the living room and have pizza soon.
y/n watched as both mike and abby walked out of the hallway. mike sat beside y/n on the couch and abby sat at the coffee table again, as she continued to work on her drawing for y/n.
"are you cold?" mike asks y/n, seeing the goosebumps covering her arms. she simply nods, and mike leans forward and removes the dark grey hoodie he was wearing. y/n couldn't help but look to his stomach as the movement of him taking the hoodie off cause his shirt underneath to lift. he smiled as he handed her the article of clothing, and couldn't help but feel his heart warm at the sight of his hoodie covering y/n's torso.
a half hour passes, and mike seems to notice how a weight has lifted off y/n's shoulders. y/n and abby have been in a deep conversation about cartoon characters. the conversation however is cut short when the doorbell rings, making y/n jump from her spot on the couch.
mike reaches forward and places his hand over her knee, causing her to look at him. "it's okay, it's just the pizza."
the reassurance calms y/n down, and mike walks to the door. he pays the pizza delivery boy and places the greasy pizza box on the coffee table. he's quick to get paper plates for the three of the them before he sits back down besides y/n.
the trio enjoy their meal together, and abby starts asking y/n questions. like where she's from, where she goes to school, what her favorite color is, and a plethora of other random questions.
after the three finish dinner, mike and y/n are captived by a movie that was now playing on tv. abby was busy adding the finishing touches to her picture for y/n, and was excited to give it to her.
y/n looks down and sees abby handing her a colorful piece of paper, "is this for me?" abby nods.
y/n looks over the paper, seeing three people resembling mike, abby and herself. the figures seem to be outside as they're together in a grassy area with flowers surrounding them.
"i love it abby," y/n smiles, "i'll keep it forever."
two hours pass, and after another movie plays, abby had fallen asleep with her head on her notebook, her right hand still gripping a red colored pencil. mike only laughs, before he shakes abby's shoulder to wake her up.
"i'll be right back," he states. y/n nods as she watches mike lead abby to her bedroom to put her to bed. y/n looks at the clock placed on the wall and sees its nearing eleven pm.
y/n leans her head back on the couch, and can't help but let her eyes close, as sleep takes over.
mike whistles while walking back into the living room, after saying goodnight to abby. his whistling is cut short when he looks at the sleeping girl on his couch. he chuckles at her positon. she's now in a curled ball, as her arms are crossed over her chest.
mike turns off the tv, and grabs the blanket draped over the arm of the chair from across the room. he places the material over y/n, before leaning down and kissing the girl's forehead. he wanted to make sure she knew she was always safe in his home.
450 notes · View notes
theehoneeybee · 6 months
Text
Talking In Your Sleep. Chapter 1.
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Talking in Your Sleep - Blue Monday
The new security hire doesn't realise he's in deep. There's more than just abandoned arcade games and dusty decorations at Freddy Fazbears Pizza.
Mike Schmidt x fem!reader
Word count: 2.2k
a/n: I haven't written in like a year but the fnaf movie altered by brain chemistry. this series is cross posted on my ao3. lmk what you think!
series m.list
next part >
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
The halogen lights flickered, lighting up the black grey room, it's peeling walls covered in fake-motivational posters. Dream Big! Work Hard! What bullshit. Mike bounced his leg anxiously. Yet another job gone because of his temper. That was the third one this month. At this point, he had spent more time at the career councillors office than at an actual job. 
"Number 27," the receptionist called out drearily. 
Mike grabbed his jacket and made his way to the councillors office, already dreading the outcome. This councillor wasn't one he had met before. He swivelled around in his chair, skimming through Mike's file with a less than pleased expression plastered on his face. Amongst his cluttered desk strewn with paperwork from the hundreds of others looking for work was a black and gold name tag. Steve Raglan. 
"What is your deal Mike?" he asked, gaze not lifting from the manila folder. "What are you, some kind of headcase?"
Steve reads aloud the incident which landed Mike in his office. It was all a misunderstanding. Mike had seen a confused, lost young boy wandering through the shopping centre, so when a strange man dragged him away, he couldn't sit idle. Of course, he should have talked to the man first instead of immediately brutalising him and traumatising his poor son in the process. He knew that. But at the time, all he could think about was protecting the boy. The loss of Garrett eats away at him. Steve lists out his past jobs. One week. Terminated. Two weeks. Insubordination, terminated. 
"It's like you're not even trying, yet you sit before me asking for help," Steve sounded almost amused. "I'm just trying to figure out who you are, Mr Michael Sch-"
Steve's expression changed. He rereads the last name printed on the page, glances up at Mike, staring at him with an unreadable expression. He gets up to pour himself a cup of coffee with shaky hands and a furrowed brow. 
"I'm going to be brutally honest with you here Mike. Given your track record, your options are gonna be extremely limited." 
"I'll take anything. Any job you've got," Mike bargains but Steve insists it's not that easy. Defeated, Mike gets up to leave before Steve quickly speaks again.
"I have a job for you." Mike sits back down. "It's a security gig. Full disclosure: it's not great. But you only have to worry about one thing, keeping people out. And well, keeping the place tidy but-"
"That's two things," Mike interrupts. 
Steve shrugs. "Do you want the job or not?"
"How's the pay?"
"Not great, but the hours are worse," Steve explained with a smile.
Mike's expression fell, rubbing the back of his neck. He muttered out, "I can't do nights."
Steve chuckled. "That's such a shame." As Mike got up to leave, thanking him, Steve gave him his card.
"In case you change your mind."
-
The roads were always empty at this time of the night. Your car hummed quietly as you made your way to work. 11:48pm, the clock read. These night shifts had really messed up your sleep schedule. You yawned, pulling into the parking lot and stepping outside. The icy breeze ran straight through you, the cheap security vest doing little in the way of warmth. You hugged it tighter to yourself, eager to get inside and escape the cold. Immediately you were hit with the smell of dust and rot, something you had become familiar to over the past weeks. You navigated through the pizzeria, kicking broken glass from the many break-ins out of your way. Even with the curtains drawn shut, as you passed the animatronic show stage you could feel eyes burning into you. The whole place gave off an unsettling vibe. When you had gotten the job, they explained to you the owner was sentimental which is why he kept the place up, rather than demolishing it. You couldn't understand why. As you entered the security office, you grabbed a chair and wedged it under the door handle. It had become routine. Doors would randomly open and more nights than not, footsteps could be heard down the hallway. Yet, you never saw anyone there. You sat down in the cracked leather chair, booting up the monitors to begin yet another long shift. 
You swivelled around in your chair, trying to entertain yourself. Every room in the pizzeria was decked head to toe in cheap Freddy Fazbear merchandise. It left a sour taste in your mouth. As a child, you had spent countless hours in the pizzeria against your will. Instead of paying for childcare, or taking time off work, your parents would just dump you at the pizzeria. After school, weekends, whenever. From open to close. On more than one occasion, you had tried running home only to find the house locked. It was only once you started getting older they gave up on the pizzeria, leaving you at home instead. It was almost ironic that you chose this job after all the time you had spent here, but money is money. On the plus side, you never had to deal with annoying co-workers or rude customers. One by one, the hours slowly ticked by. Tonight was quiet. No sounds of footsteps or random clanging. Everyone was right in their place. Some nights you could've swore you had seen Foxy move. The curtains to Pirate's Cove didn't close properly, allowing you to see inside. Maybe you were just sleep deprived, but one night, about a week ago, it looked like foxy had moved and was staring directly down the camera. It was like they knew you were there. But after you had rubbed your eyes, he was back to normal. The second the clock struck six you were out, avoiding staring at the show stage as you rushed out the door.
-
Mike stared at the phone, idly toying with the business card Steve had given him the day before. He couldn't work nights, that hadn't changed, but he was at a point were that was his only choice. Aunt Jane was trying to take custody of Abby, citing Mike's inability to care for his younger sister and lack of employment. As right as she was, Aunt Jane was a bitch, and there is no way Mike was letting her take custody of Abby. Mike turned around to look at Abby who was sat in front of the TV, drawing as always. Abby didn't talk to Mike much, too absorbed in her drawings and conversations with her imaginary friends. He sighed and dialled in the number, holding the phone up to his ear as he waited for Steve. 
"Hello?" The crackled voice through the phone answered.
"Hi Mr Raglan, it's Mike."
"Mr 'I can't work nights'." Mike could hear Steve's smirk through the phone.
"Right. I was just wondering if that job is still available?"
"Oh, it absolutely is. Why? Have you had a change of heart?"
Mike turns around again to look at Abby. "How soon can I start?"
-
As you were getting ready for work, the phone rings. You answer it, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you struggled to lace up your shoes. "Hello?" you asked.
"Hi, it's Steve Raglan," the man replies. Shocked, you grab the phone properly and sit up.
"Oh, Mr Raglan. What can I do for you?" You prayed to every God in existence that he wasn't firing you. As little as the job paid, you needed every cent. 
Almost like he was reading your mind, Steve replied, "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. But, we are making some changes to the job." You listened anxiously. "We've hired another security guard. Given how big the place is we thought you could use an extra set of hands. He's starting tonight so you'll have to train him but I'm sure you guys are gonna have no problem." Before you could protest, Steve wishes you a good night and hands up. You groan, leaning back in the chair. The solitude was one of the very few things you enjoyed about this job and now that was taken away from you. You snatched your keys and left, slamming the door behind you. 
As you drove the the pizzeria, you wonder what kind of person was desperate enough to take this job. Well, you, but who else? You arrived in the parking lot at the same time as your new co-worker. As soon as he stepped out of the car, you noticed how tired he looked. His dark hair was messy and bags hung heavy under his eyes. He definitely didn't want to be here. The two of you walked silently to the door. You glanced at him and introduced yourself as you unlocked the doors.
"I'm Mike," he replied, barely looking at you. Okay, rude. 
You let him inside and began to give him a rundown of the job. "It's not that hard," you explained. "Ninety percent of the time you're just sitting around watching the monitors. Occasionally I'll clean stuff up or go investigate a noise, but there haven't been any break-ins so far."
As you walk past the show stage, Mike peeks behind the curtains. You smirk and decide to give him a fright. You press the big, red Showtime! button next to the stage. Immediately, colourful lights illuminate the room and loud 80's music plays as the curtains draw back. Mike steps back in shock, watching as the animatronics on stage start to sing and move about. He shoots you a look of annoyance for scaring him. The show is cut short by the fuse box tripping, the lights flicker off and the curtain draws. 
"Amazing, right?" you say sarcastically. "The power here is pretty shitty. If it goes off, there's a breaker. Just flip it off and on and it should work again."
Mike stayed silent as he followed you to the security office. He watched you curiously as you wedged a chair under the door. 
"It's just for safe measure," you explain. He gives you a half-hearted nod and investigates the office. You sighed. It was going to be a long night if this is what he was like. 
You turned on the monitors and showed Mike how to use them. The technology was old and half of the buttons were jammed and caked in dust. It didn't take Mike long to figure out how it worked.
"I'm gonna do a check of all the rooms. Just keep and eye on the cameras and give me call if you see anything," you said. Mike gave you a quite okay, keeping his eyes on the screens. You left and wandered through the abandoned pizzeria. As bad as it sounded, you didn't think he would last. Why was he so unfriendly? Nothing you had said or done was mean yet he was so standoff-ish. The building groaned and the old lights flickered. From down the hallway, you heard a hum. It sounded like someone singing. You stopped in your tracks, pointing the flashlight down the hall. You never heard anyone come in, but something about the song didn't sound human. It was familiar, something you had heard before. You slowly walked away and snuck back into the security room. 
"You okay?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Um, yeah..." you trailed off. "Yeah I'm fine. Did you see anything on the cameras?"
Mike shook his head. You sighed and slumped down into the chair. You must just be tired. 
It was only 3am. You looked over to Mike who was barely awake. "You can sleep," you offered. "You look really tired."
"I'm fine," Mike insisted but you narrowed your eyes.
"These shifts will ruin your sleep schedule. Try get some while you can."
Mike chuckled. "It's ruined enough thanks."
Your eyes caught onto the book on the table. Dream Theory. Curious, you picked it up and skimmed through the pages. You looked up at Mike with a slight smile. "I didn't expect you to be into this stuff." Mike looked embarrassed. 
"Apparently, everything you ever hear or see is stored somewhere in your mind," Mike began to explain. "You can access them through your dreams when you use familiar sights and sounds," he paused. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
That was the most Mike has said all night. You shook your head. "I think it's cool. I don't really get it, but it's cool." He looked surprised by your response.
Slowly, your shift came to an end. The sun was slowly starting to rise. You were ready to crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of the day. Mike looked like he felt the same. He intrigued you. yes, he was closed off and honestly a bit rude, but there was definitely more to him than he lets on. The metal of the gate was freezing against your hands as you locked up the pizzeria, your breath visible the the cold morning air. Mike tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, squinting as the bright morning sun beams into his eyes. As your make your way to your car, you give Mike a small wave.
"I'll see you tomorrow night."
He nods and you think you almost see him smile. "See you tomorrow."
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kmt123whatsthetea · 3 months
Text
The Big Book of Desires
George Weasley x reader x Fred Weasley
Requested by: @gdogcat1
Request gist: “The twins find their wife’s dirty fantasy book and surprise her”
A/N: Thanks for the request! Sorry it's taken so long to write. Because no kinks were specified, I decided to pick some at random. I also focused on the marriage aspect and went for a ‘Reader feels the mundaneness of marriage and twins surprise her’ fic.
T/W: Fred being a bad influence on George and his sweet mind, Snooping, Daddy kink, Master kink, Blindfolding, Bondage, Edging, Unprotected sex
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Married life with the twins was how you'd always expected it to be. Sure, it was an amazing time in your lives, but the day was starting to go the same as the day before.
Wake up, work in the shop, make dinner, sleep, then wake up and repeat the day again.
The twins could tell that something was up with you. You weren’t as affectionate as before, you weren't as cuddly in bed, you didn’t kiss them before work. Something was wrong, and they vowed to find out. The twins came back to the flat after a long shift, one that you had off, and noticed something new. A new book that your eyes were glued to. Sure, you liked to read and owned most of the books on the bookshelf, but this was new.
The title read “The Fire of Love and Romance” in fancy writing. The woman on the cover was in nothing more than underwear with a man standing over her in a shirt and grey waistcoat. The twins exchanged a look of confusion. Compared to the other books you owned, this was an anomaly. When you noticed the twins, you quickly set the book down and got up to greet them and ask about their day.
A few days had passed and you were still reading that book, or better yet, you were still reading the same chapter. It was Fred who came up with the idea first.
“Tonight when she falls asleep, we’ll take a look and see what she’s reading. It's just a book, what are you so worried about, George?”
The ever practical George scoffed at his brother's idea.
“It's our wife’s property, we shouldnt be snooping. It just feels wrong. Can’t we just ask her about it?”
George knew the answer already because he knew you. You’d brush it off, make some excuse on the spot. That was one thing that Fred loved about you, your ability to lie so easily (which worked in their favour back when teachers would ask you who gave Filch puking pastilles). George sighed softly and relented.
The plan went ahead, and the twins waited till you fell asleep before taking a peek in your precious book. They didn't know what to expect, but they didn't expect this.
“Michael looked down at his new submissive, admiring her soft breaths. He trailed his hand down her supple skin and over her lace covered breasts. He watched as she shuddered and let out soft moans”
“Be a good girl for Daddy”
The twins looked up from the page simultaneously before looking back down, the action almost comical. They were shocked to say the least, but horny as hell.
As if fate whispered in your ear, you stirred. When you saw the book in the hands of your husbands, you sat up quickly and tried snatching it back. Fred held it out of reach to keep reading while George moved beside you. George kept his voice soft.
“I'm sorry, love. We shouldn’t have gone through your book. We’ve just been so worried about you”
Fred was less soft.
“Do you like this kind of stuff, pretty girl?”
Both you and George looked at Fred, confused at the new nickname. George caught on to his brother's little idea and turned back to you.
“You want us to take care of you, baby?”
“Yes Georgie, please”
Fred didn't seem as pleased with your answer as his brother did.
“That's not his name. Address him properly, baby”
Your cheeks blushed a dark shade and you gulped nervously.
“Yes Daddy”
George smirked at your response, his cock twitching in his boxers at the word. You always had a way of making mundane words sound so heavenly. Fred put the book back on the nightstand and stalked towards you, his signature smirk looking predatory.
“I need a title too, love. Can't let Georgie have all the fun”
“Yes Master”
Boy twins seemed pleased with their new titles, almost like they had just been knighted by a fair princess.
Fred walked over to the drawer and to retrieve two ties. He brought them over to you and secured one over your eyes, making you vulnerable to their next move. The other tie bound your wrists together, which Fred then attached to the bed frame.
Both men stood over you, admiring you. You heard George whisper to Fred and footsteps before feeling hands on your thighs, pushing your legs apart. The mattress dipped one the other side of you. Your nightie was pushed up, leaving your underwear and the slowly growing wet patch visible.
“Look how wet she is, needy girl”
A hand pulled your underwear to the side and ran something along your wet slit. When you felt something cold against your clit, you knew what it was. A small metal bullet vibe that the twins bought you.
When the vibrations started, your hips bucked involuntarily. No matter how much you squirmed, a pair of hands held your hips down and your legs open. The vibrator was held steady on your clit, giving you no escape.
“You can take it, pretty baby. Are you gonna be a good girl for us?”
Although you and the twins had been a trio for years and you could tell them apart in an instant, the blindfold mixed with your pleasure filled mind made them sound identical to you.
“Yes Master, Yes Daddy”
The twins were pleased with your words and the vibrator was pressed more firmly against your clit. Your moans filled the room, the blindfold seemingly heightening your senses. When your moans got louder, Fred turned to George.
“Should we let her cum, Georgie?”
“She’s been a good girl, but is more fun to watch her squirm”
Fred pulls the vibrator away, both men revelling in your whines. George couldn't wait any longer and made his move, kneeling between your legs. He pulled his cock from his boxers and lined himself up with your entrance. He pushed in until he was balls deep. Fred kept a hold of the vibrator, ready to keep teasing you with it.
George started moving his hips, thrusting his cock deep inside of you each time. He moved his hand to your face, cradling your cheek.
“I think you deserve a reward for being such a good girl”
With a nod to Fred, the vibrator was back on your clit. You threw your head back, your orgasm approaching quicker since your last one was ripped away.
“Cum, pretty girl”
That permission from one of the twins had you letting out a cry of relief, your orgasm pulling you under. Your walls convulsing around Georges cock caused his band to snap, his orgasm catching him by surprise. His cum filled you up, leaking out when he pulled his cock out.
Fred worked to untie you and remove the makeshift blindfold. He stroked the hair from your face, his touch soft.
“Such a kinky little wifey”
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themultifandomgal · 2 years
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Michael Gray- Past and Present
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Isaiah and I have always been best friends, so when he introduced me to to the newest member of the Peaky Blinders feelings for the new boy developed.
1921
It was a normal was a normal day in Small Heath, I had just walked into the Garrison....
"Here she is!" Isaiah throws his arms in the air smiling "get her her usual Harry" I walk over to Isaiah who envelopes me into a hug
"Alright Zigh" (sigh with a Z)
"YN meet Michael Gray" I look at the young man wearing a tie and sweater. I sit down next to Michael, who is quite attractive
"Michael Grey eh? Polly Grays son"
"Hi it's a pleasure to meet you Miss YLN" I laugh at his formalness. Harry places down a drink which I sip
"Zigh please tell me he's not a Blinder? they'll eat him alive"
"That's why I need you. He wants to become one. Wants to work for Tommy"
"Oh" I smirk "well let's first start with what your wearing"
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing"
"Have you ever seen Tommy wear something like that?" Michael shakes his head "you want your Blinders hat, do as I say" I down the rest of my drink and get up "well are you both coming?" I place my hands on my hips. Isaiah gets up and pats Michael on the shoulder
"Good luck mate"
I walk Isaiah and Michael back to the Garrison where I know all of the Shelby's will be. We walk over to the privet room, Michael goes to knock and I pull his hand down shaking my head
"We don't knock"
"But Tommy...." I roll my eye and open the door
"Alright YN?" John asks with his tooth pick I his mouth
"What do you think?" I pull Michael in
"Huh not bad, how's the manners coming?" Arthur takes a drink
"My manners are great"
"We need to work on them. He's way to polite"
"YN I have a job for you tomorrow" Tommy says handing me a drink
"Sure. What job?"
"Need you to get information out of a man, named Walter Edwards. He's your age so you'll be fine" Tommy takes out a cigarette
"Fine, but I'm not a whore" I grab the packet off him and light one up
"Unlike your sister" John mumbles
"Didn't say you were"
"Oi a whore sleeps around for nothing. Lizzie works to put food on the table" I point at John then turn to Isaiah whose smirking and Michael who looks shocked
"Your a Peaky Blinder?"
"Who do you think got me into it" Isaiah smiles and sits next to me
"How did you get into the business?" Michael asks curiously. My smile fades and I look down ashamed
"My mother and father passed away so my older sister Lizzie took me in" I look back up and see Tommy looking at me with sympathy, something he doesn't show often "anyway, Tommy and Lizzie had an... arrangement shall we say. And since that day I was allowed to be apart of this family" I return my smile.
1926
I look down at the diamonds ring on my finger spinning it around while smiling
"Good morning love how are you feelin" Polly walks into the kitchen
"Good" I can't stop smiling
"What are you thinkin about?"
"The day Michael and I met"
"When you helped my son become a blinder"
"Yeah sorry about that" I chuckle. Polly sighs
"It was always going to happen wasn't it" Polly hands me a mug of hot tea
"Thanks"
"Good morning mum. Morning YN" I hear Michael walk into the kitchen. I then feel a kiss on my cheek
"So when are we planning this wedding? we need an excuse to celebrate"
"Tommy, John and Arthur never need an excuse to celebrate" I chuckle shaking my head "just wish my parents were here"
"I know you do love, but they will be watching from heaven"
"I hope so poll"
"Come here" Michael pulls me in to him for a hug "they will. You want Lizzie to walk you down the aisle?"
"Walk or waddle" I laugh thinking about how my sister just told me she's pregnant with Tommy's child
"Either" Michael laughs with me
"Yeah. I think I'd like that"
"Well tonight we should celebrate. I will ring Tommy to get everyone to go down the Garrison" Polly leaves the room
"I love you Michael"
"And I love you YN" Michael kisses my forehead and we sit in comfortable silence holding on to one another.
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