maes-chocolate-cookie

[maes-chocolate-cookie]

Just saw that one gif of the couple in a haunted house where the guy pushes the girl in front of the “killer” and runs away, so said killer gives the girl his knife and she chases after her man. Could you write a similar scenario. Whether the killer hands reader their weapon, reader asks for it or just takes it, I just think it’s kinda funny. Reader’s boyfriend shoves her in front of the killer and books it so reader ends up with the slasher’s weapon and goes after her boyfriend herself. I’d like Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees please but if you wanna add anyone I certainly won’t stop you.

Slashers' Reaction when they See the Reader being Offered as Bait by Her Own Boyfriend.

Summary: When your cowardly boyfriend shoves you into the path of infamous slashers to save himself, you don’t scream—you get even. Each killer watches you take their weapon and chase down your backstabbing boyfriend with rage, sarcasm and style. Turns out, the real horror isn’t the killer... it’s dating a man with no spine.

Includes: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhes, Bo Sinclair, Charles Lee Ray, Billy Loomis & Stu Macher

A/N: I found this request very interesting, I certainly wouldn't let it go if it were me. Thank you for sending the request, I loved writing it and imagining the scene.

Michael Myers

You should’ve known something was off the second your boyfriend suggested the two of you “go for a walk through Haddonfield” at night.

“It’s Halloween,” you said.

“Exactly,” he replied, smug. “Let’s live a little.”

So you ended up strolling near Lampkin Lane, where the houses were quiet, the wind was sharp, and something was watching you. You turn the corner near the old, abandoned Myers house—the one that’s still cordoned off with faded “No Trespassing” signs and urban legends as thick as fog. The porch creaks in the distance. Somewhere, a swing sways on rusted chains, though there’s no breeze.

Your boyfriend chuckles nervously beside you.

“This is kinda spooky, huh?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, eyeing the dark windows. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”

Suddenly, something shifts in the shadows. A figure steps into the orange glow of a flickering streetlamp at the end of the block.

Tall. Silent. White mask. Mechanic’s suit. Michael. Myers.

You freeze.

He’s far away—but not far enough.

Then your boyfriend, in a move so quick and selfish it would impress Olympic sprinters, screams like a banshee and SHOVES you toward the street—toward him.

“OH MY GOD! TAKE HER!” he shrieks. “TAKE HER, NOT ME!”

You stumble into the road, landing on your hands and knees.

“Are you KIDDING ME?!” you shout, spinning around to watch him full-on sprint in the opposite direction.

You can’t believe it. Your boyfriend just offered you to Michael freaking Myers like a sacrifice in sneakers.

You turn back.

Michael is still there. Watching. Still as a statue. His head tilts.

You meet his dark, unreadable eyes behind the mask.

“…I’m not with him anymore,” you mutter.

He slowly approaches. No words. Just the rhythmic sound of his boots crunching on leaves. He stops in front of you, towering and ominous, the chef’s knife in his gloved hand glinting under the moonlight.

You brace for the worst.

Then… Michael raises the knife—slowly—and flips it.

He holds it out to you. Handle first.

You blink. “Wait—are you… giving this to me?”

The silence is deafening.

You glance over your shoulder. You can still hear your ex-boyfriend screaming in the distance, fumbling with a chain-link fence and tripping like he’s in a bad horror movie.

You look back at Michael. His hand doesn’t waver.

“…Hell yes,” you mutter, and take the knife.

You get up. Your shoulders square. You’re no longer the girl who got shoved into danger.

You’re the danger.

“Thanks, Mikey,” you say, not expecting a response. But you swear—swear—his head tilts just a bit more. Like amusement. Then you take off, knife in hand, stalking your way through Haddonfield.

“HEY, JAMES!” you yell into the night. “I’M GONNA CARVE OUT THE WORD ‘COWARD’ ON YOUR BACK!”

From down the road, your ex screams. “WHY ARE YOU SIDING WITH THE KILLER?!”

You shout, “BECAUSE THE KILLER HAS MORE INTEGRITY THAN YOU!”

Michael watches from the shadows, the slightest movement betraying what might almost be a nod of approval.

For tonight, Haddonfield’s boogeyman takes a break.

You’ve got vengeance covered.

.

Jason Voorhees

You weren’t thrilled about this trip to Camp Crystal Lake in the first place. Your boyfriend had sold it as a “fun, spooky weekend getaway”—just you two, nature, and some “light ghost hunting” for his vlog.

You hadn’t signed up to get eaten alive by mosquitoes, much less the thought of possibly running into Jason freaking Voorhees. Still, you tried to enjoy it. The lake was beautiful in that eerie, mist-covered way. You even held his hand while walking the trails after sundown, lantern swinging in your grip, nerves humming with unease.

That’s when you heard it—a twig snapping, somewhere off the trail.

Your boyfriend froze, eyes wide. “D-did you hear that?”

You sighed, half-annoyed. “It’s probably a deer or—”

Crunch.

Another step. Heavy. Deliberate. Slow.

You both turned.

And there he was.

Jason Voorhees.

Towering. Silent. Mask glinting pale in the moonlight. A blood-stained machete gripped in his hand like an extension of his soul. You took a shocked step back. You weren’t even sure if you screamed. But your boyfriend?

He screamed louder than you’ve ever heard a grown man scream. Full panic mode. Then, without warning—

HE SHOVES YOU FORWARD.

“TAKE HER!” he shrieks, dead serious, and takes off running like a cartoon character on fast-forward.

You stumble, barely catching yourself before hitting the forest floor. Heart racing, hands trembling—you look up, expecting death.

Jason hasn’t moved.

He just stares at you. 

You look back in the direction your boyfriend fled, the underbrush still shaking from his cowardice.

Then you turn back to Jason. And it clicks.

“...Did he seriously throw me to you like I’m a Scooby-Doo extra?”

Jason doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. But somehow, you know he gets it. The way his mask tilts slightly, just enough to read like confusion and maybe even a little pity—it’s almost comical.

You wipe some dirt off your pants. “You know what? Screw it. You’re not the scariest guy out here tonight.”

Jason just stands there. Then, slowly, he flips the machete in his hand and holds it out to you.

Handle first. No sound. No words. Just… an offer.

You stare at it.

Then, slowly, grin.

“Oh... Oh, you’re my new best friend.”

You take it. It’s heavy—really heavy—but you’re running on pure adrenaline and RAGE now.

“Thank you, Mr. Voorhees,” you say, sincerely. “I’ll bring it back with blood on it.”

You spin around and stalk into the woods, machete dragging across the dirt, screaming your boyfriend’s name into the trees:

“YOU THREW ME TO JASON VORHEES, YOU SPINELESS TOAD?! YOU’D BETTER HOPE HE KILLS YOU FIRST!”

Somewhere in the distance, you hear a terrified voice yell, “OH GOD SHE HAS A MACHETE—JASON, STOP HER!”

Jason doesn’t move. He watches you vanish into the trees, his massive shoulders rising and falling once with what might—might—have been the ghost of a laugh.

He doesn’t need to lift a finger tonight.

You’ve got it covered.

.

Bo Sinclair

Ambrose wasn’t even supposed to be on the way. You’d both taken the detour after your boyfriend swore up and down it would be a "fun, spooky, abandoned town Instagram thing." Classic him. Anything for the views, right?

But now?

You’re standing in the middle of Main Street—surrounded by wax figures, everything dead silent—and you’re glaring at your boyfriend, who’s just realized the garage isn’t as empty as it looks.

Bo Sinclair steps out of the shadows, wiping his hands with a rag, eyes landing on you both like a lion sighting fresh meat.

"Well, well," he says, slow Southern drawl curling around his smirk. "Y’all lost or just dumb?"

You don’t even get a chance to answer.

Your boyfriend screams—like, actual scream—and grabs you by the shoulders.

“TAKE HER!” he shouts, shoving you toward Bo with both hands. You stumble, trip, and land at Bo’s feet.

Then the bastard runs. Full sprint. Down the road. No looking back.

You lie there for a second, stunned, blinking up at the sky.

Bo just blinks down at you, his expression blank for a beat.

Then his lips twitch.

Then he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, goddamn," he wheezes, clutching his stomach. "You see that? He tossed you like a sack o' potatoes!”

“Yeah,” you mutter, standing up and brushing off your clothes. “Believe me, I felt it.”

Bo whistles, still grinning. “Girl, he didn’t just throw you under the bus, he started the engine and reversed over you twice.”

You’re still glaring after your fleeing boyfriend’s back. The rage is setting in. Humiliation burning behind your eyes.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “He really left me to die.”

Bo wipes his eyes, watching you with interest now. “So what’re you gonna do, sweetheart? Scream? Cry? Run after ‘im?”

You inhale sharply, glance over at the tool bench behind Bo… and then look at the wrench in his hand. Your eyes narrow. Bo watches you eye it. Then, with the ease of someone offering a gift, he flips it around and holds it out handle-first.

“Tell ya what," he says with a grin. "You wanna clock him one? I won’t stop ya. Hell, I’ll even give you a five-minute head start before I come collect what’s left.”

You take the wrench.

It's heavy. Cold. Satisfying.

You grin wickedly. “I’m not gonna kill him.”

Bo lifts a brow. “No?”

“Just gonna remind him that if he’s gonna throw me to the wolves, he better hope they’re hungrier than I am.”

Bo gives a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Damn, girl.”

You start marching in the direction your boyfriend ran, full murder in your stride.

As you pass a wax figure of a man mid-scream, you mutter, “Better start running faster, Jason. I’ve got a wrench and no sense of mercy right now.”

Bo watches you go, still smiling, his arms folded.

“Gotta admit,” he says under his breath, “I kinda wanna see how that turns out.”

.

Charles Lee Ray (Chucky)

“Babe, this is not funny anymore,” you hiss, clutching your coat tighter against the biting wind. “We were supposed to be in Little Italy. Where the hell are we?”

Your boyfriend glances over his shoulder, jumping at every shadow. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he mutters. “Let’s just keep walking. There’s gotta be a main street nearby.”

A garbage can rattles.

You both freeze.

Then comes the sound of tiny footsteps… fast. Too fast.

And then you see it.

A doll. A little red-haired Good Guy doll. Just standing at the end of the alley.

“What the f—” you begin.

And then it moves. Fast, like a blur, and suddenly that high-pitched, gravelly voice cuts through the silence.

“Hi, I’m Chucky. Wanna die?”

The doll leaps toward you both.

Your boyfriend screams like a child at Chuck E. Cheese and, without a moment’s hesitation, grabs you by the arm and throws you in front of him like a ragdoll.

“TAKE HER!” he yells, already bolting down the alley like his soul’s on fire.

You land hard on your hip, scraping your palm against the concrete. “You son of a—!”

Chucky skids to a stop, blinking down at you as you sit there on the ground, stunned and seething.

“…Damn,” Chucky mutters, cocking his plastic head. “That guy really tossed you like yesterday’s trash. That’s cold.”

You slowly push yourself up, wiping blood off your palm. “You think?”

Chucky shrugs, then straightens up, switching the bloody knife in his tiny hand to a reverse grip. “Normally, this is the part where I stab you and laugh about it, but…”

He glances down the alley, where your boyfriend’s distant scream echoes into the night. “I think I just found someone I’d rather gut.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

There’s a pause. Then you step forward.

“…Let me see that.”

Chucky eyes you. “You wanna borrow my knife?”

“I insist.”

He grins wide, teeth sharp behind the plastic sheen of his face. “You’ve got style, sweetheart.”

He hands it over, hilt first. You feel the weight of it—smaller than you expected, but razor sharp and warm. You give it a test twirl, then glance down the alley where your dear boyfriend disappeared.

You take a deep breath, grit your teeth, and start walking.

“YOU CHOSE ME TO DIE, YOU LITTLE COWARD?” you bellow into the dark. “YOU USED ME AS A HUMAN SHIELD FOR A DOLL?!”

You break into a sprint, blade gleaming.

Behind you, Chucky watches with absolute delight.

“Y’know,” he says to no one in particular, lighting a cigarette, “I think I’m in love.”

Then he casually strolls after you, whistling.

.

Billy Loomis (Ghostface)

The old Macher house had been abandoned since Stu's party. Of course it had—the murders, the blood, the urban legends whispered through Woodsboro’s halls made sure of that. But your boyfriend had dared you to break in with him anyway.

"It’s just an old house," he said. "Nothing’s gonna happen."

You should’ve known something was off the moment the door creaked open by itself.

You wandered the trashed kitchen, cobwebs stringing across cabinets like decaying tinsel. Somewhere down the hallway, something thumped. You froze. He grabbed your arm.

Then the phone rang.

Not a cell phone. A landline. On the counter. Plugged into nothing.

You blinked. Your boyfriend picked it up, smirking like a frat boy on Halloween.

“Hello?” A pause. Then a voice, low, amused, just slightly familiar.

“Do you like scary movies?”

His face went white. “Wh—What? Who is this?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Nope,” he said, slamming the receiver down. “Nope nope nope nope—”

But it was too late. From the hallway, Ghostface stepped out.

Not a replica. Not a costume.

The Ghostface.

He held the knife low, that signature gliding gait stalking slowly forward.

Your boyfriend’s survival instincts kicked in—and unfortunately for you, those instincts said sacrifice your girlfriend.

“TAKE HER!” he shrieked, physically shoving you forward into Ghostface’s path, then booking it full-speed out the back door, limbs flailing like a Scooby-Doo reject.

You hit the ground with a grunt. Time froze. The killer stared down at you. His knife gleamed. But then—he tilted his head, like you were more interesting than expected.

The mask came off.

You gasped.

“Billy?”

Billy Loomis smirked down at you, all smugness and shadowed cheekbones.

"Hi, sweetheart."

You scrambled to your feet. “Are you KIDDING ME?!”

He nodded toward the door your boyfriend had just sprinted through like the coward he was.

“He really just did that,” Billy mused. “Didn’t even hesitate. Just… ‘here, kill my girlfriend, I gotta run.’” He mimicked your boyfriend’s scream with a chuckle. “Classic.”

You glared, chest heaving. “I’m going to kill him.”

Billy raised a brow. “You sure you need me to do it?”

There was a pause. A tense, burning one.

Then you lifted your hand, palm open.

Billy blinked.

“…Can I borrow the knife?”

Billy looked down at the weapon in his hand. Then at you. Then back to the hallway.

“You know what?” he said, almost tenderly. “You’ve earned this.”

He flipped the knife and offered it to you, handle-first. Your fingers curled around it. It was still warm from his grip.

“Thanks,” you growled, eyes blazing. “I’ll bring it back with blood.”

“You better,” he replied, stepping back and watching like a proud director. “Make it messy.”

You threw open the back door and stormed into the night, yelling after your now-regretful boyfriend:

“YOU LEFT ME TO DIE, YOU CHEAP-SHOE-WEARING, NO-LOYALTY-HAVING DOLLAR STORE SCREAM QUEEN!”

Somewhere in the trees, your boyfriend screamed again.

Billy leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms as he watched the carnage unfold in the distance.

He gave a small, satisfied smile.

“Damn,” he murmured. “I think I’m in love.”

.

Stu Macher (Ghostface)

It was supposed to be a fun night.

The local horror maze downtown had been canceled last minute, so your boyfriend had the brilliant idea to “break into the old abandoned farmhouse on the edge of Woodsboro,” which in hindsight was like asking to die in the first ten minutes of a horror movie.

“C’mon, babe,” he’d said, “It’s totally safe. We’ll be in and out. No psycho killers, promise.”

You’d rolled your eyes but agreed—because hey, what could go wrong?

The house creaked like it wanted to collapse on you. Dust curled off the stairs. Every door groaned like a warning. You were maybe two steps inside when a TV flickered to life in the corner of the room, showing a grainy VHS of old horror movie clips—then cut suddenly to live footage of you two standing right there in the house.

“What the hell—” you whispered.

That's when you heard it. The low, distorted voice from behind:

“Wanna play a game?”

You turned just in time to see Ghostface—tall, lanky, and looming—emerge from the hallway with a gleaming knife in hand.

And your boyfriend?

Your loving, caring, chivalrous boyfriend?

He screamed at a pitch only dogs could hear, shoved you toward the killer like a sandbag, and ran.

Not a glance back. Not a “run!” Just: “YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN, BABE!”

You hit the floor hard, wind knocked out of you, staring after him.

Ghostface froze. There was a pause… and then a very familiar wheezy laugh behind the mask.

“Oh my god,” the killer wheezed, pulling the mask off with a flourish. “Did that dude just yeet you at me?!”

You blinked.

“Stu?!”

“Sup!” he said, waving with the knife still in hand. “Didn’t know it was you, swear. Thought I was doing the old ‘boo and stab’ tonight. But wow, your man just offered you up like a Happy Meal.”

You sat up, groaning. “He shoved me so hard I almost blacked out.”

Stu held his stomach, doubled over in laughter. “I can’t—I can’t breathe—he was like ‘TAKE HER, OH MIGHTY KNIFE DEMON, SHE’S THE SACRIFICE.’”

You rubbed your temple. “I should stab him.”

He froze, then lit up. “Wait. Wait. You should! Here—” he spun the knife in his hand and offered it, handle-first. “Go get him, tiger.”

You hesitated.

Stu leaned in, grinning. “You know you want to.”

“…You know what? Screw it.”

You snatched the knife, stood, and dusted yourself off.

“I’m gonna murder him. With my words. Maybe the knife. TBD.”

Stu made an exaggerated swoon motion. “Oh my god. You’re so hot right now.”

You stormed out the front door with purpose, knife in hand. “I SEE YOU HIDING BEHIND THE TRASHCAN, JEREMY! DON’T THINK I WON’T DUMP YOU WITH A KNIFE IN MY HAND!”

From behind, Stu followed casually with the Ghostface mask hanging off one hand and a big grin on his face.

“If you stab him, I’m definitely taking you to prom.”

.

[maes-chocolate-cookie]

I honestly think Konig woud listen anything that sounds remotely like rock, punk and metal so he isn't unfamiliar with Rammstein, not his favourite band but isn't opposed to listening to it either, however, depending on your personality he wouldn't have expected you to bob your head to their songs. He isn't a puritan or a moralist by any means, he couldn't care less if the song was about sex or not, so if you were listening to any of the explicit Rammstein songs he'd give you a nasty side eye, he'd only mean it if you were actually a puritan and a moralist, otherwise he'd tease you about it. "Didn't think you'd listen to these, Soldier" his accent would be thick and you would be able to hear his shit eating grin.

[maes-chocolate-cookie]

hii so sorry to bother you, and you can ignore this if you feel like it, but how about your take on sal and an indie musician reader?

Sal will never admit it but he's absolutely dieing at the thought of you asking him to help you with anything really, need someone else's vocals? he will practice untill he gets his voice to sound just the way you want, Guitar? he'll be the rhythm guitarrist, if you can play that is, he'll help you throughout the entire creative process.

[maes-chocolate-cookie]

Larry/Sal x a reader who overdresses for absolutely every minor event while they look like raccons.

Larry who stares at the dangly earrings their sweetheart just put on and is distracted.

Sal who always helps his pretty partner dress up and even gives advice but gets shu about dressing himself up

[maes-chocolate-cookie]

rocket, my distrusting touch-starved raccoon, with f!reader

tags: post vol.3, reader’s from earth, reader comforting rocket, kinda fluffy but not really

It started with a comforting touch, much like how Drax had consoled Rocket after Groot sacrificed himself on Xandar

In your case, it was because of a nightmare

Though the High Evolutionary was gone, the team’s encounter with the egomaniac had been Rocket’s first run-in with him since he first escaped the Arête, and with it dredged up memories that had been kept locked away and only ever thought back on with a haze of blurriness

You had been keeping Peter company during his graveyard shift and was heading back to your quarters when you heard a distressed shout followed by a crash coming from Rocket’s bunk

Your steps faltered, debating whether or not to barge in and ask if he was okay

The two of you weren’t close—though you’d like to be—despite the three years you’ve spent together

After the war with Thanos, you had tagged along with Thor and stayed long after the god left, graciously accepting Peter’s invitation to join the family

The team had taken a quick liking to you. You were a good friend and an even better fighter. Nebula didn’t quite trust you at first; she didn’t really understand how you could do what you do and still retain some of that life that poured out of you. And Rocket…

Well, Rocket was respectful… sometimes… when he needed to be

Mostly, he ignored you. Other times, he was just a jerk

And depending on the day, you’d either let it roll off your shoulder or pretended that his words and the state of your relationship didn’t hurt you

“Shit!”

Rocket yelling expletives was not a new thing, but in your head you saw him lying in the med-bay, tubes and wires attached, foaming at the mouth

The events with the High Evolutionary was only but a month ago. Rocket wasn’t fully over it—you weren’t sure if he ever would be. And you, you definitely weren’t over it. The footage from the OrgoCorp file, the sight of Rocket nearly dead

It scared you, it still scares you

So you knocked and entered his room, knowing well enough that Rocket would never have opened the door or even shouted, asking who was bothering him

You first noticed the overturned cup and the pool of water near his bedside. His blanket had been tossed haphazardly to the floor, soaking up some of the liquid

You then met Rocket’s gaze, mirroring his frown—though yours was one of concern

“Rocket?”

Your voice was high-pitched and unsure, causing you to inwardly cringe

Rocket looked away, very much wishing now that he could bury himself under the covers

You walked toward the bed, noting how his ear twitched at the sound of your footsteps, how his brows furrowed and his nose scrunched up

If it were a totally different situation, you very well could have blurted out how cute you found him to his face

“What are ya doing? Get out of my room.”

He spoke with a gruffness that only comes when you stop yourself from crying but your throat still feels thick

You didn’t answer him, not really knowing what to say without sounding awkward. Instead, you cleaned up his mess. You found an extra blanket and draped it over his lap before joining him on the bed, your back against the wall

You figured halfway through cleaning that it wasn’t necessary for the two of you to talk about it. For now, at least. For now, you just wanted to offer your presence. To be somebody who’s there without making Rocket feel embarrassed about needing somebody in the first place

Rocket had been silent. His arms might’ve been crossed and his brows still tightly knit, but he hadn’t told you to leave a second time

You thought of telling him something funny but found your supply of witty remarks running low. You opened and closed your mouth, trying to muster any kind of words that weren’t “Are you okay?” and “You wanna talk about it?”

“You want to watch one of those Terran movies you like?”

You stopped fiddling with the hem of your sweater, and a smile replaced your cautious expression.

Of all the things he could have said or done…

You didn’t hesitate, lest he take back the rare offer.

“Sure.”

You didn’t do this often. Rations were low and trips to Earth were few and far between. But you wanted this to be special for him, so you grabbed Rocket by the hand, earning a grunt, and led him to your room.

Rocket had never stepped foot inside your quarters, let alone ten feet of it. He found it uniquely Terran, but even more uniquely you

Lamps and string lights you either brought with you from home or found in a junk shop, posters from favorite bands, television shows, and movies, plants—some more loved than others—and books you’ve read as a child

It was starkly different from Quill’s bunk, that’s for sure. Smelled better, too

You shifted some pillows and opened your laptop

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m just gonna grab some things. You can look for a movie in the meantime.”

You gave him a smile and was even bold enough to run a hand through his fur to the top of his spine. He was soft, and he didn’t flinch or bite at you.

You returned five minutes later with a bowl of popcorn, the last of your microwaveable packets, and found Rocket toying with a stuffed animal Drax had gifted you. It was quite ugly but the sentiment was there.

You nestled yourself close to the raccoon, pulled the covers up, placed the bowl between you two, and pressed play.

You woke up to heavy breathing. Next to you was Rocket’s form, his face twisted in anguish and his limbs twitching

You glimpsed your surroundings. A small desk lamp across the room was still on, your laptop and empty bowl were discarded on the floor, the covers had been kicked off by Rocket and covered only a portion of your legs now

You don’t remember falling asleep or even moving your things off the bed

You inched closer to him and rested your hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles. You felt the metal pieces embedded in his body

“Rocket. Rocket, you’re okay.”

Your voice was but a whisper, but his breath caught and his eyes opened to meet yours

“Hey. It’s still a little early. Peter’s still at the wheel, though he’s probably fallen asleep by now,” you chuckled. “It’s not your shift for a while. We should get some more sleep while we can.”

You didn’t want to bring up the nightmare or the fact that you both fell asleep together or the fact that you were touching him and he hadn’t shrugged you off yet

But you made sure to remind him of where he was, who he was with. The Arête’s no more. Rocket’s just on a ship, going who knows where with his friends, answering distress calls and saving the galaxy

He didn’t speak. His eyes darted from your face to your steadily rising and falling chest to the hand that rested on his back. With each second, his vision grew clearer and further away from his wretched memories

“Stay with me?”

You asked for his sake. Rocket nodded ever so slightly and shifted so that his back was to your chest, his head tucked under your chin.

You raised the covers and loosely draped your arm over his side. You didn’t want him to feel any more suffocated than he might’ve felt when dreaming.

“You’re alright.”

[maes-chocolate-cookie]

Hi! Sorry to bother you, but I saw your post on a tall reader with Sal, and I was curious about a short reader, too? I'm like 5'3, and if I remember right, he's 5'6 XD

Sally x Short! Reader who implodes out of happiness as soon as he realizes he's taller than someone

Sally x Short! Reader where he jokingly calls you shortie despite you being almost the same height

Sally x Short! Reader where he loses his train of thought whenever he notices you looking into his eyes

Sally x Short! Reader and he always seems to enjoy himself if you're short enough for him to need to look a bit down

[maes-chocolate-cookie]

Sal fisher x Tall! Reader and he stutters every time you're mildly close and he has to look up to meet your eyes.

Sal Fisher x Tall! Reader except he seems to shrink when he's close to you.

Sal fisher x Tall! Reader and Sal's embarassed about asking you to grab something that's too high for him and either you realize that he needs said thing and grab it for him or he asks Larry instead.

[maes-chocolate-cookie]

Here’s a compilation of Dee and Donnie

[maes-chocolate-cookie]

"Dee, you'll be helping them" says the teacher right after introducing the new exchange student who quietly held themselves in front of the class by the teacher.

"Me? Why?"

"You're top of the class and because i said so" replies the teacher with a expression that could only be interpreted as a way to silently tell Dee to shut up and at the very least pretend to be nice to the new student, "Go sit down with him" the teacher adds right after and the newcomer simply nods and does as told.

Dee didn't really attempt interactions in any situation excluding when the teacher assigned classwork, he was silently cursing the task he was assigned before realizing that who he's supposed to tutor is already engrossed in whatever text they were supposed to be reading, his textbook already full of marks, highlights and notes that were surprisingly like his own and that he didn't expect none of the other students to make, let alone a transfer student who seems to barely speak russian, not that the surprise wasn't pleasant, he didn't fancy being a teacher afterall, and it was nice to have someone seemingly as smart as him.

[maes-chocolate-cookie]

on the very same note of my last reblog SCP x Metal family X Sally Face

The red eyed demon is an entity that the foundation has been trying to contail for a hot minute but you know, containing a whole town is hard especially when you don't really know the true extent of the demon's ability, so as soon as they hear about how Sally may be the destruction of the demon sends reader who's already in the foundation for x reaason (mine is because my oc's mother is a taskforce capitain and her father is a researcher) to become friends with them and help monitor the situation but it becomes so big that it's impossible to hide the foundation from the group anymore so they're left with the choice of getting amnestics or join the foundation, which, of course, is what they pick.

I can imagine fear, pain and terror being a thing for the existance of the red eyes demon and that's when the Shvagenbagen come into picture, Gustav (Glam's dad) was abusing the whole family in order to try and get the red eyed demon to spread out to other parts of the world, Glam manages to escape before he gets contaminated with the demon but the rest of the family isn't and it catches the attention of the foundation who sends the whole group to Russia under the excuse of an exchange program where they become friends with Dee and Heavy. Both Glam and Dee, being the smartest of the family, realize something is wrong, and confront the group about it and they have no choice but explain both the red eyed demon and the SCP foundation which lead to them joining it too but leaving Heavy and Victoria in the dark since they had no anomalous interactions or suspicion about the foundation existance. After a long while Heavy starts having nightmares which progressively become worse and worse and victoria starts feeling the sensation of always being watched, everywhere, all of the time, no matter if she's alone or not, after weeks of hellish experiences and paranoia they have their first encounter with the red eyed demon, causing both to need medical treatment for the anxiety it brought and the foundation wasn't about to let anyone ele know about the red eyed demon so they were the ones that took them in for care, turning the whole family into foundation agents. I hc Dee, Glam, Sal and Todd as researchers;

Ash in either medical or law field;

Vicky as a taskforce member and Heavy as a trainee for the taskforce;

and Larry as a containment especialist who takes care of humanoid entities designing their containment cells, toys, tech and whatever else they need.

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🦇// this is an AU of sorts where the Sally Face and Metal Family universes are joined, and I've also added my own self insert to it. Dee and Sal are my two favorite characters whom I relate to a lot so I was really excited to make this

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Simon: Listen Y/n. It's valentine and I am taking you out.

John *from his earpiece*: asking.

Simon*nodding*: I am asking you out.

Y/n:

Simon: You need to come with me.

Y/n:

Simon: No one else will ask you out because I am going to marry you.

Y/n:

John: which part of this is ‘asking’

*Simon throws the ear piece out*

Simon: You can say no. Turn me down. Break my heart. All of you have to do is say no just once.

Y/n *with their mouth taped*:

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Namjoon: I need to get something off my chest

Y/n: is it your shirt?

Jungkook: please say it's your shirt

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Dee, who falls in love with reader after realizing they're as protective of his family as he is

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Autistic! Dee who has a huge sense of justice but even stronger sense of morals so he seethes in anger when he sees a guy thrice Heavy's size bully him but can't do anything while Heavy is still there so he waits for his little brother to get beaten up/walk away so he can deal with the bullies himself

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Autistic! Dee who feels like he found a true friendship for the first time with ND! reader and becomes obscessed, he never thought someone could relate to his experiences, all of his life he thought he was alone in his experiences and now he has someone that both shares and understands them? he's down BAD

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Nothing’s Out to Get You (Post War!Snape x Reader)

Just because there’s peace outside now that the war’s over doesn’t mean there’s always peace inside.

Warnings: themes of ptsd and trauma. This is more of a comfort fic for these issues but please be aware these themes are brought up a few times throughout ❤️

A/N: i found this bone-chilling cover of The Bug Collector and my mind wandered. This is what came out of it. Enjoy 💕

Recovering from the war wasn’t easy.

Perhaps that was why you convinced Severus to move in with you. It was better to heal together than face your demons alone.

You had volunteered to bring him home after he was discharged from St. Mungo’s. You went in, expecting to have to fight your case for hours to get him to agree. To your surprise, as soon as the dreaded question left your lips, Severus nodded. Eagerly, even, which made your heart sink a little. After all, you seemed to be one of the only professors at Hogwarts that still respected him. You were one of the only people who knew the truth.

Harry hadn’t told the wizarding world the truth about Severus yet. You figured it would be a while before his real story came out.

You couldn’t let him fend for himself with the wounds he had. They only discharged him because he was no longer in critical condition, in order to make more room for other wizards that needed healing. Severus still had a long way to go in his own healing process. You wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself if something had happened to him while he was living alone, especially after having escaped death so narrowly.

He needed a friend by his side, and although you didn’t want to admit it openly, you did too.

You didn’t escape the war unharmed, either. A near miss with a Death Eater’s curse resulted in a steady tremble of your right hand. The nerves had been damaged, and no healer had been able to find a remedy strong enough to stop the trembling for good. Sometimes the shooting pain would be strong enough to wake you from your sleep, but you were beginning to manage. It was the only choice you had, really.

It had only been two months since the battle at Hogwarts, yet it felt as though you had aged fifteen years. With Severus being at your home, it made the days slightly more bearable.

The two of you existed as shadows in your home, orbiting each other in almost complete silence for most of the day. It was a stark contrast to how both of you behaved together at Hogwarts, often meeting on Friday nights to share a pot of tea and complain about that week’s troublemakers. You were the only one who could coax a smile out of Severus Snape.

Now, you couldn’t remember the last time either of you had smiled.

There’s a centipede, naked in your bedroom.

And you swear to god, the fucker’s out to get you.

You can still remember the way your blood ran cold the first time it happened.

Severus had been sleeping on your couch while you were in the process of cleaning out your office to turn into his new room. You woke in the middle of the night to a muffled sound. At first you thought it was a stray cat outside, but after a moment of rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you heard it again.

It was a scream, loud enough to travel down the hall and through the closed door of your bedroom clearly.

Severus.

You threw the covers off, wincing as the abrupt motion sent a tiny shockwave through your hand. Throwing open your door, you raced down the hall to the living room. Your heart pounded as you fumbled for the small lamp by the coffee table, and you tried your best to ignore the images that played through your mind of that night you found Severus in the Shrieking Shack.

Severus lay curled up on your couch, his hands tightened into fists as he clutched the blanket around him. He was whimpering loudly, and from the dull light of the lamp, you could see he was sweating profusely. Your heart relaxed only slightly as you cast a worried glance to the bandages on his neck but luckily found them clean.

“Hey,” you whispered cautiously, kneeling down and resting your hands against the seat of the couch. “Sev. Wake up.”

You reached to touch him, but then froze, your trembling hand inches from his shoulder. You didn’t want to startle him awake and accidentally hurt him in the process.

“Severus,” you repeated, a little louder this time. “Wake up. Wake up!”

You tried your best to ignore how your voice trembles as it caught in your throat.

Severus woke with a gasp. His dark eyes shot open, but they were distant, foggy almost. He was still too far lost in his nightmare to focus on you.

You took a chance, inching forward to check if he was okay. As your hand touched his own, he hissed sharply and drew back, trembling despite the warmth radiating through your home.

“It’s me,” you managed to squeak out. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Severus finally seemed to notice you sitting there at the edge of the couch. His gaze swept over you and you watched as he frowned, as if he was trying to remember where he was.

“You’re in my home,” you continued. “You… I heard you screaming. You were having a nightmare.”

His eyes widened, and before you could stop him, he reached up to touch his bandages in the exact spot where Nagini had attacked. Panic filled his eyes for a brief moment, then confusion. You reached forward and grabbed his wrist tightly, gently easing his hand back down to his lap.

“God…” Severus muttered, passing his free hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I…”

A muffled sob escaped him as he kept his hand pressed over his eyes. Without thinking twice, you leaned forward and drew him into you. You held him tightly, despite the pain that shot through your hand as you did so.

“You’re safe now,” you whispered. “Nothing can hurt you now. You’re awake. You’re safe.”

You felt your heart crack as Severus rested his forehead against your shoulder.

“I-I’m here.” You said slowly. You reached up to caress his hair softly, feeling tears of your own fill your eyes as Severus sobbed, clutching you desperately as if you’d disappear.

You never thought you’d see the stoic and unshakable man you’d worked with for so many years fall apart in your arms this way.

Then again, you never imagined any of this would ever happen.

After that night, the two of you agreed to sleep in the same room together. And then, when that still wasn’t enough, in the same bed. It seemed to be the only way that both of you could fall asleep and leave behind the lingering memories and fear of the war.

There’s a praying mantis, prancing on your bathtub.

And you swear he’s a priest from a past life, come to get you.

The second time the war came back to haunt your home, it came after you.

You were in the kitchen drying dishes. A storm raged outside, but it didn’t bother you. You had grown to like the sound of thunder over the years you spent teaching at Hogwarts.

The day had been calm. Severus spent the morning sitting with you at your small wooden dining table and, for the first time in god knew how long, the two of you had actually laughed together over breakfast.

As you reached for a teacup to dry and put away, you heard a slight shuffle as Severus walked over to your bookshelf. You could just barely see him from the doorway as he peered at all the books you had crammed onto the shelf.

“You’ve finished Pride and Prejudice already?” You called out with a smile.

“Yes.” He replied matter-of-factly from the other room. “You’d better have more Austen on your shelf or I’m coming for your head.”

You giggled as you set the teacup back in the cabinet and reached for the second one.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never read her work before. Sense and Sensibility is on the bottom shelf, right side.”

“There is a god.” You laughed at Severus’ response. “Thank you.”

Before you could call out a reply, there was a flash outside your window.

That’s when time stopped.

You were no longer in your kitchen, but back there. In the courtyard of Hogwarts, running to catch up to Harry and his two friends as you raced against time to get to the Shrieking Shack. You looked to your right just as a bright flash of red shot your way. Then a fire in your hand.

“Y/N!”

The burning feeling in your right hand. It was all you could think about. The flash you saw. They were back. Coming for you. Ending it for good this time-

“Y/N, look at me.”

You heard someone crying. Was it Hermione? You were supposed to protect them, Harry and his friends. Did you fail?

“Y/N, come on!

Firm hands grasped either side of your face, snapping you back into reality. Severus stared at you with a strange combination of fright and determination.

“They’re back,” you gasped, wincing as Severus dug his fingertips into your shoulders tighter than you expected, an attempt to bring you out of your memories. “I-”

“It was lightning,” Severus replied quietly, resting one hand over your trembling one. You whimpered as you remembered the pain that shot through it that night the moment the curse hit you. “No one is outside. It was lighting, Y/N. It was the storm.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, but that only made the memories come back stronger. You opened your eyes again, your gaze landing on the shattered teacup that lay inches away from where you sat.

Severus guided your chin up until your eyes met his again.

“Stay like this,” he commanded softly. “Eyes on me. Breathe.”

He took a deep breath, and motioned for you to follow. You couldn’t stop shaking.

“It’s still there,” you whispered in defeat. “I can’t get it out of my head.”

Severus nodded his understanding as he caressed your cheek comfortingly. His features creased into a worried frown as he watched you try to catch your breath.

“Look at me, Y/N. Eyes on me, not the floor.”

You had to fight to tear your eyes away from the teacup. Severus smiled softly as your eyes met his once more.

“Good. Stay with me. You’re safe.”

I try my best…

…to prove that nothing’s out to get you.

The days turned to weeks, and then into months. Before you knew it, it had been a year since Severus had moved in with you.

You never believed people who said everything would heal with time, and a part of you still didn’t, but there were small things that had you thinking… perhaps there was an element of truth to that saying.

You saw it from time to time - moments of healing. It was in the way Severus placed a warm hand on your back as he passed behind you in your narrow kitchen. In the shared glances and gentle smiles the two of you exchanged over dinner. In the embraces you two gave each other before bed, which, as the months went on, turned into passionate kisses in the middle of the night.

Perhaps the fact that you and Severus had become lovers over the last few months contributed to why time felt increasingly gentle as it passed. Sure, there were still moments when you’d both be pulled right back into the war, but it happened less frequently. The painful, sharp edges of those memories had finally begun to dull.

You stood in the kitchen, slowly slicing strawberries as you watched the first few rays of sunrise begin to filter through the window. As you placed the slices into a bowl and reached for another berry, you felt a pair of arms gently circle around your waist.

“It’s not like you to be up early,” Severus grumbled as he kissed the shell of your ear. “Come back. Your side of the bed is too cold.”

“You weren’t supposed to be awake yet,” you replied with a laugh, turning your head just enough to kiss his nose. “I was planning on surprising you with breakfast in bed.”

“Mmm.” Severus began kissing your neck softly. “Sounds nice. I’d much rather have you in bed, though.”

You laughed and swatted at his arm as you resumed slicing strawberries.

Severus watched your motions in silence for a few moments, before his hand trailed back up your waist, across your arm, until his fingers rested over your right hand. You set your knife down and watched as Severus laced his fingers through your trembling ones.

“Does it hurt?” He asked quietly, stroking your thumb softly with his own. You shook your head.

“Not nearly as much as before. Sometimes I’ll still wake up in the night if I’m not careful and sleep on it funny… but it’s okay.”

“You should tell me when it hurts,” Severus murmured, leaning his head against yours. “I’ve been testing ingredients for various pain tonics, I think I might be close to finding a cure for your hand.”

You smiled at his statement. “It’s okay, really. The healers at St. Mungo’s said there’s nothing they can do. It’s permanent nerve damage.”

“Not if I can help it. There’s a cure for it until I know for certain I’ve tried everything I can.” Severus grumbled, his grip on your waist tightening. “Everyone at St. Mungo’s is a dunderhead. They discharged me when they knew I was no longer on the brink of death.”

You turned around, frowning at Severus disapprovingly. He sighed, brushing a strand of hair out of your face before kissing your forehead gently.

“Sorry. But you know it’s true. You did more to help me heal than they ever did.”

You nodded slowly, reaching your trembling fingers up to the scar on his neck. Your fingers hovered a few inches away, hesitant to touch the wound that had nearly claimed his life.

“It’s alright,” Severus reassured you. Your worried gaze met his warm, dark eyes. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

He placed his hand over your own, and the firm pressure of the palm of his hand against the back of your own stilled the trembling for a few moments. He slowly pushed your hand forward until it rested gently against his scar.

“It really doesn’t hurt?” You asked doubtfully.

“Sometimes,” Severus began softly, a memory tugging his gaze far away from you for a moment. “It feels strange. As if I’m remembering the pain but not experiencing it. It’s dull. Far away. But it’s nothing compared to the pain I felt when I first came home with you.”

You looked up and met Severus’s gaze, and you gave him a tiny smile.

“Thanks for coming home with me.” You whispered. That earned a frown from him.

“You say that as if I did you a favour.” He replied.

“You did, in a way. I don’t think I’d have been able to survive all this without you.”

In response, Severus leaned in and kissed you. It was soft at first, barely there, until you reached up and pulled him closer to you. His grip tightened on your waist and you nearly melted as the kiss grew more and more passionate. You reached your hands up to caress his face, but then broke away, cursing silently as your hand began trembling more than usual.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “It’s hard to control sometimes.”

Severus shook his head and kissed your palm, before leaning in to kiss you once more.

“You’re alright.”

You nodded. This time, you believed him.

“I know. You are too.”

Severus gazed at you understandingly. He kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger there for a few extra moments, before pulling you into a protective embrace.

“We both are.”