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luveline · 3 months

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would you ever be willing to write the day spencer and stripper!reader met in the grocery store? i’ve always loved the concept when you’ve referenced it in the story, i would love to read it👀 you’re absolutely incredible and i can never say anything not anon to you because my blog is flooding you with notes constantly and i’m embarrassed😅

thank you for your request ❤️ fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for domestic violence and workplace abuse

There's this weird organic grocery store by Spencer's place that's far too expensive, but it's a ten minute walk, so that's where he goes. (Weird in separation to organic.)

He needs a lot of groceries now he's home for the week. Bread, vegetables, rice, flour if he wants to try and make pancakes, which he does. He also needs a new pen to write a letter for his mom, but Leaven is slightly too small for a stationery section.

He doesn't know what he'll say to her in this one. Maybe that the cases he's going on are easy, or that he's been reading about crows. She's not feeling well lately. It might help her to know he's doing gentle things, even if it isn't true.

No, he thinks. Can't lie to her. He never lies to his mom.

Eggs. Sugar. Coffee grounds. He fills his cart. It'll be a lot to carry on the way home, but better to do it in one go. He likes keeping busy but he's a human being, too, and he's looking forward to spending at least sixteen hours in bed after dinner tonight.

You look tired, too.

Your back is turned, but Spencer knows it's you. You must live close by, he's been seeing you duck in and out for months. Usually with a loaf of bread or a single box of painkillers tucked in your pocket. You don't steal, he'd be able to tell, and he wouldn't say anything if you did, anyways. All he knows about you is that you have a nice smile when you have the energy, and your voice is like silk. Purposeful or by nature, he's yet to guess.

You're standing by the end of the aisle near the checkouts with a basket hanging from your fingers. All you're buying today is a box of pancake mix and a bag of peas.

Weird, he thinks with a smile. Spencer likes weird stuff. It's quirky.

You turn to see which checkout is empty and Spencer's smile abruptly drops.

You have a bruise across half of your face. It isn't strictly fresh —he can see the split skin on your cheek starting to close in on itself, and your purpled eye is open (though barely). You're frowning. Spencer knows how bad it hurts to get hurt like that. For a split second he can't believe someone could do that to another person, and then he remembers the hundreds of women he's had the privilege to meet at their most vulnerable, who trusted him, and he thinks maybe he's capable of helping another one.

“Hey,” he says.

You meet his eyes with a funny smile. “Hey. Sorry, am I in the way?” you ask, your voice stretched, thin but not weak.

“No, you're not, it's… I see you here all the time.”

You hold your breath. When you talk, it rushes out. “So?” you ask wearily.

“Are you okay?”

Your funny smile fades as Spencer's had. He supposes that's the talent of cruelty. Even when it's over, it's not truly over. Your bruise still hurts, and Spencer still needs to know you'll be okay when you go home tonight.

“I see you all the time too. We've… we've actually spoken before, haven't we?” you ask after a moment.

“Yeah, about spirometry. I was out of breath running and–” It doesn't matter. You asked him if he was okay, and he explained that he was, just that his lungs don't hold much air on account of his own laziness, and it doesn't matter. “Are you? Alright? It's a bad bruise.”

“It's getting better.”

It might be, but there's something so raw about seeing you standing there in your sweatpants too big for you and a hoodie with a hole in it, purple and yellow contusion across your eyes and nose like the clumsy stroke of a paintbrush. Spencer will admit to feeling sorry for you.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks, knowing this isn't the right place. “There's the cafe at the front? Let me pay for my stuff and–”

“I'm really okay–”

“You had a cast on your wrist two weeks ago and now you're here with a limp and a really bad bruise,” he says softly, imploringly, “I just wanna talk to you about it. You don't have to say yes, I'm not trying to be weird, but I–”

You cut off his mile a minute speech with a small smile. “Okay. I'm not, you know, doing anything anyways. It'll be nice to sit down.”

Spencer knows it's dumb, but he wants to show he has good intentions. He takes your basket out of your hands and nods toward the cafe past the checkouts. “I'll come and meet you.”

“You don't have to,” you say, gesturing at the basket.

“The damage is done, right? This place is ridiculous.” He doesn't like the way you're holding your hip. It makes him feel sick, even though there's no proof one way or another to say you've been hurt beyond your bruising.

He pays for his things and yours and meets you at the cafe. He's half expecting you to have bolted, but you sit at a table near the entrance, completely still.

Spencer puts his two bags under the table and offers you your pancake mix and peas in their own bag.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“It was my boss.” You look at your fingers, spreading them slowly over the table top. “I’m a dancer. Sorry. I know you’re going to ask.”

“And he hit you?”

“Yeah.”

Spencer knows the number for every women’s shelter in every state, but he doubts it would matter to you. He can tell already that you’d say no. He can tell you’re scared, even if you don’t realise it yourself. “Is it getting worse?”

You can’t offer him anything else. He understands how that feels. There have been moments where he desperately wanted to tell someone, anyone, what was going on in his life, but he always holds his secrets like a perpetual ache in his throat. It’s like he can’t tell someone, even if they ask.

Sometimes he just wishes they’d ask twice.

“You can tell me. It won’t sound stupid,” he promises. He’s in some odd place between Agent Reid and young, terrified Spencer, determined to help you, but not sure how. “It’s getting worse, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, the weight of tears on your tongue.

“You’re a dancer. Is he just a boss– Does he… abuse you financially?”

You laugh wetly. “He’s not my pimp.”

He can feel his face heating up.’“No, but do you get paid on time? Everything you earn?”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t get paid on time. He takes a percentage, and somehow there’s always another percentage, and then discipline. And now…”

“Now he’s hitting you.” Very badly.

“I’m not stupid.”

Spencer frowns gently, talks softly, “I didn’t mean to imply that you were.”

“No, I know, but I need you to know I’m not stupid. When we talked before, you– you’re so smart, I bet you know so many smart people.”

He’s not sure where you’re going with this. Perhaps you don’t want to talk about being hurt anymore. It must be a kind of torture to be hurting and know that that hurting will come again. There isn’t an end in sight for you, just right now.

“Can I buy you something to eat?”

“I have money,” you say, taking your small purse from your pocket. There are a few notes wedged inside.

“You can’t take painkillers on an empty stomach, and you should take painkillers again soon. You had some before you came, and they’re wearing off.” He meets your confused frown with a frown of his own. “Your hands are twitching like you want to move away from yourself.”

“You’re very perceptive,” you say in that smooth murmur. Power clawed back, he thinks. You’re protecting one of the things you can control about how you’re seen when everything else is far from it.

“I’m a profiler. Do you,” —he tries not to sound hoity toity— “know what that is?”

“No.”

“I’m an FBI agent.” You’re laughing as he takes out his badge. He joins you. “I know it sounds like I’m making it up.” Spencer offers you his identification passport slowly, so you know he isn’t wielding it around to be an asshole. “I’m in the behavioural analysis unit. We analyse the way people act. That’s why I know you’re in pain.”

You take his badge, looking between his photo and his real face with a growing smile. “If you need all that to know I’m in pain, you’re not as smart as you think,” you tease, gesturing to the mottled skin of your bruise sweetly.

Spencer buys you both cold sandwiches from the front of the shop and a drink to wash down your aspirin. It’s awkward, he guesses, but he’s used to that by now, and under it he can feel your palpable relief. You trust him to not hurt you, if nothing else, and he can work with that.

#spencer and stripper!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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starversresource · 10 months

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when it gets hard || sentence starters.

CW for panic attacks, depressive themes

"hey. you look tired. you alright?"

"something wrong?"

"look. i can tell you're not feeling great. want to talk about it?"

"i won't leave you. not now, not ever."

"it's okay to rest. i'm right here."

"sometimes your brain will lie to you and tell you bad stuff, but it's not true. it's never as bad as it seems."

"it will be okay. i promise."

"hey, it's alright to let it out."

"you hide behind that facade so much. why?"

"you're not going to leave me, right?"

"want to do something stupid to take your mind off all this?"

"we'll live. we'll live, both of us will, please believe me!"

"don't do this. it's not good for you."

"we will survive and afterwards, we'll... get some ice cream. or go to a nice restaurant."

"i don't know if anyone has ever told you this, but it gets better. it will get better, i promise."

"do you have anyone who supports you? do you have anyone who cares about you?"

"can i have a hug?"

"maybe it's not okay right now. maybe it won't be for a while. whichever it is, i won't leave you."

"hey, stay for a while. i gotta share this popcorn with someone."

"sleep fixes a lot of stuff. it's like emptying garbage cans in your brain."

"stay with me, please?"

"follow my breathing, okay? in for one, two, three, four... hold for one, two, three, four... out for one, two, three, four."

"let's go for a walk together. where do you wanna go?"

"there - you can cry. it's okay. i would never judge you for that."

"it doesn't matter what you say or do, i won't let you be sad alone."

"i'm your friend, idiot. i'm not going to abandon you."

"don't just repress everything! that's dumb, and it'll hurt your brain."

"if you need a breath of fresh air or a change of scenery, i know a place we can go."

#verbal prompts #rp memes #rp meme #mod is coping lol #comfort rp memes #comfort sentence starters

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s4lv4tions · 7 months

Text

labour of love; nsfw

pairing; nanami kento x reader summary; something is on your husband's mind — nothing that can't be solved with a morning in bed, you're sure. wc; 4.6k cw; smut, largely vanilla, nanami kento is a loving husband etc

You’ve long since grown used to the press of knees against the mattress rousing you from your sleep. The gentle dip of the bed, the steady — if not stilted — breathing, the sudden waft of his cologne as he tries to settle himself beside you without waking you. It doesn’t work most nights, but Kento still tries.

He smells like the cleanliness of shower gel and the spicy goodness of his favourite fragrance, all nutmeg and saffron and warmth. It’s enough to have you rolling over to face him, half-lidded and half-asleep, hooking your leg over his waist and burying your nose into his neck. There’s a rough puff of air as he realises he’s failed to be stealthy — not for the first time, either. But he pulls you closer anyways, hands smoothing up your back as if to memorise the curve of your spine, or to cajole you back to dreamland.

If there was a way to become one with him you would’ve figured it out by now. Some days, in this bed, it feels like you’re close enough to discovery. Perhaps if you press every possible inch of yourself against him, share the same air, let your minds float away to the same place, it'll happen. Alas, you wake as two separate people, forced to peel yourselves apart when the sun rises and he's off to work. It’s always accompanied by disappointment, but for now you revel in the feeling of his firmness beneath you, and the beat of his pulse in your ears.

“Sorry for waking you up.”

He always says it, and you never mind, but you reply anyway. “It’s okay. I like seeing you.”

Kento’s arms tighten around you, and he says nothing back. The shaky breath muffled against your hair is enough to tell you how his day went, but you won’t ask him about it. Not yet, not when it’s still fresh in his mind. It’s enough of a blessing that he was able to return home at all tonight, instead of sleeping at his desk with only his jacket to fend off the cold. Still, even a good night’s sleep won’t solve everything. You can deal with it tomorrow.

“Did you eat?” You mumble, trying to ignore the seductive hands of sleep pulling at your brain. “I left… hamburger steak. In the fridge.”

“Mm.” His lips brush your hair, and you feel yourself slipping away, further and further into dreamland. “Don’t worry, darling. Just sleep.”

“O…kay… Sweet dreams… Kento…”

You always sleep best when you’re with Kento. You know this because, without fail, you end up drooling all over him like a dog. It's something that never happens when you’re bundled up alone, but it’s as if every muscle in your body relaxes something fierce when you’re with him. It’s embarrassing, and gross, but somehow he never minds. Just chuckles and watches you fuss over wiping it all away, teasing you about how deep you must’ve been sleeping. This morning is no different.

You’d woken with the sun. The curtains you’d forgotten to close shed honeyed sunlight across every fold of your blankets, every inch of skin, every tiny piece of dust floating in the still of the air. Hair tousled and mouth dry, you were so warm it almost made you fall right back asleep. Any part of you not covered in a blanket was wrapped, in some way, in Kento’s arms. The perfect morning. No longing looks as he rose to go to work; no cold side of the bed if he’d stayed in the office. Just perfection and warmth and… a drool stain on his arm.

Whether your cheeks are now warmed by the sun or a persisting feeling of embarrassment, you cannot say, but his hands are even warmer where they cup your face. You attempt to ignore him, scrubbing at his skin. “I need to tape my mouth shut.”

His thumb begins to smooth back and forth. If you were a cat you’d be purring. “Dramatic.”

A glare that’s far too soft. You push away the corner of the duvet you’d haphazardly chosen as your rag, cursing yourself for your weakness as you abandon your task and instead lean into him. “Oh, and I suppose you enjoy waking up every morning with a sticky bicep, Kento?”

“Mm.” The way he urges you towards him is not lost on you; it’s not until your noses brush and your lips part that he says: “I love it.”

“You’re gross.” Your smile betrays you, but you can’t help yourself. You let your graze trail over the handsome planes of his face; from his strong, pointed nose to his chiselled cheekbones, his thin, expressive eyes and tousled morning hair.

“Mhm. And you married me regardless.”

"Hm. I guess I did."

It's like two giggling children sharing the silliest inside joke. Your laughter is soft and breathless, still muddled with sleep, and it's natural the way that you fall into each other so easily. Your head falls back against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear; your legs intertwine, and your arms hook under his. Close enough to the point where you don’t know where one of you ends and the other starts. If only every day could start like this one, but you're the sort of person who cherishes rarity. And oh, how rare it is to wake up with him — speaking of which…

"You don't have work today?" You ask, trying (and failing) to keep the hope out of your voice.

"No." There's a little pause, before: "I finished up my latest project, so I took the day off."

You haven't forgotten the pledge you made to yourself yesterday: the promise to ease whatever may ail him, or at least to get to the bottom of it. “Woah. You passed up a chance to make money?”

“I suppose I did.”

"Hm, I don’t mind. I like having you to myself." Breakfast, that goes without saying. Maybe he'd prefer to go out for it, or maybe you could cuddle until brunch. Maybe he'd like to take the rare opportunity to stay in all day — and if you're in all day, you may as well do a little more than cuddle...

“You’ll have to share me with the laundry.”

“Mm.” As if drawn there, bolstered by the knowledge that you essentially have all the time in the world, your lips meet the side of his neck. You feel him swallow as you do, but Kento’s nothing if not poised; even as you dare to scrape your teeth along his skin, there’s no other reaction that’s quite so visceral. “I’m a jealous woman, you know.”

“I know.”

Those hands that had cupped your face start to trail down your back — warm and slightly calloused, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Brushing over the elasticated waistband of your panties, lingering just enough to be suggestive, but no more. You pretend that even the slightest whisper of his touch doesn’t make your stomach twist pleasantly, but you suppose you’re long past coyness, considering you are husband and wife. “And you married me, so you know I can’t share you.”

“Even with the laundry?”

“Oh, especially with the laundry.” You finally lift yourself from nipping at his pulse point, flushed and arching into his hands, and stare at him straight on. His gaze is half-lidded, but his eyes — oh, his eyes. So clear and sharp and fixed on you like he wants to print your image onto his eyelids. And his body is so firm beneath you, broad and muscular (you’ve never questioned how a salaryman who has no time to go to the gym is so incredibly fit, but you aren’t about to start now) — even on top of him you feel almost dwarfed. “But, speaking of laundry — we should probably get our money’s worth from the washing machine, then, shouldn’t we?”

An eyebrow quirks. “Oh?”

“Mhm. If we’re gonna wash the sheets, they may as well be as dirty as they can possibly be. Filthy, even.” No use in playing innocent. It’ll be killing two birds with one stone — multiple birds with one stone, even. You can treat your hardworking Kento to an orgasm or two, comfort him after what was no doubt a long, hard day — all the while you enjoy yourself in his arms, and save time and money with the laundry. Perfect.

You’re practically kneading his biceps at this point. The manicure he pays for bi-weekly digs in just slightly, leaving half-moon dents in his otherwise perfect skin. You don't worry about it too much; if there’s one thing you know about Kento it’s that he treasures those little marks above all else.

“How do you propose we do that?” He says, face purposefully blank.

Groaning, you give his arm a light slap. “C’mon, don’t make me say it, Ken.”

“I was joking, darling.” With a smile that sends your tummy flipping, he threads one hand in your hair, large palm flat against your skull, and urges you closer to him. The other settles itself against your jaw, keeping your head firmly in his hands, and it’s with very little shame that you melt into him. It’s hard not to — and besides, why starve yourself of something you’ve waited so long for? “I’m not that cruel.”

A liar he is not; with little fanfare, his lips meet yours, and it’s like every time before and every time after. His lips are smooth, his nose slanted to press against yours, and every movement is deep. His tongue licks into your mouth, lips moving against yours in such a way that you can’t help but moan. It's interesting to experience first-hand how much your relationship with Kento has changed over the years. When you first met him, he baulked at even the mere idea of tongue — this Kento, though, is some measure of depraved, and takes great pleasure in the way you squirm underneath him when his tongue runs over yours.

It’s the type of kiss that, inevitably, makes you want more. You’ve long since parted your legs to hug either side of his hips, and you whine at the press of his growing bulge against your panty-covered clit. It’s that dull sort of pleasure — not enough, never enough, and you’ll curl and arch and flex yourself until it feels like it might be, grinding down on the shape of him. At some point his hands move from your head to your waist — or are they at your back, your ass, your hips? You’re not keeping track. You only know that they sear the skin that they touch and set your nerves aflame, and that’s all that matters.

You’ve just broken apart to catch your breath, prepared to peel off your panties and have your way with him — but in the blink of an eye you’re weightless, and the world twists and warps and you’re under him, suddenly, with the wind knocked out of you. “Kento!”

“Sorry, love.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, the words are barely out of his mouth before he descends on you again, this time laying the entirety of his body against you. It’s all you can do to desperately follow the movement of his lips, the rocking his hips — and you’re clutching at his arms all the while, mind dizzied and chest heaving. You’re liable to let him have his way with you just like this, with your legs around his waist and your ankles pressing against his ass, but—

“Wait, I—” Panting, your grip on his biceps tightens, and you frown up at him— “I wanted to be on top, y’know. I wanted to give you a break.”

His laugh is gentle, breathy. In the haze of the morning every sharp edge of him is cotton-soft, his hair this honey sort of blonde wherever the light hits it — mind twisting juxtaposition to the red-hot pleasure broiling in the pit of your tummy. “It’s a husband's duty to worship his wife, is it not?”

“I—” His head dips to the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your skin in such a way that you shiver in his grasp. It’s sweet and indulgent and him, all him; his weight atop you, his hands on you, his scent around you. “I… Oh, You’re playing dirty, Kento.”

His answer is a hum that reverberates all throughout you. “Am I?”

You’re not expected to answer, and you doubt you have enough control over your muscles to do so, because just as you open your mouth, his fingers slip underneath your panties and slip over the hot, slick skin of your pussy. He’s always purposeful with you, and this time is no different — he does not fumble and flounder, unsure of where to put his hands. He has learned you well enough to know what brings you pleasure, and oh, does he want to bring you pleasure. He makes a glutton of you; gives you far too much, buys into your every whim. He can’t help himself.

You’re wet enough that he can slip a finger in with little difficulty — embarrassingly little difficulty, and you squeak as he slides it all in at one go. His fingers are thick, that goes without saying, but what makes Kento especially dangerous is his skill. He’s too attentive — watches everything, notes every shiver, the pitch of your voice when you whimper his name. He knows just what he needs to do to make you lose your mind — at that, as if he’s read your mind, another finger joins the first, jutting upwards to grind against that spongy spot that makes your legs jerk.

“O—oh,” you breathe, “That’s — okay, that’s good.”

“Is it?” Kento sounds far too amused for your liking, but you’re hardly in a position to scold him, not with your legs spread and your hips rolling up into his hand. “You're like wet velvet.”

“Don’t say things like that!” You whine, slapping a hand over your face. Your cheeks are red-hot, and it only adds to the overwhelming overstimulation — the sheets and Kento against your skin, the coolness of the pillows beneath your neck, the sounds that leave nothing to the imagination.

Sometimes you can’t believe your luck. Almost every partner before him was his complete and utter opposite, caring little for your pleasure and simply using you as a means to an end, but — with Kento, it’s so different. He centres you in everything. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, especially when he wants only for you to lay there and do nothing. It’s hard not to feel a bit lazy, like you have to offer something in return — he says you’ve already given him everything he wants, and it’s enough to make you scream. You suppose you have little to complain about, though, considering you’re regularly being fucked through the mattress.

When you gain enough lucidity to unscrew your eyes, he’s already watching you — like you knew he would be. Somewhere along the way Kento had migrated from on top of you to beside you; he propped himself above you on one elbow, cradling your head. If you were to only glance at him, you’d think him wholly unaffected by your whining, squirming self — but you allow yourself a stare, and are pleased to find the tips of his ears pink and flushed.

“I wanted to take my time,” says Kento, as if reading your mind. “But I’m too impatient when it comes to you.”

“I don’t mind,” you say — breathe — adding: “We have the whole day. You can fuck me slow later.”

It’s as if he was waiting for you to say it. Almost as soon as the words leave your mouth he’s pushing himself up, gently slipping his fingers out of you. You mourn their loss, but you know you won’t be untended for long. Sure enough, he pulls off the sweatpants and briefs that hang low at his hips, and settles himself between your legs once more. His cock is hot and heavy against you, pressed right between your lips, and you shiver as it’s nudged right against your swollen clit — but nothing more. Not yet.

Kento has endless patience — or so it may seem. His impatience, though rare, manifests itself only in his accidental roughness — as if he doesn't know his own strength. Your legs parted with strong hands, your body tugged further down the bed before you can even register the movement... Still, despite such impatience, he takes the time to rest the tips of his fingers against the shiny plushness of your bottom lip. He watches with sharpened eyes as your mouth opens and accepts them in, your tongue all too eager to lave over them, licking over the tanginess of your own juices. His voice is laboured — almost hoarse — when he breathes: “You’re vulgar.”

With a pop, his fingers are removed, glossy and wet and slimy. He wipes them on the blanket as you huff: “You put them there.”

His large hands grasp the back of your knees and push your legs up, until they hook high up on his waist and around him. “Because I knew you were vulgar enough to take them in your mouth.”

“Touché. But—”

Kento’s lips silence any half-baked argument that was about to leave you — this kiss is gentle, almost innocent. Somehow it’s enough to make your cheeks heat up more than any other racy gesture he’s shown you thus far. It’s made even worse when he reaches across your chest to intertwine your fingers — both hands housing a wedding ring.

(And it’s not surprising how romantic he is. Perhaps when you first started dating you were convinced that his blunt mannerisms and professionalism would extend to every facet of his life — and in many ways, it does. He’s the perfect gentleman in public, hands never straying too low, words rarely crossing the boundaries of polite-speak. But here, in your marriage bed, with more than a measly three hours of sleep and the sun casting shadows across your bodies, Kento is softened. Whatever exists outside your room that scares him so much no longer has any place in his mind.)

“I’m going to make love to you now,” he says. It’s just above a whisper, heated and heady against your lips. The gravel in his voice that had attracted you from the moment he’d opened his mouth is enough to make your knees turn to jelly — lucky, then, that they’re kept compacted by the barrel of his torso. “Is that okay?”

Your brain short circuits. Any smart comment or cheeky quip you could respond with is lost, and you’re left staring up at him, wide-eyed and willing. “Yes, please.”

His lips twitch upwards, the ghost of a smile, but he doesn’t attempt to tease — simply connects your lips again, and guides himself to your entrance with that free hand of his. The blunt head of his cock is silky smooth and slippery with your arousal, and barely catches on you before it presses in — the stretch dull and only slightly uncomfortable, but entirely familiar. It’s like stepping into a warm shower after a cold day — not just sexual, not just to scratch an itch or a means to an end — it’s this. Feeling the heat of him inside you; the way his breath catches in his throat as you squeeze around him. Knowing that you’re the only person in the world who has the privilege of having him like this.

It’s with a breathless sigh that he bottoms out inside you, hips flush against yours. On either side of your head, his arms bulge with the weight of his own body, muscles hardened and tensed — and as his hips begin to move, that neatly trimmed patch of hair around his cock grinding against his clit, you can’t help but reach out, anchoring yourself to them. There’s little else you can do except lay there and take it, shuddering all the while, mouth agape in wonder.

“Is this — okay?” Kento asks. His voice is strained, and you try to hide the smug smile it elicits in the bulk of his arm — there’s no point. He’s far too focused on staring at where he splits you open, anyways, watching how your lips split around him, crested by the sweet little pearl of your clit. And he calls you vulgar.

“Mhm. You can — you can go faster, if you want.”

A laugh. “If I want, hm?”

“Please, Kento,” you whine, humping up towards him. It’s embarrassing how much he makes you want him. It should be, at least, though you find you’ve gotten a little shameless as of late — shameless enough to press your feet hard against his ass, pulling him in deeper. “Don’t make me wait.”

Never let anyone proclaim he doesn’t treat you right, because at your request, he does just that. His pace quickens, pulling out to the tip and slamming all the way back in — the rhythm straightens out quickly, and that’ll be your downfall. If it isn’t enough that his hips grind down against your clit with every thrust, Kento (predictably) knows how to use his cock. The mushroom shaped head bullies against your g-spot in that dizzying rhythm — back, forth, back, forth, building you up until you’re gasping for air.

You wonder if it’s like this for everyone. You wonder if everyone in the world is lucky enough to find someone who fits them this perfectly, who listens to them this intently, who isn’t afraid to show such unerring devotion. You wonder if you will ever feel safer, more loved, than you do when you’re in his arms — if you will ever feel such deep, persistent pleasure at the hands of another. Then again, what good does wondering do? When you have all you need at your disposal, there’s little need for wondering. When you’re taken care of so thoroughly, there’s little need for anything else. And God, are you being taken care of.

“Oh — fuck, Ken, I’m—” Words escape you. All that matters is that building heat, the involuntary trembles of your walls around him, the electricity zipping from neuron to neuron; his eyes on you, the furrow of his brow, the comforting weight of him pressing you down. It’s all so much. You could lose your mind. You are losing your mind. “I’m—”

You can’t even finish the sentence. All you know is that your toes curl and your back arches and you squeeze his arms a little too hard but you can’t control it, you can’t control anything, not the way you’re squeezing him in a vice grip, not the way you’re dripping down around his cock, wet and sticky and messy—

“That’s it,” Kento urges, voice ragged as he fucks you through it. Through hazy eyes you see him — strands of hair hanging low over his face, his skin dewy with sweat. Ruined. “Good, that’s it. There you go — damn it—”

When he cums, he very nearly collapses on you, breathing heavily and sweat dripping from his brow. He presses himself to the hilt — of course he does, he can’t help himself — panting lowly as he thrusts with every wave of his orgasm. You can feel him against your cervix, that once-strange sensation of being filled.

In the midst of his pleasure, and fortified by his fatigue, his movements begin to slow. It’s that inevitable syrupy slowness that comes after an orgasm, where desperation is eventually traded for an easy languidness. His head bows to place a sloppy, messy kiss on your mouth, one he’d normally eschew, and you accept it with all the eagerness of a woman in love. One, two, three — another one to your cheek, then, and then to your brow.

That frantic, charged energy finally slips away. Kento holds you tightly to him — he always does, when all is said and done — but something about the way he’s hunched over you makes your stomach twist. You don’t know what is — some sixth sense, perhaps, that blooms into a sense of dread in your chest. The supernatural powers of a wife to know when there’s something wrong with her husband, and coupled with his demeanour the previous night...

“Kento,” you whisper, petting your hands over your head. “Is everything alright?”

“Mm.” A beat of silence, before he pushes himself up again, and — with some difficulty — pulls himself out of you. He kisses your forehead and sits himself up, sheets pooled around the hard lines of his abdomen. With worried eyes you watch as he reaches for his glasses, and then the wristwatch he’d left on the bedside table last night (almost 800,000 yen, one of the few things he’s splurged on himself) and deftly begins to clip it on. He's still avoiding your eyes when, at last, he says: “I… I was thinking of changing jobs.”

You shoot up — or sit up, rather, with what little energy you have left. “Hm? Oh, Kento, that’s wonderful!”

“Mm. It is.” But something’s bothering him. He doesn’t sound as elated as he should, considering he despises the job that he currently has. “It’s a smaller agency. An old… friend of mine runs it. The work is hard, but I won’t have to work much overtime, and… well, it’s better work, I suppose.”

You run a comforting hand over his covered thigh. “But?”

Kento exhales, slow and tired. “But I thought I left that work behind a long time ago.”

You shift, humming to yourself thoughtfully. “The work is hard, you say?”

He nods. “But… rewarding.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t know too much about finance, but I think that as long as it gives you purpose, it’s good, right?”

His head falls back against the headboard, and tired eyes trail over you. “It’s so simple for you.”

“Well, one of us has to simplify stuff, and I doubt it’ll be you. Look — you hate your job now, don’t you?”

“...Mm.”

“Then change it,” you say, rolling over on your side to face him. Your features soften at the sight of him — uncharacteristically unsure of himself, staring at his hands with furrowed brows. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so deeply torn, but then again, you know how hard he’s worked for this job. His career — especially before you met him — was of the utmost importance to him. Money, money, and more money. That’s what he’d told you. He was obsessive. He slept even less than he does now, barely used the fancy apartment he paid extortionate rent for... How do you turn your back on years and years of commitment, of obsession?

You reach a hand up and take his hand in yours once more. The silver of your rings glint and glimmer in the morning light, the garnet stone in the centre of yours a bloody red.

“For better or for worse, Kento,” you say quietly. “That’s what we promised. Whatever you choose to do, I’ll be here with you through it all.”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles that one smile of his — the small, wistful, sad one. The one that hints at a far more tragic past than he’s let on, one of misfortune and melancholy. That’s okay. He doesn’t have to tell you, and you would never press him to. In much the same way, you pretend not to see the glassiness of his eyes when he raises your joined hands to his lips, and pretend not to hear the lump in his throat when he tells you he loves you — dearly, more than life itself.

"Yeah, yeah," you say, smiling. "Just don't forget about that retirement to Malaysia, okay? I want a beach house."

He huffs a laugh, and the cast of despondency shatters. Then, a thoughtful hum. "Mm. A beach house... that sounds good."

#nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #nanami kento fic #anime x reader #smut x reader #i dont think we focus enough on how hard it was for nanami to return to jujutsu tee bee haytch #i want to hold his hand etc etc #cheeky little mention of malaysia of course couldnt help myself x #my fics

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some-pers0n · 2 months

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I think a lot of people mistake Sunny's resilience and hope in the face of a miserable and bleak scenario as childlike innocence and her not fully comprehending the danger of it all. Her optimism is a response to the pessimistic and nihilistic world around her. She truly believes in the prophecy. It has to work. That's what they've suffered all this time for. Everyone. There will be peace on Pyrrhia and it'll be delivered by her and her friends.

Her own arc in her book, about rising above the expectations placed on her and proving herself as dragon of worth, was foreshadowed a lot with how the DoD treated her. They themselves infantalized her despite being unaware of it. They believed Sunny to be weak and helpless. The little, tiny sister who needs to be protected.

Despite this, she's strong. She's smart, observant, and even Clay mentioned that she's a great fighter because she takes advantage of her small stature and people underestimating her. She isn't childish, but rather she believes that they'll pull through. That they'll bring peace. In the end? They do just that.

Sunny's optimism I feel is a nice breath of fresh air. A lot of protagonists like her go through hell and back and become a lot more jaded. Her? It's her hope for a better future that keeps her going. Even in the darkest of situations, when she should breakdown and succumb to the overwhelming misery of war and tragedy, she. keeps. going. She believes. Despite the cynicism of the DoD, even with Clay at times feeling despondent, she continues. She moves onward. She fights.

And...she wins. Peace is achieved on Pyrrhia. The prophecy came true.

#We can also talk about how Sunny's disability and how she's treated by others through a lens of ableism #But I don't think you all are ready for that conversation about you subconciouslly infantalize and babyfy disabled people #wof #wings of fire #sunny wof #sp-rambles

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allfearstofallto · 17 days

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Always Under Skin, Even When it Gets Removed

Yandere! Childe x Reader

Part of {Mai Playlist}

Childe was a nuisance. Persistent. A vermin. Childe was a pest. Like an infestation of roaches, you could do everything in your power to get rid of him, but he'd still be somewhere nearby. Determination was one of his strongest traits, and he was determined to ruin you.

Being married to him was never in your cards and if you could've never met him at all, you would've been happy. Yet for almost a year, you were forced to be his doting wife. Only managing to steal yourself away after months of planning and a few close calls. The taste of free air, even if it was the air of Snezhnaya, was the best thing on your tongue, better than even your favorite food cooked to perfection.

You didn't think you'd live the life of a nomad, but it seemed easier. Paranoia was second nature to you now, and staying in one place seemed dangerous. He could be anywhere, around any corner, close by, but not showing himself until he knew it would fuck you over. Was living life on the road considered freedom? You didn't know, but anything would be better than another day with Childe.

“How far will this take me?” You held up a good ring to a carriage driver, making sure to keep your face covered beneath your hood. You took a lot when you left, mostly jewelry, things that were small and expensive.

He eyes the ring over before dropping it back into the palm of your hand, “It'll get you pretty far, but where are you even trying to go?”

“Anywhere is fine,” you said quickly.

The man helped you up into the back of his wagon, where he kept his wares. Mostly agricultural things, fresh produce and hay. It wasn't the best place you'd ridden before, but it was far from being the worst.

You understood why people were weary of you. You weren't making much of an effort to not come off as strange, but you weren't out to make friends. The wagon swayed as the sun began to set over the horizon, he didn't tell you how long he'd be driving and quite honestly, you didn't care. At the next port, you'd stow yourself away onto some other vehicle, never stopping, not even for a breath.

You let your head rest back against the hard wooden wall, you let your arms fall to your side, you let the movement of the wagon sway you to sleep. Morning would come and you'd be awoken by the well-known feeling of the carriage lurching to a stop and sunlight beaming through the cracks in the wall. Outside sounded like a bustling city, although you didn't know where, quite honestly it didn't matter.

“It's back here, sir,” you heard the voice of the carriage driver say as you watched shadows fall over the doorway. You can recognize Childe. Recognize his smell, his voice, a strand of his hair if you were to find one, and most importantly, you could recognize his footsteps. Slow, drawn out, and precise. Your blood went cold, noticing that the driver wasn't walking alone.

The door was slammed open and before you could even make a break for it, cold metal was pressed to your neck. Sharp enough to slice your head right off your body if you made any sudden moves, you could already feel the steel biting into your skin.

“Already running away again?” You didn't even want to look at him, but he used the tip of his blade to tilt your head up. Still wearing a smile as he looked down upon you, “I will admit, I'm proud of you. You managed to stay away longer than I expected,” the blade pushed a lot harder into your neck, “I missed you, my angel.”

You could say nothing as he took you by the hand, pulling you from the cart and onto the ground. You weren't treated gently, not when he was angry. His anger was a menace to deal with. The bigger the smile, the words his rage, and he looked practically elated to see you.

“You took everything, but this,” he tossed your wedding band down, it fell onto your body and landed on your thighs. The ring was warm, like he'd been clutching it in his hand. Knowing him, he probably hadn't let it go since he discovered you were gone.

Without much of an argument, you slipped the ring back on your finger. The small band felt more like a shackle, than something meant to adorn your body. With it, your taste of delicious, true freedom was ripped from your mouth almost as quickly as you'd gotten it. But you'd never get to taste it again.

Childe was all smiles and laughter as he helped you into his own carriage. That smile not reaching his dead, hollow eyes. The ride to Snezhnaya would be a long one, you wonder how long he could contain his anger till then?

#genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #genshin childe x reader

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darkbluekies · 8 months

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Silas & Dr Kry drabbles: releasing knock-out gas to capture you

Mafia!yandere OC x doctor!yandere OC x reader

Warnings: mentions of basement punishment, mentions of breaking reader, bimbofication(?)

Silas:

You've locked yourself in his office after Silas threatened to throw you into the basement. Him and his men has gathered outside the wooden door. His men want to shoot the door open, but Silas doesn't want any of the bullets to go through and hit you.

"Baby, I'm warning you", he chuckles and feels the door handle. "You're just making it worse for yourself! Come out now and I'll be nicer to you."

Liar. You look around desperately for something to protect yourself with, knowing that he'll find a way in sooner or later.

Silas turns to his men and lowers his voice. "Get the sleep gas."

They nod and run. Silas stretches his neck. He doesn't need the sleep gas, but he's has enough of your childish outbursts. He would rather do everything calm and quietly instead of having you kicking and screaming over his shoulder.

"Y/N, if I were you I'd walk over to the couch", he says. "Or else you'll have a concussion. Your choice."

The men return with the gas and start to pump it under the door. Silas can hear how you gasp and take a deep breath. He chuckles. Do you really think that you can hold your breath and avoid it? Silly thing.

It doesn't take long before he hears your body hit the floor. Silas smiles cockily. Once again, he wins.

"Now, shoot", he says and signals for his second in command to shoot the lock. "They're on the floor, no bullets should hit them."

The second in command shoots the lock until the door bursts open. Silas sees you lying on the carpet, knocked out cold. Of course you didn't listen to him about hitting your head. He walks over and sinks down by your head. Carefully, he caresses your cheek with his rough hand.

"You stupid little thing", he whispers and picks you up in his muscular arms. "You just never learn your lesson, do you? Have to make me do all of this to teach you where your place is. My dumb baby. "

Your head automatically slump onto his shoulder. Silas breaks out into a smile. He adores the feeling of having you in his arms — especially when you're not struggling or throwing punches at him. He walks past his men, towards the basement stairs. This time, he'll break you.

Dr Kry:

You’ve locked yourself in a medical supply closet to prove a point to Dr Kry. You know everything about the poisoned air purifier. Normally, he'd unlock the door and grab you, but not this time. Not when you're this frantic. Not long after you can hear a heavy knock at the door.

“If you don’t come out now, I’ll have to take matters into my own hands, Y/N”, Dr Kry says warningly with his forehead pressed against the door. "I don't think you want that!"

You look around, but there's nowhere to go. No window, no door, no vent. Panic sets in.

Dr Kry goes to get the gas, figuring that it'll be easier to unlock the door without you butting in. If you start to scream and cause a scene, the other doctors will be suspicious ... and stick their nose in Dr Kry's business. Maybe even take you from him. The thought makes him shudder. They'll misunderstand. You're just scared, nothing more.

He returns and start to pump it under the door.

"Don't be alarmed, Y/N", Dr Kry says. "Just take deep breaths for me and I will get you out of there shortly."

"No, no, no!" you panic. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

You try to unlock the door, but he forces it shut. He changes his mind. You're going to pay for your actions. You have to learn from your mistakes. It's for your own good.

He waits for a minute before he pulls up his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. You're lying on the floor in your hospital gown, fresh tearstains on your cheeks. Dr Kry picks you up in his arms and sit on the floor for a moment, just to feel your wonderful body. He rests his head on yours, sighing. You're too scared for your own good. He has to take better care of you.

"Let's get you back to bed", he says, knowing that you can't hear him. "I'll restrain you, you don't have to be afraid of yourself anymore. I'll take every measure to make sure you're safe."

Dr Kry kisses your forhead and stands up, walking back to your room.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere fics #yandere stories #yandere oc x reader #yandere doctor #yandere drabble #yandere headcanon

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bellaxgiornata · 4 months

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Underneath the Mistletoe

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Tired of enduring the obvious pining between you and Matt, Foggy and Karen plan a way to get you and Matt to admit your feelings - or at least to kiss.

Warnings/tags: Nothing but holiday fluff and first kisses

a/n: Finally I managed to get a holiday fic written with everything going on here for me for at least one of my boys! This one grew longer than anticipated but I hope y'all enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!

Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @mattkinsella @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18

Walking in step beside Foggy with her heels clacking along the sidewalk, Karen twirled the branch of mistletoe in her hand, her eyes transfixed on it as it spun. A soft laugh lightly fell from her lips as she shook her head at the fresh clipping. Glancing over her shoulder, she shot Foggy a questioning look beside her. The movement caught his attention and he shifted towards her, catching her eye in return.

“What?” Foggy asked. “What's with that look?”

Karen raised her hand, holding out the mistletoe towards him. One blonde brow rose up onto her forehead skeptically as she eyed him.

“I don't know, Fog,” she mused. “Do you really think this is going to accomplish anything tonight?”

Foggy let out a huff as he reached out, snatching the branch from her hand. He glared playfully back at Karen as Josie��s bar came into view farther down the block.

“Of course it is!” he exclaimed. “Because it's mistletoe , Karen! When two people stand under it, they are required to kiss.”

Karen rolled her eyes, waving a dismissive hand at him. “I know what it is, Fog,” she replied. “But do you think it'll actually get them to kiss? Or even go so far as to admit that they have feelings for each other?”

“It has to,” Foggy answered firmly. “Because I for one am personally tired of Matt making plans to come to Josie’s on specific nights after work, at specific times, just to run into our pretty new friend who often comes here alone because she's quite clearly smitten by our dear, frustrating Matthew. I mean, aren't you tired of watching all the obvious pining, too?”

Karen expelled an audible breath, a wispy cloud of water vapor forming in the air in front of her before it dispersed into the frigid night. Running a gloved hand through her hair, she nodded.

“Yeah, I am,” she agreed. “I mean it's so clear that she's interested in him with the way her eyes are always glued to him whenever he's around. Always smiling at him. And Matt is always finding ways to flirt with her. Or constantly inviting her to meet us back at Josie’s whenever he can–there's absolutely no way he can deny it, either. There's clearly something there.”

“So tonight we'll just…help them along,” Foggy told her, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Right? Just to get them to stop dancing around their feelings with a little, festive nudge. That's all.”

Slowly, a devious smile spread itself across Karen’s lips as the pair came to a stop in front of the bar. Foggy shot Karen a conspiratorial wink before he opened the door to the bar, a burst of warm air wafting out immediately. He waved her inside before following after her, his eyes scanning the room for Josie. The moment he spotted her behind the bar he held up the branch of mistletoe in the air high above his head.

“Josie!” he called out.

Behind the bar, Josie’s head darted up from the bottle of beer she was opening for a patron. When recognition dawned on her face at who had called for her, she shot the pair of them a flat look.

“What do you want, Nelson?” she called back.

“Two beers and your permission to hang this up in your fine establishment,” Foggy answered her, waving the mistletoe above his head again.

Josie eyed the branch for a moment before dramatically rolling her eyes. “Whatever,” she shot back, focusing back on opening the bottle of beer. “Just as long as you aren't expecting me to kiss you tonight.”

“Aww, Josie,” Foggy cooed, “you wound me so! And on such a magical evening no less.”

“Pay your tab and it'll be a magical evening,” Josie quipped back.

Beside Foggy, Karen threw a hand over her mouth as a giggle bubbled up out of her. Foggy shot Karen yet another playful glare before he led the way over towards the bar, eager to see how the night would unfold.

“Ugh, it was such a good look on his face, too!” Foggy exclaimed, slamming his palm onto the small wooden table for emphasis. “I mean, when Matt dropped that line to the jury, you could just see the color drain from Samson's face! It was beautiful !”

A smile pulled at the corner of your lips as you glanced down at the bottle of beer before you. You'd made your way through the flurry of snowflakes outside once you'd left your office, walking all the way over to Josie’s just so you could meet up with the three lawyers you'd strangely come to befriend here over the past few months.

The three of them often loved to celebrate their wins in court here, something you had quickly found yourself invited to as if you'd always been part of the group–or the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page itself–instead of just having been the woman at the bar Foggy had once accidentally spilled a drink on before insisting that he buy you your next drink to apologize. After that night when you'd met his friends, you usually found yourself joining them at this little dive bar on a weekly basis.

And it was no surprise to you that the three of them would be here again this evening because you'd seen them here only two nights ago when Matt himself had asked if you'd join them again. It was quite a confident gesture of him to invite you out to celebrate their win already that night, too, considering the trial hadn’t even happened yet–though confidence bordering on cockiness seemed the norm when it came to Matthew Murdock. Initially you hadn't been planning to come out tonight, but the moment his red lenses had focused on you from across the table and he had flashed you that charming smile on his handsome face, you knew you'd change your plans just to spend another few hours in his presence. You couldn't exactly resist the attractive lawyer who was always flashing smiles in your direction, and he often wasn't far from your mind whenever you weren’t here.

But of course you'd never admit that.

“It was pretty entertaining, I'll agree,” Karen replied.

Across the table from you, Matt shifted in his chair. The moment his knee brushed yours underneath the table, your hand tightened around your beer bottle. Inhaling a sharp breath, you sat entirely still in your seat, glad Matt couldn't see your reaction. Though you could feel the heat rising up your neck as your knee felt like it was pleasantly tingling from the brief contact with his. Across from you, Matt cleared his throat, one of his large hands rising from the table and tugging at the collar of his tie. You fought hard to not openly stare at his fingers as they pulled at the fabric, a tight smile slipping onto his lips.

“If only I could have witnessed it,” Matt added.

Internally you agreed. You could only imagine what it would be like to see Matt in action, delivering such powerful and impassioned speeches that you'd only ever drunkenly heard him recite in bits and pieces after the fact at Josie’s. You'd love to see him with his tie done up tight and his suit jacket on, his broad shoulders squared in that confident manner he had as he walked around the courtroom as if he owned it. Which you knew he must do in court because you saw him do it every time he entered this bar.

And it never failed to turn you on.

You knew it was stupid and foolish, but you wanted him horribly; you always had ever since the night he held out his hand to you and told you his name. He was a beautiful mystery, always so observant for a man lacking one of his senses. And he was charming and flirtatious, which often threw you off even though you assumed it was just his personality. Admittedly you had a crush on him, one you were too afraid to ever confess because he seemed far too out of your league.

“Hey,” Foggy said, cutting through your thoughts, “what do you all say to a game of pool tonight? Guys against gals?”

Attention shifting to Foggy who was sitting beside Matt, you noticed the way his eyes were darting around the three of you. Eyes narrowing curiously for a moment, you wondered what was with the look he seemed to keep shooting Karen. Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw Matt’s dark brow rise curiously above his glasses as if he somehow had also detected something strange in the way Foggy had suggested the game of pool.

“I don't know,” you began slowly, eyeing the three of them. “I think maybe tonight I'll sit the game out. I'm pretty worn out from work today, I don't think I’m up for a game.”

Foggy’s eyes immediately went wide, his mouth falling open as he gaped at you. Your bottom lip slipped between your teeth awkwardly as you sent him a sheepish smile.

“Oh come on!” Foggy pressed. “It’ll be fun! I promise!”

“Sorry,” you muttered, shrugging lightly. “Not tonight for me.”

Foggy opened his mouth as if he was about to immediately protest, but you felt a hand lightly land on your shoulder. Glancing to your left, you spotted Karen shooting you a wide smile as her piercing blue eyes locked onto yours.

“That’s alright, Fog,” Karen said quickly. “You boys can play a game and the two of us can watch and chat. Right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure,” you stammered out, confused about the way she was eyeing you while Foggy was staring intensely at the side of her head. “That–that sounds good.”

“Great!” Karen exclaimed as her hand released your shoulder and she slid her chair back. “Let’s go grab another table then.”

Brows furrowed together, you carefully pushed your chair back and rose to your feet along with everyone else. Reaching a hand out, you grabbed your drink from off the table before making your way around it. Though it didn’t escape your notice that Matt still seemed to be wearing a similar look of skepticism on his face. Clearly you weren’t the only one thinking the two seemed off tonight.

Silently you followed behind Karen as she picked out an empty table just beside the pool table and gracefully slid into the seat, sending you a friendly smile as she caught your eye. You returned the gesture, slowly slipping into the seat across from her as Foggy led Matt towards the pool table. Almost involuntarily your eyes flew over to Matt when you saw him set his drink down and begin rolling up his dress sleeves while you settled into your chair. You always did enjoy seeing his muscular forearms covered in those dark hairs, but unfortunately because it was December, he didn’t often roll them up. Though something above his head caught your eye as he was rolling up his left sleeve and you glanced up.

Eyes widening in surprise, you stared at the branch of mistletoe hanging directly above him. That was the last thing you’d have expected to find at Josie’s. She certainly didn’t seem like the type of woman who’d go hanging holiday decorations of any sort in her bar, let alone mistletoe . You were suddenly even more grateful that you’d decided not to play pool tonight so you wouldn’t have to avoid standing beneath it all night.

“So,” Karen began, the conspiratorial lowering of her voice drawing your eye back to her as she leaned forward towards you, “there’s something I’ve been dying to know for awhile and we never really get a chance to chat as just us girls so I haven't had the opportunity to ask.”

Raising your beer bottle to your lips, you took a deep drink from it under the weight of Karen’s stare. You had a feeling you’d need the liquid courage for whatever question she was about to ask you. Swallowing the drink down, you soon cleared your throat, fighting to keep your gaze on Karen and not Matt as he let out a bark of laughter that had your stomach squirming. He always looked unbelievably handsome with a broad smile spread over his beautiful lips–a look you enjoyed seeing on him. It was difficult not to glance at the sight.

“What’s uh, what’s on your mind?” you asked hesitantly.

Her dark pink lips curled ever higher as she leaned further forward, placing her elbows onto the table. Her head tilted a bit to the side, a few strands of blonde hair falling forward and framing her face. The angelic appearance wasn’t fooling you though and your stomach twisted nervously.

“Do you like Matt?” she asked bluntly.

It felt like your heart stopped as the sound of billiard balls clacking together on the nearby pool table rang through your ears. Your lips parted in surprise before you could mask your reaction. Despite the fact that you had a feeling she was going to ask you something along those lines, hearing the question aloud still startled you. Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw Matt’s head turn in the direction of your table. Though there was absolutely no way he could’ve overheard Karen with how quietly she’d asked the question, but that didn’t stop the heat from once again rising up your neck and reaching your face.

“Oh, well, of course,” you replied awkwardly, pushing a few strands of hair from your face as you focused on your beer bottle. “I like all of you. That's–that's why I'm always here hanging out with you three.”

Nervously glancing up from under your lashes, you saw Karen’s face twist into a look that clearly said that wasn't what she'd meant at all. You shot her a nervous smile, hoping she wouldn't push it. Though as you grabbed your bottle of beer and brought it to your lips for another pull, it was obvious she wasn't letting this go.

“I don't mean do you like Matt as a friend,” she clarified. “I meant are you interested in him? Romantically speaking?”

Nearly choking as you swallowed your drink, you covered your mouth as you coughed into your hand. You weren't getting out of answering this apparently. It didn't help that it seemed both Foggy and Matt were glancing at your table as you sputtered on the beer, both of them shooting you curious and questioning looks. Across the table, Karen continued to smile innocently back at you as she waited for you to recover.

A few moments later you did, trying to wipe your now clammy hands on the thighs of your dress pants. Your eyes dropped down to the sticky wooden table as you thought about how to answer. Surely she wouldn't believe you if you said no considering the knowing look she was currently giving you. And if you answered truthfully but quietly there was no way Matt should be able to overhear the conversation at least. Right?

At the thought of him, your eyes nervously darted over to the pool table. Matt was lining up a shot, bent in half over the table and angling the cue in his hands.

“It's sort of hard not to like him like that,” you replied softly, eyes still lingering on him. “I mean he's…sweet. And funny. And incredibly smart and self-assured. Confident. Obviously very handsome. But I mean he's…”

Your voice trailed off, your attention still on Matt as he remained bent over the pool table. Brows lightly furrowing, it seemed like he was taking longer than usual to make his shot. A glance at Foggy beside him had you thinking he'd noticed it, too. Briefly you wondered what he was doing until Karen’s voice broke through your thoughts.

“He's what?” she pressed.

Sighing, your attention returned to your almost empty bottle of beer. Unclasping a hand from your lap, you reached out and grabbed the neck of the bottle. You shrugged lightly, unable to meet her gaze.

“Too far out of my league,” you muttered.

Drawing the bottle up to your lips, you finished the last of the beer. As you lowered the empty bottle back to the table, swallowing down your drink, you spotted Karen shooting Foggy a look. You couldn't possibly have been imagining it now, clearly they were up to something. But before you could figure out what, Karen spun back around in her seat and shot you a bright smile.

“Look at that, you already finished your drink. How about I get the next round of drinks before we continue this conversation?” she offered.

She quickly pushed her chair back before you could reply, her attention focusing on Matt and Foggy. Eyebrows drawing together, a nervous feeling swirled in your stomach, mingling with the alcohol.

“You boys need another round of beers?” Karen called over to them. “On me this time, in honor of our win earlier today?”

Matt's head tilted a bit to the side as he focused on her. “Oh, I don't–”

“Of course!” Foggy exclaimed loudly, cutting Matt off as he clapped him on the shoulder. “And you know what? I'll come with and help you grab them.”

Before you even knew what was happening, Foggy was waving you over enthusiastically with a hand. That nervous feeling only grew in your stomach when Karen turned, glancing over her shoulder at you with that bright smile that was clearly meant to be hiding something as Foggy called out your name.

“Why don’t you come keep Matt company?” Foggy suggested. “And you know, make sure he doesn't cheat to win this game while I'm gone.”

Matt audibly scoffed, shaking his head and countering the accusation immediately. But you weren't paying too much attention to their playful banter as you awkwardly rose to your feet and began making your way over towards Matt. Instead, your eyes were occasionally darting up and eyeing that damn bit of mistletoe that Matt was once again standing directly beneath. Which was why you intentionally came to a stop at the corner of the pool table, trying to keep some distance between you, Matt, and that little bit of mistletoe.

Though what you hadn't accounted for was Karen stumbling in her heels behind you and accidentally bumping into you, pushing you the few steps forward where you tripped directly into Matt. His hands swiftly darted out and grabbed onto your upper arms, steadying you as you tried to catch your balance. And when you finally did, you abruptly realized your own hands had flown to Matt’s very firm, solid chest to stop your fall. Your face flamed from embarrassment and you quickly withdrew them from him, crossing them over your chest awkwardly. But Matt's hands remained on your arms, keeping you close as the warmth of them seeped through the sleeves of your blouse.

“I am so sorry,” Karen suddenly began apologizing behind you. “My heel must've caught on something along the floor. I didn't mean to do that!”

“It's alright,” you replied, your face still burning as you gazed at the handsome face before you. “But uh, sorry for accidentally running into you, Matt.”

His hands slowly began to release their hold on you, that charming smile returning to his face as he remained focused on you. With how close you were standing to him, you could feel your heart slamming harder in your chest. He was just so unfairly attractive.

“Don't worry about it, sweetheart,” he assured you.

For a moment you stood there staring back at Matt's smiling face, almost feeling mesmerized by the expression on it. But a loud gasp from just beside Matt broke you out of your staring and caused you to glance over his shoulder at Foggy. Your pulse jumped when you caught him pointing a finger at the mistletoe hanging directly above Matt and yourself. Before you had a chance to move, finally remembering that you'd been trying to avoid the damn thing, the words were already coming out of his mouth.

“It appears you and Matt have found yourself beneath some mistletoe!” Foggy exclaimed.

Before you, Matt's head cocked to the side as his brows drew beneath his dark lenses. For some reason the smile on his face only grew wider as his covered gaze remained fixed on you.

“We have?” Matt asked curiously.

“Oh, yes!” Karen added from your other side, pointing a finger up at the branch hanging from the ceiling. “Foggy’s right!”

A light laugh slipped out of Matt, the warmth of it raising goosebumps along your arms as you felt rooted to the spot in front of him. You weren't sure if you should move or not; whether you should attempt to run away and come up with some excuse as to why he didn't need to kiss you. But it didn't help that part of you was hoping he'd somehow want to kiss you.

“I find it quite interesting that our dear Josie would put up mistletoe in her bar,” Matt mused aloud. “She doesn't seem the type.”

“Well either way,” Foggy cut in with an awkward laugh, “it's there! And you're both standing beneath it! So you know what that means! I mean it is tradition after all.”

Eyes growing wide, you openly gaped at Foggy and Karen as she came to stand beside him, a glint of something reflecting back at you in her eyes. Your lips parted as a rush of questions raced through your mind. Had they been the ones to put up the mistletoe? Were they doing it to get you and Matt to kiss? And if that was why they'd been acting so strange tonight– why ? Why would they want you two to kiss?

The sound of Matt clearing his throat brought you back to the moment. Your mouth was still hanging open as you focused back on him, noticing the almost nervous smile now spread on his face. Why did he look nervous?

“Fog uh…has a point,” Matt said, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “It is tradition for two people to kiss underneath mistletoe.”

You could feel your pulse jumping in your throat at his words as behind him you noticed Foggy and Karen quietly making their way over to the bar, leaving you alone with Matt. As your gaze fell back on him before you, your mouth opened and closed a few times while you struggled to form a coherent sentence until one suddenly blurted out of you.

“You want to kiss me?”

Your eyes instantly grew somehow wider at the question, your hand flying over your mouth to keep any further stupid thoughts from coming out of it. An adorable grin tugged at Matt's lips at your question, a small chuckle slipping out of him. Behind your hand, your teeth clamped down onto your bottom lip in sheer embarrassment.

“Well, if we're being honest,” Matt began, one hand readjusting the glasses on his nose, “then I should admit I've wanted to kiss you for weeks now. The mistletoe is just…oddly convenient.”

Swallowing hard, you tried to control your breathing which had begun to come in shallower at his confession. He'd wanted to kiss you for weeks now? That fact had your heart hammering heavily in your chest as nerves raced through your body. You could feel your stomach flipping anxiously as you stood there entirely unsure how to respond.

“But we uh, we certainly don't have to,” Matt said slowly, breaking the silence that had fallen between the pair of you. “I don't want to make you uncomfortable and ruin things between us.”

Feeling your opportunity to let him know how you felt slipping away, your hand flew from your mouth, hovering in the air between the pair of you as a loud ‘no!’ flew from your lips. The way Matt tilted his head at you, his brows rising up on his forehead as that grin returned to his face, had your cheeks once more burning tonight. But you couldn't let this moment slip past your fingers, not with how long you'd been thinking about it.

“I'd like to,” you admitted awkwardly. “I mean I–I’ve wanted to–to kiss you, too.” You paused when the grin on his face grew wider, your stomach somersaulting at the sight. “Because I…I kind of have a crush on you…”

“Yeah?” he asked, head still canted to the side. “That's fortunate for me since I have a crush on you.”

“Seriously?” you whispered in disbelief.

Matt nodded, that boyish and charming grin growing ever wider on his lips. The lips you suddenly couldn't seem to take your eyes off of.

“Mhmm,” he hummed out.

“I never knew…” you murmured, voice trailing off.

As you stood there trying to wrap your head around what he'd told you, Matt took a step closer towards you, closing the small bit of space. He reached around you, his arm almost grazing yours as he leant his pool cue up against the table.

“So about that mistletoe,” Matt mused, lightly placing his hands on your upper arms again as he leaned towards you, causing your heart to skip. “We should…probably kiss, right?”

Your eyelids fluttered as you stared back at him, your breath catching in your throat with every inch he seemed to be drawing nearer to you. It was taking your brain far too long to comprehend what was happening, let alone to form much of a response besides the quiet ‘yes’ that slipped out of you.

Matt's right hand released your arm and instead came up to cup your cheek. Gingerly he tilted your head, bringing your mouth in towards his as he finally closed the last remaining distance between the pair of you. The moment his lips touched yours, your eyes snapped shut.

At first his lips merely brushed against yours in a warm, gentle graze. The feeling sent a rush of excitement through your entire body as your hands flew up, gripping both of his muscular arms to steady yourself. He pulled back only a fraction from you before your lips were chasing after his, desperate for more than that soft, teasing touch.

He obliged instantly as if he knew–or had maybe heard the faint whimper of protest you'd made–and dove back forward again, connecting his mouth to yours with a bit more tenacity than before. His hand cupping your cheek held you more firmly to him as his plush lips passionately moved against yours in a way that left you gasping for air in the brief moments your mouths parted before inevitably connecting again.

For a while neither of you seemed able to tear yourself away from the other, entirely oblivious to the entire bar around the pair of you. Your fingers had curled around the fabric of his dress shirt, gripping tight as you tried to hold yourself up. It felt like you were losing yourself entirely in Matt the longer the pair of you kissed and if you let go, you were afraid you might actually lose your balance.

Which was why it took you a minute to regain your composure when Matt finally broke the kiss. He only moved back a few inches from your face, his warm breath brushing gently over your lips as they remained parted. It was a moment before your eyelids fluttered open, taking in the sight of his smiling face before you. His lips seemed pinker as they glistened with both your saliva, the thought of which had a heat building low inside of you.

“Can I maybe walk you home tonight?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you replied automatically.

“And can I take you to dinner on Friday night?” he asked next. “Would that be alright?”

You nodded slowly, your eyes focused on his beautiful mouth. “Yes,” you whispered back.

Matt's smile grew a little wider as his thumb brushed along your cheekbone. Your whole body felt like it was trembling now, your legs fighting not to give out beneath you. Your hands tightened further on his dress shirt, wrinkling the material.

“And can I kiss you again?” he questioned.

You nodded again, this time more enthusiastically. “Please,” you breathed out.

An amused chuckle slipped out of him as he leaned forward towards you once more. Out of the corner of your eye, just before you'd closed them again, you swore you saw Karen and Foggy exchanging a high five at the bar. But you forgot about that the moment Matt's lips were back on yours, kissing you more fervently than before as he backed you up against the pool table behind you.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #holiday fluff #daredevil

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koinotame · 4 months

Text

if i was your husband

word count: 1.4K content warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, some nonsexual touching of dubious consent, otherwise just 1400 words of yandere-typical obsession

characters included: childe

a/n: this is a repost (heavily edited in some parts, lightly edited in others)! and a sequel to this. you can read this as a standalone modern au oneshot, but it'll probably make more sense with the context of the previous one. also on ao3! next part here

"you know," you say after a while of quiet between the two of you, staring vacantly at the tv playing some seasonal movie and leaning further into the couch. "my friends were saying you’d make a good husband."

out of the corner of your eye, you see him still.

"…really?"

something about the way he says it makes your stomach queasy.

you hum halfheartedly, still trying to pretend you’re more invested in the movie than the current conversation.

"what do you think, then?"

that gets you to turn to him. "huh?"

he’s looking directly at you, face propped up on his fist. the way his eyes, deep and all consuming, bore into yours makes you feel like you’re a sailor about to give in to the enthralling call of the ocean. "how do you think I’d do as your husband?"

"well…" you pause for a bit, eyes flicking back to the movie and staying there for a bit. he doesn’t move, staring directly at your face. your eyes inch to the opposite corner of the scren, a bit further away from him.

a few minutes pass by before you say anything again. "I mean, your cooking is great. and you like cleaning, and—" you start counting off other husbandly traits he has on your fingers. your hands are almost full by the time you’re done, which is also when you finally turn back to him. "so. yeah, I think you’d make for a good husband."

his stare is starting to get kind of unnerving.

you smile awkwardly, trying to ease the tense air. "…maybe that makes you more of a house husband, though?"

he doesn’t respond to your jest.

"you think so?"

instead, he sounds strikingly serious. he usually sounds light and lively, so his current inflection sounds eerie.

you don’t have time to think about it any more before he’s draping himself over you, his arms leaning onto the couch behind you and torso just barely not touching you. his eyes search your face for something, not missing the jolt at his sudden movement.

after an intense couple seconds of observing you, his face turns up into a wide, almost overexcited smile.

his head drops into the crook of your shoulder, arms wrapping themselves around your waist and pressing you even further into the couch. you hear him inhale loudly, then let out a content sigh as he presses his face further against you. he doesn’t mind the way you stiffen at the sudden sensation, or the way your arms remain rigidly at your sides.

"…what are you doing?"

"if I was your husband," he ignores your question, not moving. "I’d be the happiest man alive. no, forget that—I’d be the happiest person alive."

your mouth feels dry when he presses a light kiss against the exposed skin on your throat.

"I’d cook breakfast, lunch and dinner for you every day. I’d learn all your favourites and I’d pack you lunch every day." he takes another deep whiff. you’re sure you’re not imagining it this time. "I could pack you those cute themed lunch boxes, too. I’d get up early every morning to make sure I can finish everything in time."

his eyes open, his lashes brushing tenderly against your skin. "I’d wake you every day, and I’d hold you as we fall asleep every night. I’d take care of everything so you can always take it easy, and I’d make sure you’re always comfortable."

his breath is hot against your skin. "I’d make sure to tell you that I love you every day. the house would always be ready for your return, the sheets always fresh and your clothing always ironed."

he moves down, pressing his face against where your heart is. his ear lays flat against your chest. the look on his face is hard to describe, bordering on hypnotised. "I’d make sure you’re always happy. I’d take care of all the rent, and the utility bills, and food, and whatever else needs to be paid."

his eyes appear glazed over. "you could spend your days lounging around, doing nothing while I take care of you and pamper you. I could buy you whatever you want, whenever you want, for whatever reason you want. I’d do anything for you. nothing is off the table for you."

his grip tightens, pressing you further into him, as if he doesn’t want there to be an end to him and a beginning to you between the two of you.

"I’d make sure nobody could hurt you, of course. anyone who tries will sorely regret it." he says the words as if they come so naturally to him as his voice gets just a little bit more frantic. "I’ll take care of any and all of your problems. no matter what."

"if I couldn’t do that, I wouldn’t have the right to call myself your husband." he smiles up at you, tone suddenly cheerful. if it wasn’t for his previous words, his smile would seem innocently excited.

for all the months you’ve been living with ajax, you’ve never felt particularly threatened by him. he’s never made you think the rumours about him are true, never given you any reason to be scared or angry with him. he’s weird, and kind of pushy sometimes, and you’re never quite sure what he’s thinking of, but he’s never been scary.

you’re not sure you agree with that anymore.

with bated breath, you watch as he takes one of your stiff hands gently into his own and presses it against his cheek. it feels uncomfortably warm against your skin.

"I’d be the best husband you could have. you’d always be happy with me, I promise. I swear it on my life. I’ll never let you down."

his expression remains equally love-struck and intense no matter what he says, like he’s barely managing to contain his devotion, but there’s a hint of desperation behind them the more he goes on.

"if I was your husband…"

he pauses, dark pools of blue staring into your eyes intensely.

"your grace," he suddenly drops to his knees in front of you, keeping his hold on your hand but moving to hold it in front of him gingerly. "would you marry me?"

he doesn’t give you time to answer, instead pressing his face against your knee. his gaze doesn’t waver. "I know I’m getting ahead of myself, that I could never deserve you, that we’re still so young, but… now that I’ve had a taste of being around the real you, I’m not sure I could ever let that feeling go."

his eyelids close and he lays his head on your lap. "I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost your favour. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I drove you away."

the movie is still playing in the background. your fingers feel cold.

"but I can’t help myself." his eyes open again and stare at you again, deeper than any lake could ever be. "I love you."

he presses himself further against you, arms wrapping around your calves delicately.

"I love all of you. I love you when you’re happy and I love you when you’re sad. I love every single part of you." he starts rubbing his cheek against your legs. "whenever you come back home tired or downcast, I want to go out and destroy whatever is causing you grief. I’d overthrow the entire world for you if it’d please you."

the way he talks about you as if you’re some sort of divine being is makes your head spin.

"actually…" the flush on his cheeks accentuates, the warmth of his face tangible even against your clothed leg. "wouldn’t that be nice? you could be the divine ruler and I’d be your personal knight, the strongest and most loyal in the entire world…"

the tone in his voice is overeager, though his words remind you more of a fairy tale story disconnected from reality than like something he really means. "it wouldn’t even be hard, nobody here has visions and no matter what they say, anyone with one has an innate advantage over those who don’t. and should that fail, I’ll always have…" the rest is mumbled against your legs and unintelligible.

after a couple more seconds, he sighs, almost wistfully. "but this world has those pesky nuclear weapons instead, so I’ll settle for being your husband instead."

one of his hands reaches out and intertwines with yours again. he squeezes it tenderly.

"I love you."

his eyes bore into yours even as he presses a reverent kiss to the back of your hand.

"if you find me suitable…" the expression on his face can only be described as lovesick. "please marry me."

#yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #self aware au #self aware genshin #childe #tartaglia #repost #this one was the most popular of the series i think... i get why #i hope this one is a bit creepier than the original..... i hope i hit that blend of kind of sweet but also red flags for days properly

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