#i just need something to get me going again....
Note
This made me sick to think about so maybe you would like it. Sorry this is so long 😭 but my brain worms were at it.
Three months later, Pup reader eventually going into a catatonic state. You stop eating so the handlers eventually put you on an IV and a feeding tube, but when you stop moving, they worry your muscles may start to atrophy. You have already developed sores but still don’t move.
One of the handlers goes rogue and calls John. His number was still on your paperwork when he surrendered you. The handler asks John to reconsider without mentioning what’s happening. He stands firm and says no, just assuming that someone must have returned you back to the shelter. He knows you’ll find a home eventually, but he had enough to deal with at home.
Meanwhile, Simon, Johnny and Kyle are pissed. The new pup John had got was a handful to say the least. Three months of correcting the pup’s behavior over and over again. She was too rambunctious. Not docile like you and didn’t respect boundaries. Where your playful nips at Johnny’s arm would barely register, hers were sharp and painful. She constantly got in whatever bed she pleased and took whatever resources she wanted.
Kyle just relented he became so annoyed, only showing his teeth in warning. Johnny would straight up shoulder check the pup.
Things eventually come to a head when Simon straight up attacks her. He was having as PTSD episode and pup thought it would be a good time to jump on him while he was asleep.
The attack luckily didn’t injure her too badly, but after that she wasn’t submissive, she was aggressive. To everyone. The other pups and even John. Snapping and baring her teeth. It wasn’t until her teeth made contact with John did he realize something needed to be done.
So he called Laswell. She knew the pup needed a female presence and her and her wife were happy to help.
A month passes since the phone call from the shelter. The boys were even more tense than before the other pup left. None of them wanting to be around each other more than necessary. John knew what he had to do.
So he called the shelter, asking had you been adopted yet. An awkward pause before the volunteer on the other line says they need to get their supervisor.
Supervisor informs John that you stopped eating and moving. Because the volunteers could only do so much, they had to put you into a facility that could better help with the long term care you would need.
John is able to pull some strings and get in contact with the facility.
Option 1:
When John goes to the facility, you don’t snap out of it. You don’t believe he’s really came for you. Not when he puts the collar back on your neck or has practically carry you to the car. Not even when the boys surround you, sniffing and pawing.
John has to hand feed you. Even then the boys take over with that, now hating John for what he did to you.
You eventually “come back”, but the fear is always there. You don’t go outside without the boys and you’re always afraid to be alone with John. Forget car rides. The last time you were due for a check up, even having everyone in it did nothing to help your panic attack. Pleading not to go back to the shelter. That you’ll be good. John can hear your soft cries at night before one of the boys eventually crawls in your bed, promising to not let you go again.
Option 2 (I’ll make this short I promise)
The facility didn’t intervene when it came to you wanting to die. That was your choice and the resources couldn’t be wasted. So when John receives a very sincere apology from the facility coordinator that you had chosen to be on the euthanasia list, he is in consolable.
However, a vet tech sees how adorable you are and just can’t let that happen, so they call their cousin.
Zeus was looking for a new pup for oversized hounds to play with.
König all too happy to have a new playmate. He and Nikto often fought over who you would be sharing a bed with before finally just laying down with your in yours. In the middle of the night, Horangi would pull you out of the pile and take you to his own bed.
You eventually started to come back to life. The boys weren’t the same as your other ones, but it was still nice.
John tells the boys you had already been adopted, too afraid of what the truth would do to their dynamic. He has to forever live with the guilt of thinking you had died.
let’s go with option one
c/w: mentions of abandonment trauma, hybrids
there was a period of time where john lost hope that you would get better even after he bought you home. it certainly wasn’t going to stop him and the boys trying, however. john knew how much he’d fucked up when he heard the boys sad whines and yowls when he walked through the door with you
johnny instantly got to work making a nest in the space under the stairs. a cozy dim light hanging above a big pile of duvets and blankets, soft pillows that smell like them. john would give you space as the boys trap you in their arms, scenting over you and nuzzling into your skin until you smell like them again :(
they hold you when you cry, placing kisses to your shoulders and cheeks and the top of your head whisky you let all your sadness out. sometimes, you push them away. wailing that you don’t want them near you right now but eventually you let them back in to cuddle you. you feel weak but you’ve been so lonely and you’ve missed them terribly despite what they did
thinking about how the grief you had been dealing with had thrown your body right off track. not having a natural heat cycle until a good few months after returning home. you didn’t allow any of them in the room with you during that cycle, despite how kyle and johnny whined at the door, begging you to let them come in and take care of you
their whining didn’t last long when simon comes over and snaps at them, telling them to leave you alone whilst the sulk off with flattened ears
it had taken a while for you to warm up to john again. he understood completely. he had completely shattered your heart and trust in them. he wouldn’t put your collar back on until you were completely okay with it. he wanted you to ask. wants it to be something that you want
he begins to think you’ll never forgive him until one night you shuffled into his room nervously, fiddling with your hands in front of you, “can I sleep in here?”
he’d hoped you would at least sleep in his bed with him. let him snuggle you under his big plush duvet and scratch your scalp until you fall asleep but he understands. it’s baby steps. at least now you’ll actually be in the same room as him one on one
#mw2#cod mw2#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#ghost x reader#john price x reader#captain john price#john price#captain john price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick#john mactavish x reader#soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish#pup!141#owner!price
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Okay, so maybe it's just me? Projecting my new Tea Phase?
Cause for med reasons, no more energy drinks, only Teeeeeeaaaaa~☆
But honestly? Now that I am an adult and ACTUALLY KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT? Really digging it! Am enjoying the Teas. Mmmmmmm~ leaf broth. I like the fruity ones.
So! IMAGINE~☆ If you will:
Danny. 14 and his parents are LOUD AS FUCK (CRASH BANG SMASH BANG WHIIII-) dispite it being, once again, a school night. This has been going one For Years. That STUPID fucking machine. All God damned hours. Crashes and bangs and powertools. Explosions.
When will it ever end!
He's... he's honestly used it.
Unknowingly? This is is a skill that will come in handy later. Living and functioning while sleep deprived. Healthy? Fuck no. But it's USEFUL. He IS the ten year old downing Monster drinks in the parking lot before school.
It makes him a jittery weirdo. Twitchy. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, his parents either blew up or TOOK APART the washing machine AGAIN. He... he never stood a chance. It's a miracle the indoor plumbing hasn't been compromised yet... AGAIN.
His blood is more sugar, caffeine, and guarana or whatever those other things in the can are, then actual human blood. He doesn't CARE. He just needs too get decent grades, graduate, and become an astronaut. It's... it's FINE. This is normal. They're FINE.
(If they weren't... someone would have noticed, right? Would have DONE something. Cared. So it HAS to be fine. His family's just weird. It's FINE.)
But THEN...
The Accident.
And his biology CHANGES. Green goo, wrapped vicious and loving, around his very DNA. Like Kintsugi of the body and soul. In green, Green, GREEN. It... it's a lot. Everything changing all at once. Maybe that's why it takes him so long to notice.
Why he thinks "oh, I'm just tired cause I'm running more then usual. Fighting and flying. Doing ghost stuff."
When... when honestly? Some part of him always kinda KNEW. From the very moment he stumbled out of the portal. The aftershocks. The pain. Sam and Tucker crying, scrambling to help him up the stairs. Sam tearing her bag apart looking for her cramps medicine. Because... because pain medication is pain medication.
"It's gonna be okay, Danny. Please. Please god, just take it! I promise it's gonna be okay!"
How do you look your panicked, crying, strongest-person-you-know best friend in the eyes and tell her... you can FEEL it dissolving in your throat. Like the pills were dumped in a human shaped pot of acid. That... that the pain isn't changing... and you... you don't think it's going too.
When you're scared. Might be dying. And you can already tell they think it's their fault. W... when you're all just KIDS. And all you can think is... you can let them know how bad... how bad it hurts...
They'd never be able to live with that knowledge.
Yeah. Yeah, Sam. Thanks. T... The pills helped a lot. He feels better. You really saved the day. He lo... loves you guys so much.
...
.....
He thinks about that moment A LOT. About how much he realized and knew, before the denial kicked in. Before he got so... Tired. Fresh of all that energy. And? You'd think he realize. The mood swings. The irritability. The headaches that disappear the SECOND he goes ghost. That he's in caffeine withdrawal. But? Nope.
He kinda blames the constant ghost attacks for distracting him.
But see... Sam? Doesn't drink tea. Goes against her diet. Tucker was where he GOT his illicit borderline illegal energy drinks. And his sister? Big on flavored sparkling waters. Which are gross to him.
His PARENTS drink a thick tar they insist is coffee. It might be liquid fudge. Zone knows its nearly the same consistency. It's horrifying. No thanks, he wants to LIVE.
It's? Ironically? Mr. Lancer and his constant detentions, that help Danny realize somethings up. Because Mr. Lancer shares. If he makes a cup for himself, he'll make one for you. It's how he was raised. And, yeah, the after school detentions? Those were herbal blends. No caffeine.
But...
But they tasted nice. Were warm. The classroom was quiet and as frustrating as it was? The tea itself? Was always... the one exception to how shit the situation was. So Danny finally broke down and asked about it. Learned Mr. Lancer knew a? Surprisingly LOT about tea. Huh.
Then one day he gets SATURDAY detention. Oh joy!
Bright and early. One of the few times he could be trying, desperately, to be sleeping through his parents cacophony. Catching up on his desperately needed Zzz's. Here he is... getting a handed a new cup of different tea?
Breakfast blend? And a bagel..
N...none hostile breakfast? A quiet space to catch up on his homework? No Dash? Just... just a quiet classroom, some tea, and the sounds on a peaceful morning outside?
......oh.
It's the best time he's had in school in... God, in YEARS. He gets so MUCH done. For once can concentrate. And? Actually, now that he thinks about it? Feels... awake? Or at the very least, not as sleepy. And being a Fenton, whom to the LAST are a genius if eccentric family, it's pretty damn easy to put two and two together.
Tea.
He felt more awake after having Lancer's breakfast blend tea.
He obviously asks about it. Then, after detention is done. Calm packs up. Goes home. Drops his back in his room. Goes ghost. And SHOOTS for the Far Frozen with his phone and an energy drink. Because clearly he's missing something and it's time to ask.
The good doctors of the Frozen are... gently horrified. Clawed hands steeples infront of their mouths as they try to tactfully figure out how to word "Great One, WHAT THE FUCK!?!? Why would you DO THIS TO YOURSELF!?" Because that... is not professional. Breathe. In, out, in, out. We can do this.
They get the most patient and restrained of their elders to... CALMLY, very VERY Calmly, ask some medical questions. Listen. Without judgements! Because they are medical professionals. Who do NOT want to scream, forever, into the void. Certainly not. So Calm! (They are going to BURN THAT CAN IN-)
Which! Huh. Yeah, that explains the constant exhaustion. He was poisoning himself. Kinda. Not so much the GHOST but the human half. Putting to much strain and too much trace chemicals, minerals, and buckets of sugar. General "mmmm :/ Don't Like THAT ™" energy from the Goo causing it too try and constantly burning it all out of existence. Endlessly.
The more he put in, the more there was to burn. The more there was to burn, the more tired he became. The more tired he became... well, the more he put in. It was a slowly lethal starvation cycle. Big Yikes.
The TEA on the other hand? Those are leaves. The good recognizes leaves and water. Other various plants, dried or otherwise. It ignores them as "fine" until they reach a "problematic" threshold, apparently? So... *blank look at the doctor*
*sighs in medical professional*
Tea? Good. Satan Can of Halfa Poison? Bad. Please drink tea.
👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻
And it's like MAGIC. He's suddenly BACK, baby! Ha ha ha! Skulker you fuckin THOUGHT?! Oh it's 2am? Well SUPRISE bitch! He's bright eyed and bushy tailed! His grades are up AND he's beating you like a drum! He has ice breakers for old people discussions now!! The local Tea Shops have NEVER been so well protected.
He actually manages to graduate with not just decent grades? But GOOD ones.
And the second. The INSTANT. He is legally his own man? Has his important paperwork squirrelled away and the go bags safely WELL outside of Amity. It's time. He meets OUTSIDE the house, because he's not an idiot. He's been practicing his Clones and has them ready to grab his parents so he can get out of there alive. Jazz is on video call from Star city.
His parents... suspected. Not at first, but as goofy as they are? They aren't ACTUALLY idiots. They've been watching, going over old research. Trying, failing, to get in touch with the League to have THEIR team test their research. Peer review is critical after all. They... they had been so certain. Are still somewhat certain.
But their research doesn't exactly ACCOUNT for this "halfa" phenomenon. So, there is a very real chance they are missing something. The one thing the DO know? Danny is their son. Stuck in some eternal mortally wounded state or not, he is a hero. And they weren't there for him.
They can't change their beliefs on a dime. But they've clearly missed a great deal. And refuse to fall to academic bias. The very thing that got them LAUGHED AT for decades. Mocked and belittled. This is their life's work. By God they WILL find out the truth.
It's? Better then he could have hoped. Not perfect. But better.
He helps set up safeties and a security check point at the portal. Both sides. He's kinda a big deal these days, mom, dad. Ghost scientists eager to work with them. A whole TEAM under their command. It certain endears ghosts to them a whole lot more. Then?
Copy of the blue prints, go bag turned into normal bags, Danny's off to college.
Bounces from major to major. Nothing really capturing his interest. As he aged, he's need less sleep. Gotten stronger. Grown into his father's height and grandfathers build. Tucker keeps calling him a dorito. Danny retaliates with Ancient Egyptian Cyber/Pharoah Twink allegations. According to SAM they are both dumbasses.
She's not WRONG... but hey D:<
Eventually? A really niche botany seminar run by Pamela Isely catches the attention of Tucker, who forwards it to him n Sam. Nice ™. It's being held in her Murder Park! Cool! Obviously they have to go. So off to Gotham they go. And? When they get there? Sam is APPALLED.
She may HATE landlords as much as the next activist.... but LOOK at all these run down, foreclosed, rotting buildings! Beautiful gothic infrastructure! Those could be businesses or homes! Danny, busy with signing them up, makes the mistake of tuning her out as she rants in fury. She does this some times. Needs to vent. Uh huh, you're very right. You should contact somebody. I agree. Mmmhmmm.
Hey, Sam, Ms. Isely needs your-....
Sam?
Oh FUCK ™.
By the time the Seminar come around? Sam has violently kicked in the door of more then a feel reality offices. Owns QUITE a few buildings. Danny is sweating. She... she's doing the THING again. The "gimme your Ghost Crew, I KNOW you have a highly specific Ghost Crew, don't you DARE lie to me or I take your knee caps, Danny" stare.
>.> Sam you can't keep doin- *stare intensifies* Yes Ma'am. *Pulls out Fenton phone* and so? Here come the renovation crew. The ONLY honest building Crew in all of Gotham. They cut no corners. Can't be threatened. Gangs, villians, and even local government office try to arrange... accidents on the build sites.
Nothing. Nada. In fact, it turns out more dangerous for THEM then this crew of outsiders!
Wtf!
Then? After these two College age weirdos finish Poison Fuckin Ivys HIGHLY SUSPECT biology seminar? Manson fucks off to who knows where! Leaving what HAS to be "the muscle" behind. Cause I mean? Look, at the guy! He's huge! And what does he do?
Goes building to building. Rents them out to low income families. Honest, hard working shop keepers. And? Eventually decides to settle smack dab in the middle of Gotham, in the shadow of Wayne fuckin tower, spitting distance from the Space museum..... and open? A tea shop? The FUCK?
"The Zone".
In a weird shade of green. With little ghosts, wearing crowns, because and I quote "it's funny"? Certainly crazy enough for Gotham. But like, it's loud as FUCK here. Crowded. There are gas attacks and shit. It'll never las-....
It stays untouched for MONTHS.
Sometimes being the ONLY building near it to be untouched. Gas NEVER getting in. The damn place a BUNKER. And? Despite looking like it's two floors? It's three. You enter and your actually on the second floor. No one's even sure where the fuck the guy LIVES, since he never seems to leave.
Not only THAT. But it... it's like one of those old school apothecaries. Big ol bank of drawers. Guy'll mix up your blend for you right as you watch. Tea nuts are actually risking COMING to Gotham to try his stuff. Writing articles. Apparently he has some pretty rare shit in those drawers.
Some UNKNOWN shit, according to one guy on ViewTube.
There's this whole debate on if it's Ultra Super Rare or that means it's just super cheap knock off crap. Some of them he won't make for people, even if they ask. There's a rumor it's for Meta's with specific diets. Or alien blends. But no one can verify that. Cause like?
Anyone who tries to cause trouble?
Can't fucking FIND the place. And if you're already inside? You just... drop. Stone cold unconscious. It's definitely magic but no one knows if it's HIS or Manson's? You know? He won't talk. Gets annoyed when harrased.
Which off course!
Leaves Only ONE gentleman for the job. An elite special forces trained expert. Polite, dignified, enjoyer of fine Teas. Alfred "Why do you chucklefucks keep forgetting I was in the Queens Service and a Registered Badass" Pennyworth.
After all! He DOES have the days shopping to do.
@babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dc x dp#dcxdp#dc x dp prompt#danny phantom#Tea Shop of Mysteries AU#alfred pennyworth
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would you do a james fainting fic 🙏🙏
—James doesn’t like you, but he’ll come to your rescue. fem, 1.5k
The office is hot.
James dabs at his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Remus rubbing his eye.
“You okay?” he asks.
You look up from the paper on your desk. When you realise he isn’t asking you, you look away, your lips pressing into a tight line. James tries not to show he’s noticed.
“Fine,” Remus mutters. “Fucked off ‘cos of the portal changing again. I hate these long passwords.”
“Are you hot or is it just me?”
You clear your throat. Usually, unless it’s Remus who’s spoken first or James has said something you find ridiculous, you won’t interrupt. “I’m really warm,” you say, “do you think I can open the window?”
“Like you can reach it, shorts. I’ll do it.” James jumps up from his seat. Whether you’re short or not has nothing to do with it. James is taller, and he holds it against you diligently.
He rounds your desks. The sun is worse on his skin than the heat alone. He can’t imagine how awful you must feel to have it on the side of your neck all day; in the half minute he stands there opening the window, the heat makes him queasy.
He tugs the blinds down enough to shield you. It’ll help the entire office, he thinks. Not just you. If you thought he was doing something nice you’d only interrogate his motives until you both turned irate, and that’s the last thing anyone needs today.
James isn’t sure how you and he ended up not liking one another. He’s never met anybody he didn’t like that wasn’t a massive wanker, and you are but you’re not, not really. When you first started he’d actually thought you were cute, and funny, if a little quiet. It didn’t matter because James is used to quiet people. But one thing turned to another, he’d used your mug without washing it, you’d left him off of the department emails for the quarter, then the snipping started. Constant nitpicking and bickering. You make it too easy, and so what if he likes how you look when you’re mad? It doesn’t hurt anybody to put your mug in the stockroom and your lunch on a different shelf. If anything, he’s keeping you vigilant.
You don’t look vigilant. You don’t say anything as James sits back down, even though he hits his knee for the hundredth time on his desk. You usually love it. Sometimes when you’re tired he does it on purpose to give you a reason to keep going till 4:30.
“Are you okay?” James asks finally, eyeing your face. “You look funnier than usual.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” He should stop being mean. You look like you’re gonna pass out.
Remus peeks over his computer screen. “You don’t look well,” he says.
“I’m fine.” You roll your seat back.
James pushes back at the same time. “Wait a second–”
You’re standing before James can stop you, but he stands up anyways, and he takes your elbow into his hand though he shouldn’t. You give him the most peculiar look, almost like you’re enjoying his touch, just for those two seconds, before your chin dips down and your eyes squeeze closed, and all of you goes slack.
James grabs you at the precipice of a bad fall.
You’re still as a doll in his hands. He leans back with a quick sigh, his arm curling over the small of your back and upward. Your legs aren’t holding your weight, and you begin to slip.
James could keep you up, he doesn’t go to the gym for nothing, but Remus rushes to his aid and pushes your chair back, helping him set you down on the floor. “What do we do?” Remus asks urgently.
James puts his hand behind your head. You’re slack. When he touches your face, your skin is as hot as the heart of a furnace.
“Can you get some water?” he asks Remus.
James is peculiarly calm. He knows you’re just hot, it’s not uncommon for people to faint in high temperatures, and he’s honestly confident in his ability to look after you. It’s very sad to see you unwell, of course, and his heart is beating fast as he takes in your slack mouth.
“Hey, Y/N,” he says, cupping your cheek gently. He gives your face a little shake, reluctant to be rough with you while you’re vulnerable, even if some force would help. “Hey, can you hear me? You’re okay, can you open your eyes?”
Nothing. He leans down a touch to listen for your breath, and it’s fine, if a tad fast.
Remus comes back with a cup of water and Sirius, which is predictable but not super helpful. “Jesus,” Sirius says. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
“She’ll die of embarrassment,” Remus says.
“She’s coming around,” James says, patting your cheek, thrilled when your eyelashes twitch. “I think we should go into the break room, is it empty? We can sit her on the sofa.”
“You don’t think we should do something a bit more drastic?” Sirius asks.
James feels rather defensive of you. Remus is right, you would die of embarrassment if they called an ambulance, and he’s sure you’re fine. You have to be fine. “She just fainted, it’s so hot in here. Go open a window in the break room and we’ll wait for her to come around.”
Sirius glares playfully at being told what to do, but he goes, and Remus kneels down beside James with a cup of water. Someone from the front of the office asks if you’re alright, but James misses what they’re saying as you let out a whine.
All of a sudden, his attention is fully yours.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
Your eyes open slowly, lashes heavy like they’re thick with honey. You take in a deep, deep breath through your nose, and you blink, and you turn into his hand where it’s holding your cheek with all the familiarity of a lover. “James,” you mumble.
His stomach aches. He ignores it. “You okay? Can you look at me properly? I need to make sure you’re fine.”
“I’m fine,” you say, face pressed to his hand.
“Just look at me. Just for a second.”
You pull yourself with clear annoyance from his hand and open your eyes properly. He can pinpoint the moment you realise who he is, how you're touching, and he can’t explain the pang he gets when you rush up and away from his touch. “Oh, fuck,” you mumble, dropping your head, your fingers to your forehead and your thumb covering your eyes.
“Hey, don’t move around so much.” He continues to be soft. You might have realised who it is that’s trying to look after you, and you might not want him to, but he’ll be damned if he lets your bickering stop him from making sure you’re as okay as he’d claimed to everyone else. “Are you okay?”
“Did I…”
“You fainted. Don’t worry, I caught you. Take it easy, okay? Have this.”
He presses the cup of water into your hand.
Somewhere behind him, Remus has moved away, and is seemingly fending off the masses of people coming to offer assistance.
You see them looking at you behind him and cover your face.
James shuffles forward quickly. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna let anyone see you. I’m saving this embarrassment all for myself. Please drink your water.”
“Did everybody see me fall?”
“They saw us engaged in a loving cwtch. It was very romantic.”
You sip your water. In truth, you don’t look much better for passing out, and James can’t get the feeling of your face out of his hand. He wants to touch you again, his fingers hesitating an inch from your knee.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says. “You don’t control the weather. Do you?”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Then why are you sorry? It was alright. You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? We just want to make sure you’re okay. Sirius wanted to call an ambulance,” —you visibly baulk— “and I told him no, don’t worry. Then all the attention would be on you, and not me for my valiant rescue.”
“Was I heavy?” you ask, your mumbling nearly friendly.
“I can bench press two twenty.”
“That… doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“You’re nothing I couldn’t handle, shortcake. Do you think you can stand up? I’ll take you into the break room. You can lay down on the sofa.”
You make a soft sound James won’t soon forget and put your hand out for his help. He doesn’t have to force you. You don’t have to ask. He helps you stand and keeps an arm behind your back, shielding you from the worried and curious gazes of your coworkers.
You press your cheek to his chest.
Remus looks at you both like you’ve been body-snatched, but it’s too late to wuss out now.
#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x fem!reader#james potter x y/n#james potter x you#james potter fic#james potter fluff#james potter blurb#james potter drabble#james potter imagine#james potter fanfic#james potter fanfiction#james potter scenario#james potter oneshot#the marauders#marauders era#marauders
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Charles likes to spoil you and give you everything you want, you just need to pout and look at him with your big puppy eyes and he’s gone.
Max, however, is a little more stern and doesn’t give in so easily.
And that’s the beauty of your relationship.
The perfect balance.
Like that one time where you had been going out to dinner three nights in a row. Max has been okay with it because he’d missed you since they weren’t home for three weeks. But the fourth day when you came into the living room and sat down on Charles’ lap, Max immediately knew what you wanted and he had made up his mind the day before. You didn’t know, of course, so he just let you try to get your way with Charles while he played some FIFA.
Max knew Charles was a goner the minute you sat on his lap and began to tell him about how much you had missed him. And then Max had you both looking at him and pleading to go out. Again.
“We’re gonna stay here tonight and we’ll cook dinner together.” Max said, too concentrated with the game to look at you.
“But I missed you!” You pouted, snuggling closer, if that’s even possible, to your Monégasque boyfriend. “And I’ve been waiting for you to be back, so we can go to all this new places.”
Charles gave you a kiss on the forehead, “Max, she is right. We can go out tonight, non?”
Finally, Max paused the game and turned his body to look at you both.
“We are not going out.” His voice was stern but his expression soft. “We missed you too and we want to go out and visit all those new places. But we are not gonna expose ourselves to fans and photographers tonight. You understand, right?”
“Alright, Maxie.” You said, standing up from Charles’ lap and walking to your Dutch boyfriend to sit on his lap, and kiss his cheek.
Charles groaned, a little amused too, because how was that even possible.
Or that one time when you came home after one of your Pilates classes while they were cuddling on the couch watching an action movie. They immediately knew that something was going on when you stood in front of them with your hands behind your back and a sheepish look on your face.
“What did you do?” Max asked, brows furrowed.
“Remember when I showed you that picture of the puppy that was up for adoption?”
Charles sat up in a second, eyes wide and a smile making its way to his face.
“You didn’t.”
Then, you showed them what you were hiding behind your back: a dachshund puppy.
Max couldn’t deny that the puppy was very cute.
“Oh my god,” Charles stood up and with all the care in the world took the animal in his arms.
You and Max watched him whisper sweet nothings as the puppy licked his face.
“Can we keep it?” You asked, looking directly at Max. You knew Charles was more than happy to keep the puppy, it was your other boyfriend who you were worried about.
“Have you thought about what it means to have a puppy?” He immediately asked.
And god you love how he’s always been the voice of the reason in your relationship. Always thinking with a clear mind about the pros and cons, because if it were for you and Charles, you wouldn’t survive a day.
“You know how difficult it is with Jimmy and Sassy when we have to travel.”
You pout and look back at Charles who is too busy playing with the puppy to pay attention to what is going on. “I take care of them when you travel.”
“I know,” Max patted his thigh and you went willingly to sit on his lap. “But cats are more independent than dogs.”
“But I feel so alone when you’re not around.” At that, Max heart broke a little. He knew how alone you felt because you’ve had that conversation in the past. “And if I have to travel with you or something I can bring him with me.”
Max looked at his boyfriend only to find him already looking at him.
There was a silent exchange of words between them before Charles nodded and spoke.
“Max,” He said softly, leaving the new puppy on the carpet to sit next to his boyfriend. “We can have a puppy. She will make sure he gets along with Jimmy and Sassy, right, love?”
“Yes, absolutely! I looked up information about that and I can even train him.” The way your eyes lighted up and Charles looked at you so happy was enough to break Max.
He gave in.
The perfect balance.
Because Max can be strict and the responsible adult of the three of you when it’s needed, while Charles is the one who makes him remember that he doesn’t need to be like that all of the time.
#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#charles leclerc x reader#max verstappen x reader#lestappen x reader#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#charles leclerc fluff#max verstappen fluff#f1 imagine
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Hi! Party Planner! Danny has struck again.
——
Danny clambered onto the top of the building, eyes fixed onto the dimming Gotham City sky line. Electric blue eyes froze in concentration as his targets grappled into view. he quickly scaled the last rungs of the fire escape ladder to stumble onto the roof. Danny waved his arms, and his targets, catching sight of him mere moments later, began swinging towards him. Danny adjusted his bag strap.
“Hello, concerned citizen, what do you need assistance with?”
Danny faltered. Who the fuck was wearing Batman’s cowl?
Robin (with a sword) scowled at Batman before turning his attention back to Danny.
“Uh. Right,” Danny muttered, giving ‘Batman’ the most obvious and glaring side eye he could. Regardless, if the little Robin did not protest this Batman’s presence… it was good enough for him. “I’m a party planner.”
Robin spoke before Batman could. “And what of it?”
“The… uh, League of Evil or something, wait,” Danny fumbled while opening the bag and pulling out some papers. “Ah, Legion of Doom. Them.”
Little Robin and fake-Batman perked up. Fake-Batman tensed visibly. Danny grumbled. “Anyways, they’re contacting me- by they, I mean Lex Luthor- to see if I could plan a party in… God, why are Gotham’s names for shit so depressing?”
“Get on with it.” Little Robin snapped. Danny was reminded of Dani instantly and let it slide.
“Ah, right, they want me to plan a party in “Slaughter Swamp” on the seventh of next month. So… keep an eye on that, okay?” Danny asked Robin.
“Are you supposed to be telling us this?” Fake-Batman asked.
Danny shrugged, running a hand through his hair, practiced fingers brushing aside that little white streak of hair he got from the portal.
Little Robin’s gaze snapped up to his hair.
“It’s fine. They haven’t had me sign an NDA yet.” And, well, the devil is in the details but Danny is the devil.
“I’ll handle it.” Fake-Batman promised. Danny threw him a skeptical look.
“Uh-huh. Right.” He turned back to sword Robin, who looked torn between the supposed slight towards Batman and pride at Danny’s apparent trust in his abilities. “Look, here’s the stuff I have on them- copied them- and good luck and all that.”
He handed the file and some data in a usb stick to Robin, dipping away as soon as he could. He had a party to plan, and matching Luthor’s purple-gold aesthetic to Cheeta’s yellow and black spotted material wasn’t going to get done by themselves.
——
“Even the civilians outside of Gotham could tell you’re not Batman.” Damian scoffed as he watched their party planner slip back into his apartment.
“Hey, I thought I did pretty well!”
“I do not claim to know what hallucinogens you’ve inhaled, but do not come near me. I don’t want your stupidity to catch everyone else unawares.”
“Hey!”
“Get it together, Kryptonian. We still have half the night to patrol.”
Damian swung off, mind whirling along side Kent’s little hamster wheels for a brain. He’ll have to inform father. And Timothy. Red Robin had a grudge to settle with Scarecrow and will aid in Damian’s plot to obtain sugar gliders in exchange for the information. Yes.
——
Clark, thinking his Batman acting was bad: :(
Danny, has never met Batman: this can’t be Batman, he’s being midwestern polite
——
Also, I just want to say that the Flash has Georgia State patrol energy.
#batman#danny phantom#Damian Wayne#clark Kent#tbh it could prolly be another kryptonian guy#but still#Bruce Wayne#dcxdp#dpxdc#Danny’s midwestern senses pinging
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"Wanna come over and nap together?"
The first time you suggest it, Jason's bewildered. Nap together? You want to be temporarily unconscious... with him??
Jason's not a nap guy. Never has been. He's always awake, always alert. Even when Bruce took him in, Jason didn't nap. He thought it was childish but even more than that, he never felt relaxed enough to sleep in the middle of the day.
You love naps. Can't get enough of them. You were born sleepy. Done with work/school? Nap. Worn out after getting up early? Nap! Stayed up too late last night? Yeah, it's naptime.
You're always down to sleep. You feel bad sometimes because it can result in sleeping instead of hanging out. But your body needs the extra rest some days.
Jason thinks it's cute that you're his sleepy sweetheart. He admires how you listen to your body and rest. (Working with Batman makes you internalize his motto: rest is for the weak.)
So one day, after Jason's on patrol for 4 days in a row, and you know he hasn't been sleeping, you call him up. "Come nap with me."
Jason warns you that he's never been a napper. "I can come over and wait for you to wake up. Or I can watch you sleep. In a nice, loving way. Not in a creepy way."
You convince him to give it a chance. Just lie down. If you fall asleep before him, he can go do something else.
So Jason obliges. Lays down and lets you curl into him. Snuggles into your warmth. Smells your scent on the sheet, basks in the quiet.
And, for the first time in his life, Jason Todd takes a nap. For 2 and a half hours.
You wake up around the same time. Jason is slow to awaken, and, for the first time, his body isn't in fight or flight mode. He wakes up gently. He wakes up to you.
"So," you say, sitting up. You're nervous because you've got a pretty guy that you really like in your bed, and you're a little worried you kicked him in your sleep or something. "What's the verdict?"
Jason smiles, really smiles, and tugs you back into his arms.
"I had no idea what I was missin'," he says, putting his face in your neck. "Can we do this again? Same time tomorrow?"
#jason todd x reader#red hood x reader#inspired by me. a nap girl. i feel like id be self conscious about being so sleepy cuz i think jasons all GO GO GO bc of bruce#meanwhile jasons in awe that his partner sleeps so much. so regularly. and feels so safe with him 🥹#jason todd x you#red hood x you#batman fanfiction
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Loss
Hardersson x Child!Reader
Part of The Big Adventures Universe
Summary: You lose
You wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
You wanted to take all your gloves and throw them into the fire and just watch them burn.
What use is a keeper that can't stop goals anyway?
Three goals went passed you today. Four if you count the one that was ruled offside.
Three balls shot passed you in the semifinal of the FA Cup. Arsenal would not be going to the final.
Faith had been put on you to carry the team through but you had fallen at the first hurdle.
A shot fired at you from point blank range in the first five minutes.
It skimmed your gloves and buried itself into your net.
The second came from a corner. A header that went just past your outstretched fingertips.
The third was during the second half. A cross into your box and a shot that zoomed past your body.
The fourth goal, the one called offside, had been whipped in just in front of you after you came out of your goal to collect.
It was a shocking performance from you and you fell face forward onto your bed to scream into your pillow.
Your phone keeps ringing and you know who it is.
You ignore it, turning your head so you can stare at your bedside table.
You watch your phone ring over and over again. The screen lights up and then goes dark again. It repeats again and again but all you can do is stare.
You don't want to think about the match. You want to crawl under your sheets and just die.
You've got to go out to get groceries tomorrow. You don't know how you're going to show your face in public.
Your performance was so embarrassing.
Your coach shouldn't have thought that putting an eighteen year old as keeper was a good idea. His faith in your ability was unfounded and you wonder briefly if it's too late to go back to school for something other than football.
You didn't think you needed a backup option. Football was everything to you. Football was your whole life.
You don't know what you're going to do without football.
Your phone rings again and you flip it over so you can't see the screen anymore.
Rocky looks back at you from his spot on your bedside table.
"Don't," You say to him," Don't look at me like that."
His blank googly eyes stare back at you.
"Stop it."
He keeps staring.
Your hand closes around him and your arm rears back in anger.
Rocky collides with your bedroom wall, clattering to the floor.
You scream into your pillow, forcing yourself not to cry.
You know everyone is going to be talking about your bad performance today. You knew you single-handedly sunk Arsenal's dream of the FA Cup this year.
Your phone rings again and again and you wish you had turned off your sound.
You never realised how annoying your ringtone was. If you remember when you wake up tomorrow, you'll have to change it.
The stupid jingle runs through your ears like how those goals run through your mind.
"I don't want to talk," You say when you finally gain the courage to answer your phone after watching it ring for at least an hour.
"Princesse-"
"No," You cut her off firmly," I don't want to talk. Stop calling me."
"No," Momma says," I watched the match-"
"I don't want to talk!" You insist," Why can't you leave me alone?!"
"Princ-"
"Stop it!" You say, tears running down your cheeks," Just stop!"
"It's not the end of the world." That's Morsa now.
"You weren't there! You don't know!"
"You think I haven't lost matches?" Comes Morsa's dry voice," I know all about losing, princesse. It's one match out of countless others. You'll get them next year."
"I don't want to get them next year!" You spit back," I wanted to get them this year!
"And that didn't work out," Momma says to you gently," And that's okay."
A sob rips through your throat. "Momma, I played so badly."
"You're still young," Momma says," You're never going to have a perfect game all season. It was unfortunate that it was today but it is what it is. You'll spend the weekend sulking about it but you'll improve yourself. You'll get better next time."
You crouch on your bedroom floor, picking up Rocky and wiping off the dirt from him.
One of his googly eyes has fallen off so you stick it back on.
"It's not just your fault," Morsa says," You're in a team sport, princesse. The blame never falls on one person's shoulders. You're still young. You've proven yourself to your team. One bad match doesn't ruin everything. You'll improve."
You wipe away your tears, clenching your fist around Rocky. "Really?"
"Of course. You're going to be great one day but you need to stumble a bit first. Learn from your mistakes and you'll get them next time."
You sniffle. "Thanks."
"Good girl," Momma says," Now, I want you to order food tonight, alright? You had a hard day. Treat yourself."
"I will."
"We love you."
"Love you too."
You look down at the rock in your hand and wince. "Sorry I threw you, Rocky. It won't happen again."
#woso x reader#hardersson x reader#pernille harder x reader#pernille harder#magdalena eriksson x reader#magdalena eriksson#woso community#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso#the big adventures universe
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HARD THOUGHT !
pairing: jungwon x fem!reader
cw: smut, cunnilingus, fingering, squirting, usage of nicknames.
warning: 18+ content, minors dni
a/n: this was requested by anonnie! i hope you enjoy <3
“Don’t fucking move,” Jungwon groans right against your cunt, sending the vibrations up your spine as he spread your folds with his fingers, caressing your clit teasingly, looking up at you for just a second—his lips wet with his drool and your juices, dripping down his chin, “don’t you dare move, kitten,” he chuckles, his gaze dark as he holds on to your thighs tight enough for it to bruise later.
When you said you needed a release, this is exactly what you had asked for. Exam season stressed you out beyond words, and after the last exam of the subject you hated the most, there was no way you’d act calm, especially when Jungwon came to pick you up, clad in the white button up which was attractive as it is, but he had to go a step further by rolling up his sleeves which did nothing to hide his veiny hands.
“You did so well on your exams, let me reward you now, hm?” He said, eyes focused on finding the perfect spot to park his car, his hand squeezing your thigh wasn’t helping either, a low whine leaving your lips, and even though your eyes were closed, you could clearly feel him smirking as he stopped the car.
“Get in the back,” he whispered.
And that’s how you found yourself all spread out for Jungwon, even in the little room that the backseat provided, he made it all work. With your arched back pressed against the door, you tugged on his hair harder, a growl leaving his mouth with how immersed he was in pushing his tongue inside your hole, his rough thumb pad taking care of your clit in a speed which had your legs feeling weak.
“J—Jungwon,” you whined, causing him to hum and chuckle as he felt your body shaking.
He couldn’t help but dig his fingers in the flesh of your thighs, pushing his face closer to your cunt, as if he wanted to suffocate between your legs.
The sensation coursed through your body, your toes curling as the windows started fogging up with your activities and Jungwon had no intentions to stop, lapping up your cunt as if he’d be waiting ages to do this, to taste you, and somehow, each lick and flick of his tongue on your clit felt more intense than the previous one.
“You did so well, so fucking well, kitten,” he mumbled, hair messy as you kept on moaning louder, chanting his name as your thighs shook and you squirmed, but his hold on you was tight enough for you to stay in your place. He could care less about your cunt dripping all over his car seats, he only had one thing in his mind—your cunt.
It was as if he was addicted to your taste, and he ate you out like he meant it, making sure that your whole body could feel his desperation, your mind numbing as you approached your high, and Jungwon wasn’t going to stop, not even when you were throwing your head back and biting your first to stop your moans.
“Fucking hell, let me hear your moans,” he cussed, slapping your cunt while staring at you with dark eyes—a warning for you to behave. You couldn’t help but listen, somehow moaning even louder than before, trying to grab something, anything, which is why you tugged on his hair again, causing him to suck on your clit while fucking his fingers into your wet cunt, still not stopping.
“Jungwon, please,” you cried out, and he only went harder, using his two fingers and thrusting them into your hole so hard, you felt as if you were seeing stars, your sounds reverberating and your mind blanking out even more as he went on, so fucking needy to have a taste of you, and you knew you were gone the second he curled his fingers in your cunt. The last bit of sanity left your body as you squirmed and squirted all over his fingers while he only chuckled and rubbed your clit with his fingers, loving the sight in front of him, letting you breathe for just a second before asking:
“Ready for round two, kitten?”
© Jaylaxies | tumblr
#ria:thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enhypen smut#enha smut#jungwon smit#jungwon hard hours#enhypen scenarios
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heyyy!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work and this is my first time sending a request so sorry if it’s not very specific 😭💕
If you’re still doing requests, I was wondering if you could do a fem reader x Spencer Reid where it’s similar to your cryptic pregnancy one, except Spencer is at home with her when she’s in labour without realising, and she’s just in a lot of pain and it all of a sudden gets worse and she’s just in the bathroom shouting for Spencer, he comes in and eventually works out what’s going on, readers sort of in denial? Maybe the ambulance doesn’t get there in time so Spencer has to help her give birth? Lots of fluff and hurt/comfort :)
Also completely fine if your not comfortable doing it, but again really love your work and hope you have a great day 💕 :)
three's a family | S.R.
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: fluff
content warnings: cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, precipitous labor, hospitals, medical inaccuracy (its just me and google against the world), takes place after 9x7 "gatekeeper", surgery, near death experiences, periods, home birth
word count: 3.16k
a/n: anon i'll be so honest with u i wasn't sure if i was gonna write this but then i learned what precipitous labor was and i was like "i would not wish this on my worst enemy... i'm going to force it on y/n" BUT please keep in mind that there is a .000012 probability of this happening to you (i did the math) this is the wildest thing ive written to date i think
“I’m going to try a bath,” you murmured over to Spencer, wincing as you dragged yourself out of bed, walking at a turtle’s pace to the bathroom, hoping the warm water would soothe the cramps away.
Your period came and went as it pleased; it was just your luck that it decided to give you debilitating cramps on your one day off. Padding on the tile floor behind you, Spencer leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, “I could run to the store and get a new heating pad.”
Sticking your hand under the tap to check the temperature, you plugged the drain once you found it to be satisfactory. You shook your head, “No, it’s fine.” Your original heating pad must’ve gotten lost somewhere in the depths of your storage closet, but you didn’t have the patience to look for it. You could manage just fine without it.
“Will you let me know if you need anything?” He asked, leaning forward to press a comforting kiss to your forehead.
Nodding, you hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them down, watching as Spencer pointedly flicked the bathroom fan on – something you often forgot to do.
You lasted about thirty minutes in the bath, not only was the water beginning to grow lukewarm, but if anything, your cramps were getting worse while submerged in the water. Grunting, you reached over and tugged the plug from the drain, watching as the water drained, you managed to pull yourself to a squat before you felt stuck.
Aunt Flo really had it out for you this month.
Burying your face in your hands you accepted defeat and called out for Spencer, reaching up and trying to stand again, but only succeeding in knocking over several shampoo bottles. “Spence!” You tried again, white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub as you bowed your head. A creeping feeling that this wasn’t your period was beginning to rise.
You listened as your husband made his way up the stairs, turning the corner into your room, and opening the door to the ensuite. Moving quickly, Spencer dropped to a crouch in front of you, cupping your pained face in his hands, “I don’t think this is your period, angel.”
Clamping your lips together to prevent yourself from crying out, you simply nodded in response. How awful was it that you were going to die, naked, in your bathtub?
Spencer wiped tears away from under your eyes – you hadn’t even realized you started crying. “What does it feel like, darling? What else could it be?” He asked, voice urgent but gentle as he tried to stop you from panicking.
As you shook your head, you couldn’t focus on anything else besides your breathing as another pain rose up through you. “It’s like a cramp, but with more pressure,” you said, depending on the bathtub and Spencer to keep you upright as your legs shook beneath you. “Like something’s pushing on me, kind of like I have to shit.”
Reaching behind him, Spencer dug through one of the drawers in the bathroom vanity before retrieving the handheld mirror that you used when you cut his hair. Before you could ask what he was doing, he placed the mirror at the bottom of the tub, just beneath you. “I think you’re in labor,” he announced, breaking the news to you.
“There’s no– fuck,” your voice broke off as you dropped your head onto Spencer’s shoulder, breathing through what was apparently a contraction. “I’m not pregnant,” you insisted as your symptoms started to make sense. You had been in labor all morning.
Nodding to himself, Spencer quickly kissed your cheek before standing up and making sure you were stable before stepping to the side.
You frowned as you looked up at him, “Where are you going?”
He didn’t go far, opening the linen closet and piling towels into his arms, “I’m getting towels to put in the tub beneath you, and then I’m going to call an ambulance.”
“You want me to give birth in our bathtub?” You asked, furrowing your brows quizzically before letting out a low whine as another contraction hit.
Stopping what he was doing, Spencer dropped down to you, running the flat of his palm up and down your back as he gently reminded you to breathe. “Did you want to change positions?”
Immediately, you shook your head. You already had an insurmountable task ahead of you and you saw no reason to add to that task by trying to move. “This is fine. Squatting is good, right?”
Nodding assuredly, Spencer smoothed your hair away from your face, “Gravity can help the baby descend the birth canal, and some people even say that the position can increase the pelvic diameter.”
While you were currently less concerned with the diameter of your pelvis and more concerned with feeling like your body was being split open, you continued going through the motions as he called for an ambulance, trying to explain the situation to the dispatcher.
“Have you been timing your contractions?” Spencer asked, tilting his head at you curiously as the dispatcher spoke on the phone.
Releasing a groan, you gripped the ledge of the tub, “I didn’t know they were contractions!”
Relaying that information over the phone, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of it.” He continued to reassure you, taking one look at your desperate expression before ending the call with the dispatcher.
He understood that you were vulnerable right now, and you didn’t want that broadcasted to a stranger on the phone. If you weren’t so preoccupied with remembering to breathe, you’d be more grateful. After a contraction ebbed away, Spencer stood up.
“I have to go unlock the door for the paramedics,” he told you, keeping a wary eye on you. “I’ll be right back,” he comforted you as he took one last look at you before tearing out of the bathroom.
In record speed, he returned to the bathroom as promised, “It’s bad,” you cried, the pressure on your pelvis becoming insufferable.
Crouching in front of you, Spencer studied your face before he spoke carefully, “I have to check your cervix.”
Despite his carefully chosen words, your lips still parted in shock, “You have to what?”
“I’ll use my hand to measure how dilated you are, and then… we’ll go from there,” he told you, nodding almost imperceptibly. At this point, you weren’t sure who he was trying to reassure – you or him. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” you answered instantly, “indefinitely.”
You bit down on your lip as you let Spencer check you, understanding entirely why people choose to get epidurals – this was horribly uncomfortable. “On the next contraction, you need to push, okay?”
For just a moment, your breathing faltered as your scared eyes met his, “Spence, wait,” you pleaded.
Smoothing your hair back, your husband did everything he could to comfort you, “What is it, love?” He asked, his voice soft.
“I’m scared,” you confessed, voice cracking ever so slightly as tears flooded your lash line.
He leaned forward to gently kiss your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours, "I've got you. You're going to be fine. You're both going to be fine."
You could see his carotid pounding, and somehow the fact that he was secretly as scared as you was more comforting than the words that came from his mouth. As you pushed, you focused on everything that Spencer was saying instead of the pain. Don’t push for more than eight seconds. Remember to breathe. Your body will know what to do. I love you. I love you. I love you.
By the time Spencer was saying something about the head, your hearing had gone muffled. “You’re doing so well, baby,” you made out his voice and nodded dazedly. “You’re wonderful. I’m so proud of you – just a little more,” he cajoled.
Taking a moment to breathe, your ears and eyes focused as shaky breaths filled your lungs.
“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on your bare shoulder as he comforted you, continuing to keep you upright.
You shook your head, sniffling as your eyes screwed shut, “You’re perfect. Don’t stop. Keep talking,” you begged, needing something to focus on other than the pain.
“There’s about a point zero four percent chance of you getting pregnant and not finding out until you’re in labor,” he told you, hoping that the information would help you wrap your head around what was happening to you. “One to three in one hundred people have a precipitous labor,” he continued to speak as you pushed, and you wondered what the odds of you squeezing his hand so hard that you did damage were.
Against your better judgment, you looked down to check your progress, “Holy fuck,” you said breathlessly. You weren’t entirely clueless, you knew that once you got past the shoulders the remaining pushes would be easier. You also found yourself grateful that Spencer knew what he was doing – this was, after all, the second baby he had delivered.
You bore down, determined to get the baby out while Spencer untangled your hands, bringing his own down to catch the baby. Out of breath, you panted heavily as you started to feel lightheaded. “Done,” Spencer said quickly, “it’s done. I have him.”
Carefully, Spencer held the baby along the length of his forearm, rubbing the tiny newborn’s back. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, and it dawned on you that the baby wasn’t crying.
At the realization, your legs finally gave out from beneath you, watching with wide eyes as Spencer tried to clear your son’s lungs. White hot tears streamed down your face as you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You took a gasping breath as you silently pleaded for a cry, “I didn’t know,” you sobbed, guilt building a pit in your stomach.
With bleary eyes, you looked on as the baby finally spluttered and let out a wail. “There you go,” Spencer cooed softly, his own voice stiff with emotion as he cradled the baby and handed him off to you.
You were still sobbing as you held the baby to your chest, “I’m so sorry,” you continued to babble, watching as Spencer briefly disappeared into the bedroom before returning with a blanket and wrapping it around the both of you. While holding the baby, your vision started to blur around the edges.
Watching you intently, Spencer cupped your face in his hands, “I love you.”
Nodding, your face crumpled before you responded, “I love you too.”
When the paramedics announced themselves, Spencer called out for them, not wanting to leave your side. The two of you focused your attention on the wriggling baby in your arms.
He was premature – too little to stay with you in the recovery room. The NICU doctor had estimated that he was born at approximately 32 weeks, meaning he’d likely need to spend a few weeks in intensive care. “I want to see him,” you said insistently, looking over as Spencer as he fussed over you.
“You just had abdominal surgery,” Spencer responded simply, as if that was meant to clarify everything for you. He continued fluffing your pillow, which wasn’t entirely productive considering you were lying on the pillow.
As it turned out, you had experienced what was called a precipitous birth, or a rapid birth. It tended to be dangerous, and the fact that you did it in your bathtub only heightened that danger. You reached your arm out for Spencer, “c’mere,” you muttered, trying to get him to stop fretting. “Did you listen to anything that the doctor just said?”
Spencer nodded in understanding, “Lots of rest, no physical exertion, IV medication for now-“
“Did you hear the part where he said I was going to be okay?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him curiously, you watched as he took your hand in his and sat on the edge of your bed. “I’m going to be fine,” your voice was determined, you had a few small incisions on your abdomen from the surgery to repair a tear in your uterus. “Thank you for looking after me,” you whispered.
Your husband gently smoothed your hair back from your face, “I should’ve noticed it sooner.”
Using all of your strength, you squeezed his hand comfortingly, “You were incredible,” you assured him. “If it weren’t for you, neither of us would’ve made it.”
He shook his head, “Don’t say that.”
Raising your eyebrows, you cocked your head to the side, “It’s true. I couldn’t have done it on my own, I’m so, so thankful for you, my love.”
You had passed out in the ambulance as a direct result of blood loss, so you were brought to a trauma bay as soon as you made it to the hospital. Once they were in the ER, the baby was taken to the NICU, leaving Spencer with a lot of decisions to make.
When you woke up in the recovery room, the first thing you did was ask about the baby.
Spencer, of course, had been up to see him. The nurses claimed he seemed like a fighter, and Spencer knew the survival odds of a 32-weeker, so he turned his attention to you. Every other option had already failed, so the next option was a laparoscopy. Your husband admitted that while it seemed extreme, the very last choice was a hysterectomy, and he didn’t want to make that decision.
Furrowing your brows, “When can I see the baby?” You asked, not entirely sure how to refer to the infant just yet. It wasn’t until then that you realized you needed to name him at some point – your son.
“Once your blood pressure goes up,” Spencer told you with an authoritative tone. “You lost a lot of blood in the ambulance, but the blood transfusions will bring your blood pressure back up.”
Tilting your head to the side, you glared at your husband, “And is this rule from a doctor with a medical degree or a doctor whose name is on my marriage certificate?”
In response, Spencer shrugged, sitting in the beige armchair at the side of your bed, “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”
You rolled your eyes dismissively, “Will you go see him?”
He leaned over the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his. “I can, will you be alright on your own?”
Nodding almost imperceptibly, you squeezed his hand affectionately, “I just don’t want him to be alone.” You whispered as tears pricked your eyes, you took your free hand and waved at your face, “god, what’s wrong with me?”
“A sudden drop of estrogen and progesterone immediately following birth causes mood swings. Nothing is wrong with you, your body is acting naturally,” Spencer explained patiently, dropping a gentle kiss on your lips.
You sighed before melting back into your pillows, “At least something about this feels natural,” you responded. Your brain felt like a spinning top, while your body felt like you were being weighed down by an elephant in a commercial for COPD medication.
The fact that the NICU nurse informed you that your son had a ninety-five percent chance of living a completely normal life did nothing to calm your nerves. He’d have to stay in the NICU for a few weeks and you tried to convince yourself that the extra time to prepare for him to come home would be good for you, but the idea of leaving him alone at the hospital – save for a small army of doctors and nurses – put a pit of dread in your chest.
Spencer had the forethought to warn you about the tubes and wires that he was hooked up to, ranging from oxygen to a feeding tube. “He’s been undergoing red light therapy to be treated for jaundice, but you can hold him for a while if you want to,” the nurse told you, leading the both of you through the NICU as Spencer steered your wheelchair through the hospital.
Your breathing hitched when you finally saw him, this tiny stowaway that had been growing inside of you for the last several months, and he was just so little. While you were still in your own room, you had convinced yourself that you’d hold him, but now you weren’t so convinced.
According to the sign in his room, he weighed three pounds and ten ounces and was sixteen inches long. He was sound asleep in an incubator, a small hat on top of his head, “Spence,” you breathed.
Behind you, your husband placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I know.”
“Did you want to hold him?” The nurse asked you gently, looking over at one of the machines that he was hooked up to.
Genuinely, you didn’t know. “Is… is that okay?” You asked, wiping your sweaty palms on the blanket draped across your legs.
The nurse gave you a knowing look, “Even better than okay, it’ll be good for him to have that kind of contact from both of his parents.”
Frowning, you watched as it took two nurses to break him out of his acrylic prison before they carefully placed him on your chest, making sure you were okay before they stepped back. Your movements were stiff at first, you had never held a baby this small before, but you eventually remembered to breathe and gently cooed at the baby in your arms.
Spencer crouched down next to you and started to ask the nurse a bunch of questions that he had likely been holding in for hours, but you just kept your eyes on the sleeping baby. He was too small to open his eyes, but everyone assured you that he’d get there.
The nurse stepped out to give you some privacy, leaving the door open just in case you needed something, “This doesn’t seem quite as difficult while I’m holding him.” You knew there was a steep learning curve ahead, but with a newborn on your chest, the pit in your heart dissipated.
“That’s called oxytocin,” Spencer said, sitting in a chair, eyes fixated on the infant in your arms.
Humming, you skimmed the pad of your thumb across your son’s tiny back, “He looks like you,” you observed quietly, they had the same nose.
Your husband smiled softly, “You can’t possibly tell which parent he takes after yet,” he informed you.
“And yet, I know he looks like you,” you insisted softly, and Spencer didn’t push back. “You look like your daddy,” you whispered to the baby, “he was the first one to hold you, you know?” You looked over at Spencer, “he’s been my superhero for four years, and now he gets to be yours too.”
#criminal minds#spencer reid#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#written by margot#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds angst#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fic#dr spencer reid#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds hurt/comfort#spencer reid hurt/comfort#spencer reid dilf agenda#margot's requests
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JUJUTSU BOYS + PDA
how the jjk boys are when you're in public with them
including: gojo, nanami, choso, yuuji, megumi, maki
word count: 3.6k (500-600 words for one character)
cw: intended as canon compliant, established relationships, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, public demonstrations of affection, can't think of anything else tbh
a/n: been reading some fics in this format so wanted to try my hand at it again. it's been years since I wrote short pieces like that, so I hope you'll enjoy them!
GOJO
Gojo has no concept of personal space, and that is something you had to get used to since you started dating — if anything, since before you started dating. Even when the two of you were at a more flirtatious stage, he’d always be leaning towards you to talk to you, face inches away from yours, hands on your hips if he needed to move past you, arm casually around you if you were sitting next to each other. It was all the better if it flustered you.
None of this has changed, except that he’s much more extra about it now. Holding your hand while walking? Nah, that’s boring. He’ll have his arm around your shoulders, even if it’s not convenient given the height difference. He’ll also try to put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, pout if you tell him not to do it. If you’re waiting in line with him, he has both of his arms around you, is resting his chin on top of your head, and wants nothing more than for you to lean back into his chest, relaxing into his embrace. You can both be doing totally unrelated things — you’re reading and he’s checking his phone — but you’re slotted against each other, and that’s how it is ideally for you.
You’re waiting for him to show up to your date when you feel yourself surrounded by familiar arms, and then his cheek is pressing against yours as he surveys the book you’re holding in your hands.
“Whatch’ya reading?” he asks, breath warm against your cheek.
“Just doing some research on emerging curses,” you say with a shrug as you close it and put it in your bag. “So, did you want to check out that new bakery?”
He hums in reply, and you wait for him to move so you can start walking.
He doesn’t.
“…do you plan on letting go of me?” you ask after a while, turning your head to look at him.
He pouts at you, inches away from your face.
“I haven’t even gotten a kiss yet…”
“We’re in public, Satoru,” you say, feeling your face heating up.
“So? Let ‘em stare. They might as well, if you ask me.”
You want to roll your eyes — one day, you’ll have to talk about that exhibitionist streak of his — but in the meantime, you just have to crane your neck a little to peck his lips. They’re soft, as always, and he follows greedily when you pull away, his hand coming up to tilt your chin up gently as he presses more kisses on the corner of your lips, then on your cheek.
“You’re impossible,” you say, badly hiding your laughter. “Let’s go, or we won’t make it to closing time. You’re late, by the way.”
He lets out a heartbroken sigh, but finally frees you, keeping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you start walking towards the bakery. He keeps his strides short, so you don’t have to run to keep up with him, instead allowing you to keep a comfortable pace.
“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m just too good at my job, they can never get enough of me.”
“Aw, poor darling,” you say. You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and bring it to your lips to press a kiss on the back.
He lets out a cough that doesn’t do much to disguise the fact that he’s getting flustered, and you grin, satisfied. Two can play that game.
Fortunately, neither Satoru nor you have any intention of forfeiting any time soon.
NANAMI
Nanami is a private man. There is no reason for the whole world to know his business, and he doesn’t feel the need to put his relationship on display for everyone to see. His softness for you is still plain to see in how gentle his voice gets when he speaks to you, in how carefully he chooses his words, in how fond his eyes are when he listens to you tell him about your day. He knows you like him holding your hand, though, so he’ll indulge you, especially when you’re walking by his side through crowded streets.
That is for practical reasons, of course. First, it just wouldn’t do to lose sight of you. Second, people tend to steer clear of him, his serious expression and his broad frame, and that means they realize quickly to steer clear of you. It has nothing to do with how soft your hand is in his, or how the way you use your thumb to stroke his skin sends shivers down his back.
“That’s a lovely restaurant,” you comment, eyes drinking in the elegant decor while Nanami is examining the menu.
“It had excellent reviews,” he answers, not going into details as to the great lengths he’d gone to in order to ensure that this date was as perfect as humanly possible.
“I’ve been in the neighborhood so many times, and I had no idea this was here,” you say. The place is very small, only a handful of tables, all of them now filled. You’re sharing an alcove with Nanami, creating some distance with other customers.
“There aren’t many tables available, so they don’t advertise much,” he explains as he sets the menu down. “But they’re known for their excellent cuisine.”
You give him a smile, then lean closer to him to kiss him on the cheek. Your lips linger just a little too long, and then you move them close to his ear, which is already turning quite red.
“Thank you for planning all that,” you say sweetly. “It looks wonderful.”
He clears his throat when you pull away, avoiding your eyes.
“Of course,” he answers, voice wavering imperceptibly. “Anything for you.”
And you know he means it, too.
Under the table, his hand finds your leg, large palm easily covering your knee while calloused fingers carefully rub your calf. You bite your lip, welcome the warmth that spreads in your body. You know Kento well enough to be sure that that’s as far as he’ll go, that he wouldn’t dare to do anything more in such a public setting, and that makes you enjoy the intimacy of the gesture all the more.
Later that night, while the two of you are walking out, his jacket is around your shoulder at his insistence — “It’s cold outside” — and he’s getting ready to call a taxi.
“Kento?”
He lowers the phone to look at you, and you push yourself on your tiptoe, hand closing around his tie to pull him down towards you.
It’s late at night, he tells himself. There’s no one around, he tells himself. That’s why he closes his eyes and allows himself to melt into the kiss, regretting it when you pull away too soon and catching himself before he grabs you by the hips to get you closer to him.
“I had a great evening,” you say. “Should we take this to somewhere more private?”
How much more merciless can you get?
“Certainly,” he says. “Just give me a second.”
There is nothing he can deny you.
CHOSO
Choso cannot wrap his head around what he can and cannot do around you. The rules for what is proper, what is acceptable, have shifted so much since he was last around, and he would die before he embarrassed you — or worse, before he did something that would make you push him away. He knows that you wouldn’t, and yet the fear is like a weight that tugs on his heart every time he thinks about it. He walks by your side, glancing at your hand that’s freely hanging between the two of you, and though he brushes his knuckles against yours, he just cannot bring himself to do it. It’s to the point where it’s the only thing he’s thinking about — and he just can’t do it.
Then you see something that catches your eye and you grab his hand and pull him with you in that direction, and he thinks his heart could just fall out of his chest. You make it look so easy, so natural, being with him coming as easy to you as breathing, and he couldn’t possibly ask for more. It takes him many other tries, many other dates, before he can take your hand in his. When he does, you glance down in surprise, then grin at him, and kiss his knuckles softly — and he’s so happy he could die.
“So,” you say, sitting on the park bench, knee pressed against his while you’re leaning into him to show him your phone, your hair tickling his neck, “that’s the movies they have on tonight. Think we should call Yuuji to ask him what to watch?”
“Hm,” Choso says, not really focusing on anything you’re talking about, not when you’re this close to him, “isn’t— isn’t that the one franchise he’s always talking about?”
You burst out laughing, then rest your head on his shoulder.
“No offense, babe, but there is no one in the world I’d go see a Human Earthworm movie for. Even if this one is supposed to have romance in it,” you shudder at the thought, “I’d like to go see something actually. You know. Watchable.”
Choso’s mind is going in overdrive. You’re so close, and he knows he should have gotten used to this by now. He isn’t usually like this, but some passers-by are looking — not necessarily being judgmental, though there was an old lady earlier who scoffed and shook her head, but… looking.
“Then I don’t know if Yuuji is going to be much help,” he manages to say as you keep scrolling on the cinema’s website.
“That’s fair,” you sigh, standing up from the bench, and even if he can now think again, he misses your warmth and your smell right away. “Well, maybe we drop the movie and just go get something to eat, what do you say?
“Sounds good,” he answers, standing up after you.
Hesitantly, almost clumsily, he reaches for your hand, fingertips brushing against your thigh as he does, then tightens his grip around your palm, ensuring that it wouldn’t slip away from you. You give him a fond smile, then take a step to get closer to him, and kiss him gently. His breath hitches, and his eyes dart around the mostly empty park.
“T-there’s people around,” he says quietly, and he hates that you step back to look around.
“Oh, sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”
He takes your hand to pull you with him, and you follow him through the grass as he finds a more secluded spot, behind a tree.
“There,” he says, and you chuckle at how satisfied with himself he sounds.
“Oh Choso,” you coo, leaning against the tree while you grab his shirt to pull him down towards you. His mouth is warm, eager, and his cheeks remain a fierce shade of red as he kisses you back insistently.
You would have missed the beginning of the movie anyway.
YUUJI
The thing about Yuuji is that any type of public demonstration of affection feels so natural coming from him. It’s almost never meant to be suggestive, it’s not something he thinks through, it’s just something he does. You’ll be sitting with Nobara when he appears, and he just puts his arm around you while talking to her, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You’re walking with him when he lifts his head up like he’s forgotten something, and what he forgot was to hold your hand, silly him.
If you walk by him while he’s sitting, he’ll grab your hips to pull you in his laps, fingers rubbing circles on the skin of your arms, absent-mindedly playing with your fingers as he holds your hand. After all, why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t even realize that it flusters you, and it just feels so natural for him to show his affection like that. He’ll look at you with stars in his eyes while you speak, not seeming to realize that his face is so close to him while you’re sitting in his lap.
No one pays attention to it anymore. You arrive just as Nobara is starting the movie — she’s putting on an action movie, thank you very much, even if Gojo just bought the collector edition of Human Earthworm 4 for Yuuji, with the director’s cut — and with all the students crammed in the room, including Panda, who’s taking most of the space on the couch, there’s nowhere left for you to sit.
“Come here,” Yuuji says cheerfully, waving you towards the armchair where he’s found his spot, “it’s about to start.”
You glance around the room for a reaction, but no one is paying you any mind. You walk over to him, perching yourself on one of the arms, legs over his. He doesn’t seem puzzled by it, just puts an arm around your waist casually.
Of course, you end up still sitting in his lap eventually, just slipping in it at some point in the movie. Can you be blamed? He’s warm and comfortable, and he wraps both arms around you so he can tuck his chin in the crook of your shoulder, nose brushing against your cheek when he turns his head. Not that he seems to notice how it makes your pulse quickens, eyes focused on the movie.
“What are the themes even supposed to be,” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows knitting together in annoyance.
“’Military good’?” you suggest quietly as a guy gets blown up on screen.
“The first half of the movie was about military bad,” he protests. “They can’t just act like that never existed.”
“Would you two shut up,” Nobara shouts from her spot, “or Maki will come beat you up!”
The two of you pipe down, knowing the threat is very serious and not one to take lightly.
When the movie ends, everyone gets up, stretching, but you’ve gotten comfortable against Yuuji’s chest, and you don’t feel like doing that just yet.
“That was terrible,” Yuuji comments, and you let out a brief laugh. Gojo has somehow made a cinephile out of him, and you love how worked up he gets over that stuff.
“Yeah, we should have been watching Human Earthworm 4 instead,” you say.
“Exact— oh, you’re making fun of him.”
You giggle, then tilt your head to kiss him. For a second, he freezes, eyes going wide. Kissing is the one thing he rarely initiates — but when you do, you get to see his gaze soften, before his whole body goes soft. His hold on your waist tightens — and then a pillow thrown with impressive precision hits him, and only him, on the ear.
“Not in public,” Maki shouts from all the way into the kitchen.
“Hey,” your boyfriend protests, “I’m not the one who—”
“You’re such a traitor,” you gasp, struggling to pull yourself free from his arms — but it’s no use against his strength, and he refuses to let go.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Now, where were we?”
You might have been at fault for the first pillow, but that second one is all on him, as far as you’re concerned.
MEGUMI
Megumi is a private guy. He can be affectionate in public, but there is a side of him that he only wants you to see. He especially doesn’t want any of your nosy friends, or worse, his adoptive dad to see how he can be around you. They would never stop teasing him after, and he doesn’t think he could live with that.
Or that they could live with that. Because he’d kill them.
It does annoy him that he’s supposed to deny himself because of them. If it was up to him, he’d spend most of his time alone with you, preferably in a small house in the middle of a forest with no one around, no curses, no sorcerers, no nothing. That, sadly, isn’t an option though, so he has to find his own way to do things.
“Don’t move,” he says sternly. “You have something on your face.”
You roll your eyes, but tilt your head up towards him, as he carefully runs his thumb under your eye, then over your cheek, blowing on it once it’s done.
“What was it?” you ask.
“Just an eyelash,” he says with a shrug. “You’re good now.”
You study him, waiting for him to give something away, but he doesn’t, just staring at you with the same expression he always wears.
“Should we get going?” he asks. “I thought we were supposed to catch a movie.”
“Sure,” you relent. “We should get moving.”
The streets are quite full at this time of the day, and you have to step aside frequently to let people pass, sometimes losing sight of Megumi. Eventually, with a sigh, he grabs your hand, pulling you with him as he walks, sending murderous glares to anyone who stays in his path.
“You’re going to get lost at this rate,” he mutters as he pulls you with him.
“I mean, worst case scenario we meet back at the theater,” you say, and you grin at the offended look he gives you. He notices it, but doesn’t answer, a light pink dusting his cheek as he glances away.
He hates the idea of being away from you on a day that’s supposed to be about the two of you — but since he refuses to say the quiet part out loud, you get to tease him all you want.
To be fair to him, having Megumi as your scary guard dog does make it much easier and much faster to reach the theater. He gives you a pointed look when you get there, and, to your regret, lets go of your hand quickly, though his touch lingers there a second longer than necessary.
“Should we get a couple seat?” you ask innocently as you approach the register.
Megumi glares at you once more while you give him a sweet smile.
“It’s better that way, right?” he says, clearing his throat. “Otherwise strangers might have to share one.”
“Sure,” you nod, not even bothering to hide your grin. “It’s just more practical, right?”
“Right,” he says stiffly.
Even once you are in the couple seat, he keeps a thoroughly appropriate distance from you, one that you might find a little hurtful if, at the end of the commercials, he didn’t fake a yawn to put his arm around you, in the least smooth way known to man.
“You know you can just do it,” you say quietly as the lights turn off, resting your head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go through all that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.
Reaching for his face, you tilt his head towards you, and push yourself to meet his lips for a sweet, soft kiss. For the first time since you’ve stepped foot outside, his whole body relaxes into yours, and he stops trying to pretend.
“You had something on your lips,” you whisper when you pull away.
He snorts, then quickly goes back in to steal one more kiss from you before the movie starts.
“Liar,” he says.
As if he’s one to talk.
MAKI
Maki isn’t a demonstrative person as a general rule. She does compliment you without hesitation, words falling from her mouth so genuinely that it never fails to fluster you, but physical demonstrations of affection don’t come easy to her, maybe because she received so little of it as a kid. She does it sporadically, and she does very much enjoy teasing you, loves knowing that she can get those reactions out of you.
It’s the more spontaneous gestures that get to you though. She’ll kiss your forehead after a battle that left you bruised, a way of comforting you. She’ll pat your head after you managed to pull an impressive move during training. On one occasion, when you got injured, she carried you in your arms to Shoko, demanding that you be taken care of right this instant. She’d been the one to get flustered after that, hiding her face in her hand in embarrassment when it was brought up later on.
It might not come easy to her, but she does love it when you do it — when you show her your love in that way.
“You’re late,” she scolds you when you reach her for one of your dates, needing to take a second to catch your breath because you’ve been running since getting out of the subway.
“Sorry,” you say between deep breaths, “there was an emergency.”
Worry flashes on her face immediately.
“A curse? Were you hurt?”
She reaches for you, tilting your face towards her as she examines it, then study your body to make sure you weren’t injured. You let her, surprised at first, then endeared.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she frowns once she realizes how soft your gaze has become.
You grin, then push yourself closer to kiss her. You don’t care that you’re in public, and though it wouldn’t have occurred to her to do it, neither does she. The kiss is sweet, gentle. I’m alive, you’re alive, it says. No need for more.
“See?” you ask cheerfully. “All good. Now, I’m pretty sure you were going to buy me dinner…”
She clicks her tongue, but she’s grinning. It’s nice to see her so at ease, so relaxed. It’s a side of her you’d never see within the walls of Jujutsu High, nor on a mission. You’re the only one that can bring it out of her, and man do you love it.
“I’m buying? Again?”
“I did almost just die.”
“Nice try, but you told me you were fine.”
“I’m fine now,” you insist, “but…”
“Well, I was disowned by my family, so I don’t have money. You’re buying.”
The two of you keep bickering, but, as you walk, you reach for her hand. She pulls away at first, years and years of reflexes kicking in instinctively, and once she realizes what you were doing, she’s the one who takes your hand in hers. She holds it delicately, careful not to break it — to be fair, her strength would probably allow her that.
It’s so sweet and light, being out there with you like that. So normal. She hopes it never ends.
You squeeze her hand, and she lets you guide her across the street, content with just following, knowing that she can trust you to fill in her shortcomings in the relationship, like she does it for yours.
The sky is grey, the forecast said it might run later tonight — Maki’s planned an umbrella, she’s sure you didn’t think of it — but as far as she’s concerned, the day is as beautiful as it could possibly be.
this is my first time writing for... pretty much everyone here except gojo lol. i hope you enjoyed it and that the characterization wasn't too off, but any feedback is welcome! if you want to support me and my writing, please reblog/leave a comment or send me an ask, i'd love to chat! i'll see you later for some more jjk writing ^-^
you can find my gojo x reader work here
#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk fluff#gojo x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo fluff#gojo satoru#choso x reader#choso fluff#choso kamo#choso#yuuji itadori x reader#yuuji x reader#yuji x reader#yuuji fluff#itadori fluff#megumi x reader#megumi fluff#nanami x reader#nanami fluff#maki x reader#maki fluff#megumi fushiguro x reader#nanami kento x reader#maki zenin x reader#jjk imagine#jjk drabbles#my writing
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Yandere crybaby stalker! =^_^=
You felt eyes on you, you’ve been sensing this strange deja vu of a stare you could never find, it’s been happening more and more. The gut feeling in your stomach seems to churn, warning you of something that you have yet to discover.
As you entered the grocery store you heard rain pitter patter against the window, seeing the droplets run down the glass you decide to quickly finish this trip. You only needed eggs and butter, then you’d be out of here before it started storming.
You made it to the aisle, finding yourself alone in the aisle as you grabbed your desired brand of butter. In your peripheral view you see a person looking at packaged margarine a few feet away. You pay no mind and put the 3 pack you selected into your basket.
You were about to leave the aisle before you noticed a flash coming from the persons phone that strangely seemed to be facing you, you think of it as an accident but you do give a confused look at the person before leaving.
They seem to fumble to shove their phone away, pulling their hoodie more over their head.
Now, you just needed the eggs, you wonder only a bit about what that person might’ve been doing but you just wanted to go home and eat so you had no time to ponder about stupid shit.
You spend more minutes than you’d prefer on getting your choice of eggs, you wonder if you should get some snacks and as you were about to reach for a familiar bag of chips you see the same person from earlier in the new aisle you were in.
You get the creeps and decide to leave it and get a snack from a different section. Ironically and much to your dismay the stranger seems to appear in the same place at the very end of the shelves.
You think about to all the times you’ve felt a stare on you, and as you look away and pretend to be distracted with something the feeling is almost identical to what you’ve sense for the past week.
You shiver, not from the cold, but from the creepiness of the situation. You head quickly to a self check out station, grabbing your singular shopping bag after scanning and paying. You ignore the rain and head down the alley you always take when going home.
You could hear footsteps behind you, almost mimicking the same time your feet touched the ground. You look behind you, seeing nothing you continue. The hairs on the nape of your neck, making you feel more concerned
You didn’t have time for this bullshit.
You speed walk towards where you think the creep was, grabbing them by their hoodie and pull them to the ground. You realize it’s a guy with a stunned and confused expression as his face contorts into a scared one.
“Why have you been stalking me?” You say with a demanding tone, trying to sound confident even though your heart races in this empty place, sun setting on his figure as he almost shrinks in his hoodie. He hiccups, trying to respond.
He’s crying?
“I- I im sorry, I didn’t mean.. to st-“ His body forces himself to breathe, too quickly so it interrupts his words and makes him feel even more shameful. “I didn’t - i swear” He huffs, looking up you can finally see his face.
His glossy brown eyes only seem to water more when you seem frustrated and confused, it makes him sob more, he tries to stop, wiping his tears with his sleeves and biting down on his quivering lip.
“What do you mean you didn’t mean to? That doesn’t make sense, how do you mistakenly stalk someone?” You corner him even more, making him press his back into the brick wall edge, you weren’t trying to be harsh but you wanted answers.
“I’m- it’s just- I” He looks up at you, eyes flickering to view you before he gets even more embarrassing and fails to respond, ending up crying in his sleeves again.
Now you look like the bad guy, you’ve cornered this scared guy and he’s crying, you observe your surroundings, noticing nobody has taken the shortcut and walked in this empty alley just yet.
“Alright- just stop crying, breathe” You sigh, slightly flustered with his reaction, you haven’t laid a hand on him yet he’s bawling as if you’ve robbed him of something important. “Here, some tissues” You rummage your bag and find a travel sized version of a tissue box, giving him the box he gently takes it.
You’d look and see his face if you could, but he’s just staring at the ground with his hair covering his face while he wipes his tears away. His ears burn red with embarrassment and he wonders if he can ever even look at you after this. He feels so pathetic, and he hates it.
You’re so gentle with him even though he doesn’t deserve it, you found out he was stalking you and you still comforted him..
“I’m sorry…” He mumbles, wanting to feel the warmth of your skin somehow, despite knowing that wasn’t appropriate especially after you’ve caught him.
“Just.. don’t follow me anymore, I don’t know what you want but I’m not going to call the police” You sigh, wanting to go home and make your stupid fucking ramen, not deal with this guy.
“Wh- please! Don’t leave me.. please” He begs, clinging onto you by holding onto the end of your shirt, he’s desperate, but choked up so he can’t explain himself other than beg for you to stay.
“Dude- let go of me, what’s wrong with you? I’m not calling the police, don’t you understand?”
“I don’t want to be this way, I really don’t, but you- you’re you, and I just can’t stop myself” His vague words confuse you even more, your hoodie is growing more damp with the droplets falling on the two of you.
“I don’t understand you, dude you’re crazy” You furrow your eyebrows even more, looking incredibly concerned for how he was acting, he doesn’t seem like a threat, he just looks pathetic and desperate, like a stray dog.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to meet like this, I thought we would meet normally, in a nice place and bond over something, like in those shows? I’ve tried to look like how you like, I even got a few piercings” He takes his hoodie down, showing his eyebrow piercing and septum, tugging on them to show that they were real. You could see his eyes shake to observe your reaction, still teary.
This man standing before you has shown you that he’s crazy, attached, and desperate, and it’s all for you. You don’t know how to react, but he clings onto you even more.
“Give me a chance, I’ll act the way you want me to, I’ll dress the way you want, I’ll change for you …please?”
#yxami’s yam#yandere#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#male yandere#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere boy#yandere x reader#Yandere male#yandere x gn reader#yandere x gender neutral reader#stalker yandere#yandere stalker#yandere creep#desperate yandere#pathetic yandere#Yandere crybaby stalker
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PICK A CARD: Your FS' Secret Kinks
❦ “She lowered her lashes until they almost cuddled her cheeks and slowly raised them again, like a theatre curtain. I was to get to know that trick. That was supposed to make me roll over on my back with all four paws in the air." - Raymon Chandler, The Big Sleep
Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. This is a gender-neutral reading, change any pronouns to apply to you.
p1 → p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4
✦ Pile One ✦
Poor lil pooh pooh. This person struggles to “fill their cups up” so they get off on denying themselves pleasure. They secretly like the feeling of hitting whatever rock bottom looks like to them. Honestly, they want to be saved. They are wallowing at the bottom of a well, waiting for their savior to swoop in and throw them a rope.
In a more literal sense, they want a person to be their reason to live. Their reason to feel daylight on their skin again. Everyone and everything around them is unsatisfying and “fake”. They want something real to coax them out of their hell and entice them with all the thrilling things life has to offer.
However, they also like this dark and brooding side of themselves. They have a bit of a corruption kink.
They fantasize about a virginal angel coming down to save them, but they end up convincing the angel to sink down to their level.
They like exciting, spontaneous people who are willing to jump up and run out the door to do something fun at any moment, but think innocent fun. Like going to the movies to theater hop, and getting away without paying. Or, running around the Target parking lot in shopping carts and trying not to bang into cars. Maybe even steal a few street signs.
Innocent childhood fun that you’d see in early 90s movies. But add a sadistic twist to it that only they are aware of.
You would be the innocent virgin (doesn’t have to be true, it's their fantasy) who is unknowingly leading this beast (also not true, they are just extremely self-deprecating) to your pretty little happy places which they plan to desecrate.
They want to fuck you in your family home and make a mess of your childhood bed, making you scream so loud that you’re family starts to look at you differently. They want to take you to your favorite movie spots where you usually chill and hangout with your friends and turn it into a place where all you can think about is them covering your mouth in the back of the theater while you’re squirming in their lap, trying to escape out of their grip as they edge you to the new Marvel release.
They have a kink for turning all of your innocent, fun moments into their very own filthy fantasies.
Ps. Fisting came out of the blue so lube up!
Come To Me, My Senseless Angel
✦ Pile Two ✦
I don’t believe this is a future spouse, to be honest. This might be a situationship you need to move past. They seem emotionally immature, or at least this is a side of them that exclusively comes out when they’re aroused.
They can be quite abrasive and feel like they are constantly under attack so they’re incredibly defensive. They have a history of lashing out at their loved ones when they feel overwhelmed and get so blinded by their emotions that they disregard their affection for their partners and say really unforgettable, harmful words which permanently alters the connection for the worse.
They carry guilt from these actions and are in a constant state of regret. In this state, their sense of pleasure is a little twisted. They get turned on by causing a genuine issue in the relationship. They like the idea of pushing you to your limit where you’re this 🤏 close to your breaking point and at your absolute lowest. It’s when you reach your rock bottom and realize the need to move away from this person and you scream out, “I DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS.”
They like to grovel. You know that cycle where somebody fucks up and then they’re in the dog house buying flowers and being extra fluffy just to get in the victim’s good graces so they can do the same thing over again. So far, pile one and two’s respective partners like to feel like shit. They secretly like the moment where they completely fuck up a relationship and have to beg on their hands and knees to get their person back orrrrrr they get off on emotionally tearing someone down to the point where they get on their knees to bed for this person’s attention.
Either way, there's a lot of fucked psychological issues underneath this fantasy that I’m not unpacking here because it differs from person to person.
In its best light, this person glorifies struggle love. At its worst, this person is purposefully emotionally abusive with the intent to tear their partner down for their own sexual gratification.
They’re conscious enough to know their actions are toxic but don’t have the emotional maturity to work past their actions. They’re at the phase where they’re just aware and are like “I know I’m shitty but that’s just who I am. If they stick with me and the sex is good, it’s meant to be.”
I’m honestly getting twitter relationship hypotheticals with this one. Iykyk.
They’re also an edgelord. Less in an internet cockroach way and more in a witty- can be funny if done well- way, but they get pleasure from shocking people nonetheless. This energy can be directed toward you to piss you off and annoy you with the intent of getting in your pants later.
I’ve been guided to switch the conversation briefly: If this resonates and is someone you are dealing with. It is time to move on. This person gets gratification from hurting you and will not get past that high of tearing down a relationship and then having a messy recovery. They have their own issues to work through and cannot see how they are hurting you. There is no future with this person, they came into your life to teach you a lesson about your self-value. That cycle has run its course and it's time to move on.
To be honest, I’m not a fan of this person and don’t even want to list the explicit kinks that came out but I will just in case this message is for you but you’re not sure.
Random messages: Hot tub/pool sex, hair pulling, break down crying, interracial, milk, broken condom, “i fucking hate you”, “whore”, mirror, drunk sex, complaining, smack a bitch, twitter
P.S. You’re too sexy for the bullshit! There is bigger and greater out there, you just need to believe that for yourself!
This person will not get a mood board out of me.
✦ Pile Three ✦
Okay, so this person has some deep religious guilt. This is a male presenting person. I am being clear with their sex because it plays a role in this reading. They have some majorly repressed feminine energy. They may even be attracted to the same sex.
This is a fs reading, so they are likely bi, pansexual, or trans. Either way, their family is close-minded and is not supportive of them. They were forced to leave home so they could finally live their truth. They have lived their entire life fitting somebody else’s narrative. They were the hypermasculine bro type to “cover up” their femininity.
So, they have a kink for hyperfeminity. It’s almost to the point where they obsess over the caricature of girlhood. I see lots of pink, high heels, full-glam, all-day mall shopping, pinup curls, flashy jewelry, sleepovers, day spas, that scene in Scott Pilgrim where that girl is like “SHE’S PROBABLY LIKE 25!”, and everything else that gets associated with “girlhood” nowadays.
They fantasize about you in your receptive energy, being waited on and cared for hand and foot. They like to observe the way you move. Everything about you and your feminine aura is incredibly alluring to them. The way with each breath your breasts fall, the way your hips swat with each step, the cute way you match your accessories with your outfits. They notice everything about you.
You know those paintings of wealthy women lying on their sides and being fed grapes? That. They’re not in the serving role, they're the painter. Their kink is capturing you in those everyday moments where the world seems to be waiting on you like you’re the collective’s queen.
They see femininity in a higher light than the general population. They see women as automatically deserving of this type of care, they also want this care.
They have a secret hard-on for pregnant women and women with swollen breasts. They have a lactation kink. They fantasize about cumming in you over and over again. They see you as a Goddess, so they want to see you masturbate at church on an altar, like you're waiting to be worshipped.
A lot of their fantasies, they’re not even included in. It’s just you looking God-like and being worshipped by the world around you. This person may hate when you wear clothes. They act like the fabric is committing a sin by covering your body. They just want to capture your essence. Like an admirer and a student.
P.S. Dick game goes CRAZY. They watch a lot of women-focused porn to study what gets a woman off. Like Maddie in Euphoria, here is there to study.
Pretty In Pink
✦ Pile Four ✦
WE GOT A PLEASURE DOM IN THE BUILDING Y’ALL STAY CALM. As my mama would say, they love your dirty drawls!
You could do no wrong in this person’s eyes. They’re the golden retriever type. Head empty, leading with heart and IN LOVE>>>>>
You are the pot of gold and the end of the rainbow they’re chasing. They appreciate a good fling but they’ve never felt this before. The emotions you stir in them are unprecedented, this is puppy, sandbox love that most people lose touch with after life jades them.
This is raw love at its most unprocessed. I taste honey.
They have a kink for the power you have over them. It’s like you have a carrot on a stick and they’re the pig being led to a love den they can’t escape. And they’ll happily be the squealing pig in every lifetime they get with you. This is a soul yearning.
You will know this person because they will proactively pursue you and they will have no doubts in their mind about it. They are really attracted to your physical form, your curves. Even if you’re on the slimmer side, they like your structure and the dips in your spine. They’ll stare at you when you’re talking and zone out, thinking about how attractive they find you.
They’re not used to having to try to get someone to sleep with them. They have to put effort towards you and they like that. This person is downright thirsty and craves intimacy with you.
Their fantasies aren’t even dirty, they’re passionate. They want to put you in a mating press, with your knees pressed all the way up beside your ears. They want to penetrate (could be with a toy) deeply and touch that gooey part of you that makes you see stars.
They want to see an imprint of them in your lower belly. Any position where you’re in their arms is a go for them because they like having you. They want every moment to be just you and them away from the world. So very sweet and intimate. They also love marking you, expect lots of hickeys.
Ignore them from time to time too (healthily, these conditions should be discussed beforehand)! They see you as the ultimate prize, so if you delay their satisfaction, they’ll feel like they’re chasing again, which gets them off. They like to feel like they’re convincing you to sleep with them. You both are consenting, but they like the idea of you having better things to do and they’re trying to convince you to stay and party with them.
They are very action-oriented and love movement. Anything that involves an adventure together, they are down for.
PS. Surprise them with a bubble bath together, they’ll love that. And tease them while pulling their hair a bit!
Ode To My Darling Sun
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more hotch with teacher!reader? maybe she’s trying to take a bunch of things into her classroom one morning and hotch jumps in to help (and flirt with) them :)) i adore you’re writing thank you for sharing sm with us lately!!!
you’re so welcome ily ty for requesting! <3 fem, 1k
Today, you and your class are going to make dioramas with a heavy focus on paper crafting. For the last few days, you’ve helped them make plans on what they want to create, and then you scoured the internet for origami and craft tutorials to suit. The only one you couldn’t find was for poor Jamie’s tractors. You’ll figure it out, you’re sure.
You’ve been saving cardboard boxes, toilet roll inserts, and egg cartons for months. There’s a total mountain of things to bring in, so you’re here early. You figure if you carry huge armfuls, you can get everything inside in three trips.
“Oh,” you say, as a cardboard box tumbles to the ground, and somehow doesn’t give you a clearer view, “whoops. I’ll pick that up. Jeez.”
You step over it and almost slip.
“Careful,” someone says.
You jump and send an egg carton skittering across the floor. “Oh, gosh! You scared me!” You twist your head, the cardboard that had been resting on your face falling down into your collar. “Oh, Mr. Hotchner.”
Of course it’s Mr. Hotchner. Aaron, predictably.
“Aaron,” he says, leaning down to grab the things you’ve dropped, before he opens his arm toward you. You lean away from your tower, embarrassed but relieved when he takes the bulk of your tall tower from you.
“Thank you, Aaron. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here so early. Is everything okay?”
“Let me help you with this.”
Avoiding the question. You and Aaron carry your cardboard inside to the classroom, where you unlock your door (and you never would’ve been able to do without his rescue). He follows you to the arts and crafts table toward the back of the room, and you deposit your stock.
“Thank you,” you say when he places his armful down.
“It’s no problem. Can I help with the rest?”
“Would you, please?” you ask. “It seemed a lot less before today.”
You bring the rest back in. He’s the picture of a perfect gentleman and carries more than you each time, which isn’t to say you can’t have carried the same as he did, but it’s nice for once to be the one looked after. As a teacher, you get used to giving.
He doesn’t make you ask him twice. “I’m here early because I wanted to talk with you if you’re free, before I head into the office.”
“His Aunt is bringing him today?” you ask about Jack.
“I didn’t manage to get home in time last night to see him, but I’ll be here at pick up time.”
You nod, hyper aware that you’d swayed the conversation again. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“It’s about Jack. Well, it’s mostly about me. I’d like to ask you for a favour, if you’re willing.”
“Oh, sure. Of course.”
“You haven’t heard it yet.”
You flush under the weight of his knowing smile. “No, I mean, I’m sure it’ll be fine. So…”
“It’s hard sometimes to get Jack to tell me what you’re doing in school. I had no idea he’d be making dioramas today. And I don’t need your lesson plans, I’d never expect that of you, but I was hoping you could summarise the week for me on Fridays? Or whenever you can. I don’t need updates on how Jack is progressing, it could be a couple of words on the topics you’ve chosen, just so I know what he’s doing while I’m away.”
You’ve never been asked to do it. Parents of kids in the second grade aren’t usually clocked in on what their kids are learning. School is still half fun at this age, your most important job is to make sure they can all read with acceptable fluency. And it’s hard because their parents don’t help, but it’s fine. You love teaching them something so important, and you’re ecstatic to meet someone who’s actually interested.
You beam. “Yeah, of course I can. I can do that, I don’t mind. Nobody ever wants to know what we’re doing, which is such a shame! I mean, they’re so excited and of course their parents care, but if they have just a little bit of support it makes a huge difference. I can totally send you my lesson plans, Aaron. I’d like to.” You laugh to yourself smugly. “I never get to show them off. They’re extensive. And they take ages.”
“You want to show them off?” he asks softly.
His voice is velveteen.
“Is that awful?” you ask.
“No, it makes sense. You really don’t have to if it’s too much trouble, but I… feel guilty, when I call him and ask how school was, and he can’t remember what happened.”
“Don’t feel bad about that. The kids can’t remember what I told them ten minutes ago.”
He isn’t like you, in that he’s very still. He doesn’t move or fidget, which makes his looking at you all the more obvious. “Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome.”
“Can I pay you back?”
You catch one of your bracelets and twist it around your wrist.
Aaron told you without hesitation that he profiles criminals. He can read their expressions, habits, and idiosyncrasies as thoughts and feelings. He can trace movement to the source. You’re positive he wouldn’t keep asking you such leading questions, or insist you call him by his first name every time you see him, if he didn’t already know that you find him attractive.
“How would you do that?” you ask.
“Is there anything else you… need help with?”
A million things, but you’re no idiot. You can read subtlety too.
“Well, I have a bunch of textbooks on the top shelf in the stockroom you could help me with.” You smile shyly. “It gets hot in there, though.”
He begins taking off his suit jacket. “That,” he says, his gaze on you with all the tenderness and amusement of someone who’s known you longer, “won’t be a problem.”
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble#criminal minds
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hii! do u think u could write a little something for charles where he accidentally starts speaking in french mid sex, but u have no idea what he’s saying so u have to occasionally let him know cause the pleasure just gets too much for him and his brain can’t process anything
oh i love this — my first charles req too! i did have to translate some bits because my french is diabolical but hopefully it's okay!
charles' whimpers were becoming more and more hoarse; barely coherent as you cupped the side of his face, stroking the corner of his mouth with your thumb as you stilled your movements. much to the dismay of your boyfriend, his eyes shooting open and eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he stared curiously at you. the pleasure had stilled, only slightly though as you clenched around him instinctively.
hands on your hips he pushed down, desperate for you to quit your stupid little games and carry on riding him — and it somewhat worked. your cunt fluttering around his length as you finally lifted your hips before rocking back down again, continuing the self-indulgence with a soft moan.
this wasn't planned: your clothes strewn in the corner of the sitting room, your thighs either side of charles' as you bounced languidly, taking your time to tighten the all-too familiar knot that had formed in the pit of your stomach. charles' lids were heavy, swollen lips parted as he mumbled over and over, each word punctuated with a whine that you could only describe as desperate.
"mon ange— fait du bien—" spilling from his tongue as he pinched the flesh of your waist, palms soothing over the area as he half-arsed attempted to meet your thrusts halfway. head thrown back you watched the way his adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed back his noises, brain completely fuzzy at how tight you were, how warm.
you'd be lying if you said you understood him completely — too busy feeling your limbs go numb at the sound of your boyfriend as you slammed down on him with a little more force. you could feel your orgasm teetering, charles' little "j'ai besoin de toi" and "tu es si bon avec moi" falling on deaf ears as you pressed your forehead to his.
"i need to know what you're saying pretty boy," you whispered, lips ghosting his as you pushed yourself back. the new angle earned a filthy moan from your throat, a wave of pleasure cursing through your veins as he studied you through a darkened vision. but he couldn't stop himself — thoughts not even cohesive, fingers harsh as they dug deeper at the small of your back. almost dragging you up and down his cock in search of his own orgasm, completely oblivious to the words that were spilling from him.
* mon ange - my angel
** fait du bien - so good
*** j'ai besoin de toi - i need you
**** tu es si bon avec moi - you're so good to me
#charles leclerc#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc oneshot#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x y/n#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x female oc#charles leclerc drabble#charles leclerc blurb#charles leclerc fanfic#f1 fanfic#f1#f1 x oc#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#f1 smut#f1 x you#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fic#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fic#f1 drabble
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Tattoo
Pairing: Jenna Ortega x f!reader
Warnings: drunk jenna ig
Summary: an unexpected visitor makes your evening unforgettable
Masterlist
You sigh as Judy, the girl who's back you've spent the past hours tattooing, disappears out the door and into the darkened street, her happy skips illuminated by the soft yellow hue of the street lamps. You don't know how she managed to sit or, rather, lay through the session, happily blubbering about her three cats and a dog waiting for her back home.
You shake your head and walk up to the small desk near the entrance. Amelia, the receptionist, has left just as the sun started to set, blowing you a kiss goodbye and thanking you for letting her out early, so you've been stuck managing your studio alone.
Looking at tomorrow's schedule you sink into the soft leather chair, relieved to see that your morning is free. You can already imagine how sweet it'll be to finally sleep in and have a relaxing start of the day.
Your daydreaming is cut short when the door opens again, and you open your mouth to ask if Judy forgot something, but snap it back shut when you realize it's not her.
You get up, walk around the desk and take a second to look at the stranger, who, inconveniently, turned her back to you.
Still, you admit, it's a nice back, clad in a soft looking black blouse tucked into dark jeans. Your drum your fingers on the desk and pointedly clear your throat, but the stranger doesn't pay you any attention. Instead she takes a few steps to look at the wall littered with various photos of your happy clients, and humms to herself.
"Sorry, we're closed," you speak softly, as not to startle her, but she still jumps comically high, one hand clutching her purse and the other flying up to rest over her heart.
She turns around, swaying, and squints at you, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed in thought. You grip the desk behind you when you recognise her.
Amelia will die when she finds out who she so narrowly missed.
"D-do you know how to use this?" Her voice is hoarse, like she spent hours screaming at the top of her lungs, and her finger trembles when she points it at your tattoo machine.
She grins at your hesitant nod, stumbling as she closes spaces between you. "I want a dragon," she giggles, covering her mouth with her palm as if she's letting you in on a secret. "All over my back. A huge one."
You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing when she gets close enough for you to smell the alcohol on her breath.
"You're drunk and we're closed," you say and her eyes dart down to look at your lips.
"What?" She mutters, and her hands go up to hold your cheeks. "Stop moving so much, I can't hear you." She pouts, still looking at your lips.
You snort and take her hands in yours, prying your face out of her grip. She shakes her head, and winces when the movement causes her to sway again.
You wait for her to look at you before you speak again.
"Are you here alone?" You make sure to say as clearly and slowly as possible, holding her hands to make sure she doesn't trip over her own legs.
She sighs and looks up to the ceiling. "Yes."
You tug at her hands. "You need to call someone to come pick you up."
She blinks and looks at you for a long moment, her eyes cloudy and pupils dilated. "No. I need a dragon," she insists.
You bite back a smile and lead her behind the desk. She falls in the chair with a content sigh, closing her eyes. "Melissa dared me to. I c-can't come back without a dragon," she mumbles.
You lean back against the desk, this time not able to suppress a chuckle. She opens one eye and kicks at your shin with her foot. "This is serious."
"I'm sure it is," you agree to appease the frowning girl. "You can come back when you're sober, and I promise you'll get that huge dragon all over your back."
You smile when she nods and reaches for one of the business cards laying in the corner. She slips it into her back pocket and fully relaxes in the seat, and you're suddenly at loss of what to do next.
Someone's supposed to be looking for her, right?
You turn to look out the window at the dark street, noting the lack of cars.
"You're pretty," she murmurs. "Like… I want to take a picture of you and put it as my lockscreen kind of pretty."
You snort, looking at the girl who's now staring up at you in awe. "Do you always put pictures of strangers as your lockscreen?"
She frowns. Her lips move, but nothing comes out.
You sigh, shaking your head, and get up to find your phone. You need to call Amelia, she will know what to do.
"I'm getting sleepy."
You pause. "You can't fall asleep."
"Mhm," she hums as her eyes close.
You close the space between you in short strides, but you're not fast enough. She's already snoring lightly when you reach her, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
"Great," you groan. “Just perfect.”
You fidget with your phone, unsure. Should you call Amelia? She will probably freak before figuring what to do with the sleeping girl.
With a sigh, you unlock your phone. It's not like you have any other options.
Just when you're about to press the call button, the girl slides off the chair, her butt hitting the floor with a quiet thud. You wince as the chair rolls away and her back meets the floor before you can catch her.
She doesn't wake. In fact, she curls up, hands pillowed under her head, and sighs in content. You snort, shaking your head. The sight is quite adorable.
“It- it would take-” she mumbles, deep in her sleep, “-a second to peel off the skin…” You gulp, before realizing she's probably dreaming about one of her characters, or practicing the script even in her sleep, either way it's quite impressive. “Limp for limb…" she mutters, frowning.
You sigh, and get a small pillow to tuck it under her head. Might as well make her a little comfortable while you figure out what to do with her.
“Um, hello?”
You jump up, praying that the girl is well hidden behind the desk, she is as small as a gremlin after all.
“Yes?” You turn around, only to be left gaping.
You're in the twilight zone, you're sure.
“I'm looking for my friend,” the woman smiles hesitantly, adjusting the hood of her sweatshirt. “A brunette, brown eyes, about this” - she lowers her hand all the way to her knees - “tall, a bit drunk. She ran away to get a tattoo.”
You shift on your feet, your mouth opening and closing while you try to come up with something to explain why her friend is currently sleeping under your desk.
“Yeah, she's here…” you mumble, jerking your head towards the reception desk. She frowns, stepping around it, and stills, before looking at you with wide eyes. “It just… happened.”
“She tried to kill me,” the sleeping girl says, very clearly.
“Really?” The older woman's eyebrow raises.
“No!” You yelp, looking at the smaller girl in betrayal. She didn't deserve that pillow. “She came in very drunk, and she fell asleep in my chair, and then she kind of… slid off?”
“Used… chloroform,” she mumbles, turning to the other side.
“Stop it,” you hiss to her sleeping form. “Shut up.” You lightly kick her leg with your toe to make sure she listens.
“Pretty,” she sighs dreamily, “pretty girl…”
“I take it you're the pretty girl?” The other woman asks with a heavy sigh.
You blush, nodding. “Not a serial killer, promise.”
She purses her lips, looking down at her friend. “She won't wake up now. She sleeps like a bear when she's drunk.” She looks up at you, eyes searching. “I’m Melissa, by the way. And that one is Jenna. But you already know who she is, right?”
You nod.
“Okay. Since there are no paparazzi around, I feel like I can trust you. For now.” She bends down, takes the sleeping girl under her arms, and lifts her up with little effort. “You get the legs,” she smirks.
You get Jenna out of your studio quickly and efficiently, like you've been doing it all your life.
“Getting rid… of the body,” she mumbles, when Melissa miscalculates and hits the side of Jenna's head against the headrest.
“Yeah,” the older woman cringes, “she's always like that.”
You nod, stepping away from the car as Melissa straightens her clothes, looking sheepish and hesitant.
“Thank you,” she says, “I really appreciate this. And she will, too, when she returns to the land of the living.”
You chuckle and bid her goodbye, waving at the car until it disappears from sight.
You decide you won't tell Amelia about this. She'll probably send you off for a psychic evaluation if you do.
#jenna ortega x fem!reader#jenna ortega x you#jenna ortega x reader#jenna ortega#tattoo#jenna ortega x y/n
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[[and then I met you || ch. 20]]
Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit
Summary:
A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.
chapter masterlist
Words: 4.3k
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Pain radiates through your body as you begin to regain consciousness. There are two points that are throbbing and parts of you want to slip back down into the darkness until the aches are gone, but the rest of your body doesn’t like that plan.
Slowly, the switches in your mind are flipped to ‘on’ and you become more aware of what is happening around you. There are two people talking near you - a man and a woman whose words you cannot yet process, but the deeper voice sounds so very familiar and comforting. It takes a few moments or hours - you cannot tell - for you to give a name to who is speaking, but when you finally figure it out, your mouth speaks his name.
“Matt…?”
Your name is said, then something is touching your face. Your instinct tells you to pull away, so you try to, but there is a gentle pressure keeping you in place.
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just me, sweetheart. It’s just me.”
Forcing your eyes open takes a few tries and you have to blink multiple times to get anything into focus. Slowly, Matt’s face forms in your vision, looking so, so haggard. His hair is fluffed up like he’s been messing with it and he’s got a frown that is so out of place on him. He should be smiling or laughing. That is how you always picture him in your mind - warm and happy.
You realize it is his hand that is cupped along your jaw and press into it, letting your eyes close again. His thumb begins to rub along your cheek and you want to melt into it and allow yourself to drift back into the nothingness where there is no pain. Matt, however, has other ideas.
“I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”
You do not want to do that, but since he is asking, your eyes open again. Your brain feels like sludge, but it is your knees that are screaming at you to not move.
You are startled into being more aware of your surroundings when a feminine voice speaks from above you.
“Matt, you need to move if you want me to do anything.”
He seems to hesitate, his face screwing up into something clearly unhappy before he finally pulls away from you. He doesn’t go far, though, stepping only a foot away. Only once your vision isn’t filled with a handsome-exhausted lawyer do you process that you are laying on your couch. You have no idea what is going on, why you are in pain, or how you got to this position, but part of you feels at ease because Matt is there with you.
You trust he won't let things go badly for you.
A beautiful, but tired, woman steps into your view, a pen light ready in her hand. She has an air of authority about her that has you not questioning why she is in your living room.
“My name is Claire, I’m a nurse,” she tells you and you introduce yourself. “You passed out. I'm going to check your eyes and ask you a few questions to make sure you don't have a concussion.”
“Okay.” You don't remember passing out, but it would explain a few things. Your anxiety-people-pleasing mind pushes your confusion down and wanting the examination to be easier for Claire, ask, “Do you want me to sit up?”
“Do you feel like you can?” She counters and you don’t really know the answer, so you try. Your head throbs as you do and your knees are not happy about bending, but you get yourself into sitting. More pieces are added to the puzzle of what is going on, but none of them make any sense.
You couldn’t tell before, but Matt is wearing a dark red jumpsuit that reminds you of Captain America’s armor. There had been a news segment where they had brought out a replica to talk about the design and the function and all you can think is Matt somehow got his own copy and customized it. For whatever reason. You certainly don’t know all of his hobbies - it could be a cosplay thing for all you know - or some kink - or both.
You are in no position to judge.
The other puzzle piece is Karen’s boyfriend, sitting at your kitchen table looking at his phone, with your daughter in his lap. She is splayed against him in her bright pink jammies and her sleep headband, and you can only guess how deep into dreamland she is. But why is she out here, being held by a near-stranger, and not in her bed?
You don’t get to ask that question - Claire is back in front of you with her penlight, shining it directly into your eyes. As she does, she fires questions at you.
What is your name? Birthday?
Where are you and who is the current president?
What is twenty divided by four?
You pass the concussion test and are rewarded with two of the biggest ibuprofens you have ever seen. You take them, chasing them down with water from your sticker-decorated water bottle, as Claire tells you what is what.
“You have a decent sized cut on your forehead. It needed three stitches - and those will dissolve on their own, so you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll give you some of these higher milligram pills for the headache you’ll have, but a good night’s rest will have you up on your feet again. Do you need instructions on how to clean the cut?”
You take in the information at face value, still unsure why you are being examined and cared for in your living room as opposed to a hospital. Everyone else seems so sure of what is happening and completely fine with it, so you simply shake your head.
“Um, no, I know how to take care of it.”
“Perfect,” she turns away and begins to pack up a backpack on the coffee table you did not even notice. “If you start getting nauseous, head to the ER. Now,” she turns to stare down Matt, “If my delicate hands are no longer needed, I’m going back to bed so I am well rested for the job I actually get paid for.”
“Thank you, Claire. I appreciate it,” he says in a soft voice, but there is a layer of gravel in it you aren’t used to.
The nurse finishes her packing, then looks to you with a small smile, “it is nice to finally meet you, I’m sorry it was like this. Late night calls have gone down since he told me about you.”
“Nice to meet you?” You say to her as she leaves your apartment, completely unsure of who you just met and what her connection to Matt is.
As you continue you try to comprehend what is going on, Matt moves towards you. He cups your jaw with both hands, smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks, “what were you thinking?”
You frown at not only the rougher tone he is using, but the question, “Matt, I don’t know what is going on. I don’t…”
You trail off and finally mentally address what you have been ignoring.
Your hand creeps up to your face and you feel the edges of the band aid covering up the cut on your forehead. How did you even manage to do that? Claire said you passed out - but how? And why? And why are Matt and Frank here?
Did Minnie call them like she did with Foggy when you were sick?
You don’t know those answers, so you switch to things you can figure out. You search your mind, trying to recall what you were doing before you apparently passed out. You remember cleaning the bathroom, then Minnie coming in and throwing up.
As those memories surface, the rest rush you - you took Mouse to the bodega and on the way home, some man attacked you. You remember struggling and fighting then…then there is nothing.
The fear you felt then tickles back into your throat and you can feel tears starting to form.
“We were attacked,” you breathe out and almost instantly, Matt is pulling you to him, wrapping his arms around you and cradling you as the reality of what happened hits you. You cling back, burying your face into the rough material covering his shoulder, and try to not break down.
You’d been slapped a few times - but no one has ever tried to physically hurt you to that extent before. You had never felt so helpless - so useless - before. You hadn’t been able to protect your daughter.
Hands had been around your throat and in your hair and you had flopped around like a fish.
He could have killed you.
He could have killed Minnie.
Matt gently rocks you as you process what happened to you. You try to not cry, but you can’t stop it when some tears do start to fall.
“Why were you out so late?” he asks into your hair and the guilt pools in your belly. You were so stupid to go out.
“Minnie was sick,” you mumble against Matt’s shoulder. “Her stomach was upset, and we didn’t have Pedialyte. We had to go get some.”
You can feel him frowning into your hair and it just makes you feel that much worse about everything.
“It couldn’t have waited until morning?”
“No.”
It’s not you that responds - it's the man across the room you completely forgot about. You lift up your head to look at Frank, confused why he is speaking up for you. Matt partially turns, pulling you along, and angles his head towards the other man.
“No?” He questions, not sounding pleased at all that someone else is chiming in.
“No,” Frank repeats firmly. “That’s bein’ a parent, Red. Your kid needs something in the middle of the night, you go out and get it. That’s how it is - there ain’t no waiting until morning when they are sick. That’s how they get dehydrated. She didn’t do anything different than any other mother in the city.”
Matt’s lip twitches and you have the feeling he is trying to not scowl or snap. You can tell he is just worried and upset over what happened, but you’d never seen him like this before.
But Frank is right - there was no scenario in which you did not go to get Minnie what she needed when she was sick.
You look to your baby, and you need her in your arms. You pull away from Matt, wiping at your eyes as you do, and make your way to your small dining room. You feel more than see Matt follow you - practically becoming your shadow until you are in front of Frank. Once you stop walking, he is against you again, his chest to your back and his hand on your hip.
Your daughter is dead weight as she is passed to you and you cradle her to your chest, giving her hair a kiss before asking, “Is she okay?”
“She’s okay,” Frank assures, and you feel like he is speaking to both you and Matt. “Probably going to have some nightmares and be clingy, but you’ve got one brave and smart little girl.” You smile a bit at the praise, because you like to think the same thing about Mouse - brave and smart - your perfect little angel.
“Gave her some of that Pedialyte,” he adds, “and she drank it all, so hoping whatever made her sick will be gone.”
“Thank you,” you mumble. You feel like he is a father and that is why Minnie seems comfortable with him, but he has an air about him that makes you not want to ask.
You rock your daughter in your arms, feeling so grateful that she doesn’t have a scratch on her. You have no idea what you would have done if she had been hurt in any way.
You can feel yourself starting to calm - your tears are slowing as you accept and process things and part of you just wants to curl up in bed with your family and sleep for twelve hours.
Unfortunately, that is not in the cards for you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Matt’s head jerk towards the main door, and you can’t help but tense up. His vibe since you have woken up has been on edge and you're surprised he hasn’t snapped or something, yet. He pulls away from you to stalk towards the hallway and you hold Minnie just a bit closer to you, unsure what he could have heard.
He swings the door open and there is a woman with thick jet black hair and bored looking expression. She pushes past Matt without care and enters into your apartment.
“Don’t ever ask me to do that again.”
“What happened?” Matt asks.
“Well, he’s not dead, but he won’t be waking up anytime soon. I even got you a report number, so you can follow up,” the woman says, and you realize they are talking about the man who attacked you. That makes your heart start beating a little harder and your mouth feel dry.
“Did they say where they were taking him?”
You tune out of the conversation and instead focus on holding Minnie. You press your lips to her hair and avert your eyes away from Matt and the woman. You look briefly to Frank, who is back on his phone, then let your eyes wander elsewhere. Minnie’s sippy cup is sitting on the dining table, so you decide you can at least clean that up.
As you move around the table, something else catches your attention.
There’s a large black bullet proof vest sitting on one of the dining chairs, with a distinctive looking skull spray painted on it.
You’ve seen that skull before - it’s a common thing to see spray painted on a wall or post box around Manhattan. It’s a symbol everyone in the city knows just as well as Spider-man’s emblem or Captain America’s shield - it’s the Punisher’s logo.
The Punisher - whose real name is Frank Castle, who, if you recall correctly, looks strikingly similar to the man sitting at your dining table.
For some reason you do not understand, you do not panic. You simply stare at the vest, all the connections flying around in your brain, and mentally go ‘Well, that makes sense.’
The Punisher is here because he was with Matt.
Matt’s dark red jumpsuit isn’t a cosplay or a kink thing - it’s armor.
It’s armor because he is Daredevil - the protector of Hell’s Kitchen.
Matt is Daredevil.
Daredevil is Minnie’s Dad.
That’s why he sometimes has bruises and cuts you don’t ask about. That’s why his knuckles are scarred.
That’s why he is in your apartment tonight - Daredevil stops people from being mugged.
You were being mugged and he came and rescued you. He called his Superhero Doctor to come make sure you were okay so you wouldn’t have to go to the hospital and explain how a blind man stopped the attack.
“You okay?”
You look to Frank, and you expect to see blood and guns and mayhem, but all you see is the man who brought you soup. You see Matt’s friend and Karen’s boyfriend - who are two of the kindest people you have ever met in your life. They have treated you better than anyone ever has in your life. They care about you.
You flash back to your very first encounter with Frank and you recall how you were scared of him, but Minnie wasn’t. Minnie - who is unsure about everyone new. You trusted her instincts even before you knew about her gifts - you’d once heard you can tell a person’s intentions by how toddlers and dogs react to them, and you’ve always found it to be true.
So, you decide to trust Minnie as well as your initial reaction - it may possibly be because of a concussion but you would actually like to sit and think about what you just learned rather than react blindly.
“I’m okay,” you say slowly, sticking with how you feel in that exact moment, and not how your night is going. “I think I’m going to go lay her down.” You hesitate, then decide you still need to be a good host, since this is your apartment, ask, “Would you like anything to drink?”
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he says, his lips turning up into a small smile. “Think it’s time for me to head out - leave you and Red to have a talk.”
Your cheeks heat up and you know he knows you have figured out who he is. You hold Minnie even tighter and look down to your feet, your anxiety over being perceived starting to spike.
But you know better than to be rude and Frank has always been kind to you and Mouse.
“Thank you, Frank. I appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”
You do not flee, but you do walk a little faster than normal to carry Minnie to bed. You oh so carefully place her down and tuck her in, making sure Pig is right there with her. Scooby must be out in the living room, and you’ll need to grab him when you finally are able to lay down.
You stare down at your daughter, who is sleeping so peacefully, and let everything wash over you again. You cover your mouth to try to repress a sob, but you know it doesn’t matter - Matt will still hear it.
Everything is changing so much and so fast and you don’t know how to deal with it.
First, you finally find Minnie’s father, then you find out he has super senses and your daughter inherited them, and now you learn he is a superhero.
You don’t know how to even begin to process this development. There is no guide for this and you aren’t even sure how you even feel.
You can’t be angry at Matt - you don’t know how he got into crime fighting, but you know how passionate he is about being a lawyer and helping people. You know he loves Hell’s Kitchen deeply and you can’t imagine having to hear every little crime that goes on.
You don’t know much about Daredevil. You know he sticks to Hell’s Kitchen and he’s made the area safer. He stops muggings and break-ins, and he’s cleared out various gangs. You know the community likes him for the most part - there is actually a mural of him in an alleyway near the diner.
But what does it mean for you and Minnie?
How does Matt being Daredevil work with him being a father? If you look back over the last few weeks, you haven’t really noticed anything off.
But what if he gets into a fight he can’t handle?
Or some bad guy learns who he is and comes after Minnie to get to him? You know that happens to politicians and cops and such, so it would be no different for a vigilante.
What secrets will you need to keep?
Do you need to learn more than basic first aid - like how to stitch someone up?
How will you explain this to Minnie?
Does he know Spider-man? Captain America?
Does he kill?
There are so many questions ping-ponging around in your mind you don’t notice when Matt enters the bedroom.
He comes up behind you and says your name in a soft voice before wrapping his arms around your waist. He holds you to his chest, chin dropping over your shoulder, and to your surprise, you find yourself leaning into his hold.
“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” he tells you and you close your eyes at his words, letting his voice wash over you and corral your thoughts into something quiet. “I had a plan to tell you - to explain everything. I swore to myself I wasn’t going to hide anything from you.”
You believe him.
You wish you would have known sooner, but you also understand why he didn’t tell you. It’s not just something you tell someone, and Matt has proven that his intentions have always been good.
“Am I going to get another binder?” you ask, sniffling a little as you do to stop more tears from coming.
“If you want one, I’ll make you one,” he instantly replies, “just please don’t take Minnie away. I beg of you.”
You can hear the fear and pain in his voice, and you know exactly how he feels. You remember how scared you were that he would take Minnie away.
You turn in his arms - looping yours around his middle and resting your forehead on his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t do that. Not unless she is put into danger.”
“I would never.”
Again, you believe him.
His arms tighten around you until you're snuggly pressed into him and you can feel armor and buckles pressing against you. You squeeze him back, needing the comfort and needing something to ground you.
You need to feel safe.
Matt makes you feel safe. He made you feel safe before you knew what he did in the night and now it’s just amplified.
“Did you stop him?” You ask in a whisper. “The man who attacked us?”
“I did,” he responds. “I’ll stop anyone who dares to try to hurt my family.”
You shakily nod against him, then ask the question you fear, “Did…did she see?”
He doesn’t respond right away, but when he does, the guilt is palpable, “No. Frank made sure she didn’t see anything.”
That eases your anxiety a fraction. You will need to talk with Minnie about what happened, and you already fear that conversation. She has never seen anything so violent before and you are surprised she isn’t already having bad dreams. You have no idea how she’s going to react in the morning.
You have no idea how you will react in the morning.
You press your face into the crook of Matt’s neck, where there’s some type of rough black fabric. He begins to rub his hand up and down your back - you don’t think it will be soothing, but you don’t want him to stop.
You want him to stay and hold you.
You want him to keep you safe.
So, you tell him.
“Stay the night,” you mumble against him, and he nods into your hair.
Neither of you move to pull away - you stay holding each other in front of your daughter and you wonder if he needs the comfort as much as you do.
It feels like time crawls by and your knees, which you must have banged up in the attack, start to make it known that you need to stop standing. Matt must sense something, as he nuzzles into your hair and whispers, “We can talk more in the morning. Let's get you to bed.”
You hum in agreement, then slowly bring your arms around to Matt’s front so you can place your hands on his chest, “I need to change. I’ll grab you some sweatpants and a shirt.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
It still takes you a minute to finally step away and when you do, his hands drop from you. As you go to dig for clean sleep clothes, Matt begins to undress. You try to not turn to look - you are curious about how the suit is put together and how he gets in and out. You didn’t see any zippers or other clasps, but you suppose he wouldn’t want those out in the open if he’s fighting someone.
You find two sets of sweats, one large enough for Matt. You hesitate to start changing, but then remind yourself that not only is he blind, but you’ve slept together, so you have no reason to be shy. So, you strip and pull on your new pajamas.
Matt is still working on his boots when you turn back around, so you set his clothes on the bed. You remember then you are missing a member of the sleep squad.
“Do you know where Scooby is?”
To his credit, Matt doesn’t look confused. You wait patiently as he uses his abilities, then smile when he tells you the toy is under the coffee table. You go to fetch him, and finally drop Minnie’s sippy cup in the sink, and when you return, Matt has finished changing.
You hold out Scooby to him with a small smile, “Do you want to tuck him in?”
Matt’s solemn face lights up and he takes the dog. You watch, with a strange lightness coming over your heart, as he places Scooby beside Pig. He places the tenderest of kisses to your daughter’s temple, and you can see him move his lips, but are unsure what he actually says.
You let him have his moment before taking his hand and tugging him towards your bed. He won’t be sleeping on the couch tonight and both of you know it. You lay down first, then he does, stretching out on his back.
“Come here,” he breathes, and you obey. You roll so you can curl into his side, resting your head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest. His arm wraps around you and you feel Safe.
Your body and mind feel so heavy as you close your eyes, and you hope you can sleep as peacefully as Minnie.
The two of you lay in silence and when you finally succumb to your exhaustion, as the darkness takes you, you once again hear Matt’s soft voice.
“I love you.”
-
AN: Its not mentioned bc Reader missed it but it is very important to me that everyone know Jess brought Matt his gloves as well.
Also new header :3C
-
tags:
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@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath
@allllium
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@nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil
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