#michael wants to speak to the manager

[michaelwiththegoodhair]

p.s.: IT’S DAGON ITS YOUR LOVER THEYRE COMING UP OR THEY WERE I DONT KNOW GET READY FOR YOUR DATE MX ARCHANGEL MICHAEL red velvet cake tastes good and sweetFrog is a holy frozen yogurt establishment, literally

-ancilla

I'd like to speak to the manager of sweetFrog immediately. So I can have frozen yogurt ready for Dagon's arrival.

[sprucestairs]

hhhhhh I need to properly reread Percy jackson again. This post brought to you by the fact I was about to make a post about a scene I very vividly remember of Will Solace trying to convince Pollux not to keep fighting with his good arm broken before Percy manages to convince him not to bc he promised Dionysus, then thought to myself "huh maybe I should fact check that- I mean I did also convince myself that Travis stoll died in this battle when he actually just went to college." And guess what? That scene ✨️didn't happen.✨️ Pollux was trying to convince Percy to let him rejoin the fight very half heartedly, while propped against a tree, and Percy was just like "hmmmm... no"

[aidenwaites]

Well the bad news about the library job is that the salary doesn't get paid out until the end of the month so I'll have to keep a second job for at least that long no matter what

[jinwoosungs]

05/12/25; 11:10pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ skipping foreplay with them ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

notes: just some unedited, short and sweet thirst posts made in response to how the movie sinners made me feel 🙂‍↕️ michael b. jordan, the man that you are ♡

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

you were on top of him, hands lightly gripping at his shoulder as you rocked your hips against his engorged cock. his once garnet eyes were eclipsed by a darkness that seems to swallow you whole-

making your aching walls clench around his cock, taking his very breath away.

you continue bracing yourself on his shoulder, riding him with your thighs clenched over his hips. the sensation of his cockhead sliding in and out of your heat had you tossing your head back in response.

“damn kitten, you weren’t kidding when you told me to skip the foreplay.” sylus speaks to you through gritted teeth, earning a breathy giggle from you as you proceeded to bounce up and down his cock.

“told you i was already wet and ready for you.”

a dangerous glint was seen in the onychinus’s leaders eyes, and your hips began stuttering in response when he manages to flip you against the bed. with you now laying on your back, sylus tosses both of your legs over his shoulders before impaling you over and over again with his cock. almost going feral over you and relishing in how you made him feel, he keeps you in a mating press with the sole purpose of rendering you unable to walk for at least a week.

you had managed to convince zayne to simply settle back in bed, with him sitting in an upright position before you joined him. the startling hue of his irises had already been hidden by darkness due to how dilated they were upon seeing you.

the doctor watches your every move, and his eyes go wide upon seeing you settling yourself over his lap. your naked back was pressed firmly against his bare chest, with his breathing hitching when you manage to take off his boxers. his firm cock was revealed to you, causing zayne’s breathing to turn labored when you slowly began to descend your aching cunt down on him.

he lets out a low grunt of your name, feeling your already slick heat taking every inch of his cock deep inside of you. with your back arched against him, you swivel your hips up and down his shaft, your hands reaching from behind to thread your fingers into his hair.

“f-fuck…! this is- honey, i don’t think i can last a minute inside of you.”

a rush of airy laughter comes out of you, with your movements growing more desperate as you sloppily continue stroking his cock with your center. “that’s the whole point, zaynie. i want you to make a mess out of me~”

zayne’s response was immediate, with both hands felt gripping at your hips as he met your thrusts with his own. his hips kept slamming back into you (hitting that spongy spot over and over again as you slowly lost your mind)-

“OH MY GOD, ZAYNE!”

your abdomen tightens in response to the onslaught of pleasure zayne had given you, unable to hold on for another second as you let out a shuddering breath.

with your release taking over your body, you let out a loud mewl of his name, spilling your juices all over his cock as he hid his head on your shoulder, pounding with a desperation inside of you as the bed shook with his every movement before allowing the last thread of his self constraint to snap-

pumping every last bit of his seed within you, ensuring that you had his fill.

xavier presses your body against the wall of your apartment, teeth harshly nipping at your ear as his hand trails down to the curve of your ass.

“you told me that you were wet enough for me… now, let’s see how true those words are, starlight.”

wearing only the flimsy material of your panties, you were left whimpering when xavier presses his naked chest against your back, his erection brushing against the gusset of your undergarment. “hn, it does feel damp, however-“

xavier trails off, shoving aside your panties before slotting his cock between your legs. the sudden sensation of his hard and velvety cock sliding between your legs nearly makes you fall over in response.

with you bracing yourself against the wall, xavier strokes the underside of his cock with your cunt, the squelching sounds of your walls echoing throughout the room as xavier leans forward to gently bite down against the shell of your ear.

“you’re going to have to be much wetter than this, starlight. i want you dripping with need for me before i can give you this cock.”

xavier kept stroking his cock against your heat, making you ache with such potency that you were left begging for him by the end of it all.

and only when you made a mess of the floor with your honeyed arousal did xavier finally impale you with his cock, setting a brutally fast pace that had you seeing stars.

rafayel swore that he lives to hear your melodic moans and witness your face twisted in pleasure. such a sinfully beautiful sight was enough to keep him motivated. and it was during intimate moments like these that rafayel regrets not getting his sketchbook to help with immortalizing it.

you were in his studio, looking directly into a full length mirror while bouncing up and down his cock. both of your clothes were tossed carelessly off to the side, and the lemurian could bask in your natural beauty.

his cock was practically straining with need for you, with the mushroom tip of his cock still an angry shade of red, leaking bits of precum each time you came down on him. your pants and desperate moans of his name causes a new surge of lust to course through his very veins.

resting his chin atop your shoulder, rafayel playfully pinches your nipples, earning a loud keen from you as your movements became even sloppier. he chuckles in response to how sensitive your body had become, pressing a kiss against your damp cheek before helping you move.

“such a pretty princess you are.” rafayel coos at you before gripping at your hips while proceeding to bounce you up and down his cock. “you’ve been such a good girl for me, how about i help take you to heaven?”

and with you begging oh so sweetly for him, who was he to refuse you?

caleb had you pressed against the bed while laying on your side, your legs spread as you were utterly naked. with heat felt coursing through your veins, you tremble upon feeling caleb trail kisses down your ankles and towards your knees.

“damn, i’ll never get over seeing you in this position babygirl.”

his taut body was ready for you, his cock stroked to full hardness as he presses the tip of it against your swollen cunt. you grip at the sheets, with tiny droplets of tears streaming down your face. “please caleb, i need you so bad. just give it to me.”

your words causes his eyes to darken considerably, with the colonel now gripping at your ankles to pull you closer to him. he teases the outer lips of your pussy for a brief moment before completely sheathing himself inside of you.

broken cries of his name echoed throughout the room as caleb pistons his cock at a rapid pace, the sounds of your walls squelching in response to his lovemaking had your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head. with how good your lover was making you feel, you were certain that your desperate mewls and moans of his name could be heard throughout the apartment-

it was just a shame that you lost the ability to care, not when caleb was fucking you so good and treating you so well.

end notes: you readers have no idea how hot and bothered sinners left me feeling 🫦

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

michael kaiser wanted to be loved.

he wanted unconditional, ethereal, and never ending love. he wanted to always be supported, that no matter what he did, he will always and still be loved. he wanted the constant feeling of being supported no matter what, that he’s a lovable creature, that he isn’t subhuman like his father had once told him.

soccer brought that to kaiser.

with soccer came satisfaction. he would crush his rivals, his enemies, and each time, he felt a little bit more human, a little bit more loved. it got to the point where that feeling of pleasure and accomplishment became addictive for kaiser, and his sole purpose for playing soccer was to crush his opponents and receiving more and more love.

he became so obsessed with the glory that came from soccer that he began neglecting his own health and harming himself whenever things didn’t go his way when it came to soccer. his fingers wrapped tightly around his throat was once an action of his father, although it now carried on to him. bruises on his body was something that carried on from his childhood to his adult life, even though he had managed to escape his father when he was 15 after having been recruited from the prison.

whenever he lost a soccer match, he would go back to his room and cut off his airflow with his tattooed hand pressing right above the base of his neck as he struggled for oxygen, coughs constantly escaping him. it was only natural; after all, he lost a soccer match. he lost a bit of his humanity and love. he was just becoming subhuman again.

kaiser became so obsessed with soccer that he didn’t even realize that someone who loved him unconditionally was right there, right in front of him this whole time, and yet he was so caught up in his own life that he never even realized.

you and kaiser were childhood best friends. he was your mihya, not michael, no kaiser. he was small, weak, and couldn’t stand up to his father. he didn’t know how to speak to people in a kind manner. he bled when he fell on concrete, and yet he never cried. his face was always covered in grime and dried blood, his body was always littered in bruises, and yet he never cried in front of you. it took months after meeting you for him to finally even smile in front of you.

the first time kaiser ever cried in front of you was when you had gotten him a gift for his birthday.

kaiser never knew how to react to gifts, so he didn’t enjoy receiving them. but it was his eighth birthday, you were obviously going to get your best friend a gift. it was just a simple keychain of a blue rose, a flower you knew he liked. when you handed it to him with a cheerful “happy birthday, mihya!”, tears had sprung to his eyes.

he asked you why you were willing to give him a gift, why you were willing to spend time with him. when you just answered with a worried look and quiet “well, you’re my best friend, of course i would”, kaiser knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

maybe that was why his descent into madness and obsession hit you harder than it did kaiser.

you had indeed stuck with him, even now, at nineteen. twelve years after your initial meeting. you’ve had a crush on him for exactly as long as you had both met, spiraling from a small childhood crush to being deeply and hopeless in love and attached to him. and yet you had no idea whether kaiser liked you or not; he was too obsessed with soccer to show any signs.

whenever kaiser lost a match, you knew that he was going to commit to a session of harming himself for at least an hour so again. somehow, you felt more pain that kaiser did when he did so, always outside of his door, banging for him to stop and begging him to not do this to himself every time while tears escaped your eyes. you loved him; you didn’t want the boy you loved to be so willing and constant with hurting himself.

he ignored you every time, occasionally telling you to go away or mind your own business.

you had enough with it one day. you were sick of it, constantly hearing his choked noises from his bedroom every time he lost a match. finally, one day, when kaiser lost a match, he stormed off to his room again. but before he could slam the door shut, you shoved your entire body weight against the door, trying to stop it from shutting.

“what the fuck are you doing?” kaiser hissed, trying to push the door shut. “mind your own business. i’ll be done soon enough.” but no avail; you continued your weak attempts of pushing the door open. kaiser scoffed from the other side. he usually avoided getting mad at you, although it was hard for him to do so in the first place. but now you were starting to piss him off. can’t he offer himself a therapeutic session in peace?

“no! mihya, stop it and just open the door.” you were beginning to get pushed back from the door, before you used your final backup plan and shoved your arm in between the open space left from the door. you yelped from the pain, and kaiser instantly lost all anger at that moment, pulling open the door immediately when he heard your yelp. you stepped into the room stiffly.

“are you retarded? what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” kaiser exclaimed, wide eyed as you clutched your arm, which was beginning to turn into the color of a rotting plum. you turned to glare at him, angry tears springing to your eyes.

“i’ll do this shit every fucking time for as long as you keep doing this to yourself every damn time you lost a match, you idiot.” you replied. you sighed before looking down somberly. “how long are you going to keep doing this to yourself, mihya? you’re obsessed with fame. you’re obsessed with all of this. you’re enjoying ruining the lives of other people for love. mihya, that’s not worth it. that’s not worth your body. that’s not worth your mentality.”

kaiser felt anger bubbling up inside of him again, and before he realized his, his voice raised to a level that he would usually never dare to use with you, although he would be fine using this tone with anyone else. “you don’t fucking understand! your father never called you a subhuman! he never choked you for no reason! your mother never left you! your father never beat you every day no particular reason! your father didn’t require you to steal every fucking day because his fatass can’t move two meters from the couch and his precious beer! soccer makes me feel loved! soccer makes me feel human! soccer is with me!”

for a moment, you stood there silently. you stared at him as he huffed, his breathing shallow from the loud rant. his eyes were sharp, and in that moment, only one thought ran through your head.

this was still your mihya.

he was yelling at you, you knew that. but he has every right to say all of this, to be mad at the world, at you. he has every right to be upset, to be angry. he has every right to rant about his trauma. he has every right to trauma dump. but at the same time, he’s missing a key component here.

“well, would soccer still be with you if you were nobody?! would all of those fans and self-satisfying thoughts still love you if you were no one?!” you shouted. your eyebrows knit together; did he not realize how fabricating this all was? how shallow this all was?

“no one loved me when i was no one!” kaiser hollered back. “no one loved me when i was just some stupid brat who spent most of his time outside of his house wandering on the streets! no one loved me when my father still used to beat me every day like some fucking punching back! no one loved me when i was still just a subhuman!”

and at that moment, a tear leaked from the corner of your eye. shit, this wasn’t even your problem, and yet angry tears were still flowing. your fists clenched, before finally, you screamed. “i loved you were you were no one!” finally, you finally finally finally got it out. kaiser froze, but you kept on going. “i loved you when you still wore dirty clothes every day! i loved you when you didn’t even know how to say a polite word to anyone! i loved you when you were still small and stupid and you!”

your lips quivered, more tears threatening to fall. you wiped your eyes. “before the ‘love’. before the fame. before soccer. and mihya,” you placed a hand on your swelling arm, that was going from rotting plum purple to the blue of kaiser’s eyes. “i still love you. i love you. but if you just can’t accept it and you’ll continue to wallow in that stupid destructive self-pity of yours where you think that no one loves you, then don’t come crawling back to me!”

you turned around to leave the room, your hand on the door knob, until a warm pair of arms wrapped around your waist. your felt tears begin to soak through your shirt from your shoulder, and your eyes widened. he’s crying?

“goddamn it, i don’t know why im fucking crying. i shouldn’t be. but what the fuck…” kaiser whispered into your shoulder. “i—i-“ he gulped, and your could see his hands interlock together as they squeezed the other like a lifeline. “i love you too.”

finally.

you turned around, separating his hands from the other and intertwining your fingers with his. you smiled softly at him, a small sniffle escaping you. “you said it. im so proud of you, mihya.” you knew how much trouble he had saying those words. how hard it was to say something that you had never heard before. “and i love you.”

silently, you got on your tip-toes, your lips almost touching his, before a few quiet words escaped you. “is this okay?”

kaiser huffed quietly. “way to ruin to moment. you’re this far into the process, and now you’re asking? but fuck yes.” you laughed before you softly planted your lips onto his.

the kiss wasn’t rough in the least, but it spoke of years of pent up emotion and unspoken pain. kaiser untangled his fingers from your and cupped your face so strangely gently, which he silently swore in his heart at that moment that he would never hold someone else like this, like the love of his life.

and when kaiser pulled away from the kiss, just a bit out of breath but just right, that’s when he saw it. deep in your eyes, and also in his.

the look of love.

word count: 1.8k (1878)

a/n: i watched shark tale for the first time the other day, and it had NO RIGHT being that good. the angie and oscar argument changed me forever, and it inspired me to make this. i was originally going to make this for isagi before i realized that isagi is AWARE that his parents love him, and that this prompt also matches with kaiser better.

[kxsagi]

hihi can i request reader being the wife of sae, rin, kaiser and whoever else you want and during an interview the interviewer insults his wife right in front of him (and on tv too) and they look so pissed and decides to tell them off harshly and walks off after that and goes straight home to the reader embracing them

😩 tyty

“𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝”

a/n: this reminds me of when will smith’s wife got insulted and he bitch slapped the guy

(art credits go to pxgnation on X)

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, kaiser michael

itoshi sae

the interviewer’s comment is sly and dismissive, almost playful in its intent to provoke: “so, being married to someone like sae must be a challenge, huh? he’s so self-absorbed, how do you manage to even get a word in with him around?” 

sae’s expression doesn’t immediately shift, but there’s a subtle tightening around his eyes that gives away his frustration. he stays silent for a moment, letting the words sink in. then, with a nonchalant air that’s almost too calm, he leans forward, one eyebrow raised. “is that supposed to be a joke?” he asks, his voice steady but with a dangerous undercurrent of irritation. "it’s cute, really. i’m used to people trying to get attention, but this... this is something else.” 

the interviewer laughs nervously, clearly expecting sae to play along. but sae doesn’t find it funny. there’s a quiet, almost eerie pause before he looks directly at them, his eyes like ice. “you’ve crossed a line. she’s my wife. don’t ever forget that,” he says, his tone still smooth, but carrying a weight that demands respect. 

with a sharp flick of his wrist, he stands up, not giving the interviewer the satisfaction of a response. “we’re done here,” sae says flatly, his voice colder than before. he doesn’t offer a second glance to anyone, simply walks out with you in tow, his hand gripping yours as though he’s determined to shield you from any more nonsense. 

once you’re safely in the car, sae doesn’t say much at first. he seems more exhausted than angry. but when he finally speaks, his voice is softer, almost apologetic. “i’m sorry for that. no one gets to talk about you like that, especially not in front of me.” he pulls you close, his hand cradling the back of your head as he holds you in a tight embrace. “don’t let idiots like that get to you. you're everything to me.”

itoshi rin

the interviewer’s comment is blunt, trying to dig into rin’s usually reserved demeanor: “so, it must be pretty boring being married to someone like rin. i mean, he’s all soccer and no fun, right? i bet you’re the one who has to keep the relationship exciting.”

rin doesn’t show it right away, but his entire body stiffens. the insult is direct, and it's clear he’s not someone who takes such things lightly, even if he’s usually calm. he tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “is that what you think?” he asks, his tone colder than usual, though still controlled. his voice is sharp enough that the interviewer falters. 

“i don’t think you understand who you're speaking to,” rin continues, his expression growing more serious. “my wife deserves respect, and it looks like you’ve forgotten that.” he stands up slowly, the calm in his voice belying the storm brewing beneath. he takes a step forward, looming over the interviewer, his gaze icy. “you’ve insulted her on national TV. i don’t think you’re in any position to talk about us anymore.” 

without another word, rin grabs your hand and pulls you away from the table, his grip firm but gentle. the interview room fades into the background as rin leads you outside. the cool air hits you both as you step into the car, and the silence between you is palpable. 

“don’t worry about him. people like that don’t matter,” rin finally says, his voice surprisingly soft. his eyes flicker toward you as he drives, the usual icy exterior now more like a shield that he’s lowered just for you. “you mean everything to me. i won’t let anyone talk to you like that again. ever.”

kaiser michael

the interviewer’s comment is more cynical, trying to challenge kaiser’s image with a hint of mockery: “so, you’re married to kaiser, huh? he’s got such a huge ego, i bet you’re just another piece of the trophy collection, huh? must get tiring, right?”

kaiser’s smirk falters for a second, his eyes flashing with annoyance. his usual playful charm is gone in an instant, replaced by something more menacing. he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, his gaze narrowing at the interviewer as if he’s suddenly seeing right through them. “did you just call my wife a trophy?” his voice drops lower, venom slipping into the words. “you don’t know anything about me, and you sure as hell don’t know anything about her.” 

the room goes quiet as kaiser stands up, the movement deliberate and imposing. “you wanna mock me? fine. but you don’t get to insult her. not here, not anywhere. she’s more than you’ll ever understand,” he says, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. he takes a few steps toward the interviewer, his presence commanding the entire room. 

with one final glance, he turns on his heel, grabbing your hand and walking out of the room without looking back. the crew is stunned into silence as kaiser leads you outside with a sense of finality, not caring in the slightest what anyone thinks. 

once you're in the car, kaiser’s anger hasn’t quite subsided, but his focus shifts entirely to you. he doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at the road, but then, in a soft murmur, he finally speaks. “you’re mine. no one disrespects you, not while i’m here. don’t let that idiot get under your skin. i’ll make sure nothing like that happens again.” 

his hand reaches out to hold yours, his grip tight and reassuring. “i’ll always have your back,” he says, softer now. “no one hurts you. not while i’m around.”

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[prythiansprincess]

— sugar, i've got a taste for you.

NAVIGATION // inbox. tags. writing. library. moodboard.

pairing: theodore nott x reader x mattheo riddle.

song inspiration: sugar by sleep token.

author's note: happy halloween ya'll! this isn't a trick, @writingsbychlo and I are once again back with a treat. enjoy my spookie pookies.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

You settled in between Theo and Mattheo, handing each boy their own respective popcorn bowls. Mattheo’s was simple — homestyle with enough butter to send a healthy grown adult into cardiac arrest, while Theo’s was sprinkled with candy and chocolate to satisfy his sweet tooth. You alternated grabbing handfuls from each of their bowls, hence your strategic position of being sandwiched between your best friends. 

“I don’t have one,” you responded after popping a sour gummy worm into your mouth. 

Mattheo looked incredulous. “That’s impossible. Everyone has a favorite.” 

“Mattheo is right,” Theo added in agreement. “There’s the cult classics: Halloween, Friday the 13th, Child’s Play, A Nightmare on Elm Street…” 

“I’ll even allow the newer additions, which aren’t as good as the originals.” Mattheo grinned sheepishly at your pointed look. Between the three of you, he was by far the biggest movie snob. “Hereditary? Pearl? The Strangers?” He pretended to shudder in disgust. “Even…the Purge?”

You shrugged. “I’m more of a romcom type of girl.” 

Theo sighed. “Horror is wasted on you, bella.” 

“It’s not my fault you two always outvote me,” you responded with an eye roll. “Speaking of which, what are we watching tonight?” 

Mattheo and Theo wore matching grins as they answered in unison. “Scream.” 

When the movie started playing on the projector in the living room, you snuggled up under the blanket and prepared yourself for another terrifying movie night. You honestly had no idea why you put yourself through this every week. Scary movies terrified you, but the boys always managed to sweet talk you into watching them. 

Usually, Theo distracted you by reciting horror trivia facts. Your best friend did so now, informing you that the movie’s title was inspired by a Michael Jackson song, but the fun little tidbit barely registered. As it turns out, you had no need for distractions tonight. For once, you didn’t flinch or hide or tuck your head into Mattheo or Theo’s neck. Instead, your eyes were glued to the screen. Every time Ghostface appeared, you bit your lip and clenched your thighs. 

You blamed your latest smutty read and your overactive imagination for the reaction. The last novel you devoured featured erotic scenes enacted by not one, but two masked men. The sheer filth of it left you flushed and flustered, a fact that piqued Theo’s curiosity earlier this week. 

Perhaps you should’ve focused on your studies rather than uncovering your newfound mask kink, but you couldn’t help it. The book captured your attention in a way that your Potions homework could only dream of. Nosy little git that he was, Theo attempted to peek at the page over your shoulder. Luckily, you escaped what would’ve been a rather embarrassing conversation by smacking him upside the head and walking away in a huff. 

You managed to evade the situation with your dignity still intact. 

Or so you thought. 

Unbeknownst to you, Theo had snuck into your dorm later that day and borrowed — okay, so maybe stole was more accurate —  your book to see what had his best friend all hot and bothered. He couldn’t believe the absolute filth you were casually reading in his presence. Naturally, Theo shared this interesting little discovery with Mattheo. From there, a plan was formed. 

The first thing that should’ve tipped you off was Mattheo excusing himself for a cigarette. Matty never took a smoke break during movie night. He said it ruined the cinematic experience. Unfortunately, you were too engrossed in the movie to notice him slip away. 

“I’m gonna get a refill,” Theo announced. “You want anything from the kitchen, bella?” 

You shook your head absentmindedly. Theo smirked to himself as he watched you in the doorway. Any other time, you would’ve insisted on coming with Theo, anxiously fisting the edge of his cardigan and clinging on like a koala as you hugged him from behind. 

Theo could’ve watched you all day, but the way you gaped when Billy Loomis licked red dye off of his fingers reminded him to stay focused. There were other things at play tonight. 

Unaware of Theo’s nefarious plans, you continued to shovel popcorn into your mouth while watching the big reveal at the edge of your seat. You were in your own little world. It wasn’t until the credits started rolling when you finally realized you were alone. As the movie faded to black, you startled when the sound of your ringtone sliced through the silence. 

You blinked at your phone, thumb hovering over the Unknown Number flashing across the bright screen. That was odd. Everyone knew you weren’t big on talking on the phone. Besides, who even called nowadays? That’s what texting was for.

Part of you wanted to let it ring and run its course, but a bigger part of you — the morbidly curious part of you — won in the end. 

“Hello?” 

The voice on the other end was distorted and difficult to identify. You had no idea who was on the other end, but they knew you. “Hello, Y/N.” 

“Who is this?” 

“I’ll give you one guess.” 

Your fingers shook as you glanced at the phone in confusion. “Who are you?” 

“That’s not the way the game works, little mouse.” 

“I don’t play games.” 

“What if your life depended on it?” 

Anger boiled to the surface in response to the stranger’s threat. “What the fuck do you want?” 

“You’re pretty when you’re angry, little mouse.” 

His words stopped you cold. A shiver went down your spine as you gravitated towards the window, glancing at the street below. At this hour, people milled about the main square in flocks. Any of them could be the person on the other line. 

You started to panic, but remembered you weren’t alone in the house. Theo was in the kitchen supposedly refilling on snacks. It was the perfect cover to play one of his little practical jokes on you. 

“That’s not funny, Teddy.” You huffed in annoyance. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

The other line was silent as you made your way towards the kitchen. 

“Seriously, you’re freaking me out. Can you please just come back and cuddle?” 

From the hallway, you heard the sounds of shuffling. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, bella. Teddy’s here to save you from the big bad wolf—”

Color drained from your face as you rounded the corner. Theo was coming towards you with a fresh bowl of popcorn, but he wasn’t alone. Lurking in the shadows, Ghostface pressed the phone against his ear and waved.  

“Boo.” 

You screamed, scrambling towards Theo as you nearly dropped your phone on the floor.  

“What’s wrong, bella?” 

You responded by tugging your best friend by the wrist, the bowl of popcorn tumbling out of his hands and scattering all over the wooden floorboards. “Run, Teddy, run!” 

The two of you sprinted up the stairs hand in hand. The house was dark, slivers of moonlight creeping through the windows while you and Theo ran blindly. Thinking quickly, you tugged him into the nearest closet. Theo’s hand shook as he pressed a finger up to your lips. 

With a nod, you held your breath as Ghostface stomped up the stairs. Fear surged through your veins, small whimpers escaping your lips involuntarily. The floorboards creaked as he crept his way through the second floor. When the masked man’s shadow drew closer, Theo pulled you into his chest and pressed his hand against your mouth. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” Ghostface sang in a mocking tone. His voice echoed through the walls, giving an even eerier feel to an already fucked up night. “I’m waiting for you, little mouse.” 

Your ragged breaths were silenced as you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to focus on the steady beating of Theo’s heart. Your best friend gripped your hips in place, his silver rings cold against your bare skin. You wondered how they would feel pressed against other parts of your body. You bit your lip at the sensation, mentally scolding yourself for all the inappropriate thoughts running wild in your lust addled brain. 

Luckily, Theo was none the wiser. Seconds felt like hours as Ghostface lurked around the corner, trashing rooms in his wake. The sound of furniture crashing and glass breaking filled the otherwise silent house as you struggled to hold it together. 

When the squeak of boots stopped right outside the door, you pressed into Theo for comfort, praying to whatever deity that the two of you could remain hidden. You clutched the end of your best friend’s cardigan as Ghostface stopped right outside the door. 

Whatever hope you might’ve had of hiding was ripped to shreds when Ghostface yanked the door open. It was terrifying enough to see his cloaked figure boxing you in, but the knife in his gloved hand caused your fear to skyrocket. Theo threw himself between you and the masked man, urging you to run. 

“Go, Y/N!” Your best friend commanded. “Don’t let the bastard catch you.” 

“No, I’m not leaving you!” 

“I’ll be fine,” Theo said unconvincingly as he dodged Ghostface’s blade. “Hide and I’ll find you, okay?” 

“But, Theo —“ 

“Please, bella.” 

The argument died in your throat as Ghostface lunged towards you. He grabbed you by the hair, yanking you towards him. As you fought back, the masked man pinned you against the wall. 

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” 

Your breath hitched as he ran his blade over your cheek. “Such a pretty face,” he murmured. “Are you going to be a good girl for me, little mouse?” 

“Fuck you,” you spat vehemently. 

Ghostface chuckled darkly as he lowered his face to yours. He teased his knife along your thighs, the steel climbing higher and higher until it rested against your clothed core. You keened at the cold sensation against your clit. It was so wrong, but it felt so fucking right. 

“I will if you beg me nicely,” Ghostface drawled. “Maybe if you got on your knees and sucked my cock, I’ll give you what you really want. I’m dying to split you apart, little mouse.” 

“Go to hell!” 

You drove your knee into Ghostface’s crotch and made a run for it just as Theo tackled him into the other room. Your best friend frantically instructed you to escape once again. As much as you didn’t want to leave him, you knew you had to escape and get help. 

Stumbling down the stairs, you fumbled for your phone. With shaky hands, you dialed emergency services. The dial tone flatlined in your ears, indicating that the lines were down. Likely thanks to Ghostface. 

You screamed in frustration, tears blurring your vision as you tried and failed to concoct a back up plan. Running past the bathroom, you jerked when a hand shot out in the dark to grab your wrist. You started to fight back, hitting and kicking at whatever you could. 

“It’s me, princess,” Mattheo said. 

“Matty?” 

Mattheo nodded as he dragged you into the bathroom. “What happened?” 

“There’s— there’s a psycho in the house. It’s Ghostface. He has a knife. He’s— Theo— oh god, I left Theo alone with him. I didn’t want to, but he told me to go.” 

You were hyperventilating, your chest tightening to the point of pain. “Shh, it’s okay,” Mattheo cooed. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll get Theo back, but first we have to hide, okay? Can you do that for me?” 

At your nod, Mattheo directed you towards the bathtub. He instructed you to lay on your back as he drew the curtains. You held your breath as Mattheo lowered himself, his body hovering over yours while the two of you came face to face. 

“We have to be quiet,” Mattheo whispered. The low, smoky tone of his voice sent shivers down your spine. 

Though a psychotic masked man prowled the house, you couldn’t control your body’s reaction. The delicious heat radiating off of Mattheo was impossible to ignore. Especially since he was so close your lips were nearly touching. 

“You’re doing great, Y/N,” he praised. 

You should’ve been scared. You were both in danger, but there was something about being in close proximity that awakened arousal within you. First Theo, now Mattheo. It wasn’t surprising. You’ve never been able to choose between your two favorite boys. 

Just as Mattheo’s eyes dipped down to your lips, Theo’s scream pierced through the tension. Guilt washed over you instantly. Theo was out there fighting for his life while you were thinking sinful thoughts about his best mate. 

“Stay right here, princess,” Mattheo commanded. 

“No, no, please Matty, don’t leave—”

“I have to help Theo,” he explained. “But we’ll come back for you. Just stay put, okay?” 

Unshed tears rimmed your eyes as you nodded. Mattheo squeezed your hip before stepping out of the tub. He looked back when you caught his wrist.

“Be careful, Matty,” you whispered. “And please, get Teddy back. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to either one of you.” 

Mattheo kissed your forehead in agreement. As he slipped out of the bathroom, your anxiety spiked once more. For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence. Then the sound of raised voices drew your attention. It sounded like an argument of some sort before you heard a sickening crunch, like a body crashing against the wall. 

You heard Mattheo screaming out Theo’s name, launching you into action. Fuck staying in the sidelines. Your boys needed your help. 

The scene in the living room was chaotic. Mattheo was nowhere to be found. Theo was on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. Something flashed in the corner of your vision, a hint of silver that caught your attention. It distracted you momentarily, allowing Ghostface the opportunity to shove you aside. 

The moment of realization hit you too late. Ghostface was already charging towards Theo while brandishing his signature knife. Time slowed as you screamed, crawling towards your best friend while glass crunched underneath you. 

You watched in horror as Ghostface stabbed your best friend in the stomach, blood gushing down the front of Theo’s shirt while you screamed. With shaking hands, you tried to stanch the bleeding by putting pressure on the wound. Tears spilled onto your cheeks as his cardigan turned crimson. 

Brushing his hair off his forehead, you leaned down and cupped his cheek. “Teddy? Stay with me, please.” 

His skin felt cold and clammy under your fingertips. You looked around frantically, trying to track the psychotic killer that just stabbed your best friend. A scream tore through your throat when a hand gripped your wrist. 

Underneath you, Theo’s eyes fluttered open. “Surprise, bella.” 

You drew back in surprise, scooting right into the masked man behind you. “What’s the matter, princess?” A familiar voice whispered as he discarded his disguise. Mattheo flashed you a sinister smirk. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Mattheo pulled Theo up off the floor, the two of them laughing while you stared in disbelief at the shocking reveal. When it clicked that Theo was perfectly fine, your concern morphed into rage. 

“What the fuck?” You put a palm over your heart, trying to slow down its erratic beating. “You guys are assholes!” 

“Aw, don’t be mad, Y/N. It’s just a harmless prank.” 

“Prank?” You screeched. “I thought you were hurt, you fucking prick. I thought you were gone—”

Theo’s expression softened when he saw your teary eyed gaze. “I’m not, cara mia. I’m not hurt. It’s fake, I promise.” 

Mattheo kneeled beside you, licking the edge of the fake blade. “S’just corn syrup, sugar.” 

Theo nodded in agreement, bringing his fingers up to his lips. He sucked his middle and pointer finger clean, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“It’s sweet,” Theo murmured, brushing his thumb over your lips. “Do you want a taste, bella?” 

You shook your head vehemently. “No, I’m mad at you,” you replied with a huff. Looking up at Mattheo, you crossed your arms and frowned. “You too, Mattheo.” 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Mattheo drawled, laying on the sweet talk. “Don’t be like that. You know you love us, even if we’re a pain in your ass sometimes.” 

“99% of the time,” you corrected with an eye roll. 

“You cracked a smile,” Mattheo teased. “We’ll take it.” 

“I’m still really fucking upset at the both of you.” 

Theo hummed, slipping on the twin to Mattheo’s mask. You held your breath as Ghostface took his place. 

“Oh, but I don’t think you’re that upset, bella.” The mask distorted his voice, but you could still tell it was him. “I think you enjoyed yourself.” 

“Admit it, princess,” Mattheo purred into your ear, his mask firmly back on. “This turns you on, doesn’t it?” 

You flushed, crimson flooding your cheeks. Theo trapped you against Mattheo, his hands settling on your hips as you gasped. 

“Don’t try to deny it,” Theo whispered. “I read your book, dolcezza. The filth and smut in there… well, let’s just say it made us both blush. Who would’ve known that a sweet little thing like you would have a mask kink?”

“You stole my book!”

“So what if we did?” Mattheo said with a lazy shrug. “What if we memorized all the depraved things that you love reading about just so we could turn your fantasy into a reality?” 

“What are you saying?” 

“The more we read, the more we realized it was pretty similar to Scream. Anonymous phone calls? Check. Masked men? Check.” Theo hummed as he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. “Pretty helpless victim? Check.” 

“We wanted to act out your book,” he continued with a smirk. “With one exception.” He held up a video camera and focused it on your face. “Mattheo and I thought that since you don’t have a favorite scary movie, maybe we could help you make one.” 

“I think we’ve just about reached the climax,” Mattheo whispered in your ear, his curls tickling the side of your neck. “What happens next is up to you. What do you say, little mouse? Do you wanna play?” 

“Yes,” you breathed. 

You didn’t even need time to think about it. You trusted Theo and Mattheo with your life. Putting yourself at their mercy was something you shamelessly fantasized about countless times.  

“We hoped you’d say that,” Theo said with a smirk as he looked at you through the lens.

Without warning, Mattheo gripped your chin roughly and lifted his mask up just enough to crush your lips together. He tasted like cinnamon and cigarettes and the smoky taste left you dizzy. You wondered if it was the nicotine that had you buzzing, but you were pretty sure you were just high on Mattheo. His kisses were deep and sensual, exploring every inch of you with a level of hunger that couldn’t be satiated. The low groan that rumbled through his chest made your core throb. 

Mattheo dragged your hand down his chest, smiling into the kiss as your nails raked over his abs. The hard muscles flexed underneath your fingertips, distracting you momentarily and allowing him the opportunity to slip his tongue deeper into your mouth. You gasped as he guided your hand to his hard length. 

“You feel that, princess?” Mattheo grunted. “That’s what you do to me. I’m so fucking hard it hurts.” 

You batted your eyelashes up at him. “What can I do to help, Matty?” 

“On your knees,” he commanded. “Let’s give Theo a show.” 

Theo positioned himself in front of you as you sank down to your knees. The camera whirred while he zoomed in on your face. 

“How do I look, Teddy?” 

“You look perfect, bella. You were made for the camera,” Theo praised. “Our little superstar.” 

Mattheo hummed as you unbuckled his belt. His warm brown eyes were nearly black with lust through the mask when you pulled his pants and boxers down, revealing his hard length. You massaged him in your hand, your mouth watering at how thick and long his cock was. Mattheo released a shaky breath when you licked the precum off of his tip, looking up at him with big doe eyes before you licked the underside of his shaft. 

You watched as his head lolled in the mask, satisfaction coursing through your veins at the sight of him grappling with his self-control. Mattheo moaned when you took him all the way back, his cock stuffing your throat deliciously. You bobbed your head up and down at a steady rhythm, holding your breath while you continued pumping him in your hand. 

“Fuck, just like that,” Mattheo groaned as he thrusted into your mouth. He fisted your hair in his hand and drove in deeper, causing you to gag. “You look so pretty gagging on my cock, little mouse.” 

Drool dribbled down your chin and tears filled your eyes while Mattheo continued fucking your throat. Theo hummed in appreciation, making sure to capture all of your best angles. You made sure to show off for the camera and licked and sucked until Mattheo’s breathing grew short and ragged. You could tell by the way his abs clenched that he was close. 

Mattheo yanked your hair back, his thrusts growing sloppy and rushed. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Swallow it all, sugar,” he purred as hot spurts of his cum shot down your throat. You did as you were told and slurped up every drop. You were sure that you looked like a hot mess; your hair disheveled, your eyes smeared with mascara, your lips dripping with cum, but Mattheo had never looked prouder. “That’s a good girl.” 

“My turn,” Theo said as he handed the camera off to Mattheo.  

You crawled towards him and tugged on his belt, but Theo shook his head. “There’s plenty of time for that later, cara mia. Right now, I want to eat your pussy until you cry.” 

You couldn’t help but flush at the vulgar words, which made Mattheo chuckle. “I think our little mouse likes the sound of that.” 

You didn’t have time to respond before Theo hauled you over his shoulder and placed you on the sofa. You bounced against the cushions, watching curiously as he spread your legs wide open. Theo raised the mask slightly and rested it over his brown waves before kissing you slowly.

“You taste so sweet,” he purred. “I bet your pussy is sweet like sugar too.”

From this vantage point, all you could see was the Ghostface mask. Theo tugged your panties off and discarded it over his shoulder. His cool breath fanned over your thighs as he trailed kisses between your legs. Theo took his time while he sucked and kissed and marked you up. You could feel his smirk against your skin when he finally reached your dripping core, his mouth hot and eager as he licked a stripe along your slit. You arched against his mouth, bucking your hips upwards shamelessly. 

Mattheo filmed you at your most vulnerable state — eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted in a silent moan, and fingers threaded through Theo’s hair. Your moans encouraged Theo to drive his tongue deeper past your folds, licking and sucking and devouring you in a way that almost seemed reverent. When Theo added his fingers into the mix, you were out of your mind with pleasure. 

Your pussy clenched as Theo curled his middle and pointer finger inside your walls. The soft pants and squelching sounds that filled the room was erotic, even more so as Mattheo filmed a close up of Theo feasting on your cunt. Your arousal dripped off his chin, but it didn’t deter him from driving you to the brink, his thumb firmly circling your clit to coax you towards release. 

“Are you gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” Theo murmured. You gasped for air as he filled you with his fingers, pumping and scissoring until a familiar sensation began to build in your core. “You’re so fucking wet, bella. I can’t wait for you to cream my cock.” 

The obscene declaration pushed you over the edge. The climax swelled within you until you were awash with blinding heat. Your surroundings turned fuzzy as your senses were overloaded with pleasure. Despite the intensity of your orgasm, Theo showed no signs of slowing down. He kept circling your sensitive nub and licking your cunt in slow, purposeful strokes through your peak. 

You squirmed away, but Theo only held your hips down. “I’m not finished, little mouse.” He lifted his head, those clear blue eyes blown out and dilated. “Tell me, have you ever squirted before?” 

“No,” you admitted truthfully. 

Theo smirked. “We’ll have to change that.” 

With that, he pried your legs apart and dove back in. Theo was relentless in his pursuit. He ate pussy like he had something to prove. You felt overstimulated with all the new sensations and reactions he was bringing out of you, but you didn’t dare tell him to stop. Every time you tried to crawl away, Theo yanked you by the ankles and spanked your pussy for misbehaving. 

You were on your third orgasm when a pressure in your lower abdomen made you keen. “Theo, I can’t— I feel like I have to pee—”

“You won’t,” Theo reassured you. “Just let go, cara mia. I want you to squirt on my face.” 

“Fuck,” Mattheo cursed behind the camera. “I want that too.” 

Theo chuckled before speeding up his movements, fingering you rapidly until you were at the height of your peak once again. When he matched the rhythm with his tongue, you came with a cry. With tears streaming down your face, you stopped holding back the strange sensation and let go. You squirted all over Theo’s face, soaking him in your juices as he ate you through it. 

“So good,” Theo growled as he kissed you, the taste of your arousal lingering on his tongue. “You’re so fucking good.” 

You felt limp and boneless as he lifted you up and placed you in Mattheo’s arms. He cradled you against his chest and placed kisses all over your face, praising you for doing so well. You had no idea how much time had passed when Theo finally returned with a warm towel. He kneeled before you and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“How are you doing, superstar?” 

“Good,” you murmured as he cleaned you up. “Really good.” 

“I think you wore her out, Theo.” 

You shook your head. “I’m fine, I promise. I don’t mind. I can— I can go again.” 

Theo chuckled, tilting your chin towards him. “Can’t get enough, can you?” 

Mattheo hugged you from behind and kissed your shoulder. “She can take it,” he said proudly. “The only question is, which one of us do you want first?” 

You glanced between Mattheo and Theo, biting your lip. A deep flush tinted your cheeks as they looked at you expectantly. 

“You never could choose between us,” Theo teased. “Let’s make a game out of it then. You have thirty seconds to find a hiding place. Whoever finds you first, gets to fuck you first.” 

Mattheo’s smirk was downright wicked. “Masks on.” 

Theo nodded in agreement before they both slipped on the Ghostface masks. You swallowed thickly, utterly turned on by their twisted little game. 

“How will I know which is which?” 

“That’s the beauty of it,” Theo said. “You won’t.” 

Mattheo leaned down, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “I’d start running if I were you, little mouse.” 

“Run, bella, run.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. As the countdown started, you sprinted through the house and tried to find a place to hide. The living room was out of the question since the boys were currently occupying it. The kitchen was too exposed. The bedrooms too obvious. There was only one place in the house that they would never suspect. 

As you crept down the basement, you held your breath. It was dark and damp down here, the rows of wine racks crowding you in as you ventured further into the labyrinth. You hated coming down here. It always gave you the creeps, which is what made it the perfect hiding place. As you slotted yourself between vintages, you hunkered down and prepared to wait it out. 

When five minutes passed, you started to grow a little too confident in your choice. It would likely be the last place they checked. 

How wrong you were. 

As you peered through the racks, you heard the sound of metal clinking against the wine bottles. Two rows ahead, you saw Ghostface tapping his blade against the bottles as he searched for you in the dark.  

You backed up as Ghostface prowled closer, hoping to lose him as you weaved through the rows. One second you were watching the dark figure check your previous hiding place and the next second he was gone. You swiveled around in confusion and tried to track his last whereabouts. You didn’t have to look very far. 

“I guess I win,” said one of the boys. The voice changer was on again, so you couldn’t be sure who was underneath the mask, but that was part of the thrill. Ghostface backed you into the wall and cornered you until you had nowhere else to go. “I’ll take my prize now, little mouse.” 

You gasped as Ghostface picked you up and wrapped your legs around his midsection. He unzipped his pants in a haste before lifting up your skirt. His cock teased your entrance and he murmured profanities under his breath as you watched him slowly push in. It was a stretch to even get the tip in and you took gasping breaths as his thick, long cock breached your walls. 

“Oh fuck, s’too big,” you keened. Despite the lubrication charm he cast, it was still a struggle as he thrust in. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit.” 

“We’ll make it fit,” Ghostface grunted. “You’re gonna take every inch of me like the good little slut that you are. Do you understand?” 

Tears welled in your eyes, but you nodded in agreement. You were too cockdrunk to argue. Ghostface eased the last few inches in, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. You’ve never felt so full, so stuffed to the brim. 

“That’s fucking right,” chuckled Ghostface. “Take it, little mouse. Take this fucking cock.” 

You were nearly out of your mind when he pulled out and slammed back in. A choked sob escaped your throat. You weren’t used to being stretched so wide and deep. It felt so fucking good. 

“Yeah, you like that?” mocked Ghostface. “Such an innocent face, but you love getting fucked like a whore, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, yes, yes…”

A hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your oxygen. You grasped Ghostface’s wrist and smiled as you did so. He might’ve taken off his rings, but you knew it was Theo. 

“You’re so big, Teddy,” you groaned. “I knew it. I knew you’d feel this good. I knew you’d split me apart just like this.” 

“Che cazzo,” Theo moaned as your pussy clenched around his cock. “How’d you know, bella?” 

“You always burn your fingers when you get too high,” you explained. Theo watched as you kissed his fingertips and held his gaze as you sucked on his thumb. “I know you, Teddy. I know both my boys.” 

At that, Theo fucked you even harder. His balls slapped against your ass with every thrust. There was something animalistic about the way he moved. It was like seeing a whole new side of him. You decided that you liked this version of Theo. The version that took what he wanted, when he wanted, and made no apologies for it. 

“That’s sweet,” drawled Mattheo. You looked up to find him filming the whole thing. You had no idea how long he’d been there, but you were glad that he’d finally joined. 

Theo smirked, his thrusts turning shallow. “You should let Matty have a turn,” he murmured. “He’s been waiting so patiently after all.” 

Mattheo set the camera by the windowsill and prowled towards you. “That doesn’t mean I should get all the fun.” Theo set you down on shaky legs as you looked between your boys. “Who says you have to choose? You can have the best of both worlds, princess.” 

Mattheo directed you to bend over one of the stools by the window while Theo positioned himself in front of you. “Be a good girl and suck Theo off while I fuck you.” 

“Oh,” you murmured, your pussy wet and your head fuzzy at the idea of taking them both at the same time. “O-okay.” 

“You’re our superstar, remember?” Mattheo teased as he smacked your ass. “So show the camera what you can do.” 

The encouragement urged you on as you pumped Theo’s cock. He cursed in Italian when your wet mouth wrapped around him, your juices still covering his hard length. You began working him with your mouth as Mattheo mounted you from behind. The stretch made you moan. Theo gripped your hair in response and bucked into your mouth. 

You couldn’t keep track of the pain and pleasure as Mattheo fucked you from behind and Theo abused your throat. All that mattered was that you felt full on both ends, floating on cloud nine while you were stuffed to the brim. Both boys worshiped your body. Mattheo trailed kisses down your spine while Theo massaged your tits. 

Every now and then, Mattheo smacked your ass to demand your attention. He even bit down on your ass cheek when you got impatient and tried to grind down on him. Mattheo set a punishing pace as his fingers dug into your hips, marking your skin for days to come. You’d wear the bruises like a trophy. 

“Wait.” Mattheo slowed his movements and Theo cocked his head as you looked up at him. “I want— I want to try something—”

”What is it, princess?” asked Mattheo. 

“I want you both,” you whispered shyly. 

Theo tilted your chin up. “Don’t get all shy on us now, bella,” he drawled with a smirk. “You can’t say you want to take us both and then get all embarrassed about it.” 

Mattheo chuckled and patted your ass. “Theo’s right, baby. You need to own it.” 

You cleared your throat, shaking off the nerves. “I want you both inside me,” you said confidently. “At the same time.” 

The boys smiled as they slipped their masks back on. “Your wish is our command, little mouse.” 

With a flash, the three of you apparated to the bedroom. Mattheo pulled you into his lap, stroking your back as he slithered in. Theo filmed you with the camera. 

“Deep breaths, sweetheart,” Mattheo murmured. He sounded dazed and distant, barely hanging on to reality. You controlled your breathing and relaxed your walls, which allowed him to slip in easier. “Oh fuck, yeah, just like that…” 

Behind you, Theo cast another lubrication charm and warmed your puckering hole up with his fingers. He took his time to make sure you were nice and pliant, soft moans muffled as Mattheo lifted up his mask and tongue kissed you. His curls felt like silk between your fingers as you continued to make out sloppily. 

Not one to be left out, Theo turned your chin for a kiss that left you lightheaded before leaning over and sharing a dirty, filthy kiss with Mattheo. You watched as they made out, heat spreading through your veins at the sight. Just when you thought you couldn’t possibly get wetter. 

Mattheo squeezed your hip. “I can feel your pussy clenching around me,” he said with an amused smirk. “You’re fucking filthy, baby. I think you’re ready for Theo, aren’t you?” 

You nodded excitedly, flashing your doe eyed stare at Theo. “Please, Teddy.” 

Theo smiled. “How could I say no to that?” 

It was a tight fit. Tighter than you’ve ever taken before. You felt like you were being stretched to your limit as Theo eased his way in to join Mattheo. It was hard to get air in as you buried your face in Mattheo’s neck, gripping the sheets for dear life. 

Theo pumped slowly, letting you get used to the sensation. Mattheo trailed kisses down your neck and shoulder, his tongue swirling against your nipple before he took it into his mouth. He massaged and licked and sucked while Theo picked up the pace. 

“How does that feel, bella?” Theo asked. 

“Really fucking good,” you hummed, your whole body vibrating with pleasure. “Don’t stop, Teddy.”

”Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

When Mattheo began to thrust upwards, you started to feel lightheaded. Your head was in the clouds while your body experienced euphoria. “Fuck, fuck, oh my god…” you moaned. “So good.” 

“Yeah?” Mattheo growled against your ear as he thrust in sharply. “You like being full of us, huh? You like letting your best friends split you apart like this, baby?” 

“Yes, god…” you blubbered, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I fucking love when you’re both inside me.” 

Theo groaned. “Merda, you’re going to make me cum.” 

“Do it,” you breathed. “Please, please, I want you both to fill me up.” 

“Merlin, you’re a fucking dream,” murmured Mattheo as he circled your clit. 

Theo and Mattheo synced up their rhythm, filling you up simultaneously. There wasn’t a single thought in your mind besides chasing after your release. When you felt yourself getting close, Theo yanked you by the hair and turned the camera on all three of you. 

“Give us the money shot,” Theo said through his mask. “Cum for us, little mouse.” 

As Mattheo stimulated your already sensitive nub, you lost yourself to the climax. It hit you all at once. Your vision went fuzzy as you came with a cry. Mattheo cursed when you creamed him, triggering his own orgasm. You could feel him filling you to the brim. The only tether to reality you had left was Theo’s hands gripping your hips as the camera tumbled on the mattress. 

Mattheo picked it up and filmed you getting railed by Theo, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as his thrusts grew rushed and sloppy. The camera captured Ghostface cumming inside of you before Mattheo panned down to where the two of them dripped down your thighs. 

“Look at her,” Mattheo murmured in awe. “She’s our perfect little superstar.” 

Your legs wobbled beneath you as Theo pulled off his mask. As gentle as possible, he scooped you up and cradled you into his chest. Theo kissed you softly, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Yes she is,” he declared proudly. “You did so well, bella. Let your boys take care of you now, okay?” 

You nodded, dazed as Mattheo set the camera down and brushed your hair back. “Okay.” 

As Mattheo got the bath started and Theo carried you over to the tub, you sighed in satisfaction. “Teddy? Matty?” 

Both boys turned towards you, concern written all over their faces. It was sweet how much they cared, how they took it upon themselves to look after you. Even before tonight, the two of them had always been attuned to your needs. Just like now.

“I think I have a favorite movie now.” 

The two of them broke out into matching grins. Theo carefully lowered you into the warm water before climbing in. Mattheo eagerly joined, sandwiching you between your two favorite boys and ending that night the same way it started. As Theo shampooed your hair, Mattheo wrapped an arm around your shoulder and kissed your cheek. 

“If you’re good,” he drawled, a mischievous twinkle glittering in those big, brown eyes. “Maybe we’ll make a sequel.” 

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Maternal Advice

Fandom: The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Robby x F!Reader

Summary: You're joining Robby and his colleagues for dinner and provide some love advice to the group.

Mom of the ER | The Pitt Masterlist

You sat beside Robby at the restaurant. It was a local place, similar to an Applebee's or Chili's, but more mom and pop.

You and Robby liked to frequent the place, even knowing the owners by name. It was a chill, neutral place, that closed late, which was perfect for a dinner with the day shift PTMC team.

After their shift, everyone had gone home to change and met at the restaurant. Robby still donned a hoodie, but with joggers and a t-shirt this time. You were dressed in some leggings, a t-shirt, and cardigan for the cool breeze.

Everyone sat around the large tables, eating and chatting away. You're resting your head on Robby's shoulder, listening to him chat with Heather. You knew they had dated years ago, but both have made it very clear that ship has sailed. Especially since you and Robby are married, and you were never the jealous type anyway. Heather is a great woman and friend to you and Robby.

"I just don't have time for dating. I don't know how the hell you two manage it," she says nodding to you two.

You smile at her, "It was hard in the beginning. I can admit that I was super clingy, so I had trouble adjusting at first. But I got used to it. Michael still made efforts to see me after grueling hours at work, so I knew he still wanted to be with me."

"She dealt with a lot too, cancelled dates, only being able to talk on the phone a few times over a course of a few days. I didn't make things easy, but she still stuck around," he looks fondly at you and you look at him with a matching expression.

Trinity groans, "Dating fucking sucks nowadays. Don't get me started on the apps."

Mateo chimes in, "Finding people in-person isn't any better."

"So we're all just doomed to loneliness?" Trinity scowls and takes a swig from her beer.

You hum, "Is it too cliche to say that you'll find someone someday?"

"Yes," the group replies in unison.

Frank scoffs, "I met my wife in person. Things are great. We got a kid and a dog-"

"Which you got without discussing with her first," Heather chimes in.

You grimace, "How pissed was she?"

"...very. But she caved when she saw how happy it made the kid. So...still a win?"

You and Heather give each other a look and Robby shakes his head, "You still have much to learn, Langdon," he says and then sips from his beer.

Everyone goes off into their own conversations again. Frank and Robby talk about sports and you just sit there watching everyone around the table.

Towards the end, you see Victoria, the youngest of the residents, talking with Mateo. You see she's a little frazzled, stuttering over her words as she speaks with him. You can't help but giggle, which catches the attention of Robby.

"What's funny?"

You lean in and whisper in his ear, "Victoria's got a crush on Mateo."

Robby cocks a brow at you and looks in the direction of the aforementioned. He furrows his brows and you explain, "She keeps tucking her hair behind her ears, she's hanging onto his every word. She's agreeing with everything he's saying. Crush behavior."

"You never did that stuff with me," he mumbles.

"Michael, I wasn't a young twenty year old woman when we started dating. I was a seasoned veteran in the dating game by then."

Your husband chuckles, "Seasoned, huh?"

You roll your eyes, "Shut up. This isn't about me. This is about Victoria."

"Let her be. Javadi doesn't need to be coddled."

Mateo seems to say something funny because Victoria laughs, but then she makes a snort and she freezes. She quickly excuses herself and rushes to the bathroom.

"I'm gonna check on her."

"ER mom to the rescue," Robby says and you swat at his shoulder as you pass him.

When you enter the bathroom, Victoria is lightly banging her head against a bathroom stall.

"You okay, sweetheart?"

She looks at you with worry in her eyes, "Did you see that? God, that was so embarrassing!"

You chuckle, "It was cute."

She shakes her head and starts to pace, "I don't want to be considered cute. I want to be seen as serious and mature and worth dating." You can tell she's frustrated and you approach her, moving some strands of hair out of her face.

"Don't try to be someone else just so someone will like you, honey. That never goes the way that you want. It gets exhausting and you end up losing yourself in the process. If you like someone, just be yourself. And if they like you, then they like you as you are. Don't go changing yourself just because you think it's what they want."

Victoria's shoulders deflate in defeat and you sigh, "If things don't work out with Mateo, it'll be okay. It's not the end of the world. You have an entire lifetime to find someone. I mean, look at me and Robby. We found each other later in life and so unexpectedly. You'll be okay."

The young woman lets out a deep breath and nods, "Okay. Thank you, Y/N."

"Anytime."

You turn to exit, but she stops, "Wait."

"Yeah?" you answer, facing her.

"Is it..okay if I hug you?"

You softly smile at her, "Of course." She rushes forward and wraps her arms around you and you do the same to her. You squeeze her tight, "You know if you're ever having boy trouble or just wanna chat, you can text or call me."

"Really? I don't want to bother-"

"You won't. I promise. Where's your phone?" she pulls it out of her back pocket and you type in your number with your name. You hand it back to her, "There."

"Thanks," she murmurs, "You really are such a mom."

You laugh, "So I've been told. Come on," you lead her out of the bathroom and you two head back to the table.

When you settle beside Robby once more, he asks, "Everything okay?"

You nod, "Just girl talk."

"And another kid adopted into the Robby Family," Heather states with a smirk and you roll your eyes at her.

[cloversnstrawberries]

“safespace” platonic!yandere!og michael myers & gn!bullied!teen!reader [oneshot] ! !

masterlist !

description; For a while now, you've been using the old Myer's house as a home base of sorts; previously, your bullies had never dared to rush in after you, too afraid of the history of the house. That changed one fateful Halloween night, and unknowingly, you'd just sealed yourself into a fate different from death, but not much better.

The Haddonfield Boogeyman has taken a liking to you, and that's not something you can easily retreat from once it happens. Not safely, for that matter.

additional notes; this is. extremely long and I managed to write it within two days. help. i hope you enjoy it, because it was actually really fun to write. it might be in a bit of a different style than normal, because i've been reading. so much junji ito & gothic lit and i don't know if that affects anything.

warnings; bullying, possessive behavior, overprotectiveness, Michael being unsettling, discussions of past murder (judith primarily), violence, blood & gore, murder/murder of teens (reader's bullies), slight/implied neglect (reader's parents are very lax), soft michael (as soft as he can get), kidnapping/imprisonment, and if there's any I missed, please let me know!! i do believe this is the most intense (?) one i've posted so far?? mayhaps?

w/c; 10.2k (OH SWEET MOTHER OF PEARL!)

It’s silly, stupid, some would say-- and you know it is. You know it’s not a good idea to set up shop in the old Myer’s house, and that it was, realistically, the least safe place you could camp out at in Haddonfield,

Structurally speaking, considering how long it’s sat vacant and unattended for the most part. The story and tragedy surrounding it kept squatters away, but it was surprisingly easy to sneak into.

For you, it was one of the safest places possible-- because everyone knows about how unsafe it was. An oxymoron in a way, that you claimed this old rickety house as your safe space because you know it’s dangerous.

Because your tormentors know it’s unsafe, so they’ll leave you be for the most part-- once you’re inside the house that should’ve been torn down ages ago.

It’s a nice house, but you’re sure someone will roll up to a city council meeting and propose tearing down the place. No one’s going to buy it, no amount of polishing the hardwood floors and replacing the peeling wallpaper is going to change that.

The Myer’s house could be renovated into the most gorgeous, affordable home for a good sized family-- and still, no one would buy it.

Judith Myer’s blood, spilt by her own little brother one normal Halloween night, was like a curse laid on the house. Even you have to admit, there’s a strangely foreboding, suffocating atmosphere about it that doesn’t suit how… plain it otherwise appears.

For a few years now, you’ve had your claim staked on this house. Over those few years, you’ve gotten used to that atmosphere. It even began to feel comforting, at some point-- like a hug, kind of.

Your bullies know you’re in here, but they can’t bring themselves to enter it and drag you out. Sometimes they’ll wait outside for you, but don’t take into consideration is that you’ve supplied yourself with enough snacks and various forms of entertainment to be able to wait them out most times.

Cowards, the lot of them-- that’s all they ever were to you. A bunch of unruly, rich assholes that take their grievances out on you for lack of a different outlet,

More like you’re the most interesting outlet-- you’re sure their parents have enough money to get them another way, other than razzing and beating on you constantly-- but they don’t want it.

They like watching you cry, the sickos. But that’s not a sight they get to see too often; not since you’ve almost accidentally made the old Myer’s house into your own kind of fortress,

Guarded by a moat of bad energy and an awful story behind it. Judith still lingers, maybe not her ghost like most would think-- but she’s there.

One time, you walked into her room. It was almost pristine, kept nearly the same as the night she died, you think. The blood is gone, but the chair to her vanity is still knocked over.

You haven’t gone near that room since that one time-- spotting the rotting bag of melted taffy on her bedside table, her brush on the vanity top with golden hair still stuck in the bristles; an opened bottle of lip gloss, long dried up…

It made you sick like nothing before or after could, the knowledge that this was just a normal girl. A normal girl who expected to live another day, to eat the taffy by her bed, knowing she had to clean her hair out of her brush eventually--

She never even got to screw the cap back on her lip gloss, maybe her favorite one if you think about it. A part of you wanted to do it for her, to clean up her room a little for no real reason other than self-imposed obligation.

You’re taking up this space illegally, not quite a squatter, but still a consistent trespasser. The least you could do was clean it up for a family who’ll never come back.

But then, wouldn’t that be rude to mess with a deceased person’s belongings? You stepped out of the room, shutting the door as you clutched your stomach. In your mind, you barred off ever entering it again.

You’ve only had a peak in the little boy’s room-- Michael. Such an ordinary name, and an ordinary room to match. Hell, he could’ve been your little brother, it all appeared so average from the quick look-see you’d gotten.

As soon as you realized who’s room it was, you slammed the door and vowed to never open it again. You didn’t even go near it most times, if at all.

How can someone so normal-- a child so young, just snap like that? It made you sad, thinking about it.

Eventually, you knew it’d come to this, though. When your bullies’ need to torture you overrode the fear, and they followed you into your previously impenetrable fortress.

Your safe-space desecrated, the next time to ran in-- nothing too damaging to the actual house, but your books and magazines were torn. Snacks either eaten or crushed, and the little nest of pillows and blankets you brought from home was tossed around, dirty footprints all over.

“You’re such a coward,” the head boy spoke up, and you know his dad was a real estate agent, the one that oversaw the house, you think. That’s why there wasn’t any real damage to the place.

In your anger and grief, at your one good thing being wrecked like this; you spoke up. These kids-- no, you all weren’t kids anymore by most’s standards. Well into high school, and they were still messing with you for no good reason.

Tears welled in your eyes, not from sadness but from rage. You’d been chased in by two other kids, who were now behind you. Two kids were already inside along with the head boy,

You were surrounded, 5-to-1, and stood no chance. Not because you couldn’t fight physically, but because you knew the consequences of fighting back against these daddy’s money types.

They’ve broken bones before-- your bones, but if you so much as left a scratch on them, they ran to their parents and the repercussions were… dire.

You’d nearly been booted put of school before, because you left a tiny, already healing bruise of one of the girl’s arms after you shoved her down so you could flee.

“Look who’s saying that!” It’s not like you haven’t fought back with your words before, but it’d never been this up close as of late. You’d grown too comfortable, taunting the kids through the door as you did.

Poking a sleeping bear. You really wished this method could’ve lasted a bit longer, hopefully until after you finished high school and left Haddonfield; but beggars can’t be choosers.

You’re lucky it’s worked for this long anyways.

Before the kids could say anything, you started on a tirade. Letting out every little grievance you’ve had over the years-- they can’t let you have this one good thing.

They all get friends upon friends, secret admirers and good partners; they participate in school, they’re active in the community-- meanwhile you’ve been shunned for a good half of your life, resorting to hiding in an abandoned house while they were out living their best lives.

Once you were done, chest heaving up and down, did they say anything further. They mocked you, of course they did-- and when you asked “So what are you gonna do now, huh? Break a couple fingers? Strangle me? Kick me until I’m bruised all over--!”

They called you unoriginal, then grabbed ahold of you. They wrapped rope around your wrists and ankles-- then started dragging you upstairs.

No.

And they didn’t tell you their plan, but you were smart. You picked up on it, especially from how they were talking about the recent breakout from the nearby mental institution.

The institute currently home to none other than the Haddonfield Boogeyman himself, Michael Myers. Or, more accurately, no longer housing the man.

He was among the escaped, one of the few that hadn’t been rounded up after the transport bus crash-- it was October 31st.

You were doomed.

They dragged you to the little boys room, the atmosphere you’d become accustomed to suddenly cranked up to 11, choking you, clinging to the inside of your throat like cling-wrap. Making it hard to breathe, as they tossed you into Michael’s room,

And boy, did they really not want you to leave without their help. They tied you to the wooden poster of the bed, and you couldn’t help but cry.

Ghost stories about Judith staying behind were all fine and dandy, but the very much alive perpetrator being on the loose? The one who’s spent the past god-knows-how-long confined in a mental hospital, since he was a child?

That was a real threat, because it was to some extent predictable and unpredictable what he’d do next. There was no set guarantee that he’d stop by his childhood home, but there was a chance.

And the bullies knew it.

“Stop! Stop, I’m sorry--!” You hated groveling, but this was a real threat. This wasn’t funny-- it hadn’t been for a long time, but this time you can’t comprehend why they’d be laughing at all.

It’s not funny.

You could die. Even if it’s a slim chance of happening, there is a chance nonetheless. A chance greatly increased by Myer’s unpredicted ‘discharge’ from the hospital.

As always, they didn’t care. They were all giggles and smiles as they bid you farewell-- you heard another door open, then a scraping sound as something was set down in front of the door.

You’re sure it was Judith’s vanity chair, that they’d pressed under the door handle. Why? Why do they hate you so much-- there wasn’t even a promise of them returning, either.

Even if the Boogeyman doesn’t show up like you’re afraid of, they might just leave you here to rot with the house. No one would come looking for you, you don’t think-- unless they’re pointed in this direction by your bullies.

What an awful way to spend your Halloween night, huh? Not like you had much planned in the first place, but still.

This isn’t a position you wanted to be in right now. Or ever, thank you very much.

It got dark out a while ago. Inside here, somewhere, there's a clock that still works. Or maybe you’re already going crazy, imagining the ‘tick-tick-tick’ to try and make something for you to do.

Restrained as you are, it’s not like you can do much besides slump against the bed and wait it out. Hope your exhaustion from coming down after an adrenaline rush takes you out sooner or later, because it’s getting awfully boring.

Boredom overrode fear, maybe because you’re loopy from said exhaustion, but too high strung and uncomfortable, sitting on the hardwood floor with your wrists and ankles tied, to take a little nap as it is.

Throughout it all, you kept your eyes shut. Not because you particularly want to sleep, (though you do want to, if only to pass the time quicker) but because you’re trying to pretend you’re anywhere else but here, on this night, at this hour.

Your only other hope at being released right now was if some stupid kid got dared to come in here, like they did every Halloween. But the outlook wasn’t too good, considering the different framing the Myer’s house had with Michael’s recent escape still fresh on everyone’s minds.

Distantly, you can hear kids laughing, screaming, playing around-- all in good fun. You ache, sad that the experience of it had been cut short for you. For years now, you’ve stayed inside as much as possible.

Even on Halloween, and it hurt. Childhood cut short because some rich kids decided to make you their stress toy, punching bag, and scapegoat all in one.

When you hear a creak downstairs, you fight with yourself not to open your eyes. It’ll be pitch black anyways, your reason with yourself. It’ll only make you panic even more.

It was futile, trying to convince yourself that it was just the house settling. For hours, all you’ve been able to hear for the most part was the house settling.

This was different.

Someone was downstairs-- no joking, no yelling at their friends, no egging each other on; and it wasn’t a cop either, because they’d be shouting by now, telling anyone in here to get the hell out before you’re arrested.

It was uncanny, how quiet this person was-- both literally and with their movement. You first heard them faintly, on an especially creaky board near the front door. Then nothing-- until you heard them on the 3rd step, the one that’s about to cave at any moment from termite damage.

A primal kind of terror curled deep in your gut, the hair on the back of your neck stood straight up; silence again, until you think the person stopped moving.

Straining your ears, you heard a semi-familiar scraping noise. Whoever it was, was standing in front of this room, and was planning on entering it.

Your eyes flung open, desperately blinking as you tried to force your vision to adjust to the darkness. Surprisingly, the room was a lot lighter than you’d think it be.

No doubt aided by the moth-ravaged curtains serving as the only barrier(s) between the moonlight shining in through the windows.

When the door opened, your heart soared for a moment-- someone wearing work-boots and a mechanic’s jumpsuit. An adult, a scarily quiet adult, but hopefully a responsible one.

All hope was dashed when you looked up at your savior-- and saw a sun-bleached, cheap Captain Kirk Halloween mask staring back at you. Something glinted off the moonlight, you looked down and sure enough; he was clutching a large kitchen knife.

Maybe it was an impersonator, or not Michael at all-- But something made you doubt both ideas. The kitchen knife was a big giveaway, not the plastic kind with fake blood, or a retractable prop one.

It was real, as real as your terror-- was this a hallucination? That thought soothed you more than it should have. Or maybe a dream-- and that’s what made you work up enough courage to speak,

“…Hello.” Voice croaky and trembling, it took away from the casual aspect of the greeting. Trying your best not to look at the knife, or the unsettling mask, you took to staring at the person’s boots.

They looked bloody, drying and tacky-- and you did your best to ignore that for right now. The floor was interesting. Yeah, you opted for looking at the floor instead as you continued, introducing yourself with a shaky voice.

The person didn’t answer you, but they didn’t attack you either. You looked back up at their mask and-- wow, you must look pathetic, you realize now. Eye’s puffy and red from crying, lips chapped and bitten to hell and back, your voice nasally from your stuffed nose.

After a couple minutes of agonizing silence, the person started to move forward-- slow, almost placatingly so, like they were dealing with a startled animal.

You think that’s a very apt comparison, right now. As you jerk away, uncaring as the wooden post dug into your spine-- glancing at the person’s knife, you tried to swallow past a lump in your throat “Don’t hurt me-- please. I-I don’t have much to say, uhm, other than that.”

In all honesty, you don’t think you’re that important of a person-- in everyone else’s eyes, that is. You won’t be missed by a good majority of Haddonfield, and that’s what makes you want to live this through.

For a moment, the person stopped dead in their tracks-- and slowly shook their head. That could be interrupted one of two ways,

One, they have agreed to not hurt you. They shook their head as in ‘okay, i won’t hurt you’, or the more likely option in your mind-- considering they still held onto the knife-- they were disagreeing with your plea.

When they went to move again, you jerked back again. It didn’t do much, and wouldn’t do much unless you suddenly gained the ability to fuse with objects, that is.

The person stopped dead in their tracks again-- even taking a few steps back, and shook their head again. You piped up, despite the way your heart pounded and blood rushed in your ears.

“I-I don’t know what you mean. By that-- the shaking your head.” Almost as an afterthought, you tacked on “I’m sorry.”

Make no mistake, it was a genuine apology. Originally brought on by fear, yes, but you did regret not understanding them nonetheless.

When they started moving again, they were slower. You would’ve felt insulted, being treated like a wild animal ready to bolt-- if this had been a normal situation.

Right now, though? You appreciate how careful they seem to be, as they make their way to the little desk pushed up near the head of the bed.

The placement of the furniture in this room was odd, in your humble opinion-- the desk was where a nightstand would be, but what you assume to have been the nightstand was pushed under a window on the far side from the bed.

Then again, you can’t really expect interior decorating to be the specialty of the homicidal 6 year old that once lived here.

Reaching into the second drawer down, the person pulled out a little journal-- and crouched down to grab a pencil off the ground, before standing back up.

they’re too comfortable here, you anxiously realized. Almost like they’d put that stuff there-- but this can’t be Myers. If or was, wouldn’t he be hacking at you with his knife by now?

The stranger (which you’re hoping and praying isn’t who you think it is) set their knife down on the desk, much to your surprise. You don’t want to touch on why it surprised you, not right now, anyway.

Again, the person moved slowly, this time without the knife-- which let you relax enough to stop trying to actively fuse with the wooden bed frame. For now, at least-- who knows what the near future may hold, maybe you’ll succeed in it.

Weirder things have happened, and weirder things are happening right now-- as the stranger plops down on the floor, just a few feet away from where you sat restrained.

You couldn’t help but smile, as they sat criss-cross applesauce-- half delirious and sleep-deprived, yes, but a smile nonetheless.

Flipping to a page, that was random to you, hut didn’t seem to be to the person, they put the pencil to the paper and started writing something.

Refraining from trying to discern what it is they’re writing. you waited patiently until they stopped and turned the pad to face you,

Heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach, you read the words (god he presses hard with that pencil, even left dents in the paper from what you can tell) written on the pad.

“I won’t hurt you. It’s too easy.”

Simultaneously relieving and distressing-- the confirmation that you won’t be hurt (for now, you’re choosing to believe this person), but the ‘reassurance’ that it’s because you were too big of a target. Too obvious of a target,

If only your bullies had taken that sentiment to heart, too. Then you wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Curiosity outweighing your caution, you ask “What’s your name?”, despite being about… 85% sure you know who this is.

Turning the pad back around, he scribbles something else. When it’s facing you again, you can very clearly ready what name he’s written down.

“Michael”

You can tell yourself ‘It’s a common name!’ all you want, but that didn’t stomp out the feeling of dread as your suspicion was proven correct.

This was the one thing you’d hoped desperately to be wrong about. Guess life just hates you like that, huh?

You’d say it couldn’t get any worse-- but this is actually going pretty well, all things considered. You aren’t dead, and he’s actually communicating with you-- so that’s something, right?

“Is… was this your room?” For once, his answer was immediate-- he nodded. You suppose there was no reason to hide it, your face must be showing that you figured it out already.

It fell silent, and you didn’t know how to feel about that. Glancing around, you spotted an older edition of Clue sitting on a bookshelf nearby-- right on the top.

Looking back at the man-- Michael, the Michael Myers, which is a fact you’re trying not to dwell on too right right now-- you hazarded to say “Do you wanna, uh-- do you like board games?”

Tragically, he didn’t respond as quick this time. Leaving you to wallow in your own thoughts, wondering if you’d misstepped right into his steadily growing roster of victims.

a short, almost jerky nod, following by him abruptly standing made you jump. Hilariously, he seemed to jump as well; just a little twitch of his hands, but it was reaction nonetheless. You think that’s the closest you’re going to get to scaring a guy like him.

Then he headed to the bookshelf, and easily grabbed Clue from the top. He hadn’t always been this tall, obviously-- you spotted a step ladder, rusted and coated in dust like a majority of the room (and house as a whole) is;

It’s a cute thought, the idea that the kid this bedroom belonged to needed a step ladder to grab a boardgame. As you looked closer, you saw quite a few boardgames up there that you hadn’t noticed before,

The idea that Michael Myers was such a mundane kid, with an interest in board games-- liking them so much that he needed to have a step ladder of his own because he accessed them so much, was a jarring idea.

Another jarring idea-- or realization, more like, is that he must’ve been watching your line of sight very closely to immediately figure out that you were referring to the Clue game.

Before you could get pulled into a panic attack in full (you’ve narrowly been avoiding such a thing by pretending that this was some dream, and you had managed to fall asleep against the dusty children’s bed), Michael came back and sat down again,

This time, he was a little further away. He set the box down, and started opening it-- before you stumbled over your words, remembering that you were a little tied up right now.

“Do-- can you undo the rope around my wrists?” Slowly, ever so slowly, Michael’s head rose from where he’d been looking down to set up the game, black eyeholes eventually meeting your gaze.

Another nod, and he stood. Walking over to the desk, you realized your mistake in wording-- and as you feared, he picked up his knife again.

You’d said undo, not untie. It’s not a stretch to think that meant you have permission for him to cut the rope.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t catch any flesh while he does, yeah? When he walked back over, closer than he’d been this whole time, you valiantly fought back the urge to scream. To tremble, kick, try to fight--

Something about the way he crouched down by your side, still taller than you, with the knife gleaming made you feel vulnerable like never before. It made you feel exposed, flayed open and waiting to prepared into clean cuts of meat for packaging.

Michael was careful with it, his hold almost gentle on your arms, silently telling you hold still as he hooked the knife under the ropes and began to pull up.

Must’ve been a pretty damn sharp knife, or maybe some exceptionally cheap rope on your bullies’ parts, but either way, he got you free pretty easily.

Avoiding any sudden movement, testing the waters; you lowered your hands down to your lap. Michael stayed there a few seconds more, before quickly walking back to desk the drop the knife off on top.

When he came back, you’d already started sorting the cards-- which had gotten a little jumbled in the box. He set up the board, meanwhile.

Is it a very sad thing to say, that you felt more connected to this enigmatic, urban legend-esque serial killer (well, he killed one person definitely and a few other were suspected, but the knife didn’t paint a very good picture) than you did your classmates?

In part, that may be your fault. Alright, it may actually be mostly your fault-- but you were self-isolating for a reason.

You wouldn’t want any possible close friends to incur the wrath of your tormenters-- and become another victim, just for being near you.

Something tells you that Michael wouldn’t-- literally couldn’t-- succumb to that fate for obvious reasons. Maybe that’s why, as you two played a couple rounds of Clue before a cop came nosing around the place, you felt the safest you ever have.

And when the cop did show up, Michael was gone in an instant, almost like a ghost; but you knew better. He just had very quiet footsteps, the kind you would think impossible to achieve with his height and all.

You stayed in that room, waiting until you were sure Michael was gone to shout for help-- the cop came, and you hoped it gave Michael ample time to hide or run if need be.

And you didn’t rat on him-- to show your gratitude for him, y’know, not killing you. And being the closest thing to a friend you’ve both been allowed and allowed yourself to have as of late.

The cop walked you out-- but not before you noticed a little note folded on the accent table near the front door. “meet again?” it read, the pencil still lying next to it.

Taking a short detour, you quickly scrawled "yes :)" and while the smiley face was shaky at best, you hope he'd get the message. Besides, something tells you he'd understand that you were being rushed by the cop right now.

Because something also tells you that he's still here, watching-- you just don't know where. It's the way your skin crawls under the feeling of eyes on you, that tips you off.

When you leave the Myer's house this time around, you don't dread exiting it, some part of you afraid that your bullies had waited it out on the porch, or the yard. Maybe it's because you have a cop escorting you out this time,

Or maybe it's the lingering feeling of the Haddonfield Boogeyman himself keeping on eye on you. Presumably, of course.

The next time you visit the Myer's house, you aren't being chased in for once. If you were, there'd be no real reason to hide in here anyways. Your tormentors evolved, now being able to enter what you previously considered you safespace.

But you had to be sneaky regardless, as the country sheriff had been observed walking around the premise. Maybe to catch Michael, who was still on the loose as far as you knew, or to prevent foolhardy kids from entering the house on a dare.

That'd always been an issue, but before now the cops never cared to do much. The kids almost always psyched themselves out after taking a few steps into the house anyways, and there was hardly any vandalism to worry about.

Now, however, it was far more about keeping the kids themselves safe rather than the house. When you got there, the country sheriff was nowhere to be seen; there was a cop car in the driveway, but you recognized it as one of the ones used for false speed traps.

There was no one in there, and no cop in the house either. The car was enough to deter most, but you've been coming here for a while. They've done something like this before, especially around Halloween.

The difference came with the fact that it was November 3rd, and they usually did away with the deterrent by now. They have good reason, considering you know Michael Myer's is definitely in the house, or at least visiting regularly, but it's a little annoying.

Knowing they'll keep this up for a while longer, indefinitely, and you haven no way of telling if they suddenly decide to plant a cop inside the house to switch things up.

You entered through the back kitchen door, something you don't often do. Usually, when you enter this place, you don't care how you enter it-- just the closest possible entryway.

Which was usually the front door, or a window on the side that's easy to open from the outside. But this time, you get the luxury of picking where you get to enter from.

You brought a wrist watch with you, to monitor the time. Your parents never cared about how late you stayed out before,

But after a cop showed up at their door, you in tow, informing them that you'd been 'hanging out' in the old Myer's house (of course he left out the part where your ankles were bound), suddenly they had something to say about what time you returned home.

And maybe you'd think it was annoying, if you didn't know they had good reason for it. Honestly, you don't know what possessed you to come back here. To agree to meet up again, with a known murderer.

Years of isolation and ostracization at the hands of your peers and bullies alike must've corroded a part of your brain, is your theory. Your need for friendship and belonging was so big that you settled for meeting with a Boogeyman for social interaction.

A Boogeyman that was both parts legend and fact, because when you headed upstairs-- and was almost scared so bad you tumbled down the stairs, when you saw that sun-bleached mask staring back at you.

There was no way you could stifle the little shriek you let out when you felt a hand, large and warm and real-- wrap around your upper arm, your entire body going tense as you were pulled forward, and you could already imagine how it'd feel to have the blade of a kitchen knife lodged deep in your stomach and--

But no pain came, your eyes screwed shut out of terror, you didn't keep track of where he was taking you. In this blinding moment of fear, you forgot all about why you came here in the first place.

This was a bad idea, coming back here when you'd escaped last time by the skin of your teeth, and a few rounds of playing a murder mystery board game with a real mysterious murderer.

When you were pulled to a stop, static filling your ears as your heart pounded a mile a minute, you didn't open your eyes at first. Not until Michael let go of you, and your eyes promptly shot open.

It was only 5:12PM, so there was still some sun shining in through the motheaten curtains, but it wasn't much and you knew it wouldn't be staying for long. It casted long, eerie shadows into the room.

But nothing could compare to how to fell on Michael's mask, making it even more menacing than before. Who thought that a cheap reproduction of William Shatner's face was strike such fear in you?

He was just standing there, which you guess you can't fault him for. When he noticed you were looking at him, he pointed to the floor, near the foot of the bed. Where you'd been sitting last time.

Taking the hint, you quickly plopped down, this time unhindered by ropes restraining you. Funnily enough, you were subconsciously treating Michael as a dinosaur; a T-rex, to be specific.

You moved slowly, trying not to trigger his prey drive or whatever. Trying to make yourself seem as small and weak as you could, to try and keep up his sentiment of “I won’t hurt you. It’s too easy.”

Awkwardly clearing your throat, you tried to start a conversation as Michael walked over to the bookshelf again. "Uh-- so... how have you been?" Obviously, he doesn't respond.

Honestly, you don't know where you're going with this. You try to save yourself, by adding on "Have you been good?", and after a moment, you saw him nod from behind-- as he stood, facing the bookshelf.

He didn't reach up for any game, just slowly turned to face you; when you finally realized he was giving you room to choose, you panicked and squeaked out a little "Sorry--"

Comically, you'd forgotten that was a game-- and game he had, apparently, as he pulled away a few other games and got it out from the back. Task failed successfully, as your math teacher always said back in 7th grade.

When he came back over, you weren't any less high strung. He didn't seem to care-- maybe he didn't even notice-- and went about setting up the game. You busied yourself with reading the manual, having forgotten how to play it.

You weren't perfect with it, though. Sometimes you'd mess up, and it'd lead to Michael moving your piece back to where it'd been, or just pointing at the manual again; sitting innocently beside you on the floor, easy access.

Eventually, when you finished up the first game, only 34 minutes had passed. The sun was almost completely down, but something kept you rooted to your spot for a little longer. A few more rounds of Sorry, and you were well on your way to worrying your parents;

It was only 7:18PM now, but it was November. The sun was long set, and you were getting antsy to leave. After your fifth game concluded, you quickly blurted out "I have to go home."

You tried your best to catch Michael before he started setting up for another round, to minimize any irritation-- but it was obvious he'd been expecting to have another go at it.

Slowly, as everything he seemed to do was either methodically slow or terrifyingly quick with no in between yet to be seen, he lifted his head and stared at you point blank. His eyes hidden behind the mask, but that didn't mean there was any room for you to delude yourself into think he didn't have his full, undivided attention on you.

"My parents will be worried, they're already, uh, suspicious of how late I stay out." Michael doesn't move at all, staying still as a statue, just like you are. You don't make any move to get up, not until you get his express permission.

No matter how human he seems, playing board games so innocently with you-- the fact he was a cold-blooded killer never left your mind. There was no lead-up to his original snap, when he slaughtered his sister in the room just across the hall.

There's no reason to think you'd be an exception to that. One moment it could be fine, and the next you'll be bleeding out on the floor; it made you uneasy, for good reason.

Relief flooded you, a weight lifted from your shoulders as Michael nodded, the relief was pulled away when he stood and approached you-- but reinstated when he got close, just to extend a hand and offer to help you up, it seems.

Palm up, slow with his movements. Like he was dealing with an especially skittish dog. You felt like one, cornered as you were-- but you took his hand, and he was...

Well, it was like he tried to be gentle, but he didn't know how to be. He pulled roughly, but the way his grip faltered when you stumbled-- how he caught you with his other arm, almost desperate. Like he didn't know his own strength.

That terrified you more than the idea that he'd stab a knife through you. The idea that it was more likely for him to accidentally hurt you, how he was trying to restrain himself but it'd always end the same way.

In your panic, you didn't realize the way you'd grabbed onto him. Almost like a hug, one you pulled away from quickly. His arm lingered on your back, barring you from gaining any meaningful distance from him. Before you could think to panic some more, he let you go.

Grabbing onto your hand, he led you out of the room. Down the stairs, and to the living room. He didn't drop your hand once, even as he opened the door and pulled it open for you,

It was you, who wrestled away from the hold. You were on edge, freedom so close you could taste it-- the frigid midwestern wind blowing against your face had never felt so nice, a reprieve from the stifling presence that is Haddonfield's own personal Boogeyman.

Belatedly, you realized what he'd done. He walked you to the door, and he let you pull your hand from his grasp. if he didn't want you too, it'd be easy to not let it happen. His arm stayed where it was for a moment, before dropping heavily by his side.

You took a few small, miniscule steps; careful as you crossed the boundary between the inside of the house and the porch. Michael made no move to stop you,

A part of you wanted to run, a vestigial part of the human mind; buried, fear for something so closely human but so damningly not. Something that landed in the uncanny valley, when it should be human but something was off.

Michael Myer's was the only thing that's ever dredged up this forgotten kind of terror, something that was bigger than you'd ever be resided in him, you think. Deep down, though, you knew you two were similar. Similar enough for him to take mercy on you, for whatever reason.

Similar how? Well, you just don't know, but it's all you can think of as to why he's doing this. Why he not only let you go, but asked for your return-- not to cut a loose thread, but to play board games.

A few steps further, and you stood on the edge of the porch. When you turned around, seeing Michael standing in the doorway like it was normal; like either of you were normal, softened something in you.

Fear loosened it's hold on you, and in that moment, all you could do was smile and give a little wave, saying "I'll see you again?" He nodded, slow again. Smile growing wider, you let yourself giggle-- why? You don't know, you didn't find anything funny. It just felt right.

"Okay. I'll... see you later, I might get grounded for this, so it might be a while." You flashed a little thumbs up, before turning around and staring at the three short steps before you.

Feeling freer than you had in years, a bit of your childhood returned to you-- the childhood stolen by your bullies, you let yourself take a few steps back; gaining a running start, you hopped all three stairs.

Landing hard on the concrete, you wobbled a bit. Legs shaky from sitting for so long, but you didn't fall. If you had, you probably would've scraped your knees-- and the idea of it was freeing.

Being able to get hurt in such a meaningless way, getting hurt in a way kids should be getting hurt. Not coming home with broken ribs after school, before shutting yourself away in your room and seldom going outside, But coming home with a big smile, despite the shallow cuts on your legs.

When you turned around again, the door was closed-- but you saw a hint of movement from the window beside it, and sure enough, you saw the telltale white of Michael's mask.

You spared another wave, before you were off on your way.

5 months.

It's been roughly 5 months, since you started hanging around Michael. The feeling of guilt comes and goes on a whim, when you'd remember who this really was. A few more murders, some rich people from the nicer part of Haddonfield; the news attributed it to Michael Myers, which you couldn't argue with.

You could turn him in. You should turn him in, should've done it ages ago, you know-- but you can't bring yourself to do the right thing. It's wholly selfish, your want to keep him a well-hidden secret.

As sad as it was, he was your only friend. He didn't ask questions like your parents, questions that never lead anywhere-- it didn't matter if you told them the truth or not,

Whether or not you said "it was awful, the kids are still bullying me" or "it was okay" when they asked "how was school?", you always got the same kind of meaningless, cookie cutter response.

Sometimes it was more insulting, though, when you used to answer truthfully. Condescending, as your mom once again told you to "Think of what they're going through" and it irked you. She's the one who took the brunt of the bills, had to do the co-pay after you got a cast for your broken arm.

Those kids... they aren't bullying you because their life is bad. The worst they've gone through is their favorite perfume being out of stock, or their siblings got to have the TV remote the night prior.

Why should you give them that kind of consideration, when they obviously didn't spare you a second thought? You had a metal bat by your bed for a reason, walking everywhere with a small switchblade nestled in your coat pocket.

You never used it, but even Haddonfield could be dangerous-- there were three main sections of it, the Diamond District, a gated community for the ultra rich; the suburbs, and the closest to 'slums' as it got.

Where you lived, far from the white picket fences of the suburbs, and the glitzy modern exteriors of the Diamond District

But now, you practically live at the old Myer's house. Your bullies are still after you, but you always try to lose them before making it to the Myer's house. You hated them, but you didn't like the possibility of Michael going berserk on them.

He's probably snap at you too, and you wouldn't know how to cope with it-- for the remaining few minutes of your life, that your only friend would turn on you on a dime. Even though you knew it from the get, that this was dangerous. This agreement.

Sometimes you slept over, and you'd tell your parents that you finally made a friend. They wanted to meet them, but you'd just say they're shy, or something along those lines.

It was on accident, the first time you did it. It was in the dead of winter, bundled up in your outerwear while in the house. It was cold, and Michael was kind enough to wrap a few blankets around you.

And you kept delaying leaving, as cold as it was in the old Myer's house, you knew it'd be worse outside. You ended up falling asleep, waking up when the sun began to rise.

Michael came in, and handed you a granola bar. You don't know how he sourced it-- sourced snacks he'd give you, but you never thought to ask. You wanted to, but you never actually considered prying.

You scarfed it, before saying your gratitudes, goodbyes, and rushing out the door-- your parents were surprisingly lax with it. Under the false pretense that you'd been safe and sound in a warm house, with your friend from school.

Besides, everyone assumed that Myer's had moved on back then. There was this 3 month gap between his killings, and even when that broke, they were sparse enough that your parent's still didn't care much.

It was early April, and it was getting nice out again. You've managed to avoid your bullies trailing you as of late, by... just letting them whatever at school. It's not like they want to brave the cold weather anyways, so you knew sooner or later they'd start harassing you outside of school again.

Even if you let them hurt you at school, do whatever they please-- it still won't be enough. It'll never be enough, nothing will for people like them. You just can't wait to graduate and get the hell out of dodge.

The past few weeks, they've been trying to follow you. Every time they did, you managed to lose them; probably because they weren't too intent on it yet. They liked toying with you, but didn't care enough to keep following after a certain amount of times.

As a diversion, you've been sitting around the park a lot, in a little grotto near the playground no one plays on anymore. It's wooden, rotted, and should've been torn down ages ago-- the swings are still functional though, if a little squeaky.

It wasn't a stretch to assume you'd succeeded in tricking them; that they assumed this was your new home base. Again, no matter how much you hated them, you didn't want them dead.

And you definitely didn't want to be the one responsible for leading them to their death; to the murderer you deemed a friend, your only one. It was a moral dilemma. Michael was still a killer, and you should turn him in--

But you don't. Again, it was selfish, but he wasn't... doing that much harm right now. Just a few people, rich people who you have no connection to. It makes you sick, the fact you, by default, don't care that much.

You care, you care when you realize they were people with lives and families, that they were just like Judith. Ever since you started coming to the old Myer's house, you've been making a picture of her in your head.

Those people, too, had taffy left uneaten by their bedside. Hair brushes to clean, caps that needed to be screwed back on lip glosses; not those items exactly, you're sure, but the allegory stood the same.

The guilt is unbearable somedays, the idea that you're also partly responsible for those people's death. If you'd just turned in him, then you wouldn't have gotten in this deep.

just a bit longer, you tell yourself. I'll... report him if he kills anyone else, but maybe he's getting better, you think-- knowing more than well he isn't.

He's stagnant right now, but that's because he's satiated. Maybe by your near-daily meetings, the feeling of human contact that he probably hasn't felt since he was child. Since before he was locked up from such a young age.

i hope it stays that way, and deep down, you know it's in vain; recognizing that hope will do no good in situation like this, when dealing with a man-- an entity-- like Michael Myers.

This can't be real. It's a nightmare, it's a nightmare-- you can scream it all you want, but it won't take away from the scene before you.

You were toying with danger, with death itself; you stared in its face and dared to call it a friend, and look where that got you. It was always going to end like this, wasn't it? And you knew, you knew it would but that didn't stop you from it.

A lonely child will always seek the comfort of anyone who offers it without hesitation, and no matter how much you've grown-- how close you are to being an adult, teetering just on that edge,

Once a lonely child, always a lonely child. The bruises have healed, but it still feels like they're marring every inch of your skin; ribs that were broken are just fine now, but if you move too quick you swear you can feel them like you'd felt them back then.

"Why?" Your voice is choked, and you haven't felt this afraid in a long time. Cowering as you were, in the far corner of the attic. A large circular window loomed behind you, casting light onto you like Heaven was calling you home.

Do you even deserve Heaven, though? You might not have been the one to wield the knife, but you're guilty by association. There was no blood on you, but your hands were still painted red.

All five of them, crumpled on the ground; they looked so scared, but something in the back of your mind told you that they'd never understand true fear. This was momentary, before they met their swift end,

They didn't know the fear of anticipation. The fear of never knowing what would happen next, when or how it would come about; but just knowing that it would. That you weren’t at the end of the tunnel just yet, and fearing that you never would be.

Michael just stands there, unmoving. His head tilted like a curious bird, like the crows you fed at the park sometimes. He wasn't wearing the mechanic's suit anymore-- you'd bring him clothes when you could, picked up from thrift shops or garage/yard sales;

It felt even more damning, the red staining his previously pristine sky blue t-shirt. The shirt you’d given to him. Blood once again caked on his shoes, after he'd worked so hard to clean them when you expressed discomfort at it once.

The mask never came off, you never saw his face-- but at this point, you feel like any face that wasn't the mask wouldn't be Michael's. The most you've seen was up to his mouth, when he'd eat with you sometimes.

Again, as you pull your knees to your chest, and fight to hold back a shuddering cry, you ask "Why? Why would you do this?"

And he just stands there. He just stands there and stares at you like he always has, like he always will. You've long come to terms with the fact that he doesn't speak, and in your opinion it makes him a little easier to interact with.

Slow, steady steps-- he turns, and walks to entrance of the attic. He climbs down, leaving you alone for now. With no way to tell the time, you just sit there. The sun doesn't dim, since it was just a little past noon when you got here.

When you saw that note on the accent table near the door, telling you come up to the attic. You didn't question it, you didn't think anything was amiss until you were halfway into the room and Michael stood between you and the exit, bloodied and pointing to the heap of bodies.

Bodies that had once been so full of life, active in the community; beloved by most, feared by others. The golden boys and girls, the ones everyone strives to be or envies in some ways, unless you happen to be their punching bag.

Even with how terrible they were, it wasn't meant to end like this. You shake and tremble as you press your face against your knees; you don't forgive them, you never would, but they have lives.

Had lives, something you were never afforded the luxury of, holed up in your room half the time, and hanging out with the serial killer that did them in the rest of the time.

Michael was being loud, louder than you've ever known him to be. All you could think was maybe... he was trying to ease your worries? Wordlessly let you know that he wasn't going to sneak up and add you to that pile?

For once, you hear when he comes back up. You don't look up, fear seizing every muscle and making you unable to move an inch-- until he's just a few feet away, and your head flies up from where you'd pressed it against your knees.

He was sitting on the floor, right in front of you-- he was writing in a notepad, the same one he used when you first met. Michael's used it since then, but usually just communicates with shakes or nods of his head.

When he turns the book around, it's hard to read the words-- not for lack of light, but because of the way your tears blur your vision. When you're able to blink them away long enough to read, you almost can't believe what he wrote.

"Didn't mean to scare you. They were hurting you, and I didn't like it."

Didn't... didn't mean to scare you? He-- he brought you up here, just to find him covered in blood and pointing at five dead bodies!

five dead bodies of people you knew, even if you didn't like them, you still knew them-- and you knew this was likely to happen, but you tried to convince yourself it wouldn't. For your own sake.

"Are... are you going to..." Kill felt like too heavy of a word right now, too real, so you opted for "...Hurt me too?" Voice small, smaller than you think it's ever been. God, you feel like a child again, asking your mom why the kids at school didn't like you.

Small and helpless, lost and unable to come up with answers on your own. Michael shook his head quickly, and it made you jump-- it wasn't often that he moved quickly like that. He stopped immediately, and turned the notepad around and quickly scrawled something, before turning it back to you.

"Never hurt you" It was hastily written, messy in a way that disturbed you, when addressing Michael. He didn't even add punctuation. For a third time, you ask "Why?" But this time with more intention, knowing what exactly you were asking about.

He didn't move for a bit, and turned the notepad around more slowly, and his pencil hovered above the page-- like he was really thinking this through. A few minutes passed, moving at an agonizing crawl, before he finally turned the notepad around so you could read it.

There were a couple messages scribbled out, but you didn't bother to try and make them out. He'd finally settled on a simple "Because you're my friend."

"How do I know you won’t hurt me?" It was a hard pill to swallow, the knowledge that you just... there's no way to confirm that he won't. He's unpredictable in a way that scares you, because you can't even begin to wrap your head around how he operates.

This time, the answer came quickly; it was messy again, the handwriting, and it made your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach. It made you turn inward and ask why you did this to yourself, why you couldn't have just turned him in at the start.

There's no one to blame but yourself, and that's what hurts the most-- you knew the risk, you took it, and now you're reaping what you sowed.

"I don't hurt what's mine", written in dark letters; once again, he was pressing too hard with the pencil. Once, you thought it was endearing, but now you can't help but realize why he pressed so hard in the first place.

Michael didn't know how to be gentle. Yes, he tried, but there's no telling that he won't give up eventually. For a while, you just stare at the words, at the claim-- he doesn't turn the notepad away,

It's damning, it's a vice gripped around your heart; a steel wire wrapped around your throat. Rope around your wrists, a lock on the door. Everything that can and will be used to keep you here,

To keep you with him.

"I want to go home." You choke out, but he just shakes his head. Oh, how badly you want to scream, to shove him and run; it's broad daylight, surely he won't follow you.

But he's... God, you hate to admit it, but he's all you have. And-- and the bodies, oh god, you're going to be blamed for it, aren't you? It's a perfect story in the making, you've been tormented for so long, so publicly.

It wouldn't be a stretch to say you went mad, that there was something innate to the ground below the Myer's house; a curse weaved into the floorboards, that makes anyone who spends time in the house lose it eventually, if they're capable of such a thing.

That you took the knife in your hand, and slit their throats yourself.

The notepad was facing you again, and you hadn't even noticed he was writing in the first place. It was an explanation for his refusal, but it only made your skin crawl,

"This is your home.", and you just sit there and stare again. Slowly, Michael sets the notepad down. Slowly, he inches forward-- you don't flinch, eyes glazed, staring at where the notepad had been.

Then, his arms are wrapped around you-- and you just... you just melt. You cry, there's no way you can't. You weep until you have nothing left, face tucked into Michael's shoulder.

The blood, still a bit tacky at first, clung to the front of your shirt as well. Michael pulls you as close as he physically can, without merging you two into one continuous being.

He's right, isn't he? This is your home now, and has been for a long time. Before Michael showed up, even, you were spending nights in the Myer's house. Despite the history, it felt leagues safer than your own room.

When your tears are all dried up, still hiccupping and trembling, Michael carefully picks you up. Handling you like glass, but it's unnatural. Stilted-- not a performance, but it's new to him.

Going down the ladder was a slow process, and you were half asleep from pure exhaustion when he set you down on a mattress-- his old bed. You sat, slumped sideways against the headboard as he pulled the cover back and helped you lay down,

He tucked you in, and the thought crossed your mind that his parents must've done this for him when he was younger. They were a normal family, the Myer's-- over the years, people had tried to prove that Michael's snap was caused by abuse, or neglect, or something bad that happened to him in his early development.

But nothing was found on the topic, if anything, the digging exposed the Myer's as the picture-perfect American family. No reason for a 6 year old to kill his sister, other than he just wanted to.

Demonic possession was also a proposed explanation-- more by the townspeople than actual professionals, but it had merit, didn't it? Something about Michael was off, and even if you removed the mask, you're sure it wouldn't change anything.

By the time you're drifting off, weighed down by bone deep weariness from all that happened, Michael is still sitting at the foot of the bed, off on the edge. He isn't watching you, his head facing forward, but it was still unnerving.

When the news of six missing teenagers hit, the town went into a frenzy. Michael has long since dropped the bodies off in the forest-- he didn't want it stinking up the house, because he knew it'd make you uncomfortable,

They found the bodies there, but that didn't stop the cops from searching the Myer's house one last time. That night, Michael took you on a walk, and you two visited the park his parent's used to take him to often.

You were actually swinging, while he kind of just sat on it. Nobody saw you two, there were no reports of you still being alive. Everyone assumed you'd died with your bullies, but your body was elsewhere.

That you fought more than your bullies had, or maybe less-- either way, you died further away from them.

Isolated, just like you’d been in life; even in death, Michael’s sure those horrible kids would make to not be near you.

The cops never considered the possibility that they were killed elsewhere, and dumped later. An oversight on their part, but Michael obviously wasn’t going to correct them on it.

Michael cleaned the attic, not like they'd check it anyways. They never did when they searched the house, and Michael thought it was ridiculous. It was almost too easy to avoid them, but he didn't want to take a chance with you.

He doesn't know what he'd do without you now that he has you. There's no solid reason why he spared you that first night, the 'it's too easy' had been little more than an excuse to spare you, or why he kept sparing you. Why he began to look forward to your meetings.

Something about you was comforting to him, a comfort he hasn't felt in so long that it feel alien now that he's feeling it. Those kids had it coming, he thinks. He's considered going after their parents, as well-- for raising such awful brats.

To torment someone like you-- it both enraged and confused Michael to no end. You were the most innocent person in his mind, even if it was just dumb luck that he found you when he did; that he wasn't in a bad mood.

He doesn't know what comes next, but all he knows is that he'll keep you by his side the whole time. Maybe... you two could move, he'd take on a false identity and flee to Canada with you. Pretend that you're his... younger sibling, because he doesn't think he can get away with claiming you as his child. He isn't all that much older than you, in the grand scheme of things.

As long as you're by his side, then he doesn't really care about what comes next. He just wants you, and to keep you safe and happy. Michael isn't familiar with this, with being soft or gentle; but he'll try for you.

He'd do anything for you, if he's completely honest with himself.

[nfr-girly]

Healing hands 🩺 🩹 Michael Robinavitch x reader (spoilers)

Angst + fluff ❤️‍🩹 :: I’m not a medical expert at all so some of the information may be wrong 😵‍💫

Masterlist

~~~~

It was 12 hours into the shift. Robby was barely holding it together. Too much had happened today, Nick Bradley’s overdose, mr Spencer’s death, the little girl who drowned saving her sister, the shooting, Langdon, on top of today being the anniversary of Adamsons death. He wasn’t even supposed to be here.

It was like a never ending dance, every turn he took he had to deal with another problem, on top of that dealing with the stress of trying to save Jake and his girlfriend from bullet wounds. Luckily he had managed to save them both. (let’s pretend she survives 🤗)

It’s not an easy job, he knows that. It drains him every single day. But what motivates him to keep on going is very simply because of you. He does this job to build you two a life, he keeps on going because he knows you’ll be there at home waiting for him.

He knows you worry about him, how could you not? You see it on his face after work every day. All the lost patients, all the exhaustion. You know today is the most hardest on him. He hasn’t worked today for four years, when he got ready this morning you were hesitant to let him go. You knew he wasn’t stable enough, even though he told you he was, countless times.

No one at the er even knows about you two. The only ones who do are Dana, Frank and Dr Collins.

Right now, Robby seems to actually have a moment to himself. He sits at his computer, but really he’s only looking at his phone. He texted you a few hours ago how you were doing. It was your day off today, you made sure you had time off to be with Robby. (Before he ultimately decided to go to work). You hadn’t texted him back yet.

He didn’t want to worry himself too much, already on the verge of breaking down. So instead he sorted out documents.

He heard someone being brought in behind him, turning his head he tried to look, but the face of the person was covered by someone.

“They were involved in an attack by a drunken man. They were just walking in an alley when a man came up behind them and stabbed them in the shoulder.”

Robby overheard this as he got up and followed them into a room. Still not being able to see their face.

“Where’s the man now?” He asks, back turned to the patient as he puts his gloves on

“He’s been arrested, a man saw it and reported it to the police. He’s out there right now making a statement”

Robby nods, and quickly turns around, prepared to check their shoulder when he stops.

He felt his heart drop. All wind goes out his lungs and he can feel his ears ringing. Fuck.

There you were, lying on the gurney, your eyes were closed but you were alive. You were mumbling out incoherent words.

Suddenly the room was spinning, he could feel countless eyes on him as he spent about 20 seconds trying to assess the situation. Trying to convince himself that somehow you aren’t the one lying on the table.

“Alright catch me up on what-“ Dana speaks out as she walks into the room, but ultimately stops as she realises who the patient is. She looks towards Robby, who still hasn’t moved.

Dr Santos, now confused by the two, speaks up. “They have a stab wound on their right shoulder, got involved with a drunken man in an alley and he just stabbed them. It’s a little too close to the axillary artery for my liking.”

Dana nods in understanding, deciding to take charge of the situation while Robby still tries to figure out what to do. The room works around him, Dana occasionally leads the students on how to handle the wound. Suddenly, a voice can be heard.

“Robby”, it was muttered so quietly, any softer and no one would have heard it. Everyone looks towards him and he realises you’ve just called his name. He doesn’t know whether to sigh in relief or break down on the spot. He doesn’t leave time to think as he rushes to your side.

“Hey honey, I’ve got you you’re okay” he holds the side of your face and you give him the smallest smile you can. In the state you’re in, that smiles a godsend. Everyone around him seems to finally understand what’s going on. A newfound pressure is felt on everyone.

Robby immediately speaks up and gives out orders what to do, he doesn’t leave your side for a second.

Eventually, your shoulder is cleaned and is being stitched up now by Robby. Everyone has left you two to be on your own.

No words were exchanged between you two. You weren’t sure who would break the ice first.

While he stitches you up, you turn your head to look towards him, you can see the concentration on his face, but you can also see the worry, the stress from today. You don’t know what’s happened but you don’t need to be a genius to know he’s not okay.

“Robby.” You say, softly

He looks up at you and lets you speak.

“Are you okay?”

Robby chuckles quietly, not because of your question but just at how unbelievably caring you are. Even though you’re lying there, stab wound in the shoulder and half sedated, you still want to make sure he’s okay.

“I should be asking you that. What were you doing in an alleyway?” He feels guilty, if he hadn’t gone into work today you two would be at home right now, and you wouldn’t be hurt.

“I went to the shops, figured I’d cook us something special, I knew today would be hard so I wanted you to come home to something nice”

Robby looks at you in adoration. Jesus. He doesn’t deserve you.

“Has it been hard?”

Robby looks down at the floor. He doesn’t need to think about it, today’s been awful. He’s lost too many people, he almost lost Jake, and for gods sake he almost lost you.

No words come out his mouth, he just simply nods and looks up.

You look to him in worry, he’s done with your stitching, so you move your hands and invite him into your arms.

He smiles slightly, he doesn’t want to hurt your shoulder so he walks around to the other side of the bed, gets in it and lies his head on your chest. You carefully wrap your arms around him, your hand going through his hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask him

He shakes his head, “not now. Maybe later”

You bring your lips to his hair. “Okay”. You hold him tighter, not wanting to let go. Robby knows he has to be back out there, but a few minutes won’t hurt anyone.

He can’t think of a single moment today where he got the chance to just take a minute. To try and move on from the lives he hasn’t been able to save. Finally, in this moment he can, and with you it makes it significantly better.

~~~~

[deatheaterv]

FIRST LOVE

pairing : harry potter x weasley!fem!reader

genre : fluff

summary : harry potter has always noticed you, ron’s younger sister, but it’s only as time passes that he starts to develop feelings for you. determined to get closer, harry finds himself struggling, especially with other boys always around you.

harry didn’t believe in love at first sight. it was an idea that felt too dreamy, too far removed from his reality. but that was before he met you.

the first time harry noticed you wasn’t in any dramatic moment. it was simple, really. on the train to hogwarts, he’d just been looking out the window, lost in his own thoughts, when he noticed you sitting with ginny, laughing at something that had been said. the sound of your laughter caught his attention before anything else. you were warm, glowing, and there was an ease to the way you carried yourself that made harry’s heart beat a little faster.

he didn’t think much of it at first. after all, you were ron’s younger sister, and they were all just getting to know each other. but over time, his feelings grew.

it wasn’t just the way you smiled or the way your hair caught the light. it was how kind you were to everyone around you, how you made others feel seen and heard. harry found himself noticing the little things. like how you always had time to help someone with their homework or how you would slip off to the library when you needed a quiet moment, always finding the perfect books to recommend to others.

and it made harry realize just how special you were. how different you were from anyone else he’d met.

but how could he get close to you? how could he, the boy who was always in the shadow of his own fame and the weight of his destiny, break through the wall that seemed to exist between them?

so, harry did what he always did. he watched. he’d find himself sneaking peeks at you, listening to your conversations with ginny or luna, just wanting to understand you better. but every time he tried to speak to you, the words seemed to slip away. it was never the right time. there was always someone else there.

he began to ask ron more questions, though not directly. he'd bring up random things like how his sister was doing in classes, or if you had any big plans for the holidays, always steering the conversation back to you.

ron noticed. "why do you always ask about her?" he asked one evening, his tone a bit suspicious.

"i’m just curious," harry said quickly, but the blush creeping up his neck gave him away. "you know, y/n's really smart. i was just wondering how she does so well in everything."

ron, ever oblivious, shrugged. "she’s always been like that. don’t know how she manages it. but don’t get your hopes up, mate, she’s got plenty of blokes around her."

harry hadn’t really considered that. the idea of other boys showing interest in you made something in his chest tighten. he wasn’t sure what it was, but it made him uneasy. he tried to push it aside, telling himself that he wasn’t the jealous type. but the more he saw you with other guys, michael corner, dean thomas, even lee jordan, the more that tightness in his chest grew.

it was stupid. he was harry potter, the chosen one. why did this feel so difficult?

one day, harry pulled out the marauder’s map and quietly followed you, careful not to be noticed. he wasn’t stalking you. well, maybe just a little. but he was trying to figure out where you went when you had time to yourself. maybe then, when you were alone, he could finally find the courage to speak to you.

he checked the map. you were in the great hall, sitting with the weasleys for dinner. harry’s heart skipped a beat.

he made his way there, trying to keep his steps quiet, hoping you wouldn’t notice him. but as he entered, he immediately spotted you. sitting with ginny, fred, george, and ron, laughing over something, her face glowing in the warm light. harry couldn’t help it. he found himself smiling. in fact, he was so lost in watching you that he didn’t notice ron glaring at him from the other side of the table.

"mate," ron’s voice suddenly cut through his daydream, "what are you doing?"

harry blinked and quickly wiped the goofy smile off his face. "what? nothing."

ron raised an eyebrow, glancing at you across the table. "you’re staring at my sister. again."

"no, i’m not," harry quickly muttered, avoiding eye contact. but it was too late. ron had already noticed.

"you’ve been doing that all evening," ron continued, his tone half teasing, half annoyed. "just... stop it. it’s creepy."

harry flushed, suddenly embarrassed. "i wasn’t... i didn’t mean to..." his voice trailed off. he had no idea how to explain why he was so interested in you without sounding like a fool.

ron just rolled his eyes. "she’s got a lot of attention already, harry. you know that. and she’s not interested in you like that, so don’t get your hopes up."

harry’s heart sank. "i wasn’t. i’m just... i just wanted to know how she’s doing. as a friend."

ron gave him a long look, his expression unreadable. "yeah, sure," he said with a shrug, returning to his food. but harry could tell that ron didn’t quite believe him.

a few weeks later, harry was invited to the burrow for the holidays, and after a day spent helping mrs. weasley in the kitchen, harry found himself wandering upstairs to your room. he knocked softly at the door.

"come in," you told him to, from the inside.

harry pushed the door open, his heart thumping as he saw you sitting by the window, a book in your hands. you looked up and smiled when you saw him. "hey, harry. what’s up?"

"just thought I’d come see how you were doing," harry said with a casual shrug, walking in and sitting on the edge of your bed.

"doing good," you replied, placing your book down. "busy with all the holiday stuff."

they started chatting, mostly small talk at first. it was easy. harry felt like he could just be himself around you. your presence was calming, like nothing else mattered when they were together.

as their conversation went on, harry found his gaze drifting to your lips. he didn’t want to rush things, but it felt like the moment was right. without thinking, he leaned in, his breath mingling with hers. you didn’t pull away.

the kiss was slow, gentle, the tension between them building. harry’s hand gently cupped your face as he deepened the kiss. he could feel your hands on his chest, pulling him closer. it was everything he had imagined and more.

but before either of them could process what was happening, the door flew open.

"blimey, harry," fred exclaimed, poking his head in, followed by george, both wearing mischievous grins. "we leave you alone for five minutes, and.."

"you two are unbelievable," george added, shaking his head.

harry and you pulled away quickly, both flushed and trying to hide their smiles. "you’re not supposed to be here!" you protested, laughing nervously.

fred and george just laughed, exchanging glances. "oh, we know," fred said. "but it’s too funny to miss."

harry’s face went red, and you laughed, your eyes sparkling with amusement. it wasn’t exactly how he had imagined their first kiss, but at least he had finally made it happen.

and maybe, just maybe, it was worth the wait.

[retroaria]

hello! if you're not busy, then may i please request an interviewer!reader x the blue lock boys? in which they become enamored with their interviewers charm. a few specific characters i want are: sae, rin, nagi and kaiser. but feel free to add or remove characters as you'd like! you can do this in your free time, no pressure. thank you, and take care!

a/n: thank you for requesting!! i’m so sorry please don’t hate me for how long this took i am NOT a professional :x

⋆˙⟡ interviewer!reader x - rin - nagi - kaiser - ⋆˙⟡

• | BLUE LOCK M.LIST | •

nagi seishiro ᯓᡣ𐭩

*totally lovestruck*

nagi has always struck me as someone who considers himself to be “out of the league” for most people he finds attractive, so he doesn’t put himself out there and doesn’t really know how. if he was in a situation where he had to interact with someone he genuinely was enamored by, he’d be a mess.

and so he stands there, dopy, clueless, not even looking correctly in the camera and seemingly staring at…you? No, he’s definitely staring at you. his eyes are dull and dim, but they seem to be a little hazed, glossed over with a sheen of fascination. he shakes his head and nods and mumbles, unbeknownst to whatever it is you’ve actually been asking him.

this is not the look nagi ever intended to have when speaking to someone he finds this attractive, but he truly can’t help it. his minds gone blank and he isn’t sure if you’re standing perfectly under a spotlight or if you’re an angel naturally glowing in his presence. his internal dialogue is stuck between cringing at himself and taking mental note of every single feature he can gather with his eyes on you - all over you, i should say.

nagi would be way too excited to actually ask you out (also definitely not after staring you down like a creep), he’d be too afraid of losing his cool. but he would absolutely remember your name and ask around when he has the chance - would ask reo for help with this lol. through some industry path of team managers to stadium staff to news reporters, he eventually finds you again. would 100% stalk you on social media and follow you just to see where that goes .

just like rin, he’d try to be in the right place at the right time and do the right things to get you to strike some sort of non formal conversation with him in the hopes that’ll it’ll create an opening for him to ask you out :x

rin itoshi ᯓᡣ𐭩

*blushes and looks away…*

rin hates interviews. he doesn’t like open ended questions and he hates having a camera shoved in his face. most of the reporters that run up to him on the edge of the field just holler questions and statements at him that can often feel degrading and presumptuous.

when he was stopped just outside the stadium by you and your small crew, you spoke to him with a lack of crassness that he hasn’t been on the receiving end of in ages - so he agrees. his answers remain cold and striking, as they always are, but his demeanor is more loose than usual.

rin initially doesn’t feel anything for you other than respect and gratitude for treating him like a human unlike the other reporters he’s encountered. he was sure to get your name and properly thank you. he’s the type to think about you and hope that you’ll cross paths again. wouldn’t go out of his way to find you, but at every game and every event he scans the crowds in search of your smile that had welcomed him so tenderly before. not to mention your face has popped into his head almost everyday since he first met you and it’s freaking him the fuck out.

when he does see you again he accepts your interview request immediately, bullshits through all the questions, and sticks around a little longer to talk to you. he’s painfully awkward and even more painfully unaware of it, but once you notice the slight blush on his face you can steer him in the right direction lol

michael kaiser ᯓᡣ𐭩

*prince charming*

when you introduced yourself to kaiser in hopes of getting an interview you certainly did not expect the offer to be accepted so enthusiastically. kaiser isn’t necessarily bothered by interviews, but he hates having to think of answers on the spot.

he’d throw out some cheeky lines like “If I smile at the camera can I get a date?” and a classic for him, “Whatever you say, beautiful.”

you’re asking him questions he surely has been asked before, questions he’s probably been trained to answer, but his answers are boastfully and flirtatiously directed at you and you alone. your camera man leaned over and asked if he should just cut all the footage. you entertain him a little more, trying to see if you can get him to break his prince charming act and actually talk about the game he just played.

eventually he lets up and you get the interview done. as you and your crew are about to leave the stadium, he grabs your hand and lifts it up, planting a soft kiss to your knuckles (you think maybe this could be considered assault, but you’ll let it slide for him this one time).

unlike the other two, kaiser doesn’t have a bashful bone in his body in this situation. i’ve always felt that he isn’t as much of a manwhore as everyone thinks he is, which i still stand by!!! but if he sees you and is truly enamored by you he knows how to make his feeling apparent.

[science-hoes]

Y’all wanna know something sad?

—

Robby is the one who gets the phone call. He was in the middle of assisting Adamson with an opioid overdose when his phone buzzes in his pocket, so he ignores it the first time. Then it buzzes again, starting to piss him off because who the fuck needs to reach him so bad that they call twice? Once the patient is stabilized and Adamson tells him to check on the incoming MVC victims, he’s shucking his gloves off and tossing them into the trash, pushing the hand sanitizer dispenser.

And his phone starts buzzing for a third time.

Annoyed, Robby fishes his phone out of his pocket to look at the caller ID. Unknown area code but not a blocked number.

“If this is a fucking telemarketer, I’m gonna throw this phone against the wall.” He thinks to himself as he clicks answer.

“Hello?” His voice isn’t warm, and it’s obvious he’s irritated.

“Hello, is this Michael Joseph Robinavitch?” The man on the other line questions.

Robby hesitates for a beat because who knows his full fucking name from an unknown number? “Yes.” He finally replies, skepticism laced in his voice.

“This is Captain Jones from the combat medic unit. I’m calling on behalf of your brother, Lieutenant Colonel Jonathan Abbot.”

Robby’s heart sinks to his stomach, and he can feel the color draining from his face. “Jack?” He breathes.

“Yes, sir. Jonathan Abbot was seriously injured in the field yesterday evening. He is currently receiving medical treatment at the Army hospital in Germany, Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. He is in critical condition, but he is in good hands.”

Robby tries to speak, but nothing comes out. Dana approaches him when she notices the ghost of a man he turns into in a matter of seconds.

“What’s going on?” She whispers, brow furrowed.

Robby meets her concerned eyes and shakes his head. “What’s the extent of the injuries? What happened?” He asked.

Dana tries to piece together the situation from the clues Robby gives.

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have that information at this time. We will give you another call in the near future when we have more details about his condition. I apologize for this difficult information, and my thoughts and prayers are with you and your brother.”

Robby pulls the phone away from his ear and ends the call. Before Dana can ask another question, Robby sprints to the nearest trash can and pukes his guts out. When Adamson steps outside the overdose patient’s room, he immediately clocks the young attending vomiting near him.

“You okay, Robby?” Adamson asks, coming to place a hand on his back.

Robby’s hands tremble as he grips the sides of the trash can. “It’s Jack.” His voice croaks.

Dana moves to stand next to Adamson, grabbing Robby by the shoulder to make him speak. “What’s wrong with Jack?” Her voice is scared, unsteady.

Robby’s face turns from paled to red as he fights back tears. “The guy said he was injured. In critical condition. He’s in the Army hospital in Germany.” He manages to say. “Couldn’t tell me anything else. Just that they’ll call again soon when they know more.”

There’s a cold silence that falls amongst the three of them. When the second call comes hours later to arrange transportation for the family, Robby and Dana both travel to Germany to be with Jack. Adamson wanted to go, and it tore him apart to stay behind and run The Pitt. Just as Robby, Jack was like a son to him.

Jack listed Robby and Dana as his brother and sister for next of kin before he deployed, right after his wife passed away. That’s the only reason they were allowed to come to the hospital and be with him. Robby hasn’t slept in days, not since he got the call. Dana hasn’t been able to eat anything.

When they see him for the first time in the hospital bed, pale, gashes stitched on his arm and face, bedsheet pulled to reveal bandaging around where his right foot should have been, it’s the first time they learn the true extent of his injuries.

Jack turns his head when they walk into the room, but he doesn’t say anything. His auburn curls are a stark contrast to his paled skin from blood loss and antibiotics and painkillers. His eyes aren’t the bright hazel they used to be, they’re almost gray.

Dana bursts into tears, sitting at his bedside and collapsing onto his chest to hug him. He brings up a weak hand to place on her back, tethered by an IV line. Robby just walks forward slowly, sitting on the opposite side from Dana. They’re in a staring competition, Robby’s brown eyes vs. Jack’s decaying ones.

“You look like shit.” Jack breaks the silence.

Robby cracks a smile for the first time in days, then bursts into laughter, tears steaming down his face.

But finally Robby says, “We’ve got you, brother. We’re not leaving until you can come home with us.”

That’s when Jack lets himself cry for the first time. Surrounded by the two people who love him most, his brother and sister, not related through blood but bound by their souls.

[thebestsetter]

Undressed

Synopsis: Break ups are tough. The ones with the one you swore you'd spend your whole life are even harder. He'll never get over you, he's sure of it. How could he, when everywhere he looks, you're there?

Characters: Rin Itoshi, Oliver Aiku, Michael Kaiser, Sae Itoshi

TW: The word fuck sometimes, OOC characters 😟

A/N: This is obviously inspired by Sombr's song "Undressed". Y'all should totally listen to it.

A/N²: THEBESTSETTER'S WRITING COMEBACK???

I don't wanna get undressed for a new person all over again

Rin Itoshi has never had an easy time opening up to other people.

Ever since he was a kid, talking about his feelings and thoughts never came as easily to him as it did to others. Feelings were... well, complicated. The only one who could make him come out of his little shell was Sae Itoshi, his older brother. The one who promised to always be by Rin's side. The one who he looked up to. The one who comforted him and gave him free popsickles.

The one who betrayed him. The one who felt disgusted by Rin. The one Rin wanted to crush and destroy.

And also the one who broke Rin. Who made him cry countless times, wondering just what was wrong with him.

After that fateful night, Rin never opened up to anyone again. Why bother? If even his own brother abandoned him, others would too, right? People come and go, so what's the point in being an open book? They're gonna leave anyways, he's clearly destined to be alone (And he's okay with it, really.)

Or perhaps not, cause somebody else managed to break through the walls he oh so carefully built up. You managed to.

Talking to you was easy. He didn't felt like he was forced to speak, it just came naturally. It was as if his own body wanted to open up to you, to have a shoulder to cry on - or maybe it was just the effect you had on him, he'll never really know.

He told you everything. He talked to you about the ugliest parts of him, the ones he tried so hard to hide. He told you about Sae and how the whole situation regarding both of them made him feel. He felt vulnerable enough to cry in front of you, multiple times.

He still remembers your arms around him, the embrace strong, yet so gentle. It was clear you cared for him. Scratch that, you told him you loved him, more than once. And he loved you back. So, so much.

That's why he doesn't understand what went wrong. Why he's here and you're there. Why he's alone again.

"...Rin?"

Well, not exactly alone.

Don't get him wrong, his new girlfriend is good. Great even. She's pretty, the media loves her and her cooking is very good.

There's just one problem.

She isn't you.

"Is everything alright?"

His shoulders are shaking as he lies with her in their shared bed, his back facing her while he looks at the wall as if it was the most interesting thing in the room.

"Mhm" He nods, trying to calm down. His breath is unstable, even if he tries to hide it.

"You're shaking. You sure you're alright?"

The feeling of her hand going up and down his back, clearly trying to calm him down, does nothing to help. Actually, it only makes things worse: he feels disgusted by it. Her touch feels so, so wrong. It feels forced. Out of place. Strange.

He brushes her hand off like it physically burns with a little more force than normal. He realized it was too much though, so he tried to play it cool.

"Sorry" he says, finally finding his voice again "I'm fine, really. You should sleep now... Love"

He almost spits the word, like it's acid going through his mouth. The stinging sensation in his lips after saying it makes his head start reeling and his heart beat faster.

"Rin, you know you can always talk to me when something's wrong, right? I'm your girlfriend, sweetie. You need to trust me for this relationship to work"

Trust? He trusted too many people already. Sae. You.

And, suddenly, the earning becomes hatred. For a split second, he holds the pillow tighter, the longing he felt for you quickly replaced by pure anger.

You promised him. You told him you'd never leave him. And the worst part is that he believed you. He wanted to believe.

He really should talk to her. She's waiting for an answer, staring at him in silence. She stares at him like the kids used to do when he was little: like his feeling were too confusing to understand. Like he was too much.

You never once looked at him like that. You looked at him with understanding in your eyes. With care and patience.

The anger turns into tears. One by one, they begin to spill from his eyes as he hiccups into his pillow. It's as if the ghost of your hands is right there, wiping away his tears.

"Talk to me, Rin" she says - no, she pleads.

But he can't. Even though he knows he should, his mind doesn't want to. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to find the right words to say, but finds none. His body physically holds him back from talking to her the way it used to do with you.

"...I can't"

He'll never be able to open up to another person, as long as the ghost of you still haunts him. He doesn't want to.

I don't wanna kiss someone else's neck and have to pretend it's yours instead

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He wasn't supposed to get attached.

It was meant to be an one stand, a quick "fuck and go" to help him get his mind off of the current... situation he was facing.

But Aiku couldn't help it: she just looked too much like you.

Her hair, her face, hell even her name sounded like yours - which really helped him cover his slip ups (moaning your name instead of hers) many times.

When they were sleeping together, she put her cold feet under his legs to warm them up just like you used to do. Her favorite series are the same as yours. Her style looks liked yours. She was almost you.

Almost. She wasn't you.

But if Aiku closed his eyes really tight, he could pretend it was you.

He knew he looked crazy, but he just couldn't stop it.

When he gifted her the perfume you used, he brushed it off as a coincidence. Many girls wear that fragrance, so it's not a big deal, really. When he "accidentally" bought her VIP tickets to that rock band you liked - the one he refused to go with you many times, claiming he was "busy" - even though he knew she doesn't like rock, he just shrugged and said he liked the band - he doesn't know a single song beside your favorite one. When he kisses her neck, he needs to pretend it's you, or else he physically can't be affectionate with her. He closes his eyes and inhales your her cologne, smiling to himself as he mutters your name.

"Aiku?" She asks, turning to look directly at him "Who's that?"

And that's when he realized: she was not you. Because her eyes were nothing like yours.

He misses them. Your eyes, I mean: the way the colors in your iris danced, inviting him in and making him grow an inexplicable need to kiss you till you're both a breathing mess of love and earn.

That's why he knows he should stop.

He really should.

"What do you mean? I said your name"

There's not an ounce of doubt in his voice when he talks to her, as if they've had this conversation hundreds of times already.

"...okay then"

And when she turns and he can't see her face - her eyes - anymore, he automatically goes back to pretending it's you again.

So you have to understand, he couldn't let go of her. Cause then he'd have to get over you, and he's not sure if he's ready to.

I look across the tracks and see you with another

There's nothing worse than seeing your lover moving on while you still suffer

Kaiser feels sick to his fucking stomach.

What the actual fuck is happening just in front of him? Why are you at your cafeteria with a lowlife? Your cafeteria. Yours and Kaiser's. The one you had your first date in. The one where he asked you to be his girlfriend.

He's gonna throw up.

Why are you with that bastard? He looks like a fucking dog that hasn't taken a bath in weeks - no, months. He's so much better than that idiot in front of you right now. He knows it. And he's sure you know it too.

So why are you smiling so hard?

How can you be smiling so hard without him, when he's never gotten over you? When he still earns for you, still goes through your old photos on his phone. When he still calls you just to listen to your voice on the voicemail.

How can you move on while he's still suffering? And how can you look so pretty while doing it.?

It's unfair. He's been on dates after your break up, sure, but never managed to find anyone even close to your level. That's why he doesn't know how you managed to.

Kaiser knows he's pathetic. He though those lovesick fools from the movies you forced him to watch were ridiculous - until it was him in their position.

He rejects every girl that even tries to talk to him. The scented candles - the ones that have your scent - are always lit. He checks your social media like it's a ritual.

He even cries himself to sleep sometimes, trying to figure out just what went wrong. Why he's so easy to abandon. Why no relationship ever works for him.

"Mich... Kaiser" He hears someone call.

It's you. Hand in hand with your new... Lover.

He can't help the disgusted expression that appears in his face.

"...hey" It's so weak, so low, so unlike him that even you seem surprised

"What are you doing here?"

I was looking for you, hoping to see you here. Alone. Looking for me, too

"Ah, just passing by. The coffe here is the best, you know."

It's not a question, it's an affirmation. He knows you know. You told him yourself that they serve your favorite coffe.

"Yeah, I know" an uncomfortable silence settled, but Kaiser didn't even oay attention. His eyes were focused on your hands, intertwined with that guy's. "So..." You start, looking at him. Oh, how he missed your eyes.

But not like that. You're looking at him with indifference, not with the loved you used to. "How's life going?"

"Amazing" Bullshit "I'm seeing someone" it's the most absurd lie he's ever said.

"Really? That's great!" No. You're not supposed to be happy. That would mean you...

"I'm glad you also managed to move on" Also? "You know I still care for you, right?"

He's gonna cry.

"Y-yeah" How many times has the mighty Michael Kaiser stuttered?

"You should call me" he's blocked.

You seem to remember it, since you blush and look to the side. His face softens when he sees this. You really haven't changed. At least, not completely. "I'm gonna unblock you, don't worry"

Oh, how long has he earned to hear those words? But not like this. Whatever this is, it isn't what he wanted.

"Sure" he puts his cold and alone hands inside the pockets of his jacket, pretending it's you holding them. "I need to go, now. She's waiting for me at home"

There's no one at his house - he can't call it home anymore. Home is wherever you are.

"Yeah, sure. Goodbye, Kaiser"

"Goodbye"

He begins walking away, his eyes glossy and the air around his face filled with the puffs from his heavy breathing.

"Oh, I almost forgot"

He looks at you again, locking eyes. He takes in your whole body, almost as if it's the last time he'll ever see you: and it might be.

"Take care of youself, Micha."

It seems his pillow will wake up wet again.

I don't want the children of another man to have the eyes of the girl I won't forget

Sae changed.

Spain changed him. Life changed him. Football changed him.

Whatever was going between you both before he travelled was over. He made it very clear that day, when he broke up with you on a snowy day.

He knew he needed to do it. He needed to if he wanted to he the best midfielder in the world.

He also told you to not wait for him, even though you told him you would. He wasn't selfish enough. He knew you deserved to be happy.

And even though he said you shouldn't wait, he still held hope. Hope that you had waited for him, just like you said you would.

That's how he finds himself in Japan again after almost 5 years, strolling through the park where you spent your whole childhood playing together, searching for you.

Everywhere he looks, there's a piece of you. The swings you both ate ice cream in. The sand box where you'd play with Rin. The bench where he confessed his love for you. The olive tree where you first met. The...

"Daddy, look! It's Sae Itoshi, from Real Madrid!"

He snaps out of his daydream when a highpitched voice breaks him out of it.

"It's really him, daddy!"

"Are you sure, sweetie?"

"Yes! Yes! 100% sure!"

"Okay then, go talk to him"

He looks to his right and sees a little girl running up to him a smile on her face and her arms open wide. Her dad is behind her, recording the whole thing while smiling.

"Hello" he says, ruffling her hair a little. He doesn't really like paparazzi, but he really likes his kid fans. Only when they're not spoiled, though "What's your name, little one?"

"I'm Hannah!" She says, still hugging his legs "And I'm your biggest fan!"

He smiles a little

"Well then, 'biggest Sae fan'" he hears her dad say, laughing and coming closer "Why don't you let him go now so you can take a picture together?"

She reluctantly lets go, still not able to contain her smile. When the photo is taken, Sae crouched down to her height to say goodbye, like he always does with kids.

Except it's not the same. The words die in his lips.

Because he recognizes that look. Those eyes.

They're exactly like yours. Even the sparkle in them is the same.

He's suddenly brought back to the thoughts of you. The way you looked at him when he declared his love. The way your eyes sparkled when he won one of the most important championships of the town with his silly school football team. Hell, he even remembered the way your eyes filled with tears when he broke up with you that day.

All because of that little girl.

It can't be... can it?

"Hey, man" he hears the girl's dad say, which makes him quickly rise up again (without really saying anything to the girl. He got too distracted)

"Yes?"

"Could you give a shout out to my wife? She really likes soccer, so I'm sure she knows you"

Oh God.

"Sure. What's her name?"

Please don't say her name please don't say her name please don't say her name please don't...

"Sure. It's..."

He tunes everything down the moment the name began to form itself in the man's lips. Maybe if Sae didn't hear it, it wouldn't be truth.

Yeah, maybe.

But it wouldn't. The truth was simple: you moved on. And the proof was there, right in front of him, smiling without a care in the world.

"So, think you can do it? The video, I mean"

Those kid's eyes will haunt him forever. He's sure of it.

"...yeah. I'll do it"

[kxsagi]

Hello! Could I ask something about a foreign reader, maybe European, meeting Michael in Germany, Sae in Madrid and Rin in Japan while on a trip? Speaking in English since they don't know the language and having that immediate connection that neither of them have ever had before. That'd be very cute, and such a dream😫

“𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤”

a/n: love talk by wayv is a FIRE song

made reader both european and american if that’s okay! being american helps explain the english more

translation of each title: “do you speak english?” (german), “more beautiful than the sun” (spanish), “kotoba janakute mo/even without words” (japanese)

ft. kaiser michael, itoshi sae, itoshi rin

kaiser michael – "sprichst du english?" 

berlin's streetlights hum like lullabies, the city bleeding into a haze of jazz from some underground bar. you don’t know where you are. literally. google maps is spinning like a roulette wheel and you're pretty sure the bratwurst vendor gave you a fake street name just to mess with you. 

“you look like a lost little tourist,” a voice purrs, rich with amusement. 

you turn to see a tall, golden-haired man leaning against a lamp post, hands in his coat pockets, smirk curled like a sin. 

“you speak english?” 

his eyes light up. “better than you, probably.” 

he says it like he’s challenging you, like he wants to bicker for the next hour over espresso and late-night currywurst. 

you blink. “oh my gosh, thank goodness. i thought i was gonna get kidnapped.” 

“well,” he chuckles, stepping forward with a lazy saunter, “depends on who finds you first.” 

he offers his hand. “michael. kaiser, actually. but you can call me whatever you want, hübsches mädchen.” 

you laugh, hand in his. “i literally have no idea what you just said.” 

“good. it’s more fun that way.” 

and just like that, he walks with you, not behind or in front, but beside, like he already belongs there. he gets you a kebab, points out ridiculous graffiti, and lets you try to pronounce german street names while biting back laughter. 

you don’t even remember what you were looking for in berlin. now it’s just him. 

itoshi sae – "más guapa que el sol" 

you’re melting. madrid in the summer is no joke. and you, brave but dumb, decided to wear jeans. 

as you take refuge in a quiet little café, fanning yourself with a menu, the chair across from you scrapes against the floor. 

“mind if i sit?” an unfamiliar voice in crisp english asks. 

you look up. red hair. unreadable teal eyes. the aura of someone who absolutely hates small talk but will make an exception for you. 

“… uh, sure?” you blink. “do i know you?” 

he just shrugs and sits down, sipping from his water. “you were staring at the menu like it insulted you. figured i’d save you.” 

you snort. “i can’t read anything. my spanish sucks.” 

he lifts a brow. “american?” 

“and european… you say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“it is,” he mutters. but the corner of his mouth quirks like he’s fighting a smile. 

he orders for both of you without asking, and you're weirdly okay with it. later, over chilled wine and tortilla, you learn he’s a football player. kind of famous, actually. sae something. 

“so you're like, a celebrity?” 

“only here,” he says, looking out the window. then softer, “not with you though.” 

you don’t know what it means. maybe he doesn’t either. but when he offers to walk you to your hotel, slowly, like he has nowhere else to be, you let him. 

itoshi rin – “言葉じゃなくても” 

you’re crying in the middle of a tokyo train station. not ugly crying, but overwhelmed, jetlagged, google-translate-is-failing-you crying. 

someone taps your shoulder. you spin around, sniffling, trying to look like you didn’t just almost sob into your iced matcha. 

he’s tall. sharp-eyed. slightly terrifying. but his voice is gentle when he asks, “are you okay?” 

“do you… you speak english?” you manage. 

“a little,” he says. “you’re lost?” 

you nod. 

without a word, he gestures for your phone. you hand it over and he starts typing something into your map app. once he finishes, he gives it back and mutters, “i’ll take you.” 

“you don’t have to–” 

“i want to,” he says. blunt. serious. a little red in the ears. 

on the way, you try to make conversation, and he gives these awkward, short replies, like he wants to say more but doesn’t know how. still, he slows his pace to match yours. he buys you a melon soda when he notices you haven’t had water all day. he hovers protectively when the crowd thickens. 

when you reach your destination, you thank him profusely. he just nods, looks like he wants to say something else… and hands you a tiny slip of paper. 

his number. with a scribbled note underneath: “i could work on my english more. can i practice with you?” 

and suddenly, you’re not so lost anymore. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[harunayuuka2060]

WHB Series #1 (Cont.)

MC: ...

Michael: *offers them a bouquet of flowers, smiling at them charmingly*

Michael: Good morning.

MC: ...

MC: I couldn’t see a shit. *from their perspective, Michael’s face is shining so brightly that they can’t make out his features*

MC: ...

MC: Raphael, Gabriel, how did this one manage to slip by you both?

Michael: It’s nothing special. I’m just stronger than the two of them combined.

Gabriel: What did you say?

Raphael: Are you saying you're superior to us?

MC: Hmm, I can’t argue with his point. They should be on equal footing when it comes to their abilities and still present a challenge to one another. If he was able to slip by without them noticing, then it means...

MC: ...

MC: That's enough. You both were tired last night, so it's understandable that you're not at your best this morning.

Michael: ...

Gabriel and Raphael: ...

Gabriel: But god... I don't think that reason is enough for us to be excused...

Raphael: Spending time with god should not be a reason for us to let our guard down.

MC: *smiles* How adorable.

Michael: ...

MC: Should I just send you back?

Beelzebub: *who could actually have stopped Michael from entering their chamber*

Beelzebub: He brought you flowers~.

MC: Tch.

Beelzebub: *chuckles* You know I'm a romantic person.

Beelzebub: He's being sincere, so I let him be.

MC: You're fascinated by his sincere obsession, eh?

Beelzebub: It won't be bad to entertain him once in a while. You can consider this as an exposure therapy.

MC: *unamused*

Michael: The descendant of Solomon is not a sinful human and has steered clear of the sinful pleasures of this world.

Michael: I know they can't possibly be involved romantically or sexually with Raphael and Gabriel, yet I still feel an overwhelming sense of jealousy.

Michael: I want them to be mine...

Michael: *imagines himself in their arms and speaks lovingly to them*

Michael: *finds pleasure in the idea, which is evident in his expression*

Beelzebub: Are not going to eat?

MC: *feels sick* I want to throw up.

Beelzebub: Oh, dear. Is it your allergy?

Beelzebub: Just think of beautiful thoughts. Ah, like when I swallowed your fledgling.

MC: *glares at him*

Beelzebub: *laughs* It worked!

Leviathan: ...

Foras: *has reported to him that Michael is having fantasies about MC*

Foras: He was so engrossed in his own activity that he didn't notice anything unusual about his surroundings.

Leviathan: ...

Leviathan: And what does Beelzebub think of this?

Foras: He finds this situation amusing, Your Majesty.

Leviathan: ...

Leviathan: Send a message to the descendant of Solomon, informing them that I will be paying a visit.

Foras: Yes, Your Majesty Leviathan.