hi, could i please request a dean redding and micheal townsend x reader? I read all of the other fics of this pairing that you had and i love them so much, especially the domestic night with the boys. i would love it if you wrote the fic with a similar dynamic to that one. thank you!
Aww! Thank you for requesting!
Word count: 0.6k
Warnings: throw up mentioned. All characters are aged up. Poly relationship.
Getting out of the shower you feel cooler, lighter, refreshed. Hair still slightly damp and matching pj set on.
Stumbling down the stairs of Michael’s apartment you smell something fine. Rich like basil and sauce. Herbs all mixed together.
Turning the corner you see him. Micheal himself still in a fancy work shirt and jeans that get held together by his belt. You get close, and the smell becomes even richer in the kitchen.
“That smells good.” You mumble and come up behind him. Nosing at his shoulder and invading his personal space.
“I hope so, because it looks like throw up.”
Standing on your tippy toes you get a glimpse over his shoulder. It doesn’t look like throw up he’s being dramatic. it looks delicious. Melted cheese, burnt at the edges and sauce spread out evenly in a pan. It especially looks like good lasagna because your starving.
“It looks amazing.”
“Yeah, probably because it came in a box.”
Your lips come out in a pout at his response. Michael isn’t feeling very Michael at the moment. Usually his response would be something sarcastic and egotistical. Like: “yeah of course it looks amazing, I made it.”
He must have had a hard case you think. And he worked overtime last night. What is he doing making dinner for you?
“You still cooked it.” You point out, trying to get the cheeriness back in his voice.
“I placed it in the oven.”
Out of your peripheral vision you see Dean getting off the couch. He was on his phone probably responding to some last-minute emails but now he has decided to be a bother to Townsend as well.
“Something smells amazing.”
Michael let’s out a half sigh. He’s getting the plates and dividing the food out in perfect portions.
“Michael made lasagna.”
You praise on his behalf and run a hand up his back. If Michael cares he doesn’t seem to notice.
“I placed it in the oven and pressed a few buttons.”
“That’s still making it.”
Deans in pjs too. He took a shower before you so his hair is all dry but you can see the caring in his eyes. Worry for Michael. Coming to the same conclusion as you that he’s all grumpy.
There’s nothing you could really do to make him happy. Michael has all these moods and if you do something wrong he could get upset— even though he’s trying to get control on that. Or he could just kinda dislocate for a while.
You don’t want that. Not when your both in his house, eating food he bought and watching his tv subscriptions.
So you do the only thing you really know how to do for Michael and let compliments go to his head.
“I think it’s an amazing meal choice and I’m glad Michael cooked it.”
“Yeah.” Dean agrees, catching onto your game. “It doesn’t look half bad.”
Michael hands you both two plates of still steaming lasagna while he tries to hold off a smile.
“Was that a real compliment Redding?”
“Never.”
Even though the food is still piping hot at the touch you take a bite. Rolling it around on your tongue for a moment before over dramatically humming.
“Mmmmm— Michael it’s delicious! You did amazing.”
Dean takes his bite and doesn’t seem to be as affected by the heat as you. “Yeah, it’s not terrible Townsend.”
Michael scoffs a laugh. He picks up his plate and looks down to try and hide a smile.
“Guys stop.”
“I’m not doing anything!” You argue and place your plate on the counter to cool down. “I’m just saying, maybe you shouldn’t have gone into FBI academy. Culinary should have been your true dream.”
Micheal shakes his head and takes his first bite. He looks severely underwhelmed.
“It tastes like box lasagna.”
“But it’s made with love.”
This time instead of Michael laughing you get a snort from Dean. Which almost feels like more of an accomplishment than cheering up Michael.
But if you duck down low enough to see Michael’s face you can see he’s smiling too.
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hear me out.. michael townsend and reader have sex on his motorcycle…
wow anon. I’ve never thought about this before today. It had my brain going burrr, just like his motorcycle
Words: 1.4k
Warnings: spanking. Degrading. all characters are of legal age. Nsfw. Make shift gag.
You’re hot— no wait he’s the hot one. I mean—it’s hot in here. And not just because Michael is here. The garage only as one fan running and it’s directly on Michael’s sweaty body.
You don’t even know what he’s doing. One moment you’re explaining the plot of your book to him and the next he excuses himself to go “work on his bike.” Whatever that means.
Because all you see is the oil on his hands and his shirtless form. Jeans hung low on his hips so you could see the waist band of his boxers. Every now and again he would do the motion of pulling them up only to stop your prying eyes.
If you’d known it was going to be this boring you might not have offered to go with him. It’s not boring. Seeing Michael half naked was never boring. But he already barked at you about how you can’t touch him.
He seemed a little annoyed. You wished you could read his emotions as well he does yours.
You watched as he put the bike on a stand, (his ass looked phenomenal crouching like that.) you watched him air up his tires. You think he just finished tightening up his brakes. And now he’s lubing up his chains.
It’s not as sexy as you would think. He spins the wheel and the chains move. Spraying liquid in those little cracks. Sometimes the spray will drip down onto the concrete. You cannot help but think about other things dripping too.
Theres this brush that he uses. Long strokes to get in between the chain and move the lube around. You wish you could get your hands on him, long strokes to give to him.
Somehow he got a wrench in his hand and he starts tightening things all around. He’s running a dirty hand through his hair as he sweats. You feel a stickiness between your thighs but not just because it’s hot out.
The worst part is that he knows. One glance at you and he’s already reading that look on your face. Flush and the way you nonchalantly have your thighs slung over each other. He knows you’re needy. He’s just not doing anything about it.
By the time he’s done and putting everything away, the last thing he does it actually get on. The motorcycle booms to life and you know Michael well enough to tell he’s holding back a smile.
You whistle. Loud enough over the engine to have Michael rolling his eyes. What was his damn deal? He never rolled his eyes at you.
“I’m trying to compliment you, honey.”
You cross your arms. Aching to go back inside for the air conditioning, but you’d rather get your chances of having sex go up first.
“You did really good. Looks brand new.”
Michael turns it off. He throws his head back like he’s done. With you. You can’t help but feel a little guilty. But his tone is soft when he speaks.
“You wouldn’t know the difference between new and old.”
“I can try.”
You take hesitant steps towards him as he gets off his bike, looking like a wet dream.
“Did I do something wrong?” You ask softly. Michael can see the worry on your face by how your eyebrow’s wrinkle up. You’re looking at him so innocently.
Michael decides to put you out of your misery, in both ways. He grabs at your hips first pulling you close to him and pressing a rough kiss to your lips. It’s so unexpected he literally takes your breath away.
But it’s easy to melt into him. You feel all the ridges of his body. Your desire is burning like his fuel and he flips you over. Wasting no time to maneuver you over his bike.
“You never, ever, do anything wrong, princess.”
That’s hard to believe when he’s pulling down your sweat pants and underwear along with it.
“You’re just annoying.”
Okay ouch. You would have been offended, probably bitch slapped him across the face if he didn’t use that tone.
The one he uses when he’s horny and teasing, In the mood and dominating, Stressed and ready to give out punishment.
Something must have made him this way. Because it wasn’t you. A phone call from his dad. Maybe Dean said something that got under his nerves. Or maybe it was just an off day.
“You think you’re so fucking cute rambling that mouth all the time.”
Your panties slip under your ankles and his hand fallows the curve of your back as he stands up. He’s right by your ear and his hand comes up to your lips. Shoving in the fabric of your underwear in your mouth as a makeshift gag.
“There we go. See if you can be quiet for me while I fuck this pussy, okay?”
There’s a sharp, stinging pain at your ass when his hand comes down. It makes you jump a little and your toes curl unexpectedly. You make a soft whine and he gives you a look.
His oily hand goes through your pussy once or twice, it’s embarrassing how wet you are. You were thinking about him the entire time. How not only did you want to ride his bike, but ride him too. Or maybe come up behind him and stick your hand in his jeans. Lick the sweat off his back. Anything.
“Fuuuucking…whore.”
Tight wet circles were being rubbed into your small bulb making your eyes roll back. He slaps at your pussy making you jump again before you hear the clinking of his belt and the zipper of his jeans.
“Uh huh. So wet. Just for me, right? So patient. Sitting back and watching me work.”
His first few thrusts are shallow. His hand is an anchor right in the middle of your back, fisting your shirt in his hand for leverage.
“That’s right. Only going quiet when she gets cock. This is what you wanted, right? To be fucked in the garage?”
He’s in deeper now. And every time he pulls back, he thrusts sharply inside of you, it’s not fast, but it’s so deep. You might be drooling on your own panties.
“Can never shut that small mouth up.”
Every thrust makes you whimper softly, you can’t help it, you swear he’s brushing up against your cervix. And not too hard that you’ll feel it in your tummy later. Just enough for it to brush up satisfactorily inside. Make you quiver and think your legs will give out.
Luckily Michael notices and wraps his other arm under you. He’s going faster. Like all his rage from today is being fucked out onto you. Into you.
“Come on, Moan some more since you can’t seem to shut up.”
His words are degrading but you can’t help yourself from liking it. You do, you moan and whimper and groan and you know he likes it by the way his hips speed up.
“Come on. Cum for me. Moan so loud that everyone inside can hear you.”
His hand that’s holding you up snakes down in between your legs to rub at your clit. The pleasure quickly becomes too much and you’re spilling all over him. Moaning like a whore. Just for him.
He can’t hold out much longer, he pulls out abruptly and he spills all over your back. Michael does not whimper. Sometimes you wish he would. But he groans so pleasantly it makes you think you could quickly go for a round two.
You feel his warm seed land on your back. You’re stuck like that for the moment while he catches his breath. Michael presses a kiss to your ass where he smacked you earlier.
He pulls the drenched fabric of your underwear out of your mouth, letting you spit the fowl taste out before getting the rag he’s been using to wipe his sweat off all day.
“I’m sorry.” You hear him mumble as he gently wipes you down.
“You know I love to hear you speak— don’t stop speaking to me. I just…it’s been rough today and I needed an outlet.”
“It’s okay.”
You twist so you’re looking at him. Damp hair in front of his face and you don’t have to be an emotion reader to know he feels a little guilty. You gently push the hair off his forehead, both still half naked.
“Everyone gets annoyed. Maybe just tell me to be quiet next time so I don’t have to follow you into the heat again. All the while inquiring what I did wrong.”
“I donno…” he trailed off. Teasing grin you’ve come to love splaying across his face. “I thought the outcome was pretty good.”
“You think sex is always ‘pretty good.’”
“Because it is.”
He lands one last slap to your ass. Softer this time than before and then he rubs the swelling down.
“Come on, let’s get dressed. I’ll take you for an actual ride and you can keep telling me about your book.”
Four times Michael read your emotions like an open book.
Warnings: fem!reader. Period talk. Slightly suggestive. Weight insecurity. Established relationships.
Word count: 1.7k
“Stop.” Michael said, with much more bite than he meant to, as he turns around to look at you by the stove.
“I’m not doing anything.” You’re sitting near the kitchen island. You’re supposed to be working, filling out case paperwork, but Michael choose now to roll up his sleeves.
Slutty wrists out in the open, he’s wearing that expensive watch on his left hand. He moved to get up, and you were just so enthralled by all his movements that you didn’t notice him looking at you.
“Yeah you are, you’re staring.”
“Was not.”
You scoff, and look back down at your papers. Hoping he doesn’t notice how flustered you are.
“Yeah, you were. You’re avoiding my eyes, and you’re embarrassed. You’re doing that thing you do— with your lip, you're biting it and— oh my gosh.”
“What?” You don’t like his voice tone. How it drops like uncovering some big secret, but it’s not a big secret, not any secrets that you can think of right now.
“You’re horny.”
Okay— that’s not a secret but that’s definitely not something you want broadcasted in the kitchen.
“Michael!” You whisper yell.
“Look— I’m sorry, but am I wrong?” He gets closer, leaning in and his voice drops a little softer. “You’re clenching your legs, and you haven’t written more than six more words since I’ve gotten up— were you staring at my ass?”
He’s amused. And you’re beyond flustered. You’re envious of all the girls with oblivious boyfriends now. At least they don’t get confronted about if your panties are wet or not.
“No. I wasn’t. Just get back to work.”
It feels as if Michael’s eyes are boring into you. You know that he knows you’re lying. Somehow he’d tell you it’s written on your face, but instead he just looks pleased as you try to hide your face from his view.
“Fine. Be like that. But I know what you really mean.”
You’re giggling, you’ve caught Michael when he was asleep. He doesn’t take many naps because he claims it’s a waste of daylight.
But something must have happened to make him so tired. And something must have aligned for you to walk in his room at this time. His face looked so soft. He doesn’t look happy, but for once, he looked like nothing was bothering him.
No turmoil or having to deal with the emotions no child should ever have to experience. He looked relaxed. Compliant. And you didn’t want to miss seeing him like that again.
You took your phone out of your back pocket, positioning the phone right above his sleepy face. You hit the button a few times. But after about the tenth picture, Michael’s eyes start to flutter open.
He sees the phone above him and quickly grabs at it. “No—” he groans and pulls it away.
“Hey— Michael. That’s mine!”
You’re trying to grab the phone back from him, but he keeps it just out of reach. First above him, then below. You follow the every movement of his hand. You’re so close every time that it makes you smile.
You end up climbing up onto his bed, and then onto him. Legs spread over his torso as you finally grab at the phone with a victorious sigh.
“Just— let me have this for this one time.”
Michael groans. He was having just as much fun trying to delete the pictures. His hands settle on your hips like they belong there, rubbing at the fabric of your jeans.
“Fine. Just no more.”
“One more.”
“Ugh. Get off, you’re heavy.”
You snap the picture of his sleepy face once more, but your giddy smile soon fades. You feel the tap coming to your hip for you to move. You know he’s joking. But his words don’t hurt any less.
The annoying part is. He sees it right away. Sitting up and slowly coming back full consciousness only for Michael to realize your smile lines are gone and your eyes are getting watery.
“No. stop, don’t— I was joking.”
“I know.”
You look down at your phone. Quickly saving all the pictures into a folder like everything was normal. Even though there was a slight pit feeling in your stomach.
“Babygirl, I was joking.”
When you don’t respond right away, it makes Michael feel a little guilty. He didn’t mean to say it. It just came out with his sleepy words.
His hand finds your thigh. And then just as fast as he got up, he’s back down pushing you down on top of him too.
“Please. Just come sit— yes, right there.”
He’s physically pushing you down with all your body weight on top of him. Laying on his chest while your legs are on either side of him. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’s enough to get his point across.
“I dunno why I said that. Was in some kinda fucked up sleepy state. But I didn’t mean it. You’re not heavy.”
That’s the best apology you’d get from Michael, not pushing for anymore you nod and shove your face further into his neck. You can feel his hands rub at your back now.
“Can I see the pictures you took?”
“Not a chance.”
It hurts. There’s a pained feeling in your abdomen and you can feel your uterus quivering. Your back aches and you feel sluggish. There’s only one person you want right now, and it’s Michael.
But he’s outside. So far away from you and working on cleaning out his car. You don’t want to stop him, you know he’s been procrastinating this for a week now. But you need him to make you feel better.
In fact, you feel guilty for reprimanding him earlier. You didn’t tell him your period was coming, so it might have been a little bit of a shock for him to hear you say, “just go away for now.” Instead of your usual, “come lay with me.” While watching tv.
Every step you take further into the grass, there’s a numbing sensation in your lower half. One that makes you want to contort your body into different yoga poses until it cracks straight in half.
You place your hand on Michael’s back first, when you get close enough not to spook him. And then your head goes to rest on his shoulder as he stills.
“I’m sorry.” You whine softly. Feeling just a bit better with his solid figure right next to yours. “I didn’t mean to get upset, m’on my period.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
You furrow your brow at his words. You didn’t tell him, and he hardly uses your bathroom. So there are very few ways for him to actually know.
“How?”
You regret asking as soon as his turns to face you fully, as his hand finds your hip. Because even if Michael’s an emotion reader, he has this face he wears when he knows he’s right that you can read.
“You’re wearing those sweatpants. The ones you only wear on your period because they’re dark and can’t see stains. You flinched when I hugged you this morning with a little pained expression and you’re more greasy than normal.”
“Okay, if you’re so good at reading emotions, what do I want right now?”
It’s silly to feel flustered when he’s looking over your face so thoroughly. And it’s not even the first time. It’s like you’re his project and he’s studying you like a textbook.
A shrug, “me?” He guesses.
“Yes. Please come to bed.”
He nods, and closes the door to his car. Taking your hand and leading you gently back up the stairs to your room where he’ll tell you what happened this morning with Sloane. And his car proceeds to be dirty for an extra week.
Okay. It’s not Celine’s fault. It’s nobody fault, really. But you wished everyone in the house was just a little bit more considerate.
You know Cassie came to check up on you earlier. Though you’re in that half-awake half-asleep daze, you heard the door open and shut again. You assumed she’d tell everyone you were sleeping and to quiet down, but no dice.
It was the joyful scream that had adrenaline rushing through your body making your heart race. Your eyes opening quickly, but not before the spilt second it felt like you were falling.
It wasn’t the greatest way to wake up to say the least. Again it wasn’t the worst either.
You shouldn’t have been cranky when you came downstairs and into the kitchen, but it was dark out and late into the day so you know your actual sleep schedule would be fucked. You turn the stove on for the kettle to make some sleepy tea.
Looking over into the living room, you can see Sloane and Celine playing a board game. You hear their giggles and figured that must have been what woke you. You feel guilty for feeling so passive aggressive now, but it doesn’t go away when Lia comes to talk to you.
“So Dean. He’s been a lot sweeter lately right? And I don’t want to give the credit to Cassie but—“
“Lia— can you just give me a fucking minute?”
Lia doesn’t flinch at your words. But she hesitates. Watches your every move carefully to see if you’re serious. “What crawled up your ass and died?”
“Looks like someone just woke up from a nap.”
Michael chose that time to come back inside. Keys to his car in hand and shoving them into his pocket as he opens his arms for you. He smells like the outside world and not your bed.
“C’mere baby, you cranky?”
“Fuck off.”
You cross your arms over your chest waiting for the kettle to heat up. You feel Michael trace his finger over your neck where it’s hot. And sleep marks may abide.
“You see Lia? She’s got those down eyes and little red lines. Just waking up from a nap.”
“I can see she’s annoyed. Specifically at you.”
“Nah.”
Michael’s arms go to wrap about your waist. He’s warm. Like your blankets. He has this stupid calming effect that makes you lean into him, but you’re still mildly annoyed.
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about ˚｡ being PERCY JACKSON's sweet sweet friend means knowing everything about him—but who he likes. surely the campers are just exaggerating how he treats you...! but are they really?
⌗ author's notes : please don't mind errors especially in the last part, i was editing this at 3 am yesterday. yes i'm gonna post more fics soon especially summer fics !!! REQUESTS R APPRECIATED.
❛❛ percyyyy ! ❜❜ a group of tween campers called squealing from the other side of the amphitheater, drawing a certain dark-haired demigod's attention from sparring with an Ares kid.
" your girlfriend [name]'s calling you !!!! "
percy glances up at the sound of your name, and it costs him.
riptide slips from his hand with a sharp clang against the stone, and the Ares camper in front of him lets out a loud laugh.
"wow, jackson. took one word to drop your sword."
"shut up," percy shoots back, already smirking as he steps back. "you wish it was that easy."
The match ends a second later, with percy forfeiting the match. he reaches out, daps the guy up.
"good fight. i was beating your ass out there."
"yeah, until she showed up," the guy says, nodding toward you.
percy doesn’t even argue. i mean he's not lying, though?
he just shakes his head, picks up Riptide, caps him and chuck him straight into his pocket, and heads straight for you.
like a good [boy]friend he is!
"you’re smiling," you point out the second he gets close.
"I just won," he says.
"you dropped your sword."
"there's this thing called 'strategy' if you know what that is."
"annabeth sent me," you say. "swimming lessons tomorrow with new campers?"
percy groans, dragging a hand through his hair. "I knew I was forgetting something."
"and cabin checks tonight."
he stops walking.
"…you’re actually enjoying this."
"i don't know what you're talking about." though your smile gave it away.
"that’s messed up."
you just smile and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you.
the noise of the amphitheater fades behind you, replaced by the steady hush of the shore. the path opens to the Long Island Sound, the water catching the late sunlight, everything dipped in that soft, golden glow that makes the camp feel quieter and calmer than it ever really is.
you head for the docks. sit at the edge, your feet dangling at the water.
percy doesn’t sit. no.
he wades in, shoes forgotten, water curling around his lower body, and somehow it feels rejuvenating for him. he leans forward, bracing his arms on the dock on either side of you, caging you. his sea-green eyes look into yours intensely. it's like he's looking at you like you're his god-given solace.
your breath catch a little.
"you're blocking my view," you say.
"my view's better," he replies easily. "i'm looking at you."
"…you're so annoying."
"yeah, but you're still here."
the water laps quietly against the wood beneath you. somewhere in the distance, someone shouts, someone laughs—but it feels far away. like right now, both of you are in your own world.
a second passes by.
"they're not gonna drop it, you know," Percy says after a while.
"drop what?"
he tilts his head, amused. "the whole 'your girlfriend' thing."
you shrug. "they'll get bored eventually."
"mm. i doubt it."
"why? you worried about your reputation?"
he huffs out a soft laugh. "please. I don't have one of those."
"true."
He watches you for a second.
"...you didn’t say anything," he adds.
"about?"
he lifts a brow. "you know. that."
"Oh." you glance out at the water. "didn’t feel like it mattered."
Percy studies your face, he’s trying to read something there.
“And if it did?” he asks.
You look back at him. “Would it?”
He shifts closer, water moving with him, quiet and obedient. now he's in between your legs, his arms still caging both your side.
“Depends,” he says.
“On what?”
His mouth curves, just slightly. “On whether you’d say yes.”
Your heart does something stupid.
“…to what?”
He lets out a breath, something softer slipping through the teasing.
“To them being right.”
It’s quieter now.
The space between you feels smaller.
Warmer.
You don’t look away.
“I would,” you say.
And for once—
Percy Jackson doesn’t have something ready to say back. No cocky comment. No teasing. Nada. Zip. None.
“…yeah?” he asks, softer.
You nod.
“Yeah.”
He exhales a short laugh, something almost disbelieving under it, then shakes his head a little.
“Okay,” he murmurs.
And then—
“I like you.”
It comes out easier than he expects.
You don’t even hesitate.
“I know.”
That gets him.
His head tilts, eyes narrowing just slightly, a smile creeping in. “Oh, you know?”
You lean forward a little, matching him. “You’re not subtle.”
“That’s offensive,” he says lightly. “I’m extremely subtle.”
“You dropped your sword.”
“Okay, that one time—”
You don’t let him finish.
You kiss him.
And he freezes—before he’s kissing you back, one hand coming up instinctively to steady against your arm, grounding himself, because gods forbid him being too greedy when it comes to you. you're his salvation. because in a world where everything's constantly getting taken away from him, he knows better than to reach for something he might lose.
It’s warm. Percy can taste the cherry lipbalm he always sees you put on.
A little uneven. A little breathless. Too greedy.
Until—
hands grab your ankles.
“WAIT—”
You’re yanked forward, Percy’s eyes going wide right before both of you go crashing into the water.
The cold hits all at once, laughter exploding above you, voices echoing—
the whole. freaking. camp.
You surface, soaked, pushing your hair out of your face, staring at the shoreline where half the camp is losing their minds.
“You’re all insane!”
Percy comes up beside you, laughing under his breath. “Yeah, that tracks.”
Someone yells, “DO IT AGAIN—”
Percy rolls his eyes, but there’s a grin tugging at his mouth. “They’re never letting this go.”
You huff, trying not to smile. “Your fault.”
“My fault?” he echoes. “You kissed me.”
“You literally—”
The water shifts.
You feel it before you see it— cool, smooth, rising around you.
Percy glances at you, something playful sparking in his eyes.
“Hold on,” he says.
The water lifts, curves, closes—forming a clear, shimmering bubble around the two of you beneath the surface. The noise above dulls instantly, reduced to distant muffled chaos.
It’s quiet.
Soft light filters through the water, catching in his hair, in his eyes, in the space between you.
You stare at him.
“…you’re so extra.”
He grins. “You’re welcome.”
Your hand finds his without thinking.
He notices.
His thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles, slower this time.
Less teasing.
"…now," he says, voice lower, softer, like he’s settling into something he doesn’t have to joke away—
Michael comes back from a trip to see his father.
Warnings: abuse, child abuse, hurt/No comfort, angst, slightly suggestive. Michael is 17.
Word count. 0.9k
You have to go. You have to get out of here. Now.
Sterling had chosen the worst time for training your Natural ability. All you’re doing is sitting with person after person, and persuading. To buy stock or get information, while Michael's plane is about to touch down after just visiting with his father.
Michael’s household— let alone family— is a touchy subject. That’s why you’ve convinced yourself that you need to be there for him when he lands as a girlfriends job.
But Sterling is not letting up. And it’s killing you to think it’s because Michael needs time alone. Time away from you or anyone.
“Okay.”
You can hear Sterlings voice though your ear piece. “After this last guy, we can go.”
You’ve never fluttered your eyelashes harder to a random man. Quickly begging to donate just any little bit to charity, and putting your charm on hard. A Natural ability to sway just about anyone with a few choice of words and body language.
You watch as the man signs the papers, and then you immediately go to Sterling. You wanna see Michael. You wish you could embody his emotion reading ability, because as soon as you see him, you want to know what he’s feeling.
You anxiously bounce your leg in the car as the house turns into view. You notice Michael’s Porsche in the driveway, and before the car is even in park, you’re getting out.
You open the front door and then run up the stairs to his room. Swinging the door open, you furrow when you don’t see him right away.
“Hey.”
You turn and he’s there. After a weekend of him being away, it’s like a breath of fresh air just to see him in person again.
“Micheal…”
You breathe like an instrument tune in the wind, and you throw your arms around his neck. His figure is stiff against you, and he’s there and real and back.
“Miss me?”
The silence doesn’t last long, his fingers are curling up by your sides. Sliding under your shirt like he wants it off.
“I got 70k in the bank right now. I’m gonna take you—“
He’s pushing you back into the room with small steps, kicking the door closed with his foot behind him and he starts ravishing at your neck. Hands grabbing at any skin under your shirt he can find.
“—to a fancy dinner, get you a fancy dress—maybe more than one— we’re gonna to a jewelry store too and—“
“Michael.”
It’s not like you’re not enjoying this. You missed him. You want nothing more than his lips on you. But... it’s just not how you were expecting it to go. He’s avoiding the topic at hand, and that’s only making you grow worried.
“And, I’m thinking wine tasting. We can get Sloane to make us some fake IDs.”
“Michael.”
“Not to mention there’s this yacht on the docks and—“
“Michael.”
You pull away from him. Shirt falling back down and you can’t help but for your heart to ache, he’s defecting. Which means something happened.
“What?”
It’s scary how fast Michael’s face changes from soft and playful, to serious and unbothered. You wish you could read his emotions, just as well as he can yours. Right now though, he sees the pinch in your brow and the downward tug of your lip. Your worried. So worried.
“How did you get the money…?”
Out of all the questions. Not why, Or when, or what, or how. You have a feeling that you know how. Yet it still makes you sick.
Michael stares for a moment. You almost want to beg, but he pulls up the bottom of his shirt and turns around.
His tan back is ruined with long dried up slashes. There looks to be a circular burn mark near his upper shoulder, probably a cigar marking. The rest are scabbed over cuts, but there’s so many that you can only imagine it has to hurt every time he moves.
“Satisfied?”
Micheal doesn’t let you stare for long. Quickly tugging the shirt back on, you want to wince when you see his back muscles ripple along with the cuts.
“I told you that you shouldn’t have gone.”
“So what? Just for him to find some way to take me out of the program? Pay his way to get me to come anyway? I’d rather go willingly.”
“Michael…”
“No. Just— stop, okay?”
He lashes out. You hate it when he lashes out. Everyone knows he can’t really control his anger. Even though now he’s getting closer to you, your breath hitches.
“I’m not leaving the program. This is the only home I have. You’re the only home I need. And if I have to go spend three days a week getting my back torn up with some shattered whisky glass just to stay here, I will.”
Your heart aches. There’s a pit in your stomach sinking so far, you think it might come back up. But under Michael’s gaze, and the abuse he went though, just to stay with you? Stay with everyone? It’s not fair.
“You shouldn’t have to…” You say in a hushed tone.
It feels like a sin to say. Like something impossible.
“I know.”
Michael whispers back, and he’s gently taking your hand in his.
“But please, let’s just forget it. Let’s waste this money till it’s gone.”
He pulling you back towards the door. No doubt you’re gonna jump in his Porsche and drive around wasting gas is first thing.
“Just one more year under his belt, and then I’m free.”
hey i actually love your michael fics! they’re some of the only ones that he is written properly in
would you ever consider making any longer ones? like on ao3…
anyways not sure if your recs are open but a fic set at townsend manor would be so good! like one where reader tends to his bruises…
Word count: 1.1k
Warnings: child abuse, characters are younger, blood, little gore ish.
Note: thank you for all the kind words and requesting! I hope I didn’t botch this one for you. Honestly I just kinda write until I feel like the story is complete? So i could write a long fic on ao3 but it would have to come naturally.
Life is easy. But just because it’s easy, doesn’t mean it’s good. Your father is a very wealthy man, has a big company that works on electronics— and apparently him and Townsend clash very well.
So well that they’ve invited your family to stay at the manor for a weekend. It might be because of the investment proposal your father has planed— but you don’t care, all you care about is this DVD on your lap and who’s bed you’re in.
At 14 years old, you harbor a little crush on the Townsend boy. He was quick and witty and still annoying sometimes. But he’s been gone for mysterious reasons for the rest of the year and now that it’s Christmas time, he’s returned back home and can reunite with you.
You know you’ve grown some since last year, you hope Michael thinks you’re prettier— or just pretty. He compliments Celine all the time and it makes your chest ache with jealousy.
But if Michael didn’t at least think you were pretty— why would he invite you to his room to watch The Dark Knight? You supposed you’ll find out pretty soon whenever Michael walks through the door.
He said six o’clock, when he was walking past you at lunch and grasped at your hand to whisper in your ear. You smiled and nodded and he smiled back. But now it’s six fifteen and you’ve been awkwardly sitting on his bed for what feels like forever.
You’ve thought about snooping through his drawers, but turned it down multiple times. You don’t have to wonder where Michael is much longer because the door opens in a rush and he slips right past you into the bathroom.
The door closes but doesn’t click leaving a small gap. You think he must really have to go, but then there’s sniffling. He didn’t even notice you on the bed. Just walked right past you.
Your mind goes to the worst first, he’s sniffling. Which could mean he’s sick or got water in his nose somehow. But the most likely choice is he’s crying, and now you’re wondering why.
Getting up and off of Michael’s bed leaves it creaking, you leave the DVD on the blankets. He must not hear you tiptoeing over to the door because you hear grunts and groans. Your heart aches with every sniffle you hear, he must be hurt to be crying that bad.
“Michael…?” You call right before reaching the door, you don’t want to catch him pissing or something. “Are you okay…?”
It’s faint, but you can hear a soft “shit.” From the other side of the door before you open it fully. Michael’s standing in front of the mirror, but his head is turned and you can see a small sliver of his back from when he’s putting his shirt back on.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
His words are usually soft. You know Michael’s always been a little standoff-ish with you, but never mean. Never like this.
“Movie.” You mumble softly and try to take a peak at his face. He moves. “You said six.”
Michael squeezes his eyes shut, or at least you think he does with the way crinkles form near the side of his face. “I can’t— I just can’t right now, you should go.”
“Are you crying?”
Your words hurt Michael exactly where it shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be crying right now but he is, that’s what makes him feel pathetic.
“No, I’m making my own little river over here.”
“Michael…” He’s deflecting. And when you finally get close enough to see his face, his nose is bleeding. Blood smeared around his lip like he’s wiped it away but it keep running down. Also he’s holding at his side like he’s hurt.
Your breath hitches.
“What happened…?”
“Nothing.”
Michael sees the worry in your gaze, so much worry for him. And fear, maybe even a little guilt. Like you should have known before hand, but it’s not your fault. Only his.
“You’re lying…” you whisper and are weary on your feet. Michael rolls his eyes like “no shit I’m lying” but he’s kind enough not to say that.
You feel a soft dread seep inside of you when Michael breathes more heavily and the blood drips into his mouth. You have to do something, anything.
“Here— just— sit down.”
You put the toilet seat down and urge him to sit. You’re no doctor by any means but you bunch up some toilet paper and dab softly at the blood on his nose. He winces and you apologize. “I’m sorry— it probably tastes disgusting though, right?”
“Like copper.”
You nod. Your mind is filled with ways this could have happened. A fall down the stairs, a fight, just really dry outside? There are other ideas that you don’t want to contemplate and Michael sighs.
“Can’t you— can you just stop making that face please.”
You’re taken aback. “What face?”
“That face. The one where you’re worrying, it’s like I can hear all your thoughts.”
“Yeah right.”
“You’re thinking about the bruise under my shirt forming. Or how long my nose has been bleeding and if it’s broken or not.” Michael looks at you, like he’s dead to the world.
You step back and cross your arms. Maybe he has superpowers to read your mind or something. Or maybe you are really that transparent. But all your worry comes from a good place.
“Does… does this have something to do with you leaving all year…?”
Michael sees the way you furrow your brows and your eyes crinkle that you’re hurt. Hurt that he’s left you for twelve months out of the year only to have Christmas and thanksgiving week together. He knows it’s because you like him. He’s just better at hiding his own feelings.
“Kinda.”
“Do you want me to tell someone..? Maybe Celine or your dad—”
“No.” Michael cuts you off. “No— that’s alright.”
You nod and wipe the rest of the blood from his face as softly as you can. Given any other circumstance— it might have felt intimate. It still does feel incredibly intimate, just not in the romantic way you would have hoped.
Michael smiles, seeing the fight in you form on your face and takes his hand in yours. “Forget about this, all I want to do is watch Batman with you.”
“But you’re hurt.” You whispered, there’s no way you could lean on him like you would have hoped to when you know there might be a broken rib at his side.
“I’m not.” Michael’s voice sounds so optimistic. He almost has a smile on his face like he really isn’t hurting anymore. Bottling his emotions up. “Please. You fixed me, and all I want is to do is be with you.”
It’s such a raw emotion that you think you feel pride blooming in your chest, shying away from his eyes.
“You’ll tell me someday, right? What happened?”
Michael swallows before taking your hand.
“Someday.” He leads you to where the DVD is on the bed. “But not today.”
꣑ৎ SEDATE ME ୧ featuring : MICHAEL TOWNSEND . r is lowkey a kissgirl. ━━━━━⠀⠀.⠀ est. relationship.
୧ ׅ 𝙳ear readers ⊹ ۫ . 🕯️ ♡ ׂ ۪ ੭ MY LEGS R SHAKING I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE LET ME GI HOME!!!!!!! anw. michael townsend 4 uuuuu ( by u i meant bella ) kinda humorless, i made this while hiding in the bathroom 😕 also a lil girl gave me a pop tart so shoutout to her, she was such a sweetheart!!
p.s ━━ ❪ all rights reserved to cherrycrvsh. these works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. mwah ! ❫
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the difference in hunger games narrators is so funny to me like this is our starting lineup
katniss: i go to a place and do a thing using a skill. also everyone hates me. oh you want to know more about myself? here are four straight paragraphs just describing food instead.
haymitch: so the baker’s in love with my best friends girl and my girlfriend’s uncle is gay and secretly dating the town window-fixer and she’s actually related to lucy gray and has beef with the mayors daughter who bullied me and her social security number is—
snow: everyone here is UGLY and OBNOXIOUS and TACKY and I Am God.
🏎️⋆˚࿔ note: these r all based on mario kart 8 deluxe on the nintendo switch!! for the naturals week day 2: games
tags: @sloanetavishsno1 @prophecywaiting @nothinggggg7 @thenaturalshq (lmk if u want to be added!)
cassie would play as daisy
sloane would play as rosalina
lia would play as waluigi or yoshi
michael would play as king boo, bowser, or donkey kong
dean would play as toad or koopa troopa
celine would play as toadette
sloane takes a long time customizing her kart, wheels, and parachute to optimize the speed, acceleration, weight, handling, and traction stats to the best they can be
lia looks up the best vehicle combination online before playing
michael chooses whatever combination looks the coolest
celine chooses whatever combination is the fastest and disregards the other stats
lia’s the only one who never falls off the track on rainbow road tracks
cassie keeps the smart steering on
dean tries to use the drift literally every 2 seconds
michael and lia show no mercy with their power-up usage, always throwing shells, bananas, etc. on the rest
lia or celine usually win
michael either does really good or really bad
cassie will save her powerups and not use them only to lose them when she gets struck by lightning
lia’s favorite cup is the Special Cup (cloudtop cruise, bone-dry dunes, bowser’s castle, rainbow road)
cassie really likes dragon driftway and wild woods bc of the scenery in the courses
when they play on teams, they rarely are all on the same team (bc that wouldn’t cause any chaos)
dean and cassie will always be on the same team while lia and michael refuse to be on the same team
most of the time the teams end up being dean, cassie, and lia on one team and michael, celine, and sloane on the other (since not everyone can play at once two people will share one remote on each team or they take turns)
michael knows all the shortcuts
his success in using them, however, varies
dean usually tries not to throw shells at the others except for michael. he deliberately tries to hit michael whenever he sees him
remotes HAVE been thrown before, both at the tv and at each other !!
there’s either a bunch of yelling or complete silence when they play
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I'd known Dean for a little over a year now, which wasn't actually that long when you thought about it, it just felt longer, because it felt like he'd somehow always been there.
He was a year older than me, taller by an amount he never let me forget, and built like somebody who actually enjoyed working out a shit ton instead of treating it like a punishment invented by Satan. Which summed him up pretty well.
Even asleep he looked unfairly pretty.
His stupid halo of golden hair was falling into his face, catching what little light filtered through the curtains. Honestly, it was ridiculous. Nobody should be allowed to have hair that nice. His eyes were closed now, but I knew exactly what they looked like.
Warm brown.
The colour always reminded me of those expensive chocolate truffles Celine and I used to nick from buffet tables at charity galas when we were kids. The ones wrapped in shiny gold foil. We'd stuff our pockets full of them when nobody was looking and spend the entire time gobbling them up like greedy gremlins, pretending we'd gotten away with it.
A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed hard. Dean shifted in his sleep, mumbling something completely incoherent before rolling onto his side. I almost laughed.
Idiot.
For the first time since I'd woken up, the room didn't feel quite so dark.
okay guys, let’s pretend for a moment that our guys actually care more about there childhood then a Fbi case for this story to make sense, just for a moment.
Paring: Dean Redding x reader x Micheal Townsend.
“Babe?”
That’s Dean’s voice knocking on the bathroom door. You’re supposed to go out tonight. You’re in Las Vegas damn it. Even if its just for a case, you have to constantly remind yourself that you’re still just teenagers.
The dress, (Lia bought you) might be a size too small. Your hair is blown out, makeup looks almost pristine, but the zipper won’t budge no matter how hard you suck it in.
“You almost ready?”
With a huff you unlock the door. You could cry frustrated tears, but that would just ruin a half an hours worth of makeup.
“I can’t— zip up the dress…” It’s a little embarrassing having to say that to your boyfriend, but he looks understanding enough. He does a little twirling motion with his finger as he pushes your shoulder gently.
“Turn.”
You’ve been trying for more than 5 minutes. Trying not to get sweaty, or your hair will ruin. There’s no way the zipper would just work now with dean’s hands— oh.
“Done. It was getting stuck on your bra.”
Now that the dress is properly on, you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. The dress is tight up near your chest, but flares out at the bottom. It only reaches the bottom of your thighs, pink and sparkling.
“You look pretty.”
Dean leans against the bathroom door frame. He’s traded the usual dark hoodie for a classic dress shirt, but he’s still in dark jeans. In fact, if he wasn’t so good at hiding how he felt, you might’ve tagged him as uncomfortable.
“Thank you. You look pretty too.”
Dean flashes that boyish smile. There might be a bit of embarrassment hiding in there, but he tries not to show it. Deans never really had gotten compliments on his appearance from anyone, he doesn’t know how to receive them.
“Now I’m ready.”
“Fucking finally.”
Michael strides into your room, he’s looking down at this phone but quickly pockets it in his classy slacks.
“You were taking forever.”
You cross your arms, looking up at Michael waiting for him to say something. Maybe about your sparkly dress, or perfect hair.
“What?” Michael sees it, he always sees and knows what you want just by the look on your face. The accusatory glare you’re sending him makes his defenses crumble.
“Okay, you look beautiful.”
“Thank you. You look dashing, might I add.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Michael grabs at your hand, he leads it up before spinning you around once, looking you over, then pushing your back into his hold. Over your shoulder he looks at Dean, eyes scanning over the man, lingering on places you can only imagine.
“He doesn’t look too bad huh?” He whispered in your neck, only his whisper was rather loud and it had Dean rolling his eyes.
“Say it to my face.”
It was made as a quick comment, wanting the last word. But Michael quickly detaches from you to grab at Deans wrist as he passes by.
“You look nice.”
It was so genuine coming out of Michael’s mouth, he let the facade of his face slip to see the real meaning behind it. Softening his features so you’d know it was true. It made Dean dizzy with a sheepish look on his face.
“Thanks, you too.”
You’re not one to fish for compliments or get jealous, but you did just spend a hour getting ready only for Dean and Michael to make out sloppy style later. Suppose you can’t get too upset.
