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humanpurposes · 6 months

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Mine All Mine

Michael doesn't have a lot of friends, nor does he want them. Now he thinks he might have found his perfect match, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away

Main Masterlist

Michael Gavey x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, Michael Gavey being a little shit (affectionately), possessive behaviour (yk the drill here)

Words: 7k

A/n: This ended up leaning into more of a cuter side, I definitely wanna do something creepier with him at some point! Also available to read on AO3.

He gets to the room early, before the tutor has even arrived. It’s his first tutorial of the year and his first ever at Oxford. He stands straight with his head up and his hands unmoving, a picture of neutrality. He has his problem sheet in his satchel and runs through the questions in his head, not because he needs to, not because he doubts himself, but simply because he can.

He doesn’t even like maths all that much, but he’s always been good at it. He had considered doing something a little less straightforward, physics or economics, but then what would be the point in getting into Oxford to be anything less than perfect?

He knows his tutor’s name from his schedule, Stephen Breyer. He arrives only a few minutes later and they go inside. The tutorial room is small, with three of the four walls covered in bookshelves. In the centre of the room there is a table, an armchair on one side and a small sofa on the other.

Michael takes the seat closest to the door. It puts him in a slightly more direct line of sight with Stephen. It also means his tutorial partner will inevitably have to climb over his legs to sit down and the thought amuses him.

“How are you finding it so far?” Stephen asks, unpacking a thermos flask and a notebook from his bag.

“It?” Michael repeats.

Stephen pauses and looks at him, slightly bewildered. “Well, the course, the college, Oxford. All of it.”

“Right,” Michael says. He takes his time taking out a pencil and his problem sheet before placing them on the table. He sits back against the sofa and rubs his lips together in thought.

He supposes it’s been exactly as he had expected. Lectures have been fairly straightforward, Lincoln college looks the same as it had in the prospectus, and so far, most of the people seem insufferable. So many of them have no sense of urgency, no drive to truly succeed because to them, Oxford is a rite of passage rather than an earned privilege. He’s met maybe one person he’d consider worthy of his time, and even then, Oliver Quick is only a literature student. He might as well get a degree in overthinking.

Stephen is looking at him like he is still expecting an answer. Michael stares back. He’s never been one to bother with smalltalk.

“Alright then,” Stephen says, then nods to the empty place on the sofa. “Do you know if–”

The door opens and a girl walks in, closing it gently behind her. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, eyes flickering around the room and settling on the space beside Michael.

He’s seen her before, in lectures, in the dining hall, walking around the college with her little group of friends. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were all Cheltenham girls by the way they talk and dress in the stupid outfits rich girls wear to make themselves seem like normal people.

He watches her as she walks towards him, the awkward little smile she gives him before she steps over his legs.

“Sorry,” she says again, falling onto the sofa. Michael almost winces at the sudden jolt of movement and the faint scent of a sweet perfume drifting from his left. “Had some trouble finding the room.”

“You’re right on time,” Stephen says, “we haven’t started yet.”

She’s better at the smalltalk than he is. She has a constant smile on her face and a bright look in her eyes, already having plenty of humorous anecdotes to share, despite the fact it’s only their second week.

As they go through the questions on the sheet, comparing calculations and answers, Michael is horrified to find that he’s a little nervous. His throat feels dry and he can feel his heart pulsing in his chest. It’s her fault, he thinks. Everything about her is distracting, the sound of her voice, the satisfied little hum she makes when she realises she’s got another question right. Her black tights, the way her skirt rides up her thigh when she crosses her legs.

He wants to think she’s vapid, a pretty face dressed up in black boots and a denim jacket, but to his dismay, all of their answers are the same, down to every detail in their calculations.

That is until they reach the last question. It’s terribly complex and he had almost struggled with it. Almost.

He steals a quick glance at her sheet and notices their answers are different. Because she’s missed a step, he realises. He feels a smile creeping across his lips.

He proudly goes through his working out, delighted at the surprised look on her face as she goes over her own sheet.

“I got something different,” she says with a shrug.

Stephen invites her to talk through her answer. Her voice is quieter and softer than it was before, but not as defeated as he’d like.

“She has you beat there, Mr Gavey,” Stephen says.

It’s like being punched in the gut. “What?”

“Overextend yourself a little,” he explains, drawing a line through the last few calculations on his paper. “Make sure to read what the question asks of you.”

His blood is boiling and his fists are clenched. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been wrong. A dangerous impulse in the back of his mind wants to scream his throat raw and tear his paper to pieces.

Then he feels a warmth settle over his knuckles. She’s placed her hand over his.

“It’s a compliment, really,” she says to him.

He looks up at her, only more infuriated by the gentle expression on her face. But he knows better than to let anger get the better of him. It will only leave him feeling ashamed. So he forces a smile and nods. “Thank you.”

She smiles too, sweet and reassuring.

He can’t bear the humiliation. Once they’re dismissed he packs up quickly, practically storming out of the room before she even has a chance to stand up.

He spends the rest of the day in his dorm, looking over the same problem and pulling at his hair, because now his mistake seems glaringly obvious. How could he be so useless? So careless as to not even read the fucking question properly?

His room is on the second floor, overlooking the quad. There are always people around, walking between classes, sitting on the grass, their voices and the smell of cigarette smoke rising and drifting in through his window. He hates it. He hates the noise, the distraction.

But as he goes to close the open window he spots her. It’s only for a moment. She’s walking towards the library with her hands in the pocket of her jacket and her backpack slung over one shoulder. She’s not with any of her preppy friends, in fact she looks rather solemn.

He feels a slight twinge of guilt in his gut. Perhaps he had been a little unfair to her in their tutorial.

He keeps noticing her, especially at meal times and during lectures. Whenever he enters a room he finds himself searching for her, and if he cannot find her, he waits for her to appear. He plays guessing games with himself, waiting to see what outfit she’ll wear, the pretty mini skirt or a pair of faded blue baggy jeans. If she’ll be with her friends or if she’ll be alone.

He never approaches her. He waits for her to look at him, and once they’ve made eye contact she’ll smile at him.

He likes watching her, and comes to the conclusion that she is charming and polite, but not overbearing, and that’s what's so intriguing about her. She knows how to talk to people, even the most insufferable of their peers, but she’s not nearly entitled enough to truly be one of them.

It’s a Friday evening the next time they actually speak. The library tends to be quieter at this time and he has a textbook to look over before his next lecture. Only, when he goes to find the book, he discovers the last copy has been checked out a matter of minutes ago. Fucking typical.

He goes to stalk out of the library, debating whether or not he can be bothered to ask Oliver if he wants to grab a drink in The King’s Arms, when he sees her.

She’s alone, with her chin in her palm, writing in a notebook as she looks at the textbook open in front of her. He’s willing to bet that’s exactly the book he needs.

He approaches her slowly, waiting for her to look up and notice him, but she seems utterly absorbed in what she’s doing. Only when he puts a hand on the back of her chair and leans over her shoulder does she react to him.

He sees her jump when he gets too close. “Jesus Christ!” she hisses, clutching her hand over her chest.

“Sorry,” he mutters, still hovering over her. “Did I frighten you?”

She hums a laugh but composes herself quite quickly. She turns her head to look at him. “I’m guessing you want the book?” she says, her breath fluttering over his cheek.

He straightens his back so he can look down at her. “Will you have it for long? Only I think I’ll get through the reading quite quickly.”

“Oh yes of course, you’re a genius, right?” she says with a grin.

Irritation scratches under the surface of his skin, hot and restless. That’s how he usually introduces himself, but it’s the truth.

“We could just share,” she says, gesturing to the empty seat beside her, “that is, unless you don’t think I’ll be able to keep up.”

There’s something exciting about the way she holds his gaze, the hint of a smile on her lips.

She offers to go back a page so he can catch up and admittedly, he skims through, only writing down a few notes before he tells her to move on. He can find the book again if he really needs to.

He has to lean over his left arm rather significantly to read the book properly. She notices this, and pushing it closer to him, shuffling her chair over to follow. They’re close enough that he can smell her perfume again.

“None of your little friends around then?” he asks quietly, so as not to disturb the other students.

“What?”

“That group of girls,” he says, “I’ve seen you sitting with them in the dining hall.”

She brings her chin back to her palm but doesn’t look up from her notes. “They live on my floor. I don’t need to spend every waking moment with them.”

“Touchy subject?” he asks, perhaps a little too hopefully.

His heart leaps in triumph when she looks up at him. “No. I’m just not sure I’d count them as friends, necessarily.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Not my kind of people,” she says.

“Why not?”

She frowns briefly. He thinks she might scold him for being so direct, for asking so many questions, for being too intrusive. But she doesn’t.

The textbook is forgotten. She tells him about the village where she grew up, a sad little place by the sounds of it. She spent most of her schooling surrounded by the same twenty or so kids.

“For a long time, I knew there was something people didn’t like about me,” she says. “I didn’t understand why. I was never rude or cruel, I just kept my head down and did my work. The other girls told me I was a freak, the boys used to tease me, pull my hair, tear pages out of my books. Mum said people hated me because I was clever. Dad said I should stop complaining. So I did.”

He can’t help but draw a comparison to himself. He can feel it when he meets someone new, the inherent distrust, the sense that there is something inherently unlikeable about him. In a way he likes that people are unnerved by him because at least it’s something he can control. He has never been one for friends or common ground, a consequence of being the smartest person in every room.

He watches her intently as she tells him about a private school a few miles outside of her village, a proper posh place, Victorian buildings and sprawling estates. For her, it was her one chance of escape, and while her parents worked hard to make ends meet, the only way she was going to get in was with a scholarship. So she worked for it, got all A*s in her GCSEs, started at the posh school, and from there, set her sights on Oxford.

“You’re rather deceptive,” he says.

She smiles at him. “It’s not like I lied. Were you expecting a daddy’s money brat?”

“There’s enough of them about,” he says.

She huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Fucking tell me about it.”

They start to make a habit of studying together, at first it’s by coincidence, and then she gives him her number so they can organise themselves more effectively. They meet at the library every Friday to share a textbook or go over problem sheets, in preparation for their lectures. They even start to meet before their tutorials together, to compare answers and make sure neither of them are left out. Sometimes they go for coffee after their classes, and branch off to chat about things that aren’t maths.

He tells her about the grammar school he went to, that most of the boys there were rugby playing morons. He tells her about his family, his mum, his dad, the family cat that’s been around longer than he has. He tells her about his summer, running numbers for his uncle’s accountancy firm.

She tells him about the posh school, that starting at a boarding school was like being thrown into a different universe. Sure, she had been the odd one out and got the odd “povo” comment, but it was the first place where she had felt like she didn’t have to be ashamed of her own intelligence. She learnt how to fit in, to the point where he can’t tell if she actually likes her preppy friends or if she just puts up with them for the sake of it.

He starts to wonder if he could consider her a friend. He likes that she’s smart and sharp, the slight air of competition when they compare notes or go through a problem together. He likes challenging her, making her second guess herself, watching the way she squirms and tries to hide that she’s flustered. Just once, he thinks it would be fun to one-up her, but of course, she never slips up, and she never makes a mistake.

On Halloween she mentions a party at Magdalene College being hosted by one of her old school friends. Of course he’s sceptical. Hanging around a bunch of stuck up posh kids, who no doubt will all be in slutty costumes and getting off on each other’s egos, isn’t exactly his idea of fun. Although, part of him is intrigued to see her in a different setting.

So he agrees to meet her outside her dorm at 10pm exactly. He doesn’t bother with fancy dress, opting for jeans and a black jumper so that he can just fade into the background.

She appears with some of her preppy friends. They’re all in pastel dresses of differing colours, matching wings strung on their backs, glitter on their cheeks, a little pack of fairies. She’s in white mini dress that floats around her thighs as she moves, more like an angel.

She introduces him enthusiastically to the girls, already giddy from their pre-drinks, pink gin and rosé. None of them seem that interested by his presence and he grunts in response.

She links her arm through his as they walk over the cobbles, through the maze of ancient buildings to the dorm where the party is being held. She talks about everything and nothing. She tells him who’s going to be there, who’s been uninvited but might show up just to stir shit, how many girls are going to be there and that they’re all going to be trying to get into Felix Catton’s Calvin Kleins.

“Are you going to get with anyone?” she asks.

He makes a sound of disgust.

“Come on, Michael, live a little!”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think– I don’t know–”

She puts her hands on his shoulders and turns him to face her. “Have you kissed anyone before?”

He swallows thickly. It’s not something he’s ever been ashamed of before, now it feels like a weight crushing down on his chest. “No,” he says, simply, determined to remain indifferent.

“Get with someone tonight!” she says excitedly, “just for the fun of it, we’ll find you someone good.”

He hates the idea, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her. Perhaps it seems like fun to her, but to him it seems like an impossibility, and he thinks he’d rather have the consistency of being unwanted.

The party itself is loud and sparsely lit by neon lights. He starts off on bottles of beer to ease himself into it, but seeing everyone else is doing pills and white lines, he thinks he might need something stronger to get through the night, especially when she keeps getting distracted. The angel is quite the social butterfly and insists on saying hello to everyone, even the people she’s never met.

He finds himself in a common room and reaches for a bottle of whisky and a cup when he spots her. She’s leaning against a wall, wings discarded on the floor beside her. A tall boy, wearing nothing but jeans, a pair of feathery costume wings and a horrible Carpe Diem tattoo on his forearm, has his hands on her waist. She’s smiling and giggling into his neck every time he goes in to kiss her. Of all the girls Felix could go after.

His skin feels tight. He fears if he keeps having to watch this little display he’ll retch his guts up, and yet he’s utterly hypnotised by it, the way she had her arms around his shoulders, the way her fingertips trace the base of his neck. And fuck, he’s never seen her look so beautiful.

He ends up downing the rest of the whisky straight from the bottle and most of the night becomes a blur after that. At some point he thinks he starts trying to talk to one of her pastel fairy friends. He doesn’t catch her name, and he wouldn’t care to remember it anyway. She plays with his glasses, tries them on and giggles hysterically. He thinks she must be completely off her face, considering the look of utter disgust she had given him at the start of the night.

Somewhere in the noise of the party she throws her arms around his neck and they sway clumsily to the overwhelming bass of the music. He thinks he feels her lips graze his cheek, his jaw, his neck, but where he can help it, he keeps his eyes on his angel. Felix has one of her legs around his waist and his hands halfway up her skirt.

Fuck this.

He pushes the nameless girl off him and storms over to put an end to the scene before him. He grips Felix by his shoulders to pull him off her, grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the dorm. He doesn’t look back to see if Felix protests, he’ll probably find some other throat to stick his tongue down.

She tries to shout over the music. “Where are we–”

“I’m tired,” he snaps, bringing his face in close to hers. He gets closer than he means to, pressing his nose and his forehead against hers. He’s breathing fiercely, he realises, desperate to contain the full extent of his anger, his jealousy. “I want to leave.”

She stares back at him with parted lips, and nods.

He feels better the moment they’re outside, away from the disorientation of the party. He takes deep breaths of the night air, cold and sharp in his lungs. He snatches off his glasses, runs his hands over his face and his hair to find himself drenched in sweat.

His angel tucks herself in against him, under his arm, huddling her arms around herself and shivering.

“Do you want my jumper?” he says. His voice and the words on his tongue feel strange. His limbs feel weightless as he pulls it off and helps her into it.

“Hmm, thank you,” she says dreamily, clinging onto his arm as they stumble back to Lincoln College. He burns where she touches him, her fingertips digging into his skin. He loves it, and hates that her hands were on someone else before him.

“You were getting rather cozy with Miranda,” she says.

“Who?”

“Lilac fairy costume,” she says, playfully hitting his arm. “Did you kiss her?”

His heart sinks. He presses his lips together but she doesn’t seem to pick up on his annoyance. “No,” he says with a tight jaw.

“Oh no,” she says, looking up at him with a comically sad pout.

“It’s not important,” he says.

“It’s your first kiss! Or should have been your first kiss. It’s important. Did you at least have a good time before you got tired?”

“No,” he says, “your friends are all imbeciles.”

They walk the rest of the way back to her dorm in silence. He makes sure she has her keys, holds her face between his hands and tells her to drink a whole glass of water before she falls asleep.

She leans into his touch with a sleepy smile. “Yes, yes, I will,” she whines.

The sound stirs a wanting in his stomach. Suddenly his heart is beating faster than it ever has before.

“And call me if you need anything–”

“Would you want to kiss me?” she asks.

His eyes flicker down to her lips. His hands are still cupping her cheeks. “What?”

Her eyes are wide and alert. “I just mean, I could be your first kiss, if you wanted to.” She places her hands on his wrists, tracing her fingertips over his skin, along his forearms. It’s such a simple touch, and yet he can feel it driving him slowly insane.

He imagines her hands running over the rest of his body, down his chest, his stomach, teasing over the growing hardness in his jeans.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, terrified of how desperate his voice might sound.

She rises onto her toes, inching her face closer to his, drawing her nose over his cheek. “So?” she says, lips brushing over his skin, “I promise it’ll feel good.”

Their lips find each other in a simple movement. It’s easier than he thought it would be, following the movements of her mouth, letting his hands fall from her face and rest on her waist. He can feel her breathing, the little hums she makes as she kisses him and runs her hands through his hair.

He decides, in that moment, that she is perfect. She is bright and beautiful, passionate and kind, soft and sharp, everything he wants for himself, the only person he has ever felt a need for. That need burns through his bloodstream, goes straight to his head and makes his mind hazy. It tightens in his gut and only makes that wanting feeling in his chest feel emptier. His heart races, his trembling hands graze over the thin, silky material of her dress.

His glasses come askew. He feels her smile against his lips and it feels good. Really fucking good.

His hands clench into a firmer grip on her waist. He needs to keep her close, to touch her, feel her, know she wants this as much as he does.

Only she’s slipping away.

Her hands come away from his neck and the cold night air stings his skin in her absence. She pulls her head away, not abruptly, but that’s the pain of it. He leans forward to chase her lips but he has no choice but to let her go in the end.

She looks up at him with a vague smile. “See? It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Nice in the moment. Pure torture that he’ll have to spend the rest of the night clinging onto the memory, only able to imagine how good it felt.

After that night he cannot escape the thought of her, when he’s in his lectures, when he’s in the library, when he’s walking between classes, when he’s in the dining hall. If he’s with her he cannot help but notice every little detail about her, her clothes, her hands, the colour of her nail polish, every micro expression, every word, every laugh, every sigh.

And when he’s alone, he can’t help but picture her in that white dress, the sound of her voice, the feel of her lips. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to run his hands over every inch of her skin and make her a breathless, whining mess. When he’s in his dorm, it’s inevitable that his hand will end up dipping into his boxers, stroking himself until he spills over his knuckles with a grunt or a whisper of her name.

He’s never known himself to be so distracted.

Worst of all is the rage that comes with the wanting. He hates walking into the lecture hall to see her chatting to someone else, seeing her with her preppy friends around the college or drinking with that old school friend in the King’s Arms. None of them deserve her. None of them. Does she even realise it? How long before she loses herself, before she decides she doesn’t need him?

He knows he’s not a sentimental person. He doesn’t have a lot of friends nor does he want them. People have come in and out of his life, but this girl is different. He feels a draw to her, a hunger that he can’t satiate with his own imagination. She is everything he wants for himself, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away.

As Michaelmas terms comes to an end, the colleges and libraries are covered with garlands and wreaths. Despite the lingering worry in the back of his mind, Michael is rather happy with his collection of outcasts, though poor Oliver Quick seems rather unhappy at being a designated Norman-No Mates.

He finds it easier to get her attention as the term and the workload progresses. They’ve had tutorials and summative assignments, and she’s finally starting to struggle.

And then there was the incident about the scholarship. One of the preppy friends let slip that she wasn’t paying for her tuition fees or her accommodation, likely done out of jealousy after she’d gotten close to Felix at the Halloween party. He was there for her with a perfectly good shoulder to cry on when half the girls in her dorm started teasing her for it.

He tells her that she doesn’t have time to get distracted with parties or friends who won’t help her succeed.

He’s sitting at a table in the library, ready for one of their Friday evening study dates. She’s late but soon hurries in, pulling off the thick red scarf she has wrapped around her neck and shrugging off her denim jacket.

He has the textbook open at the right page and places a Crunchie in front of her when she sits down.

“Did you know there was a college Christmas party tonight?” Michael asks as she takes down her notes. “We’re NFI, apparently. Not fucking invited.” He’d checked his pigeonhole, and Oliver’s for good measure.

In the corner of his eye, he sees her look up from her notebook.

“As if we’d actually want to hang out with those vapid cunts,” he says, laughing to himself. He turns his head to check if she’s laughing too.

She doesn’t look very amused. “Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me,” she says.

He pauses, hovering his pencil over his worksheet. “You got an invitation?” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” she says, “I was chatting with some of the literature guys the other day, you know Farleigh Start–”

“What the fuck were you talking to him for?” He asks in a voice like ice.

She stares at him with wide, almost accusing eyes. “What, am I not allowed to talk to anyone besides you?”

“They’re not worth your time so stop acting like a fucking bootlicker” he hisses. “They’re all self-obsessed and cruel, and I don’t know why you’re so desperate for their approval.”

“Desperate,” she echoes.

The silence of the library is screaming at him. He has an awful feeling in his stomach, like he’s done something wrong, like he’s pushed a little too far.

It’s Halloween all over again. He can feel her slipping away, and he can’t reach out for her, can’t hold onto her and make her stay where he wants her. He curls his fists as he feels his body start to tremble.

“I guess I won’t waste any more of your precious time then,” she says sharply as she starts to pack up her things.

“No,” Michael utters. He reaches his hand up as if to stop her but she stands up, out of his reach. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She throws on her jacket, wraps her scarf around her neck and turns around, glaring down at him with sad, glassy eyes. “I need to get ready,” she says. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” Then she sweeps out of the hall with a cold rush of air and a slam of the doors.

Michael groans and lets his head fall into his hands. How had he managed to fuck up that badly?

He can’t think about the problems on the sheet in front of him, or think about the reading from the textbook. All he can picture is her in some skimpy dress, letting some sick trust fund baby put his hands all over her. It makes him want to tear his hair out.

He stays there until the evening has turned to night, until any other stragglers have left the library, to attend this stupid Christmas party or to make their own fun.

He can’t understand why she keeps trying to befriend the people who would abandon her the moment they got bored of her, the very same people who shamed her for her scholarship.

He’d never leave her, never let her feel anything less than worshipped.

When he finally packs up his bag he finds himself walking to her dorm. A few girls are leaving as he arrives at the building and he easily slips in while they’re busy chatting. He knows which floor she’s on, and then all he has to do is find her name on one of the doors… and there it is, under the number 205. Perfect.

He glances up and down the hall. It’s deathly quiet. He wonders how many students have already cleared out of their rooms, how many will be at this party, at the pub with their friends.

He can hear music on the other side of the door, a voice singing softly to a song he doesn’t know.

He brings his knuckles up and taps four times against the wood.

She seems happy when she opens the door, but her face falls when she realises it’s him.

He buries his hands in his pockets, keeps his chin down as he looks up at her. “I need to talk to you,” he says.

She sighs and purses her lips, but steps aside enough for him to come into her room.

It’s not as neat as he imagined, but it’s cosy. There are photos and posters all over the walls, clothes strewn everywhere, an opened makeup bag on the floor by the mirror, pieces of paper and used mugs on the desk. His eyes are drawn to her bed, to the colourful comforter tossed carelessly over the duvet and the pile of mismatched pillows. It smells like her perfume, and something else that is distinctly her.

A red dress hangs on the front of her wardrobe, her outfit for the party, he guesses. For now she’s dressed in her favourite pair of baggy jeans and a tank top, her hair slightly damp and her skin dewy.

She sits on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed. She doesn’t prompt him, but he knows what she wants to hear.

He stands in front of her, his knees almost touching the bed. He tries not to look at the cut of her tank top, the way it clings to her torso and teases the swell of her breasts.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “You were right, I was being unfair.”

She looks up at him, furrowing her brows and catching her lip between her teeth, like she always does when she’s thinking. It makes his stomach drop.

“You can be cruel too, you know that?” she says, “and so full of yourself, but you hold it against everyone else you meet.”

“But I’d never lie to you,” he says, “and I’ve never pretended to be someone I’m not.”

She keeps frowning. “Neither have I.”

He hums a laugh. He can’t help but reach for her, taking her chin between his fingers. She doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t question it when he gently strokes his index finger over her cheek. “Silly girl,” he says, “you care too much about what people think of you. You’re smarter than that, but you’re happy to hide it.”

Her breath hitches as tilts her head further back and lets his thumb drag over her lower lip.

“Michael,” she utters, pressing her palms against his chest, but not enough to push him away. Her hands grip at the collar of his jumper and she nudges her nose against his.

He doesn’t know where the sudden recklessness comes from. Perhaps it’s in the way she said his name, the way her eyes are gazing up at him, but every part of him feels hollow.

He leans in closer. “Why bother? Why do you want to dumb yourself down when I could just fuck you stupid?”

She leans in to kiss him and he indulges her, letting his hand settle against her cheek as they clash together in a mess of lips and tongues. It’s more frantic than the night of the Halloween party, wetter, clumsier.

She comes up onto her knees, snaking one of her hands down to the hem of his jumper.

“Have you fucked a girl before, Gavey?” she says between their kisses. He can feel her smiling.

“No,” he says, practically tearing his jumper and his shirt off, “but I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Anyone in particular?” she says, palming over the bulge in his jeans.

“Who do you fucking think?”

His hands are on the buttons of her jeans, ripping them open, dragging them down her legs before she’s on her knees again. He slips his hand between her legs, against her clothed centre and she ruts against him like a bitch in heat.

With his other hand he grabs at her waist, impatiently pulling her tank top over her head to reveal a lacy black bra underneath. He can’t stop himself, planting firm, desperate kisses over the flesh of her chest as he undoes the clasp.

He tosses her bra aside and takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and circling his tongue over the sensitive bud. He loves how she whines for him, how she runs her fingers through his hair and pulls when it feels good.

And then her phone rings.

She sighs in frustration before she shoves Michael away and crawls over to the table by her bed.

Michael groans at the loss, wanting nothing more than to grab her and pull her back across the bed. “Who is it?” he asks, adjusting his glasses.

“Could be Farleigh, or one of the girls, I said I’d meet them before the party–”

That’s all he needs to hear. In an instant he’s on top of her, pinning her wrist to the mattress so she can’t reach her phone, legs on either side of her body as he presses her down.

She writhes underneath him, unintentionally grinding her rear into his crotch. She tries to turn her head over her shoulder, but it’s hard when she’s caged in underneath him. “Michael! What the fuck are you–”

“When are you going to get it into that pretty little head that you don’t need them?” he says, letting his lips brush against the shell of her ear. He feels her shudder, feels her heartbeat racing against his chest.

“I know I don’t need them,” she says.

“Hmm,” he says, leaning back to undo his jeans enough to free his hard and eager cock. I’m not convinced.”

He takes his time pulling her panties down her legs, kneads at her thighs and her ass, pulls her hips up and parts her legs so he can get a look at her slick, glistening cunt. He’s almost fascinated by it, drawing his thumb through her folds, noticing how she reacts to his touch, the sounds she makes, the way she fists the bedsheets when he gets close to her clit, but just enough to keep her on edge.

“I could be so good to you,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder, “so fucking good, so why do you act like you don’t need me?”

“I do,” she breathes, interrupting herself with a light moan when he presses firmly against her clit. “I do need you.”

“There you go, you’re starting to get it,” he coos, circling over her most sensitive spot with the pads of his fingers. He may not have the practice but he has the knowledge, and he needs this to feel good for her.

She responds beautifully, sighing and rocking her hips against him, and she just melts when he presses the tip of his cock against her entrance.

He has to push harder than he expects, pausing when she gives a little yelp of what sounds like pain, but she assures him she’s fine.

He grabs her hip for leverage, hissing through his teeth as he pushes in deeper. She’s so tight, so wet, so warm.

“You can move,” she says, letting her head fall against her arm. “Please, I need it.”

He starts slowly, focuses on the drag of his cock through her, the way she stretches around him, but he can’t hold back for long. Once he finds a rhythm he gets a little more reckless, snapping his hips against her rear, keeping his harsh grasp on her flesh as he fucks her into the mattress.

Her moans are heavenly and obscene. She’s given up struggling but she’s trying to look at him, trying to touch him but she can’t. She calls his name and it sounds so pathetic but so endearing.

He chuckles lowly to himself. “Silly little slut, didn’t know what she was missing, did she?”

“No,” she whines. He can feel her clenching around him and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to last. “Fuck, Michael, it feels so good…”

He pulls out of her, only to turn her back and slam back in. Suddenly she’s all over him, running her hands down his torso, wrapping her arms around his neck. She has her face buried into the crook of his neck, grazing her lips, tongue and teeth over his skin.

It feels good to have her close, but he’s still not entirely satisfied.

He pulls away to hold her down again, one hand on her throat, the other on her stomach. “Mine.” he huffs as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. “All mine. Fucking say it.”

She places her hands over his, urging him to hold her tighter, press harder. “Yours,” she utters, “all yours.”

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, and feels her respond to his voice, cunt fluttering, back arching, another whine sounding in her throat— maybe she likes that. “My clever little girl.”

He feels her come undone around him, back arching as he lets out a breathless moan, practically squeezing him to his own release.

He pulls out and with a few strokes of his hand, paints her belly and her thighs with his spend.

She’s trembling, smiling, reaching out to touch him again, grabbing at his wrists and pulling herself up. She guides him to lay back in the bed and straddles him, tracing her finger over his lips, his jaw, along his nose to push his glasses up for him. He can hardly see through them, the lenses fogged up and smeared with sweat.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” she says.

“Yeah,” he breathes, pawing at her hips, watching his cum as it drips down her body. He can feel a sense of pride swelling in his chest, the arousal in his gut starting to tighten again.

He gasps when she drags her wet cunt over his already hardening cock. “You.. want to go again?”

She tilts her head, looking down at him with that familiar excited look in her eyes as her mouth spreads into an eager grin. “You’re adorable,” she says, tracing her fingertips over his chest, down the lines of his abs, to the trail of thin hair on his navel.

She leans down, reaching between them to take his cock in her hand, moving with agonisingly slow strokes. When he tries to protest she silences him with little more than a peck on his lips, before she trails down to his throat. “I stand by what I said, Gavey, and you’re not leaving this bed until we’ve taken that ego of yours down a notch.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

#michael gavey #saltburn #saltburn fanfiction #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x oc #michael gavey x ofc #ewan mitchell #michael gavey smut #my fics

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svuguru · 1 month

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I think a step bro choso would b cute. Like he knows it’s wrong but he can’t stop fucking into his sisters pussy because it just feels too good ^.^

Stepcest!! Minors and antis DNI please! :3

THE WAY I HAD A FIC LIKE THIS IN MY DRAFTS A WHILE AGO??? Anon I totally agree with this like it’s so cuteee :( he knows he shouldn’t be buried in his cute stepsis’s pussy but you’re just too irresistible. The way you clench around him, whine when you feel his cock tease that soft spot, the way you’d look up at him with wet eyes… how was he supposed to stay away from you?

Just convincing you that your parents wouldn’t totally lose it if they ever caught you and him :< of course you believe him cuz big bro Choso would never lie, right? Especially not with the way he presses soft kisses to your face, murmuring praises and sweet nothings in your ears as you squirm and whimper.

“Ah, ah, keep quiet, okay?” Choso whispers, putting a halt to his hips to keep your voice down. You’re in a way too risky position with your stepbrother; Choso’s dad is in the living room, watching television while you’re upstairs with Choso’s stuffing you full of his cock.

“‘M sorry, Cho,” you bat your wet lashes at him, wrapping your legs around his waist. Choso’s convinced you know what you’re doing to him—there’s no way you can’t.

His dick throbs inside of your little pussy, his finger pressed against his lips as a way to say “quiet”. You never want to disappoint your big Stepbro, so you push your lips together in a straight line.

“There we go,” his hand falls down to your cheek so he can caress it affectionately before he slowly starts moving his hips again. Your legs pull him closer to you, hugging him, keeping him as close to you as you can because you desperately crave physical contact with him.

“Can feel you so deep,” you whisper, giggling like it was a silly thing.

“Really?” A grin crosses Choso’s pretty features, “you’re a silly girl.” The way he says that in a low voice has you pulsing around his girth, your manicured nails digging into his bare broad sweaty shoulders as he hovers above you.

Your eyes batted at him, all glossy as it stares up at him fondly, your lips pulling themselves into a pout, your cheeks all flushed as sweat drips down your forehead from the warmth of the room just makes you so much more prettier in his eyes. Was he ever seriously expected to stay away from his cute stepsister?

You feel so full of your stepbrothers big cock, and he reached so deep, as if he’s molding your pussy to fit only him.

Choso tries to keep his hips steady and slow so as to not raise the suspicion of his father.

“So big…!” You gasp, your walls squeezing him nice and tight. You’re such a sweet girl to Choso, so generous and affectionate, even though he’s your stepbrother….

“You can take it, right? I know you can,” your legs twitch, your stomach doing flips as your squirm. Choso’s so kind, he even knows when you’re close. He’s that used to your body, even if it’s wrong. “Already?” Choso grins, teasing you playfully which earns a whine from you.

“Meanie…!” You huff before a moan falls from your lips, an unexpectedly loud one that hopefully doesn’t catch Choso’s fathers ears.

“Aw, ‘m sorry, sweet girl,” then he throws his head back, knitting his eyebrows together as his hips stutter, “cum, pretty, go on.” It’s only a matter of a few strokes before you can feel your tummy’s knots come undone, your hips twitching as your head sinks into the pillow below you. “Shh, shh, quiet, quiet… okay?” Choso places his big hand over your lips to keep you quiet.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #Choso Kamo smut #Kamo Choso x reader #Kamo Choso smut #Choso Kamo x reader #Choso x reader #Choso Kamo x reader smut #Kamo Choso x reader smut #Choso smut

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jasongracesluvr · 4 months

Text

MY PJO/HOO HCS !!

Leo has those big ass Mexican blankets with the graphics YOU KNOW WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT. THE ONES WITH THE ANIMALS AND OCCASIONALLY FLOWERS AND THEYRE BIG AND HEAVY AND MADE OF FLEECE!!!!! (I’m saying this because I have those and literally everybody I know and everybody in my family has at least one.) AND HE CAN NEVER GO A NIGHT WITHOUT IT BECAUSE IT WAS HIS MOM’S AND HE HAD IT EVER SINCE HE WAS A BABY 😭😭😭

Piper threw a water bottle at Leo at the wilderness school after a fight and she got in trouble, but Leo defended her saying he deserved it anyway because he was a dick and that’s how they became friends AND SHE FR WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR HIM 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

Jason is always cold and Leo got him one of the big thick blankets and it has wolves on it :) AND HE USES IT EVERY NIGHT AND HE CANT SLEEP WITHOUT IT AND AGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE JASON 😭😭😭😭

PERCY CARRIES AROUND PADS AND TAMPONS BECAUSE SALLY TAUGHT HIM WELL AND HE ALWAYS PROVIDES IT FOR ANYONE WHO NEEDS IT. I LOVE THIS MAN.

Hazel is a CUDDLER. NO MATTER WHO IT IS SHE IS ALWAYS GOING TO BE PHYSICALLY AFFECTIONATE WITH SOMEBODY (as long as they’re comfortable with it ofc.) SHE LOVES HER FRIENDS AND ABSOLUTELY LOVES TO BE BY THEIR SIDE !!!!!!!!

Whenever somebody feels sad, Frank always turns into their favorite animal and gives them cuddles. PIPER WAS SAD ONCE AND HE TURNED INTO A PARAKEET AND SANG A LITTLE MELODY WITH HIS LITTLE PARAKEET TWEETS ☹️☹️☹️ HAZEL WAS SAD AND HE TURNED INTO A HORSE AND NUZZLED HER 😭😭😭 I COULD GO ON AND ON ABOUT THIS

Annabeth is definitely the friend who worries most about everybody’s well beings but refuses to take care of herself. “Piper, put a sweater on, you’re gonna catch a cold!” And she’s wearing shorts in December. “Leo, stop overworking yourself at the forge! You need rest!” And she’s been up for four days straight. “Percy, stop trying to skateboard off of the climbing wall! You’ll get hurt!” AND SHE LITERALLY SWORDFIGHTS WITH THREE PEOPLE AT THE SAME TIME IN THE ARENA WITH NO ARMOR ON. She’s so cool man

Reyna and Leo have full blown conversations in Spanish, and Nico joins in because he can somewhat understand some words (because Italian is somewhat similar to Spanish). Thalia, Jason, and Will find it so cool but they desperately want to know what they’re saying. (They talk about how cool and awesome their partners are)

Will picked up a bit of Italian for Nico :DDDD

Nico teaches him Italian (he taught him curse words first)

Jason and Leo are in love and actually they are living together (I’m a valgrace truther)

Leo constantly curses in Spanish

Hazel doesn’t curse much but the one time she did it sounded absolutely sweet because of her transatlantic accent

Did I mention she has a transatlantic accent that mixes perfectly with her Louisiana Accent

Nico curses in Italian

Reyna curses in Latin and Spanish

Jason curses in Latin

Frank curses in Mandarin and French

Percy makes dolphin noises

Annabeth curses in Ancient Greek (canon)

Piper’s grandfather taught her Cherokee, but she learned the curse words by herself

Piper knows taekwondo

Jason constantly cuddles with Leo when they sleep, and Leo loves the feeling of being in Jason’s arms :)))))

Reyna gives piggyback rides to Nico

Leo boops Jason’s nose whenever he sees that Jason is grumpy

Jason scowls at it but he’s lying if he says that he hates it

Jason loves to melt into Leo’s arms after a long day

Leo loves it when Jason plays with his hair

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ch3rriiii-bunn · 1 year

Note

Being a maid in the house of kokushibo and yoriichi and serve them nicely. (yk what i meant 18+. Also female bodied reader)

Personal maid <3

GOD THIS PICTURE LMFAOOO also I'm using human kokushibo (michikatsu) for this if they have a maid to themselves

Part two: Here!!!

Warnings: Fem!reader, reader is a maid, human kokushibo (michikatsu), hard dom michikatsu, pleasure dom yoriichi, cum, humiliation kink(?), spanking, rough fucking, choking, mention of 3some

Michikatsu

Michikatsu, who takes joy in having you, the Tsugikuni twins personal maid to satisfy his needs after a long day of being a samurai.

Michikatsu who approached you directly on what to expect, being his and his brothers personal maid, even if their father informed you already. He's not as affectionate, but he makes sure to get to know you and what you're comfortable so you and him can do things smoothly without trouble.

Michikatsu who trained your throat so you know how to suck his cock right when he gets home from a hard day. When he comes out the shower and sits in front of you, man spreading, you already know what to do.

Michikatsu feels the most relived after cumming from oral. Your lips wrapped around his tip and sucking it, bobbing your head and your hand jerking him off is rhythm. "That's it" he groans letting his head fall back and grabbing a fist full of your hair "I'm going to cum, make sure to swallow it all. Don't let a single drop leak out to get me dirty after I use showerd, " he said and pushes your head down to take more of his cock.

Michikatsu, who gave you rules on what to do for him. One of them is not wear panties under your kimono, that way it makes easier for him to fuck you when he gets home. Whenever he walks by you around the house, he'll grab your ass to check, but if he grabs your ass and he feels you've got panties on, he'll punish you afterward.

Michikatsu, who bends you over lap, lifting your kimono to expose your ass and spanks you, making you count out loud. "I'm sorry master! I'm sorry, " you whine, hugging his musclar thigh, feeling the stings from each of his spanks. "Are you really? This is the 5th time you've disobeyed me." he said, moving your panties to the side and chuckles, "but you like being a brat just so I can punish you. Just look at this mess" he said as his fingers played with your leaking pussy. He wasnt wrong though, you did like it, almost love even.

Michikatsu who fucks you rough to relief him of stress. He fuck you in missionary to have the most control and having his hand always makes it up to your throat, squeezing it. "Is this too tight?" He'll always ask while fucking you hard, making his skin clap agiants your and all you could do is shake your head, holding onto his wrist while you let out breaking moans. "Too dumb on my cock to answer with words mm. But I like that face. I can't help but think you're always this excited for me to fuck you like a stupid whore"

Michikatsu, who's good with his pull out game. Just when he's about to cum hell pull out, cumming on your pussy, in your mouth or if he's in a good mood and you've cum on his cock like your told too then he'll cum inside you.

Michikatsu's aftercare is always a "thank you" or a "good job." He's not the best with comforting words, but he always asks if you're ok physically and mentally after sex. If you say you're fine to head to the bath by yourself after a rough fucking session he will carry you to the bath and he makes sure you've gotten to your room safely.

Yoriichi

Yoriichi is calm. More clam than his twin, but you underestimated his sex drive just because of how calm he is. After coming back home from God, he knows where he'll always come back, wanting to have you all to himself, even if it ment bumping heads with his twin with needing you more.

Yoriichi, who isn't afraid to play with you in public and eats your pussy for his own pleasure. He has you up against the wall. His head between your legs, licking and sucking on your clit with his fingers deep inside you. "M-master yoriichi, please," you whispered as your hand griped onto his hair. "A samurai could turn around this corner any minute- f-fuck" you cover your mouth to surpress your moans. He only moans in response on your clit while stroking his hard cock.

Yoriichi who likes to over stimulate your clit by trying to make you cum as many times as he can. When is he done making you cum from his tounge he'll rub his tip on your clit. "So pretty. You're leaking so much for me..." he said, slipping his tip between your wet folds, catching your slick, and pushing onto his tip inside your hole, in and completely out.

Yoriichi, who can't help but smile when you beg for him. "I'm sorry, I've been making you cum so much you've had nothing to clench on. Here you go" he whispers in your ear and moans once he's slides inside you slowly. "You're so tight. Don't hide your pretty moans from me. Let me hear you when you cum for me."

Yoriichi likes to fuck you in missionary but its different from how michikatsu would do. He always makes sure to put a pillow underneath your lower body to penetrate you deeper than normal and make it more pleasurable for you. "M-master, please~ oh gosh. I'm suppose to be taking care of you here" you moan out, yoriichi slamming into you roughly and him leaning forward to suck on your nipples "you're doing more then enough to help me, haa soo good for me. Seeing you like this and your pussy squeezing me from how good it feels is enough for me."

Yoriichi who likes to press his hand down gently on your abdomen gently when you let him know you're close. "Squirt for me. I know you can do it, you're such a good girl" he said and kisses your jawline "your getting so wet for me" his free hand starts to rub at your clit "ill fill you up just how you like it if you squirt on my cock"

Yoriichi is very wholesome with the aftercare to you. After a bath, he gives you a massage in your room, making sure you're not tensed or hurt anywhere. Sometimes, yoriichi will sleep in your room since he does like the comfort you give him

Bonus

During a samurai meeting, the Tsugikuni twins would often sit in the far back request their personal maid to sit between them after you've brought them tea. Their father found it foolish how clingy they've become to you but always brushed it off.

Yoriichi is the frist to make a move by grabbing your thigh and slowly grabbing the inner part of your thigh. You keep your head straight along with the twist yet your body heating up once you feel Yoriichi fingers brush on your pussy and then michikatsu starting to grab at your ass.

Yoriichi gets his fingers to start rubbing your clit in circles through your panties making you bite down on your lip to not make a sound while the meeting is going on. You wiggle slightly making michikatsu chuckle lowly while he moves his hand from your ass.

Michikatsu puts two fingers in his mouth to lubricant them without anyone noticing and leans closer to your ear "don't a sound" he said parting your thighs open more to slide his fingers in making you gasp and quickly covering your mouth. "Shhh, not so loud now. We don't want to be found out" yoriichi whispered and moaned in your ear "I can feel your clit throbbing for us already" he said as his other hand cups your boob and playing with your hard nipple through your kimono with his fingers.

Michikatsu smirks and finger fucks you faster, hearing the sounds of your wet pussy and watches you cover your mouth desperately to hide your moans. "Be of service to us and stroke our cock" he said and your hands reach over, exposing your cocks and beginning to jerk them off.

Yoriichi's head falls onto your shoulder as he felt your warm hard wrapped around his cock and rubs your clit faster. Michikatsu bites your ear softly "fuck you're being so good" his voices became raspy trying to stay quiet himself. "If you cum for us you'll get two cocks stuffed I'm you as a reward. How dose that sound, y/n?"

"I-id love that," you whispered back. "I'll be a good girl, don't worry~"

#demon slayer smut #kny smut #yoriichi smut #yoriichi x reader #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo smut #michikatsu x reader #michikatsu smut #kny michikatsu

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soursturniolo · 6 months

Text

questions • matt sturniolo

pairing: matt/reader

summary: when matt suddenly pulls away from the reader, they are left to try to figure out what went wrong. angst then fluff.

TW: depiction/description of a panic attack. if this is triggering content for you and you skip this fic I completely understand, please take care of yourself.

“I’m just busy right now, we can just move our date to some other night,”

“It’s not that deep, it’s just a party for friends, you misunderstood. I’ll see you tonight maybe. Don’t wait up,”

“Sorry, I just don’t feel like cuddling much anymore,”

“Obviously I still love you, if I didn’t I’d ask you to move out,”

Very callous responses became the usual. Over the past two weeks, Matt had changed a bit. He was less affectionate, less caring. He was blunt and direct and some times came off uncaring. It really hurt, if I’m being honest. I had tried talking to him, seeing if it was something I had done or if he was going through something and each time I was quickly and angrily brushed off. I don’t like arguments so I always just dropped the topic.

He’d also withdrew physically from me. There was no cuddling at night anymore. No kisses. No hand holding. No random hugs from behind. It the past week I think he’d kissed my forehead a couple times, if that. It was the polar opposite of what was our norm, and I don’t understand it at all. A couple times I tried to initiate a hug and he’d stiffen up and pull back, and I’d be left with my arms outstretched and an embarrassed flush painting my cheeks.

Tonight, I tried to give him a kiss when I decided to go to bed before him. I leaned in and he quickly turned his head so I kissed his cheek instead. If he saw the tears in my eyes after he did that, he didn’t say anything. My cheeks burned with embarrassment under the confused gazes of his brothers as I walked quietly and quickly to our room, trying my best not to completely break down. I was losing him, I’m sure of it now.

I found myself sitting on the edge of what for now is still our shared bed in our bedroom when I hear a knock on the bedroom door.

“Come in”, I croak out, my throat thick with emotion before I clear it.

The door opens and I see Nick peak his head in.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks softly, a frown on his face. That one question makes the walls I had tried to build up break. I shake my head as sobs begin to pour out of me. It’s ugly tears, loud heart wrenching cries coming out of my mouth even as I try to stop them with my hand over my mouth. Nick quickly comes in, leaving the door open as he sits by me on the best, pulling me into his chest. The comfort he gives me just makes me cry more, because I so desperately wish he was Matt right now.

“I’m so sorry, I know that was so mean,” he says, hand rubbing soothing circles on my back as I cry.

“Oh, ma, please don’t cry over him,” I hear Chris’s voice come from the doorway, and footsteps approach Nick and I. The bed dips next to me as he sits on my other side, his hand rubbing my shoulder.

“I just don’t understand what I did,” I pitifully cry out to them both.

“You didn’t do anything,” they both reply at the same time.

I sniffle as I pull myself back from Nicks embrace, standing in front of both of them as they remain seated on the bed.

“He’s missed our date nights. He’s refused to bring me to parties that I’ve been invited to come along to. He didn’t even care when I asked him if he still loved me last week. He just kind of laughed and said if he didn’t he’d have me leave. Now tonight I can’t even kiss him. I don’t understand.” I cry out, my hands flailing around as I talk and pace.

“Has he said anything to you guys? Did he tell you what I did? If I knew I’d fix it. I can fix it. Whatever I did for him to be like this to me, I’ll fix it,” I stutter out, my breathing getting faster and more labored. My hands tremble as I feel my chest tightening with anxiety and hurt. I try to breathe but it’s like I can’t catch my breath no matter what.

“Hey, hey, just try to breathe,” Nick says calmly, “you’re having a panic attack, but it’s all going to be okay, just breathe with me” he says, motioning for me to follow and mimic his own deep and slow breathing. I try to suck air into my lungs as he does, but gasp and cough as I fail to match him. I get scared as my vision starts to get spotty. Nick and Chris both stand with me now. Chris gently and slowly grasps my hand, bringing it to his chest.

“Feel that?” He asks softly. I focus on my hand and can feel his steady pulse and slow breathing. I nod, still unable to speak.

“Okay, just focus on Chris and his heart and his breathing. Feel it and try to match it,” Nick encourages.

I let my eyes drift closed as I focus on Chris. Slowly, my breathing evens out. I let out a deep breath as I open my eyes back up, removing my hand from Chris’s chest. Five or so minutes had passed. I feel exhausted, it has been so long since I last had a panic attack and I had forgotten how much it tires you out.

I look up slowly to see both Nick and Chris looking at me with concerned expressions.

“I’m sorry, I’m okay now, just really tired,” I whisper, voice hoarse from struggling to breathe.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Chris says apologetically.

“And for the record, in response to your question, Matt hasn’t said anything to us. We’re just as confused by him. You didnt do anything, I’m sure. You know how he is, he gets in his own head and isn’t so good at talking to people about what’s bugging him,” Nick explains, trying to make me feel better.

“He used to talk to me about what’s bothering him. Now he barely talks to me at all,” I whisper. Both boys share sad looks, which just makes me feel more dejected.

“I’m going to bed, when do you think Matt will come?” I ask them quietly, turning back to the bed and moving the covers, getting ready to climb in. Both brothers once again share a look, concerning me.

“What?” I ask.

“He um, he left after you came in here. Something about needing some space. Said to not wait up.” Chris says, looking down and not meeting my eyes.

“Oh,” I whisper, voice cracking as I nod, biting my lip.

I go ahead and climb into bed, settling under the covers as the two brothers watch with dismal looks on their faces.

“I’m fine now, guys. I’m sorry. I just need some sleep now, I’ll see you both in the morning.” I promise them both, yawning towards the end of my sentence. The both nod and give me a small smile, telling me goodnight and leaving the room. As they shut the bedroom door behind them, I snuggle down into my pillows on my side of the bed, letting sleep pull me under.

My eyes slowly blink themselves open as I wake in the night. I pick up my phone to see I’ve only been asleep for two hours. My mouth is dry and my throat feels scratchy so I throw the covers off of me as I get up, deciding to get a glass of water from the kitchen. I slowly rise from the bed, noticing sadly that Matt’s side remains undisturbed, showing that he’s never come to bed. I sigh as I walk out of our bedroom, heading down the hall to the kitchen, stopping when I hear raised voices coming from the living room. I stay hidden in the hall as I listen.

“You can’t keep doing whatever this is to her, man! You didn’t see how heartbroken and distressed she is,” I hear Chris say.

“I know, Chris! You’re not helping you’re just stressing me out even more!” Matt hollers at him.

“Matt. It was bad. The poor girl had a fucking panic attack in front of us, thinking she’s done something wrong and asking if we knew what it was so she could fix it. She doesn’t deserve this,” Nick tells him, surprising me with how calm he sounds when usually he’s the loudest one.

“She had a panic attack? While I was gone earlier?” I hear Matt question, voice suddenly quiet and sad.

“Yeah, it was bad, but we got her to calm down and she went to sleep after. We checked on her a couple times before you got back just because we’re worried about her. It doesn’t seem like she’s sleeping well though,” Chris explains.

“You need to just talk to her. Just tell her what you told us,” Nick encourages.

Tell me what? I feel my stomach fill with dread. But I want answers, so I decide to make my presence known. I walk from my hiding spot in the hall through the kitchen and to the living room. Matt’s back is to me, and as Chris and Nick see me their eyes widen before they turn to look at each other and then at Matt.

“Tell me what?” I say, voice quiet but scratchy sounding from sleep still.

I watch as Matt’s back stiffens at the sound of my voice, before he slowly turns to face me. Nick and Chris quickly excuse themselves and head upstairs, bidding us both good night.

“Maybe we should talk about this in the morning?” Matt suggests hesitantly. I quickly shake my head, crossing my arms as I stand in front of him.

“No Matt. I want to talk about this now. I have questions. Do you know how horrible this has been for me? Overnight everything changed. You pulled away from me. From our relationship. You stopped talking to me. You stopped telling me you loved me. You stopped hugging me or kissing me. Tonight you wouldn’t even let me give you a kiss before bed. You’re freezing me out and I don’t even know what I did. But whatever I did wrong I’d like the chance to fix it,” I say softly, voice practically pleading for him to just talk to me.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he whispers, finally meeting my eyes.

“Then what’s going on? Is there someone else?” I ask, voice breaking when I ask the question I dread asking the most.

“No! God no. I’d never.” He quickly swears, eyes wide and hurt due to my suggestion of him cheating.

“Okay, sorry. I just— I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on, Matt,” I explain, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

“Im scared,” Matt says, voice nervous as he picks at his nails looking down.

“So am I. Just tell me, are you breaking up with me? Is that what this is?” I ask, voice cracking again.

“No! I’m not going anywhere, at least I don’t want to, I don’t know how you’re going to react to what I’m about to tell you. But this is hurting you too and I never wanted that,” he assures me, reaching out for me before stopping himself for some reason.

“Just tell me. If you’re not leaving me, if you didn’t cheat, if you still love me, then whatever it is we can work it out,” I say, walking up to him and closing the distance between us. The lights are dim, and it’s just him and I standing in the middle of the room. I reach out and grasp Matt’s hands in mine, stopping him from picking at his nails. I let out a subconscious sigh of relief when he doesn’t pull away, instead giving my hands a squeeze.

“Here it goes,” Matt says, letting out a nervous breath, “I pulled away because I got scared. A couple weeks ago I had this dream about us. It was so real. We got married. It was the happiest day of my life. We had kids, our own little family. They had my eyes but your smile and all three of them were just perfect. We had this house out in the woods with a huge play-set for our three little ones and we had a dog and a cat and my brothers lived just a couple minutes away and it was just everything I know I want. And it’s with you. And it made me realize, you’re it. You’re the one. You’re the only person I picture and want for all of that. And I’m freaking out because we’re so young, but I swear if we had it all tomorrow I’d be ready. But I don’t know how you feel. I know you love me, I’ve never doubted that, but I just. I’m ready to start that chapter. Slowly start it. But I’m afraid maybe you aren’t, and now I just sound like a crazy eager boyfriend who is going to scare you away because I’m too serious too quick,” he tells me, searching my eyes.

I feel a lovesick smile stretch across my face as I gaze up into his eyes.

“So, I’m hearing that there’s a ring in my future?” I joke, trying to break the tension that seems to be eating Matt alive.

“If you want it, yes, it’s yours. And anything else you want,” he whispers.

“I want all of that too Matt. I love you. I’m in this relationship wholeheartedly. I want a future with you. A marriage, a house, pets, kids, all of it. You don’t have to be afraid because I’m right here and I’m telling you I want all of that and I’m so glad and feel so lucky that you want all of that with me too,” I promise him, before leaning up and connecting our lips softly. I feel him smile against my lips as we kiss. One of his arms snakes its way around my waist as his other hand comes up to cup the back of my head gently.

We pull away slowly and reluctantly, wanting to talk more but also enjoying the closeness we’ve both been missing in our relationship over the past couple weeks. We both stay up late that night talking about his dream and our real future together.

When he kneels down in front of me with a ring and a certain question two months later, I smile knowing our love story is just beginning.

tag list: @secret-sturniolo @sturniolopepsi @christinarowie332 @mangosrar @cupidsword @st4rswrld @biimpanicking @bernardenjoyer @lovingsturniolo @loveesiren @sturnphilia @mxqdii @oh-toseewithoutmy-eyes @its-jennarose @fionaheartswomen @hedgehogperalta @lea0518 @lxvlysworld @mattsd0ll @urmyslxt @thetriplets3 @lilsxo10 @recklesssturniolo @meg-sturniolo @flowerxbunnie @mlimmm @querenciasturniolo

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets fanfiction #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo

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solarmorrigan · 1 year

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I have a lot of thoughts about Steve who craves physical affection, who thinks of his worth in terms of what he can do for other people, and who got very drunk at high school parties. This is one of them

CW for heavily implied past dubcon (not between Eddie and Steve). Please take care

Eddie has never seen Steve drunk.

At least – not up close. There had been a few high school parties back in the day where Eddie had passed by the “Keg Stand King,” but since he’s come to know Steve personally (intimately), Steve has barely touched alcohol.

He’s told Eddie the story of being drugged against his will and how he doesn’t want to repeat the feeling of losing control, and how he doesn’t like not being able to drive if he needs to, and how the hangover would probably just trigger a migraine anyway – and, really, he just doesn’t drink much anymore.

Yet tonight had been a special occasion: Robin’s birthday. She herself isn’t much for alcohol (for at least some reasons that match up with Steve’s), but drinking, she said, feels like a part of the birthday experience. She’d somehow gotten Steve to match her beer for beer, for “emotional support,” and it hadn’t taken long for the both of them to become entirely inebriated.

Time has apparently greatly eroded Steve’s tolerance.

Eddie had distantly expected him to be kind of a bitchy drunk—and he had become a bit cattier, for sure—but mostly he’d just become affectionate. There had been hugs for nearly everyone, and he’d spent the latter half of the party slowly migrating into Eddie’s lap, plying him with constant kisses on the cheek and giggling ridiculously at nearly everything Eddie had said.

It had been sort of adorable (not that Eddie will tell him that; no, he’s going to sit on that information until it benefits him).

It’s a little less fun now that he’s trying to cart Steve up to his room and into bed. Steve is a bit wobbly, and a lot heavy, and is much more interested in trying to cling to Eddie like a koala and bury his face in Eddie’s neck than he is in actually walking anywhere.

“Y’know, we could cuddle to your heart’s content if you’d just let me get you to bed,” Eddie points out when he and Steve have stalled out partway down the hall, leaning against the closed door to the bathroom.

Steve hums vaguely, tightening the grip he has on Eddie’s t-shirt. “But you’re out here,” he mumbles, nuzzling into the crook of Eddie’s neck.

A shiver travels down Eddie’s spine at the feeling of Steve’s warm breath ghosting across his throat, but it doesn’t go much further than a gentle, dying flutter in his gut. As affectionate as Steve has been, as hungry for contact as he’s acted all night, there’s been nothing sexual about it. It’s been all hugs and sweet kisses, not heated embraces and sloppy make outs.

Besides– Steve’s drunk. Eddie’s not going to take advantage.

He wedges a hand between himself and Steve and gently pushes Steve back.

“I’m coming to bed with you, you colossal dork,” Eddie says.

Steve blinks at Eddie, slightly unfocused. “Oh.” He finally heaves up and away from the wall, grabbing Eddie’s hand to tug him along as he weaves unsteadily down the hall. “Well why didn’t you say so?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, all affection. “Where else would I be going?”

Steve stops when they get to his room, apparently pondering the answer.

“Away?” he finally volunteers, half-questioning, as if he’s hoping he’s wrong.

“No, baby,” Eddie assures him immediately, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. “I’m staying. Gotta make sure you don’t choke on your tongue after you pass out, anyway.”

“’m not that drunk,” Steve says; he rolls his eyes and then immediately seems to regret it, reaching out for Eddie’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Uh huh,” Eddie drawls. “Okay, time for bed, big boy.”

Grumbling, Steve releases Eddie to shuffle over to the bed, where he flops down on his back with a sigh, jeans and all.

“Alright, not exactly what I meant, but I can work with this,” Eddie says, kneeling on the bed by Steve’s hip.

They’d managed to ditch their shoes in the entryway, but they’re otherwise fully dressed, and Steve is going to be uncomfortable if he tries to spend the whole night in his belt and jeans.

Steve squirms a bit when Eddie reaches for his belt buckle, as if he’s not quite sure whether to move away or not.

“Eddie…” he groans – an exasperated sort of groan, rather than the usual way he groans Eddie’s name when he’s squirming on the bed.

“Just hold still,” Eddie shushes him with a quick pat to the hip.

He gets as far as pulling the tongue of the belt through the buckle before Steve’s hands shoot out and grab Eddie by the wrists. His grip is surprisingly strong, considering how uncoordinated he’d been tonight, and Eddie stills immediately.

“Steve?” Eddie looks up to see Steve staring down at him, wide-eyed and apprehensive; hell, if Eddie didn’t know any better, he might say Steve looks… sort of frightened.

“Not– not tonight,” Steve says, enunciating carefully, and Eddie’s confusion only increases.

He doesn’t want his belt off tonight? Is that what he’s worked up about?

In the wake of Eddie’s baffled lack of response, Steve only grows more insistent, tugging Eddie’s hands away from his waist.

“Not while I’m–” Steve breaks off, licking his lips nervously. He shakes his head and adds quietly, “Please.”

Brows furrowed, Eddie stares at Steve a second longer. “Not while you’re…?” Then the penny drops, and Eddie jerks away from Steve so quickly that Steve barely has time to let go. “Oh shit, no. That’s not– no, I’m not– Steve, fuck, no, that’s not what I’m doing.”

Steve stares up at Eddie, the anxiety he’s a little too drunk to mask still lingering in his eyes.

“I promise, I was only trying to get your belt and pants off so you’d be more comfortable. For sleeping!” Eddie says quickly. “But you can keep them on if you want. Hell, put on more layers. Do you want a jacket?”

Distantly, Eddie realizes he’s rambling and tries to stop; it doesn’t seem to be helping.

“I– I know I was kissing you,” Steve says, then glances away with a grimace, seeming a bit more sober now. “Practically throwing myself at you. ’m sorry, I just–”

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t be,” Eddie says firmly. “Even if you were throwing yourself at me—even though you weren’t; like, I can tell the difference between cuddly you and horny you, okay?—but even if you had been, you can still say no. You can always say no. But I swear, Steve, I was only trying to get you comfy, that’s all.”

For a moment, Steve just breathes, processing Eddie’s words as carefully as his sloshed brain will allow.

“Are you still going to stay?” he finally asks. “Even though I don’t want to have sex?”

“Of course,” Eddie blurts, some dizzying combination of baffled, anxious, and incensed. “I’m only gonna leave if you tell me to.”

And even then, he’d only go as far as the couch downstairs (just in case).

Slowly, Steve nods, then reaches for his belt to pull it off in a series of determined, clumsy movements. He drops it on the floor when he’s done but makes no move to remove his jeans.

Eddie, following suit, resigns himself to an uncomfortable night. He strips off his jewelry and his own belt but leaves his pants on.

All the lights go out, save for a small, dim lamp on Steve’s desk, and then Eddie crawls on top of the covers with Steve, pulling the blanket from the end of the bed—a gift from Claudia—up over both of them.

A little of the churning, anxious mess in Eddie’s chest eases when Steve immediately plasters himself to his side, resting his head on Eddie’s chest (and Eddie just knows there’s going to be drool there come morning, but he can’t bear to move him). All the same, even as he hears Steve’s breathing even out into sleep, Eddie can’t get his mind to rest.

What has he done to give Steve the impression that he’d try to fuck him when he’s too drunk to really say yes? What has he done to make him think he’d leave if Steve doesn’t put out?

Nothing.

Genuinely and truly, Eddie can’t think of anything. There have been plenty of times they’ve hung out, even shared a bed, and they haven’t had sex. Sure, they’re active, but they do actually do other things together.

There have been other nights where sex has seemed like a sure thing, only to be halted by an apologetic look from Steve and the start of a migraine. There have been times Eddie’s called it off because his anxiety has reared up and bit him in the ass. There’s never been anger over it.

That leaves two options: it’s either an imagined scenario stirred up by anxiety and insecurity and alcohol, or… it’s based on a different experience, in a different time and place.

All things considered, Eddie has a terrible, sinking feeling that he knows which one it is.

#is Eddie's attitude a little more socially aware than is warranted by the time period? maybe 🤷#sometimes it's just like that #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #eddiesteve #solar wrote #cw past dubcon #cw past noncon #let me know if there are other/better tags to add!

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earthtooz · 1 year

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BABE I HAD AN IDEA- Reo Mikage ANGST where he calls reader a gold digging whore in the middle of an argument, ultimately affirming all of her insecurities so he has to figure out a way to show that he didn't mean it and that he's sorry without using his disgustingly abundant wealth 💔 anyways ilysm hope you take care of yourself

NO YOU ARE LITERALLY DISGUSTING FOR THIS (affectionate) YOUR MIND >>> YOU ARE SOOOOO RIGHT. SHUT UP THIS WILL LITERALLY BE THE MOST SCRUMPTIOUS FIC EVER BECAUSE I AM LITERALLY ABOUT TO PUT MY WHOLE EARTHUSSY INTO INCORPORATING THIS IDEA SOMEWHERE !!! BUT FOR NOW, TAKE THIS SNIPPET I WHIPPED UP IN ONE SITTING.

girl feel free to come back into my inbox WHENEVER and giving me your juicy ideas bc holy shit i loved this.

CW: HURT/COMFORT - A LOT OF BOTH, SWEARING, UNEDITED - I WAS GOING THRU IT WHILST WRITING THIS DON'T LOOK AT ME!

IMAGINE THIS: it's been a rough night for both you and reo, he's been through a lot in the past weeks because his dad just had to during the middle of soccer season to lecture reo about how to run a big business. the transition process is beginning to happen since father mikage is about to retire and although your purple-haired boyfriend has been preparing for this his whole life, having gone to business school part-time and graduating with honours, there's still a little part of him that feels weary from all the responsibilities.

all this accumulated stress needs to have an outlet eventually, right? welp, you just happened to be there at the right (wrong) time. you were simply delivering a platter of apples to your boyfriend who had his head in his hands, hunched over an endless pile of paperwork that was beginning to irk him with each passing second. countless images of him shredding up the paper flowed into his mind, a fury that manifested into his reality, except the paper was you D,:

one thing evolved into another, reo's endless stream of venomous words didn't stop flowing out of him as he spat poison after poison, burning you with the intensity of it all.

"you're so overbearing, can't you see that i'm fine? unlike you i can handle myself when things get hard," he spits, eyeing you with fury in his eyes, one that makes you gulp thickly.

"reo-"

-but you wouldn't know the first thing about fighting for what you want right, you fucking gold-digger."

that stops you in your tracks, silences you effortlessly, causing you to let your hands drop limply back to your sides as you stare at your boyfriend blankly. you're sinking into an abyss of hurt and insecurity, it's getting harder to breathe because of the way your chest swells with anger.

reo only continues, not noticing the way you physically and emotionally drop. "even if you don't give me attention for one second of the day, i won't forget you exist, so stop being so clingy and unnecessary! my money isn't going anywhere either, you don't need to occupy majority of my day so leave me alone. go shop online or something."

that was it. was that all reo perceived you to be? a dent in his money, the expenses of his bank account?

"fine. goodbye," you simply mutter before slipping through his office door, out in the hallway.

"don't bother me whilst i'm in here," he says with finality, one last declaration before you shut the door behind you.

the luxurious walls of reo's penthouse look down at you mockingly, the spacious area caging you in, chanting 'gold-digger' over and over again until it's all you hear.

staying here feels wrong.

so, you grab your purse and leave, as quietly as possible. slipping down to the garage where your (second hand) car was parked, you start the engine up and begin reversing out of the parking lot.

you begin to reflect on your relationship with reo. you love him, you really do, you love him because he's reo, the man who was always capable of making you smile, laugh, and make you feel like you were on top of the world. his money and fame was an added bonus that you truly didn't care much about.

but ever since dating him, you've had your own insecurities that have been forced on you by other people. there were crowds calling you a 'gold digger' who was only with reo 'for the money', and although you were sure of yourself and your intentions, your armour breaks down sometimes.

what reo said tonight was the final jab that allowed it to fully disintegrate.

you had a stable job of your own and finances to your own name, money wasn't something you avidly chased, sure having a few zeroes in your bank account was nice but that was all you really needed. as long as you could buy necessities and spoil yourself, it was satisfactory, and you could provide that for yourself!

reo loved to spoil you, showering you in luxurious gifts that you never knew how to accept. it would take a great deal of convincing for you to take what he bought you, and when you promised him to stop buying them for you, he agreed before buying you more material stuff.

as you pull up to the parking lot of the apartment complex that you resided in, you get into the elevator with a heavy heart, pressing the button to your floor with a lot of emotions.

the ride is silent. everything is so silent.

your apartment is even more silent. it's unused, slightly barren. your furniture was still there, except some dust had gathered on the tables and cabinets from how long you've neglected it.

the only reason you were able to keep your apartment was because you had no expenses outflowing since reo took care of almost everything. anything you needed, he bought it, groceries, bills, whatever, were charged on his card. for a period of time, your bank account merely grew and never decreased.

and since you hadn't been here for a while, electricity and water bills never bothered you too much.

you flop onto your made bed with a sigh. it wasn't as soft as reo's but you didn't find it in you to care, you just needed some well-deserved shut eye.

well, 'shut eye' occurred for merely an hour before your phone started vibrating violently.

with a groan, you shove your face back into your pillows before blindly reaching for your phone.

you already knew who it would be without looking at the caller id. of course reo would be looking for you, noting your obvious absence in his penthouse.

"hello?" you mutter.

"y/n? where the hell are you?" comes reo's frantic voice from the other line. he sounds genuinely concerned.

"doesn't matter."

"i'm sorry for everything i said. please, come back."

"reo, i'm tired, i can't do this with you right now."

"i'm sorry, i'm really really sorry."

"i don't want to hear this right now."

"i love you."

you sigh and you're sure reo can hear it on his end. unsure of how to respond, you just hang up on him before throwing your phone away. normally, you would feel bad about the way you left him, but that wasn't the case this time. you just needed to sleep on this.

but, it was reo you were talking about, and the last thing he was going to let you do was sleep without him.

at 1:24am, there's a series of ferocious knocks on your door, followed by screams of your name.

oh my god it was so embarrassing, you literally shoot out of bed as soon as you register what was happening and dash for your door. you don't want to disturb your neighbours' sleep and let them hear that the pathetic grovelling of your boyfriend. the entire hallway could hear reo and his shouting.

you open the door, pull him in, and slam it shut behind you again, leaving the purple-haired to stare at you with a bewildered expression.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss.

he looks at you the same way a puppy does when its owner kicked it out of the house.

you should've known that merely telling reo 'i don't want to hear this right now' would not be enough to pacify his determination and the fact that you hung up on him only intensified his pettiness. the purple-haired always sought you out, pulling himself into your orbit like a magnet. where you went, reo followed, even if it was to the ends of the world.

he had the money to do whatever he wanted, you suppose.

"i wanted to make sure you were safe," he pouts. "i didn't know whether you'd be here or not."

"well, i'm safe, and i'm here. so."

"i can see that," he leans against the back of your couch. reo looks so out of place in your small apartment, awkwardly playing with his hands. "so... should we go to bed?"

the audacity. "what do you mean 'we'? go back home, reo, i'll see you some other time."

as you turn around to go back to your bedroom, reo's quick enough to round around you, blocking you from the hallway with his larger figure.

"but you are my home. please, i'm really sorry about what i said, i didn't mean it," he pleads, grabbing your face so you could look him square in the eye.

you step out of his grasp easily, shaking him off. if you were in your right mind, you would've seen the look of heartbreak on reo's face.

"sure, if you didn't mean it then you wouldn't have said it in the first place, mikage."

you swerve around him to reach your bedroom and he follows you the entire time, trailing behind you, desperate for an ounce of your attention.

"i know i fucked up, but i didn't mean to hurt you and project my frustrations like that onto you when you were just trying to care for me." you sit down on your bed with a sigh and reo takes a seat beside you. "you know i love you right? like, a lot."

that's right. if there's one thing about reo it's that he loves you to an endless degree.

"thank you for always caring for me. i know you don't do it because you're after my money or fame, but because you want to ensure that i'm healthy and not rotting in all that i have to do," his voice cracks. is he beginning to cry. "i don't know what i'd do without you."

you let a beat of silence pass by before dropping your walls. he was always going to smash through them no matter what.

"i've always felt insecure in our relationship," you confess, no louder than an exhale and if reo wasn't holding on to every action of yours, he wouldn't have heard you. "being called a gold digger became normal when i started dating you and i didn't really care. well- i tried not to care."

you continue. "i don't want to let these comments get to me, but then you said it and... i don't know, it just felt horrible."

you feel an arm sneak under your leg, and another hand come to your elbow, both of which simultaneously pull you to straddle reo's lap. you don't look him in the eye- something he frowns at.

"i love you for you. you're the best i'll ever have, reo, but sometimes i-"

"-please don't finish that sentence," he murmurs, breath fanning against your face.

you meet his gaze. he's crying freely. tears are running down his cheeks like streams and you instinctively bring use your thumbs to catch the drops. you hate it when he cries.

"i don't want it to be anyone else but you," confesses the purple-haired. "i hate it when we're separated, i can't stay away from you too long or i think i will go insane."

his statement causes you to giggle a little.

"you laugh but i'm telling the truth."

"i laugh because you make me happy."

his arms wound around your waist, keeping you pressed against him, leaving you with no room to escape or part from him. just what reo likes.

"i'm sorry for what i said," he says against your collarbone. "when i didn't see you in our home, i didn't know what to think. i got so scared for a second because i had no idea where you could've gone so i started spamming your number-"

"-yeah wait, was calling me 24 times necessary?"

"i was going to keep calling you until you picked up so it could've taken 24 or 1000 times or more. now let me speak." you nod wordlessly, smiling a little at how silly reo can be. "and when i realised that you went back to your apartment, i felt horrible that i drove you out."

he looks up at you with glossy eyes.

"you came here because you wanted to prove me wrong, right? because you bought all this by yourself and don't need me, right?"

"well, kind of, but i also didn't want to be around you so i came back here."

reo frowns before leaning in to press delicate kisses to your neck. "please don't leave me. i need you by my side," he inhales before whispering his next statement. "even if you don't need me."

a hand of yours go up to thread through his hair. "don't say that," you use your other hand to direct his face away from your neck, pressing a kiss against his puckered lips. "i absolutely adore you, my love. you're my favourite person ever."

he smiles before leaning in again, kissing you with more fervour and passion. you can feel another tear slide down his cheek.

"lets go to bed, reo," you say when you part and he simply nods, laying you on the side of the bed before laying beside you, arms naturally finding themselves around your waist as reo tugs you as humanely close as possible. "sorry if this mattress isn't as comfortable as your twelve grand one back home."

"i couldn't care less," he whispers whilst tracing patterns on your bare skin.

so long as it's you he's next to, reo doesn't have a lot to complain about.

#bro when i say i literally wrote this in one go #I WROTE THIS IN ONE GO #reo mikage x reader #reo x reader #mikage reo x reader #blue lock x reader

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batsvnte · 5 months

Text

𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐘 — Blade was one who you never expected to be with. Being part of the Stellaron Hunters has its ups and downs. The first months were light for you since you were sticking with Kafka. Occasionally Sam or Silverwolf would tag along if they were needed, rarely it was Blade. You didn’t push immediately to form some sort of relationship with him. You’d rather kept at a safe distance from the swordsman till the time was ready. Which was sooner than expected.

The inner turmoil sparked within him at the beginning. His goal was directly towards death. Taking every opportunity to throw himself into battle without any repercussions. During the few days he was developing feelings, he took precautions onto what he chose to battle whenever you were near. Protecting you was one of his priorities as it was for everyone else he was around. Kafka would often point out how he seemed to be showing off at rare times.

You on the other hand had an entirely different goal than what Blade had. Only Elio knows what it was since he was the one you came to. Often you would refuse to speak on your lifelong wishes, but as far as anyone knows it’s one of the more tamer goals you had. Fighting wasn’t the main concern, but it was something else that was more off the field.

The habits with Blade started out subtle but it was beginning to become noticeable. There was a day where nobody had seen him. Not even Silverwolf. When you entered your shared room during the night, he was there. Standing there with an blank look on his face. You could’ve sworn he was there the entire day since he wasn’t part of the script. He acknowledged your presence when he saw the movement out of the corner of his eyes. And yet he stayed, wanting to be with you after being gone for so long.

Anywhere you would go, he was there somewhere within your presence. It only took a few seconds (actually three according to Kafka) before he was there by your side. He’s grown comfortable after some time to finally trust himself to be physically affectionate with you without the fear of harming you. Sometimes he would have his arm around your waist, his hand holding yours or just standing close to you to where you might lightly bump shoulders. He wasn’t the type to admit things out loud. Rather let actions speak louder for his words.

But another thing was he was silent as hell. You lost count of the amount of times he had scared you since he was silently follow you and wouldn’t warn you about anything. It’s just seems like he appears out of nowhere when he’s there the entire time. Just going out for some fresh air, he was leaning against the wall with his eyes fixated on you. Going to the kitchen for a snack, he’s already grabbing it for you when you were just looking for it a second ago.

At times you would back up and accidentally bump into him out of nowhere when you thought you were by yourself. You would ask him to at least give you some sort of sign that he was there. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t.

It rarely ends well when he comes back from mission in the middle of the night covered in blood.

#— ghouul frights #blade x reader #hsr blade #blade hsr x reader #technically red and green flags with Blade #song reference #hsr blade x reader #him being a black cat makes my brain implode #random word dump that makes no sense at all #hsr blade drabble

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bruciemilf · 1 year

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Batfamily + Being drunk (their tolerance and how they act, etc)

Bruce: Lightweight. Called Alfred crying from his dorm room because kids were drinking beer, and Alfred had to remind him they were 25, and Bruce was 25 too, and he can't come pick him up.

Very emotional drunk. "I just love all of you, with every beat of my broken heart," probably has to be physically restrained from calling his exes

Dick: Takes him a bit to get drunk, but when it settles, it settles DEEP. Sloppy drunk. Injured his back when he climbed on the table to dance and couldn't go on patrol for two weeks.

Probably calls Bruce to cry about everything and anything. "There's homeless polar bears. Can you buy them homes, Tati?"

Jason: VERY lightweight. Next to no alcohol tolerance. This man gets drunk on Capri Sun. Affectionate drunk.

Just picks up family members and walks around with them. Bruce has a 200lbs puppy pulling him in the tightest bear hug

Tim: Angry drunk, but in a pathetic kitten way. Confuses a wall for Jason and hits it for 10 minutes. He goes on about conspiracy theories, " BIGFOOT WAS A FURRY IN THE WILD" and how we should demolish the government

Duke: Funny drunk. Prank calls the GCPD. He likes doing Rogue impersonations. He's strangely good at pulling off a Harley voice, " I fucked your wife, by the way. Just thought you should know."

Steph: Surprisingly, the serious drunk. "Do you think there's a sense to living if there's nothing beyond?" I think she'd spill her darkest fears and insecurities in stand up style and claim she remembers nothing the next morning.

" Trauma? Never heard of her. Is that a new kid?"

#bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #duke thomas #stephanie brown #batfamily #batfam #dc #dc comics

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ultr6violnce · 5 months

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⋆·˚ ♱ dating euro hc's

nsfw & sfw ♱ ⋆·˚

note ; this is only based on rory's portrayal , this is nothing ab the real euronymous.

SFW ♱.

he will definitely ties ur shoes for u. he thinks it's a little embarrassing especially when ur in the den n' the whole circles watching as he gets down on one knee and ties up the laces on ur boots. he goes a little red when they all start mocking him for being so 'head over heels' but how could he not be head over heels for his beautiful angel? he eventually tells them to fuck off and helps u off of ur feet and leaves the den with you.

when you go out to bars etc n' it gets to the time of leaving it'll most likely be early hours of the morning by the time u leave n' knowing oslo it would probably be raining or some sort of shitty weather so to spare you the shivering n' whining of being freezing cold he lets you wear his leather jackets , letting himself suffer all so his beautiful girl is nice n' warm. also he just thinks you look absolutely beautiful when ur practically swimming in his jackets , although he'd never admit it.

he loves having you do his corpse paint before a show. he'll have you sat on his lap in the bathroom , hands on ur waist , thumbs rubbing over ur waist as u drag the brush gently over his skin. trying to hold back from doing anything further as he stares up at you watching as ur face contorts into one of concentration as you makesure not to mess up on his face paint so it's all perfect for him to look good whilst he's up on that stage performing.

i kinda thinks it's a little ooc for him but it's cute so bare w me. but i feel like he'd comfort you after a fight. especially if it got physical or he said something that went to far. you'd probably storm off to the bedroom , tears soaking ur soft cheeks n' after so many minutes of pacing he'd slowly (and very shamefully) walk to the bedroom and he'd sit next to you , not saying anything for a while before apologising profusely. his eyes would be all big n' desperate as tears threatened to spill from them before he'd eventually just put his arm around you then his other under your legs and he'd lift you into his embrace and just comfort you as you cried.

also a little ooc for him but anyways , he would bring you like flower bouquets for ur birthday or just when he's feeling like it. obviously he'd make sure he's alone when buying them not wanting his friends to know how affectionate he is when he's with you and he'd always get u ur favourites n' just show up unannounced at ur apartment and give you them. at first you thought it was strange , he never seemed like the affectionate type and in all honesty he was the complete opposite but there was something about you that just brough out that affectionate side to him.

since you'd most likely be smaller than him , if he ever went to give you a kiss and was just too much of a lazy ass to lean down to ur level he'd put his hands to ur waist n' would let you stand on his feet so ur more at his height. all that just for a little kiss.

NSFW ♱.

starting off strong. he cums so much when he fucks u. like oh my god. that man will cum BUCKETS. he will literally drain every single drop of cum from his balls inside you , once he pulls out he'd like give ur ass a really harsh slap , enough to leave a bit sting n' would just watch it all ooze out before fucking it back inside you with his fingers.

he'd always tease you , especially when he fingers u. he'd always makesure he'd have his rings on so when he fingers you the cold metal of his rings graze against ur walls as his fingers curl inside u and plunge inside you deeply.

he defo has a wax play kink. like js hear me OUTTT like he'd be fucking u n' after a while you'd feel this hot liquid pouring down ur ass cheek n' he'd just be pouring little trickles of wax over ur sensitive skin as his cock just pounds into u deeper.

kinda a hot take but um he loves cockwarming!! sorry not sorry. like he'd makesure you were sat on his cock nice n' perfectly , making sure you didn't move , slapping ur ass if u made one wrong move even though if you even moved an inch he'd cum straight inside ya.

he's also a big fan of public sex. like that man will fuck you anywhere , anytime. literally name any place and he'll be pounding you in it. e.g: supermarket bathroom (maybe even an aisle if he's feeling it) , storage closet at the studio they'd go to sometimes to practice , he'd even fuck you infront of the public eye. like say you'd be sat out somewhere where quite a few people were and he'd just have you shamelessly bouncing on his cock , not making it obvious but also obvious enough that it catches a few eyes.

he's so loud. no matter what you're doing to him or what he's doing to you. he's loud. which only really became a thing when he started dating you. you were just so good he can't keep that running mouth shut. he could literally be tongue deep in ur pussy and he'd be a moaning mess. like no matter what he's doing he will be moaning , groaning n' whimpering like a bitchhh.

a/n: finally came up w some stuff , it's not the best but i haven't written a full thing like this in what feels like forever so y'knoww i had to cuz i js love spoiling u guys so much!! plus I've been up all night watching PLL and i can't sleep so I've just been coming up with ideas and the boom this was created so i hope u enjoy angels. love u all smm!! :3

#rory culkin #i ❤️ rory culkin #smut #r!euronymous #lords of chaos #rory culkin x reader #rory culkin smut

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locketsvault · 4 months

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「 CUDDLING WITH BSD MEN PT 2/4 」

pairings: chuuya x reader ፥ akutagawa x reader ፥ oda x reader

tags: gender neutral reader, no agab mentioned, first person, fluff, cuddling/phyiscal affection

warnings: talks of canon illness in akutagawa, not proof read

other parts: ada ᨒ port mafia ᨒ doa + the guild ᨒ the hunting dogs

a/n: fyi for chuuya I have not read stormbringer so forgive me. oda is also short because I didn’t really know what to say for him. no gender or sex mentioned, no pronouns either!

// chuuya nakahara ⌇˚.༄

⮑ Is there such thing as classy cuddles? Because he gives classy cuddles.

⮑ The word I’d use for him in a relationship is classy, I can’t help it. But I do mean classy in a good way. Physical affection with him started off small, and he allowed you to pace when you were ready for more. I also see him as someone who always has an arm around you, either over your shoulders or on your waist.

⮑ He keeps pda to a minimum, he won’t cuddle you in public, especially in front his co workers. He’s an executive and he takes it serious. I also don’t think he’d want to show you as his weakness, he wouldn’t want you to get hurt.

⮑ Cuddling with Chuuya is oddly nice. Oddly because he seems rough on the outside. He is very rarely little spoon during cuddle sessions, he feels insecure. But he makes up for it, he’s a great big spoon. He’s a warm, very very warm. I can actually picture you in between his legs cuddling him while he has a wine glass in his hand. Now a many things could happen, one of you is talking, or you’re watching something. Either way, it works well with him.

⮑ The downside is he isn’t home much for cuddles. He’s either away for jobs or at work. So unless you’re willing to sit in his lap while he does paperwork, you don’t get your cuddles.

⮑ 7/10, very good cuddles …when you get them.

// ryunosuke akutagawa ⌇˚.༄

⮑ I just want to know how you managed to touch him in the first place.

⮑ Everyone always says he is touch adverse, which I completely agree, but then people usually say that when it comes down to it he hates it and stuff like that. I have to disagree. I think he’s terrified of it yes, he grew up without any form of physical love, but I do think deep down he yearns for it. He craves it and, when he finally gives in, his entire meticulously built wall completely shatters. Which is how I wonder, how’d you manage it?

⮑ I won’t lie, I believe behind closed doors once he’s comfortable with cuddling or touch and he’s quite clingy. You just feel so warm and well— safe. I can promise you though, it will only be behind closed doors. Do not try to be physically affectionate in public, especially in front of his coworkers. At least not for a very long time.

⮑ I like to imagine that after a time, with lots of reassurance about his ability, he will pull you into cuddles with rashomon. Which, I feel like he’d be bad about verbally asking for affection so he’d do that instead. It’s easier on his illness to use his ability.

⮑ Speaking of his illness sadly, it can make cuddling tough. One moment you could be resting in his arms and the next he’s having a nasty coughing fit. There’s been times when he’s be insecure about his illness and not want to be touched anymore.

⮑ 4/10, I love my baby but his illness + his traumas it’s hard for him to be physically affectionate.

// oda sakunosuke ⌇˚.༄

⮑ He takes care of orphans therefore I am a firm believer he knows how to cuddle.

⮑ I mean it too, he takes care of kids physically and emotionally, he’s got dad hugs. If anyone is gonna hold you and it make you feel safe and taken care of, it’s him. And he knows it too. And he has a six sense for when you need cuddling. And sometimes you end up in a cuddle pile with the kids. I don’t make the rules.

⮑ Oda is 50/50 with pda, he doesn’t mind it, especially if it’s something you love. But it does worry him, like Chuuya, he’s afraid of showing you as a weakness and you getting hurt or killed. But if it’s safe, he usually sticks to holding your hand or holding your waist. I can see him holding you close with your heads rested in each others shoulders while at a public theater.

⮑ Private cuddles are common and comfortable. Oh and he’s always the big spoon. He’s always holding you, I don’t really see him as the type to be held.

⮑ 9/10 you can feel all the care in his arms.

main hub ✦ masterlist ✦ to do list

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hardlyinteresting · 4 months

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Personal

Aaron Hotchner x reader

A case hits a little too close to home for the reader. Hotch makes sure she knows she not alone even as they struggle to decide if they're colleagues, friends, or something more.

Warnings: female reader, (I've given her the nickname Sweets), No physical description of reader, mildly graphic descriptions of injuries, cannon-compliant themes of violence, themes of past domestic violence, mild hurt/comfort, I am not a profiler so there are likely mistakes in the profile (please let me know if there are any warnings you'd like me to add. Aaron Hotchner Masterlist | Send Requests

Word count: 3.2K

"Hope is a gift. You can't choose to have it. To believe and yet to have no hope is to thirst beside a fountain" Ann-Marie MacDonald

The case comes in early in the morning. Aaron has hardly managed a sip of his coffee when the phone rings with a call from a local P.D. in Aberdeen, Virginia. It's urgent. It always is. He cannot begrudge the haste with which his job forces him to chug down the scalding liquid in his mug as he calls upon Garcia to prep the relevant files for the case. It's not the first time, and it certainly won't be the last. Sufficiently caffeinated (albeit with a burnt tongue), and briefed on the case, Hotch calls the team to meet him in the conference room.

His colleagues seem to be in good spirits today. With a passing glance around the room Hotch silently completes a behavioural checklist for each of them in his mind. No one on the team seems over-exhausted, overtly anxious, or withdrawn. They chat amongst themselves, teasing and joking like siblings as they wait for him to settle into the remaining seat at the table. He nods at Penelope, “Garcia, let's get started”. With a quick “yes, sir,” she presses a button on the remote to begin the briefing.

This morning the police in Aberdeen discovered the body of a woman left propped up against the wall outside a local medical clinic. Abigail Lawson. 27 years old. She had been badly beaten. A single stab wound. No sign of sexual assault.

“Cause of death?” Prentiss asks.

“Blunt force trauma to the head,” Garcia supplies the response.

“And she's the first?” Morgan follows up.

“Two weeks ago Stella Amos, twenty-five, was admitted to hospital with similar injuries. She passed away two hours later. A punctured lung”.

The photographs of the injuries are disturbing. After years on the job, the images never seem to get less brutal. A chill travels down his spine as he looks over the extent of the wounds on both of the women. A hush falls over the room as everyone else takes a moment to swallow down their own shock and compartmentalize their feelings of disgust. They train themselves, scanning the photographs and notes for the facts they can work with in hopes of saving anyone else from meeting the same fate.

“No stab wound. Are we sure these cases are connected?” Reid surveys the provided facts one more time.

“Similar age, hair colour. They were from the same neighbourhood. Steady jobs,” Rossi lists, “there's a pattern in victimology to be sure”.

“They could be unconnected acts of domestic violence,” Morgan posits before continuing, “but leaving these women at medical centres is unique. Could be remorse”.

“A man who beats women within an inch of their lives before dropping them off for medical attention. It's a big risk. Knowing they might survive to identify him”.

Hotch nods at the assessment. He had followed the same thought process himself when he got the call.

“Maybe he's banking on them being too afraid to talk if they do pull through,” another voice in the room speaks up for the first time this morning. Sweets, the team calls her. An affectionate nickname that’s stuck since her first week on the team. “the stabbing is an escalation and these are high-risk victims. This UNSUB isn't worried about getting caught. These attacks are personal to him somehow”. It's an important assertion, and something they'll need to consider as they build and expand their working profile.

He's glad to hear Sweets adding to the conversation. She's never been shy when contributing to the team's brainstorms, and he had begun to worry when it had taken her so long to speak up. He doesn't miss the wobble in her tone, or the way she now avoids eye contact. She’s a valuable team member, and despite being the most recent addition she’s settled herself flawlessly over the last year. Aaron is well aware of the poor retention rate for new team members in the BAU and has continued to be impressed by her ability to hang on to her brand of optimism and take their most difficult cases in stride. She’s worked hard to see the best in people, and unsurprisingly endeared herself to those around her; himself included.

At first, Hotch had been grateful for her unique perspective from her experience working for victim services. Then, he grew to appreciate her attention to detail, and the way his piles of paperwork seemed smaller and smaller at the end of each week. She quickly became a friend and a confidant after long nights in the office, and the field. Now, their relationship lies in limbo somewhere between friends and something more.

Lately, the tugging at his heartstrings has grown nearly painful. All the old cliches leave his heart racing and he feels like a teenager whenever her hand brushes against his own. A night out with the team had ended with her curled up in his bed the next morning, and he’s been a goner ever since. It's been weeks, she hasn’t mentioned it, so neither has he. The guise of professionalism makes it easy to shove down his insecurities, and recurring fears; his age; his scars, physical and metaphorical; the weight of his career; he pushes them to the back of his mind. He does not dare to hope. He does not allow himself to consider the reasons why she might want to keep him at arm's length. It hurts less that way. “Whatever the case we've got a week before he strikes again,” Hotch confirms, his mind focused on the case, “we should head out”.

It’s August, and the sun is nearly blinding; the heat and humidity are intolerable, but nobody complains as they split up between the most recent crime scene, the morgue, and the precinct. Hotch would never admit it, but he’s glad when the woman who occupies half his thoughts volunteers to head to the station with JJ. Not for his peace of mind, but hers. Driving into the town he had seen her hands fidgeting in the back seat of the Suburban. Something about this case is already weighing on her, and he doubts the discomfort of the summer calefaction will be much help. He tries not to think about it any more than that.

The crime scene doesn’t tell them much more than they already knew. There’s no security footage to help them identify the UNSUB. But, the way he leans the victims to sit against the way rather than just dumping them shows some kind of warped sense of concern for their well-being. The women are likely substitutes for someone else. He was likely raised in a violent home. He can only hope that the rest of the team has managed to learn more.

Sweets is glad that the station had the forethought to move a coffee maker into the room they’ve set up for the BAU team to work out of. In her short time on the team, she’s learned how essential caffeine is to the function of herself and her teammates. Not enjoying coffee is not an option. Cream and sugar make it tolerable to those who despise the bitter taste. As she preps her second cup of the day she watches Spencer dump 4 packets of sugar into his mug. Whatever gets you through the case. She reminds herself.

“Defensive wounds on her arms, but her manicure wasn't chipped. There was no blood or skin under her fingernails. No bruising on her knuckles,” Morgan shares what he and Rossi learned at the morgue, “She held her arms up to protect herself, but she didn't fight back. She didn't scratch, claw, or punch her assailant”.

“She probably knew him then,” Prentiss says, “He’s not sneaking up on these women. But, he has the advantage and control required to attack them head-on”.

The profile continues to build and Sweets pulls further in on herself. The personal nature of the attacks leaves her nauseous. Flickers of memories she’s fought hard to forget flash behind her eyes, but she forces herself to stay in the room. Reign it in, she wills herself. Without looking across the room she knows Aaron’s eyes are on her. Her cheeks warm though she can’t be sure if it’s his gaze or her anxiety to blame. She tries not to read into it, not wanting to feel too self-important. It’s his job to watch everyone on the team, she knows that. It doesn’t mean anything, she reminds herself the same way she has since she woke up next to him all those weeks ago. She doesn't want attention because she slept with him, and she'd be silly to think it meant anything to him anyway. It's easier to ignore it. He hasn't mentioned it, so she hasn't either.

Despite her best efforts, she does like him. More than she should. Normally, the attention would leave her with butterflies fluttering in her chest, like a schoolgirl with a crush. But today, she feels too seen, too exposed. she focuses her attention on controlling the unwanted emotions this case continues to dredge up. Aaron has seen her undressed, he’s seen her let down her walls and crack jokes. He knows her better than the rest of the team, but this is not a side of her he needs to see.

Under the table she plants her feet, pressing the soles of her boots hard against the linoleum. She reminds herself who she’s with and why she’s here. When she’s able to breathe without gagging she speaks up, “If it looks like domestic violence maybe that’s exactly what it is”. Hotch’s head tilts up, his eyes moving off of the files he’s been pretending to read for the hundredth time, “What do you mean?”

“This morning Morgan said these murders looked like cases of DV. Maybe that’s exactly what this is. We know he had some kind of relationship with the victims-- maybe they were dating him,” Sweets holds her breath waiting for a response.

“It would help to explain the gaps in our profile-- Prentiss, call Garcia and have her look into any recent purchases by the victims. New clothes, new shoes, restaurants, anything that might suggest they’ve been dating,” Hotch instructs, “Sweets, you and JJ should speak to their friends and family; ask if they’ve mentioned anyone new in their lives”.

Like with any case, she hopes her insight helps, that her perspective and thinking might get them one step closer to finding the UNSUB before anyone else gets hurt; and that they might be able to bring closure to the families of the victims.

She's learned that personal experience can help as much as it can hinder. Seeing things from an angle that no one else can is certainly an advantage, but it doesn't make it easy to live with either. But, her stomach churns. His face. His touch. The bruises he left behind. She tries to remember she has nothing to be ashamed of. She has nothing to hide. It's no secret everyone on the team struggles with different types of cases, JJ has always found it difficult working cases involving children, and Hotch becomes snappier when they're searching for family annihilators.

She can feel Aaron's eyes on her again. She prays the twisting in her gut and the scratching in her mind are worth it.

The next morning begins with news of a third victim. A Jane Doe was found outside the fire station. Aged between 22 and 25. Beaten beyond any kind of recognition. The M.E. will have to try to use dental records to ID her.

The crime scene photographs are a gruesome addition to the already horrific crime board in the conference room. “It would take an incredible amount of rage and power to beat someone to death like this,” Rossi points out.

Hotch’s fingers buzz. His usual ground method of rubbing his thumb and forefinger together isn't working. He clenches and unclenches his fist willing the memory of bone cracking, and blood splattering beneath his knuckles away. He hates that even years after his death George Foyet continues to find new ways to sink his teeth in; the mere memory of him is enough to leave bile rising in the back of Aaron's throat.

Their profile is ready. A white male, mid 20s to early 30s. Traditionally attractive. He's well-groomed and takes pride in his appearance. He more than likely works in an office setting. At work, his desk is neat and well-organized. He does everything by the book. He aspires to a role above his own and will talk about it often. In his eyes, he's overworked and under-appreciated; but, in reality, it's his quick temper and outward frustration that have kept him in his menial role. He may be flirtatious towards the women around him but likely won't pay them any attention when it comes to business matters. As a child he would have grown up in a working-class household, and more than likely faced abuse at the hands of his father. As a teenager, he learned to place blame on his mother for this abuse and began looking down on her the same way his father did. But no amount of hatred could ever win him his father's attention. This made him hate his mother more and allowed his misogynistic views to solidify in adulthood. He will have a history of violence throughout school and early adulthood, and more than likely charges for battery or assault.

A call from Garcia confirms that the first and second victims both had paid for dinners at restaurants within the same two-block stretch despite living and working on opposite sides of town. Their cards had been used at the restaurants only 25 minutes before their attacks.

“And he didn’t pay for their dinners either. Chivalry really is dead,” Prentiss dismisses. Predictably, their collective disdain for the UNSUB continues to grow as they learn more about him. Penelope manages to rustle up security footage from one of the restaurants, she's unable to get a facial ID on the man leaving with the first victim but promises to search for other footage from the area and call back when she has a new lead. One step closer, Hotch reminds himself.

Twenty minutes later word from the M.E. Office arrives. A positive ID on Jane Doe. Grace McKinney, 24. Aaron watches as Sweets pins a photograph of Grace to the victims' board. Her hands shake as she takes a step back, and then she's rushing out of the room before he can ask if she's alright.

His body feels lead-heavy, his limbs so hebetudinous that he’d swear he was melting into the floor if it weren’t for his feet carrying him out of the room without instruction. Sweets is doubled over in the alleyway behind the station, remnants of her breakfast splashed across the ground. She has nothing left to bring up, but still she dry heaves as if trying to expel more than the contents of her stomach. He knows the feeling.

“Sweets?” his voice starles her, and Hotch is quick to hold his hands out in a surrendering motion as he approaches, “Are you alright?” He knows the real answer, and he knows that she’ll look right at him and lie; but he asks anyway. “Are you asking as my boss, or as my friend?” She asks. “Would it make a difference?” it’s his turn to wonder. Finally close enough to touch her, he places a hand on her back. It’s impossible to miss the shiver that runs up her spine. Sweets hides her face, angling herself away from her, shrinking in on herself. She tries to hide from him, as unwilling as ever to show any kind of weakness real or perceived. “I’m asking as someone who cares,” Hotch tries again, snuffing out the burning sensation that seems to grow in his chest; his fear of vulnerability fighting hard to shut him down. He won’t let it. “It’s me,” she tells him as if it’s obvious. “Yes”. He's confused. Of course, it's her, he can see her standing right in front of him. “It's me. I'm the Jane Doe; Grace. Abigail. Stella”. His heart stops. She continues, looking at him for the first time, her eyes tearing up, “Not literally-- I just mean…”

“The victimogy. I understand. Same age, hair colour, similar backgrounds--”

“Yes,” She admits, “but we see cases with women who look like me all the time”.

Aaron nods, taking her openness as an opportunity to guide her out of the alleyway, waiting patiently for her to continue in her own time. “I had a boyfriend a few years ago…I just-- I need some time to collect myself”.

Again, Aaron nods, understanding, “Would you like me to leave?”

She shakes her head, her hand shooting up to hold to his arm. She’s shaking less now than she was before. More than ever he wants to hold her, but he doesn’t want to overstep; and during a case, there are lines he cannot cross as her boss. It’s the crux of the predicament they’ve found themselves in. Their personal lives and feelings bleeding and blending to create this strait. Deep down, he’s sure that a line of open communication between them would ease this impasse, but he’s far too shy to suggest it. For now, he settles for being glad her breathing has slowed, and her tears have stopped. “Thank you,” Sweets breathes out. Her hand slips down to squeeze his before she lets go and steps away from him. “Anytime,” he swears. He means it.

They find their UNSUB three hours later. Garcia’s scanning of security footage gives them a few license plates from cars within a two-block radius of the restaurants the victims went to. Only one owner fits their profile. He’s at work when they find him. Sweets takes great pleasure in cuffing the man. Hotch has no complaints.

When they arrive back in Quantico it’s nearing midnight. The team takes their leaving swearing they’ll finish their paperwork tomorrow morning. Sweets takes advantage of the rare silence in the bullpen to complete her reports. She’s not ready to go home. Not yet. At work, she has a shield, a carefully crafted persona; as cracked as it may be at the moment, it holds back the onslaught of personal fallout she’s sure waits for her at home. Sure her apartment is warmer and cozier than the office ever is. Her bed is far more comfortable than any desk chair. But, at home, she has nothing to distract her. At home, she has no obligation to maintain a facade sewn up by professional self-preservation. At home, she’ll be alone without the steady presence of Aaron Hotchner working away in his office.

The room is bathed in warm lamplight, a comfortable difference from the overhead fluorescents down in the bullpen. Something like a moth, she’s drawn to it by an instinct stronger than her willpower. She knocks on the door frame before leaning into the room. “I finished my report,” she tells him when he looks up. “You didn’t have to finish that tonight,” he tells her with furrowed brows. He sets down his pen and shuts the file he was working on to give her his attention. She steps into the room, setting her report on the edge of his desk. “I didn’t want to go home yet”. She explains though she gets the feeling that he understands. If there’s anyone she knows with a mutual streak of using workplace responsibility to avoid personal turmoil, it’s Hotch. Still, he nods, validating her most simply. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Are you asking as my boss or something more?” she wonders.

“Would it make a difference?” He asks. “Yes,” She responds. Sweets watches as he swallows, his brows knitting together as he considers his answer carefully, “I’m asking as someone who cares about you very much, in whatever capacity you need me to right now”. It’s a diplomatic response. Gentle and inviting without being outright hopeful. Quintessentially Aaron Hotchner.

“Will you come home with me,” Sweets allows herself to be bold enough to ask.

“Yes,” he tells her simply.

In the morning he slips away only to return with two cups of coffee and a box of breakfast pastries. They don’t need to be in the office until 10:00 and he plans on taking advantage of the time they have together until then. Sweets accepts the cup he holds out to her with an eager smile, and a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch x reader #criminal minds fic

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yuyusuyu · 6 months

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birthday surprise!

pairing. idol! kim hongjoong x gn! non idol! reader

synopsis. hongjoong knows wooyoung is up to no good... which is a good thing because he sure is in for a pleasant surprise at midnight!

warnings. a few curse words (lolsies), pet names (it's just one i think), a little bit of violence (it's not bad i swear, but someone gets a lil physical IJFAIWJ), mentions of food, lovesick couple energy (ew), reader is a foreigner!

genres. fluff, romance, slight comedy?, established relationship

rating. sfw

wc. 1.6 k

a/n. birthday special for hongjoong ! (we are going to pretend like i posted this on his birthday and that it was posted in november okay 😻)

reblogs and comments are appreciated as it helps with not getting shadowbanned!

HONGJOONG knows something is going on. something evil is brewing right under his nose and he needs to find out right now because for the hundredth time now wooyoung has given him a knowing look accompanied by a smirk. why the hell is he smirking? he has to be plotting something against him. his downfall, maybe?

he taps his foot on the ground, checking the time on his phone every once in a while waiting for wooyoung to finish his shoot, having decided to wait for him to go back to their dorm together. the time is nearing midnight; hongjoong huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“you look like you’re losing your mind, hyung.”

“shit, jongho! you scared me,” hongjoong jumps, glaring at the younger male out from the corner of his eyes. “what are you still doing here?”

“i just finished shooting,” jongho shrugs, “are you waiting for wooyoung hyung?”

with a nod, he presses his lips into a thin line. “yeah… so i can figure out what he’s up to.”

“i think you’re being paranoid—”

“see!” hongjoong points at wooyoung, gawking at him. “he did it again.”

“...did what again?” jongho glances at wooyoung, shooting him a glare and looks back at hongjoong quickly.

“he just winked at me!”

snorting, jongho pats his back. “hyung, wooyoung always winks at everyone.” a chime from his phone has him checking it once, turning away afterwards, “i’ll see you back home, hyung.” jongho leaves him after bidding goodbye to wooyoung with a wave of his hand. hongjoong goes back to patiently waiting for wooyoung to finish, entertaining himself on his phone.

hongjoong: hey there

yn: hi there stranger

hongjoong: you’re up?

yn: i think i should be asking YOU that. isn’t it nearing midnight for you, mister?

hongjoong: it is

yn: filming, i assume?

hongjoong: yeah

hongjoong: hey can you send me a voice memo? kinda want to hear you right now

yn: how about i call you instead?

your caller id flashes on his phone, his lips curling into a small smile when he answers. “hi,” he breathes out, walking out of the building. hongjoong leans against the wall next to the door, looking down at the screen when you hum out a greeting in return. “how are you?”

you laugh, “i’ve been better. how is my pretty boy doing?”

“doing just fine,” he answers, chuckling. “i miss you.”

“woah,” you gasp, “is the kim hongjoong being mushy with me right now?” your face is shrouded in darkness, only illuminated by the lighting from your phone—which, now that he thinks about it, is weird. it should be morning for you right now.

he shakes those thoughts away, thinking that you probably still have the curtains drawn in your room. “don't be a brat,” he huffs through his nose, amused. “or else i won’t be like this anymore.”

you apologize quickly, making his smile turn into a cheshire grin. “why are you still in bed, dear?” hongjoong drawls, his eyes twinkling when he watches you start to stutter. he isn't very affectionate, but he knows that you love it and cherish the moments when he is. pet names? they make you swoon. “you should get up now.”

when you're about to reply, you end up falling and disappearing from his sight. worriedly, he calls out your name. “i’m fine!” you pop up on his screen again, though it’s just your eye staring into the camera, blinking.

hongjoong raises a brow, “now what are you up to, y/n?”

“absolutely, no—” you pause, disappearing from his screen again and returning momentarily. “gotta cut the call short, joongie. i’ll call you later, okay?”

“y/n, wait—”

“i love you, hongjoong,” you sing.

baffled, hongjoong replies, “i love you, but what—” the call ends and he’s left staring at his text messages with you. shoving his phone into the back pocket of his pants, he straightens up when the doors to the building slam open, wooyoung walking from them.

“oh, hyung!” he says, “why are you out here?”

“i was on the phone,” hongjoong replies, leaning forwards to peer inside the building. “are you done?”

“yeah.”

humming, he excuses himself to thank the staff for all of their hard work and returns moments later. he’s motioned into a car along with wooyoung, their manager dropping him off at their apartment. they both walk in unison towards their home, the oldest’s steps are sluggish, sleepless nights finally catching up to him while the younger one’s are energetic, a bounce in each step he takes. but as soon as they reach the door, wooyoung shoves himself in front of hongjoong, shouting, “i’ll get the door!”

the little voice in the back of his head heightens his senses, telling hongjoong that, again, wooyoung is up to no good. so he leans back, watching with careful eyes as he fumbles around with his bag. “sorry,” wooyoung mumbles, “i’m looking for the keys.”

“wooyoung?”

he responds with a hum.

“we don’t have keys,” hongjoong stares at the back of his head, seeing how wooyoung freezes. “we have a passcode which i’ll put in.” he moves to step in front of wooyoung, only to end up in a fight over who gets to open the door.

“hyung, let me open the door!” wooyoung whines, trying to hook his foot behind hongjoong’s ankle in an attempt to trip him.

hongjoong tries kicking wooyoung’s legs in retaliation, attempting to shove him away from the door. “you’re being weird, wooyoung! let me—oof!” wooyoung successfully trips hongjoong; he lets out a triumphant noise of sorts, checks his phone and steps aside, smiling widely as the oldest stands up slowly.

“okay, you can open the door!”

gawking at him, hongjoong grumbles profanities and punches the passcode in. the door unlocks with a click and he takes a step inside, taking his shoes off and putting them neatly on the side before walking over to turn on the lights, only for wooyoung to jump on his back and clamp a hand over his eyes. hongjoong staggers forwards, quickly regaining balance. “what the hell, wooyoung? what are you doing?”

“it’s not midnight yet!” he hisses, yelping in surprise when hongjoong manages to shrug him off.

glowering at him, hongjoong crosses his arms over his chest and taps on the ground with his foot. “now, what is going on—”

“surprise!”

the lights are turned on, blinding both males. however, the sound of familiar giggling has his heart beating faster. he slowly turns around, thinking to himself that there’s no possible way that you were here and—oh, but you are here. you, his beloved partner, standing amongst his members, squeezed between the tallest of them all, while holding a birthday cupcake with a singular candle on it, smiling widely at him.

“oh look at him,” gags jongho, “he looks lovesick!”

“i do not,” hongjoong retorts, shuffling forwards.

“i got you a cupcake,” you sing, holding it out to your boyfriend when he stands in front of you. “because i know wooyoung would have tried shoving your face in a cake like last time.”

“damn right i would have!”

“let’s give the couple some space, yeah?” seonghwa ushers everyone towards the kitchen with promises of letting everyone get the food out from the fridge.

when it’s just the two of you in the living room, you open your arms up and hongjoong dives straight into them, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck, his breath hitting your skin and causing goosebumps to appear. “miss me much, lover boy?” you tease, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck.

all hongjoong does is nod, continuing to breathe in your scent for a few more moments before speaking, “you were here this whole time?”

“i actually got in after you left for filming to prepare the place,” you say, laughing softly. “you should thank wooyoung and jongho. they helped in buying my ticket and booking a hotel—.”

“and who said you’re going to stay in a hotel when you can just stay with me?”

“um… no thank you.”

hongjoong pulls back, eyebrows pinched together and his lips pulled into an adorable pout. “and why not?”

“because i’ll start nagging at you,” at the sight of hongjoong’s shoulders drooping, you continue, “i’m just messing with you, silly.”

your boyfriend’s pout becomes a frown that soon turns into an amused smile. you had reached over to the cupcake with your arm that’s wrapped around his shoulder, taking a bit of the frosting from the small desert and smearing it across his cheek, giggling.

“well, aren’t you quite the mischievous individual today?” he grins, resting his hands on your waist.

you shrug, “only for the birthday boy.”

“ew! they're kissing!” wooyoung screeches. you weren’t. he’s just exaggerating.

both you and hongjoong wince, hongjoong resorting to leaning over slightly—you cling onto him when you end up leaning backwards because of him, but he holds you easily—to grab a pillow from the couch to fling it at him. wooyoung dodges and the pillow hits jongho. with wooyoung laughing and jongho flinging the pillow at him, hongjoong watches you. he sees your eyes close from how hard you’re laughing at wooyoung running away from jongho chasing him around the apartment, he sees your lips start to tremble from how hard you're smiling, and he sees the way your eyes glimmer when you glance at him.

that evil thing brewing right under his nose was nothing of that sort; instead, it was a very nice and pleasant surprise that came in the form of his significant other flying out to celebrate his birthday at midnight with him… and the others as well.

perma taglist. @asjkdk @kodzukein @hrt4jeno @jeonride @lissiesykes @satsuri3su @atinytownclown @sanhwaism

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