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charliemwrites · 7 hours

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Part 4

Mister(s) Steal Your Girl is, somehow, now the official title. Congratulations you little shits (affectionate).

Content: Toxic Behavior, Brief Weight Shaming, Hurt/Comfort

You didn’t expect to see Johnny much after that one night - or possibly ever again. Kyle introduced you two, it was a lot of fun, but you figure that’ll be the end of it. Like introducing a new man to your girlfriends (not that you can really introduce Kyle to yours) you passed the vibe check and now Kyle will keep you and Johnny separate.

That’s how it’s been with Brandon’s friends. (Granted, you don’t really care for Brandon’s friends. And you figure it’s mutual based on the “uptight” comments they pretended to think you couldn’t hear.)

You’re starting to realize that Kyle is always going to subvert your expectations.

Johnny becomes a fixture - a welcome one. While you and Kyle still have your date nights and privacy, Johnny joins you two at least once a week for movies, drinks, dinner, or just silly adventures out and about.

You’re surprised that you don’t mind. Johnny is fantastic company, always respectful, funny, and friendly. Whenever the two of you are left alone, there’s no dead air. In fact, sometimes you could almost swear there’s electricity. Which is… well. It makes it hard to look him in the eye sometimes - and looking at Kyle even harder.

Guilt nips at your stomach until one of them distracts you with another story you’re 70% sure they shouldn’t tell you.

You and Johnny play a game with pub napkins, doodling something on one folded half, then passing it over for the other to scribble on the second half. The trick is not cheating and seeing the first half, then unfolding it to a complete (and usually silly) picture. Gaz always gets to name whatever monstrosity has been created.

You get a month of that good company. Then Kyle sighs at his phone one night.

“Shipping out again,” he explains when you glance at him.

“Will you be gone long?” you ask, shifting.

His brow furrows. “Not sure. They can’t tell us much over the phone.”

You hum in understanding. Still new to this whole military thing, the redacted danger of it all, but you think you’re getting the hang of it. At least, Kyle never seems annoyed when he can’t answer you, only apologetic.

“Is it gonna be the whole team?” you ask.

“Nah, just me and the cap.” He rubs his palm along your calf, a gesture that you suspect is self-soothing rather than for your benefit. “Probably not too dangerous, then.”

You make a noise of protest, nudging at his thigh with your foot. “Bad luck!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he chuckles, tapping his knuckles on the wooden end table. “You’re right.”

You crawl from your side of the couch to his, nuzzling up under his arm. He trails kisses along the side of your face as you snuggle in.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble into his neck. Still a little embarrassed to be so needy, but you want him to feel appreciated.

“I’ll miss you too, chickadee. I’ll call if I can, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, squeezing an arm around his middle.

“While I’m gone, if you need anything - even some company - you ought to call Soap,” he adds.

The idea is tempting but… “I don’t want to bother him.”

“I promise you won’t,” he laughs. You don’t know what’s so funny, but hearing his voice rumble in his chest like this is always a treat.

“Maybe,” you allow.

“We’ll take it.” Before you can ask what that means, he loops an arm around your waist and scoops you into his lap. “Now then, about my send off.”

Your giggle turns into a moan as his mouth slants over yours.

Kyle’s only been gone three days. You’ve occupied yourself with cleaning up the flat you share with Brandon. Dust has been collecting since you’ve been out and about so much - and god knows Brandon hardly does more than load the dishwasher. Besides, a good bit of spring cleaning is a pleasant enough distraction, humming as you toss out old things to make more room for the new stuff you’ve been collecting.

“Good to see you getting back to normal,” Brandon says cheerfully. You glance up from the laundry you’re folding. He continues, “I was worried with how behind you got on things, but I knew you just needed some time. I told you this would be better for us both.”

You try not to let that sting. Even if things are better now, and continuing to get better, you can’t forget the pain that lingers from the beginning.

“Tell you what,” he adds, hands in his pockets. “When you finish cleaning up, I’ll take you out to the pub, yeah? Put on something pretty.”

You perk up, pleasantly surprised, though hesitant.

“We could leave earlier if you helped,” you point out, hoping for more than just dinner. “Maybe we could walk in the park or something before eating.”

He gives you a weak smile. One you recognize more than his real one by now. It’s almost apologetic, but not quite.

“I would but I’m bloody exhausted from this week, ya know? Big projects coming up at work.”

Your smile freezes. “And some late nights, I’m sure,” you try to joke.

He doesn’t laugh like you expect, but gives you an odd look. “Why would you say something like that?”

Baffled, you shrug. He shakes his head.

“I’m going to take a nap, come wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

You manage to finish the majority of your to-do list by 5. Shower, get dressed, do your hair and makeup with Brandon snoring in the background until 6. By then, he still hasn’t woken up from his nap, so you perch on the edge of the bed and gently nudge at him until he stirs.

“I’m ready to go, babe,” you murmur.

He scrunches up his face - you spare an affectionate thought for how cute it is. You’ve always found it cute.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles.

You laugh a little. “It’s getting late, we should probably head out.”

He groans. “Five. Minutes.”

You huff in amusement and reach for his phone to set an alarm, but pause at all the notifications from dating apps crowding his screen. There are… a lot. And as you’re looking, a new message pops up, just labeled “blonde” with a peach emoji. Gross.

You set the alarm and slip away to the living room.

It takes him another half hour to finally rouse, shuffling into the living room with a groan.

“C’mon,” he yawns. “It’s going to be bloody crowded by now.”

You follow him quietly to the car, knowing he’s not chatty when he’s just woken up. Hunger only adds to his mood; you can practically see a cloud forming over his head. By the time he pulls up to the pub, he’s downright grumpy. He grumbles about shit parking, and the milling people outside. It looks busy.

“We could go somewhere else?” you suggest.

“This is fine,” he says.

He parks a block away and starts at a swift pace. You try to hold his hand, but halfway there, he pulls away to check his phone and doesn’t take it again.

Surprisingly, it’s only a twenty minute wait for a table - but Brandon sneers something like “of course it is” under his breath. You smile apologetically at the hostess and usher him away.

He doesn’t talk during the wait, at first. Until suddenly he blurts. “We wouldn’t have to wait if you’d woken me up.”

You blink at him. “I did. You asked for five more minutes.”

“Well, why didn’t you wake me up then?”

“I set an alarm?”

You don’t know why he’s so irritated, just that he seems tired and hungry.

“You know I don’t listen to alarms,” he complains, scowling at the sidewalk.

“Okay… I’ll wake you up next time,” you offer.

“Yeah, next time.”

Thankfully, the two of you are called a little early. The pub is indeed loud and crowded, and you’re definitely overdressed. But at least you know what you want - Brandon’s taken you here a million times before.

Wisely, you wait until he’s downed the texmex rolls before trying for conversation again. He hums along as you talk about work, about the books you’ve been reading, about the new movie you saw last week. You think it’s going pretty well, catching up on each other’s lives, when he interrupts you mid-sentence.

“Where was this?”

You frown. “At the grocery store…?”

“You’re still on that? Thought we moved on from that story.”

You don’t bother finishing it, just ask him about his work. It’s like pulling teeth. A lot of “good” and “busy” and “same as usual.” By the time your entree comes, you’ve given up, not sure if you want to cry or just walk away to see if he even notices. He keeps checking his phone. Your fingers twitch to text Kyle, but you don’t want to bother him while he’s working.

The end of dinner can’t come sooner. You decline dessert when the server asks.

“Probably for the better,” Brandon tells you lowly when they’re gone to get the check. “I think you’ve put on a bit of weight. You know how you get.”

You probably have - Kyle has a sweet tooth and practically begs you to split desserts with him. Johnny’s shares his food with you now too, grinning when you express approval for whatever high-protein dish he’s picked and shoving more at you.

As for “how you get”… Brandon’s mentioned in the past when you were heavier that you get mopey, aren’t much fun to be around.

(A small part of you wonders how that would even effect him at this point. He doesn’t spend enough time around you to notice if you’re mopey. Is that why tonight has been such a disaster…?)

You just collect your purse and lead the way out of the pub. It’s a quiet walk back to the car, even though Brandon seems to be in a better mood. He’s still texting, nearly bumps into an elderly couple along the way.

Back at the apartment, he runs his hand down your side, tugs at the lace hem of your shirt.

“Careful,” you chide.

He sucks his teeth and drops his hand. “I’m just trying to be playful.”

��I know, but I like this shirt.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’ve got three just like it.”

You don’t answer, know it’ll lead to more useless bickering. Just tug the stupid thing over your head, ready to go to bed.

“Hey now, that’s more like it,” he drawls, fingertips running down your spine.

You jump, surprised, but play it off that his hands are cold. He makes some crass comment about warming them up, reaching for your breasts, and your stomach churns.

“I-I think I ate something bad,” you lie, all but sprinting for the bathroom.

You close the door behind you - but don’t lock it. Just sit on the floor, the wall cold against your back, while you try to breathe through your spinning, conflicting thoughts.

He’s finally giving you attention, affection. Why aren’t you jumping at this opportunity to spend time with him? Not long ago, you would have been weeping with joy to have an iota of your normal relationship back. Maybe you really did eat something bad.

“Hey,” Brandon calls through the door, “I’m gonna stay somewhere else tonight.”

You stare at the blank white wood, aghast. “But I’m sick.”

“It’s not like I can do much, is there? Except listen to you be sick all night,” he reasons. “And who knows. Maybe it wasn’t something you ate. Maybe it’s contagious. I don’t want to spend the weekend ill.”

Your eyes burn. He didn’t even open the door to check. “Yeah,” you agree, voice robotic, “you’re right.”

Not even five minutes later, you hear the front door close. That almost, almost does you in. You manage to keep your lackluster dinner down, but not the tears.

You let yourself be pathetic for a few minutes, crying into your arms, folded over your knees. When you finally manage to get yourself together, it’s not Brandon you ache for. It’s Kyle. It’s not possible, you know. You just don’t want to be alone even though the nausea is dissipating.

Sighing, you remove your ruined makeup and wash your face, climb into one of Kyle’s jumpers. At least it still smells like him. It’s only as you’re trying to decide on a comfort show, huddled into a ball on the couch, that you remember his advice.

It takes all of fifteen seconds of debate before you scramble for your phone.

I know it’s late, but are you free, you text Johnny.

A response comes almost immediately.

Always for you, lass. You bite your lip on a tiny smile, already feeling better. Your phone buzzes again. What’s up?

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment as you figure out what to ask - then how to ask it.

Would you want to come to mine for movies? I don’t feel good…

He answers instantly again. Ice cream not-good or Theraflu not-good?

You sniffle when you remember that being sick was a dealbreaker for your night with Brandon.

Ice cream not-good, you reply.

Say no more, hen. Be there in fifteen. Pick a good one.

You watch TikTok’s until there’s a knock at the door. Upon answering, you’re swept up in a bear hug that lifts you off your socked feet.

“Johnny!” you cry, laughing a bit in shock.

“There she is!” he crows, swinging you around. “Been missin’ my best girl!”

You tell yourself the thrill in your stomach is just from him setting you down. (It’s a harder sell when it happens again seeing his wide smile and warm blue eyes.)

“You're ridiculous,” you huff, “I’m not your best girl.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Oh, yer keepin’ track, are ye?”

“C’mon, you must have a partner or something?” you prod as you usher him inside.

“Kyle must’ve told ye, hen, it’s hard in this line of work,” he explains, shrugging. “Tried before but… usually they just end up feeling neglected, ya ken.”

You hum. That’s why Kyle said you and he would work so well with the open relationship - that you’d still have someone at home while he was out. That you wouldn’t be alone if something happened to him.

“Anyway, this is no kinda talk for a cozy night in, now is it?” Johnny says, cutting your melancholy musing short. “Come look at what I brought ya!”

You only notice then the two grocery bags in one hand. He herds you to the couch and sets them on the coffee table for you to root through.

“My favorite!” You exclaim when you extract the tub of ice cream.

The grin Johnny shoots you is proud. “Kyle said so.”

“You two,” you sigh happily.

He’s also brought a squishy stuffed animal, crisps, popcorn, soda, candy, and a small collection of self-care items. You hold the face-masks up with a questioning smile.

“Heard somewhere that it’s good for ye, when yer feelin’ down.” You try not to giggle when the last word comes out sounding like “doon.” He continues, blissfully ignorant. “Hope that’s the right shite, there was a lot to choose from.”

You throw your arms around him, chest warm. “Thank you, this is perfect, Johnny.”

He circles his arm around your waist, holding you close. “Anytime, bonnie,” he murmurs into your hair.

You squeeze his shoulders as you pull away, waving one of the mask packets with a wicked little smile.

“Wanna try this ‘shite’ with me?” you tease.

You expect a resounding and masculine-heavy no. Instead, Johnny tilts his head consideringly for a moment, then shrugs.

“Eh, why the hell not?”

You wake up the next morning to a mess of candy wrappers, discarded moisturizers, and an empty carton of ice cream. And the smell of eggs. Cartoons are playing quietly on the telly. When you yawn and sit up, you’re greeted by a cheerful Johnny at the stove, wearing your pink apron.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he calls.

You flush and smile back, glad that you called him. “Mornin’!”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #misters steal your girl #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #Brandon the crash dummy

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 3 hours

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Emily x Reader after Reader has a sh relapse, Emily patches and her up and assures her she's still beautiful by slow, gentle, loving sex and lots of cuddling please?

You got it, anon! Thanks for the request! :) Hope you like it!

Burning

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, NSFW, self-harm, depression, mental illness, sex, fingering, etc., injuries due to self-harm, brief mentions of an eating disorder, some explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: With Emily away on a case and a depressive episode hitting you hard, you fall back into a pattern you thought you'd kicked a long time ago. When she comes home and discovers what you've done, you're afraid it'll be too much for her. Emily does her best to show you that it's not.

You’d been standing in front of the bathroom mirror for what felt like hours, but was probably mere minutes. Time warped itself when the urges took hold, every second a lifetime of effort, until it became all the potential lives you might live stacked one on top of the other, and they were too heavy for you to carry.

The hand that held the unlit match was shaking, and you seesawed between the unbearable desire to scratch a painful itch and the knowledge that self-hatred that would flood you afterward. But at least the self-hatred and the pain would be something to feel, other than the abject hopelessness that had seemed to swallow you up over the last week.

You’d known a depressive episode was coming before Emily left. You could always feel them coming. But what were you supposed to say? Don’t go save people from a terrorist cell? Stay here with me because I’m scared I’m getting depressed and I need you? It’d be pathetic. You were pathetic. And it wasn’t Emily’s job to keep your mental illness at bay.

But she’d been gone longer than you expected–over a week now. And your depressive episode had hit you harder than you thought it would. You’d called out of work, you’d binged on food delivery, then hated yourself afterward, staring into the mirror feeling lower and lower and lower. Until the only way you could think to stop sinking was to shock yourself out of it.

You knew it wasn’t wise or healthy. You knew you’d feel even worse once the pain subsided. You knew that a relapse would make it that much harder to stop next time. You knew that if Emily was here, she would stop you, she would hide the matches and the lighters, she would be so, so sad that you’d even thought about hurting yourself.

But despite knowing all these things, the hunger for fire, for pain, was too much to resist. You scratched the head of the match against the matchbox and the flame leapt into existence. Your go-to spot in young adulthood had been your arms, but the burns wouldn't fade before Emily got back, and she’d notice them on your arms. This time, you held the match to the upper side of your abdomen, where your arms would hopefully hide the marks.

You scrunched your eyebrows and winced as the flame licked at your skin, the pain white and bright and hot. You wished you could explain to people that odd, addictive mixture of self-loathing and dopamine that hit you and made you feel simultaneously worse and better. You wished people understood the desire for it, that sometimes you wanted to feel worse because feeling worse made you feel better. But it was hard to explain. Even harder to understand. So you didn’t bother most of the time. You lit match after match until the box was empty, until your side was scattered with raised, red-white blotches, like a constellation of all the shitty things you’d ever been through or felt.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and hated what you saw. And it felt good to hate yourself, like a guilty pleasure.

You jumped at the sound of the apartment door opening and closing, and cold panic flooded your system.

“Hey, baby, I’m home!” Emily called from the entryway.

You quickly pulled a loose t-shirt over your head, wincing as the fabric brushed over the burns. She wasn’t supposed to be home yet. She hadn’t texted or called. She’ll hate me, you thought. She’ll hate me if she finds out.

Of course, Emily knew you struggled with self-harm. But you’d been in a really good spot when you’d started dating and had, for the most part, stayed in that really good spot for your entire relationship. You were in therapy. You had healthy coping mechanisms. You hadn’t relapsed in years. You didn’t know what had made today different from every other bad day in the last few years, but you knew you didn’t want Emily to know.

You silently cursed yourself for using all the matches; there were none left to light a candle in the bathroom to mask the scent of burning. You ran to meet her in the living room, hoping that by heading her off, the smell would have time to dissipate.

“Hi, honey,” you greeted her, forcing a smile. You took both her hands in yours to try and prevent her touching your side, which still felt as if it was on fire. You stood on tiptoes to kiss her, and she smiled, leaning in.

“I missed you,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around you. You flinched and inhaled sharply as her fingers grazed the burns.

She furrowed her eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, avoiding her eyes. “I just, um… fell earlier.”

Her hands fluttered over you, a worried expression on her face. “You fell!? Where!? Like, how hard?”

“Not that hard,” you said, trying to squirm away. “It doesn’t hurt too bad. Ow!” Emily had placed a gentle hand at your side and you couldn’t help your outburst.

“Well, honey, if it hurts that bad, you need to let me see it. We might need to go to the ER or something.”

You knew you were done for when she grabbed your wrist, hard. Emily was much stronger than you, so instead of fighting, you went numb.

You felt your whole world stop as she lifted up your shirt to see the scattered burns. You felt tears prick at your eyes. There were too many marks, and they were too symmetrical to have been an accident. You knew it, and Emily knew it, too.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her, but if you did, you would have seen that her eyes were wet with tears she wasn’t going to let herself cry because you needed someone strong right now. If you’d looked at her, you would have seen a mixture of sadness and pity and heartbreak and undying love. You’d have seen the face of someone who wanted nothing more than for you to be okay.

“Y/N,” Emily managed after a moment. “Did you do this to yourself?”

You nodded, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“Today?”

You nodded again.

“How long ago?”

You looked at the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry. “Right before you walked in.”

You hated yourself. You hated yourself even more because you knew that Emily would feel awful. She’d think that if she’d just been a few minutes earlier, she could have prevented this. And you never wanted Emily to feel like your mental illness was her fault or her responsibility.

“Come here,” she said, gently taking your hand and guiding you to the bathroom. She turned on the shower, making sure the water was cool but not cold, then slowly pulled your clothes off. She nodded toward the shower and you got in, shivering under the chilly stream.

Emily sighed and sat down on the toilet lid, watching you. She looked tired, so tired. You hated to be another thing that exhausted her, another thing she had to take care of and fix.

“You should sit down,” she added quietly. “You’re gonna have to be in there for a while. Until they stop burning.”

You sat on the tiled floor, the water leaching the pain away from the burn marks, leaving only disgust and self-loathing in their place. You pulled your knees up to your chest and buried your face, trying and failing not to cry.

Your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs. You heard Emily stand and were sure she was going to leave. Why wouldn’t she? She deserved to. She deserved not to have to deal with you.

You jumped a little as Emily lowered herself into the shower next to you, clothes abandoned on the bathroom floor, and wrapped her arm around your shoulder. She pressed her face into yours as the shower drenched you both.

“Shh,” she soothed, careful to avoid your burns. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Em,” you wept, rocking. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she repeated. “You don’t need to be sorry. I love you. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I hate myself,” you whispered.

Emily gently grabbed your face and tilted it toward her. There were tears in her eyes, too. “Baby, please don’t say that.”

“I can’t help it.” Your voice was so quiet, so small, the sound of the shower almost drowned it out.

“That’s okay,” Emily said, brushing strands of wet hair out of your face. “We’re gonna get you some help, okay?”

You looked in her eyes then for the first time since she’d discovered the burn marks. You didn’t know what you’d expected to see: annoyance, disgust, hatred, or worst of all, ambivalence. But there was none of that in Emily’s eyes. Only love and concern.

Even so, you were scared to ask what you needed to ask. “Do you still love me?”

“Oh, honey, of course I do. I could never stop loving you.”

And then you kissed her. You kissed her with the cool water pouring down around your bodies. With your skin hot from the burns and from your aching love for Emily. You kissed her desperately, hungrily, like someone clinging to a lifeboat, and Emily was. She was your lifeboat. And for Emily’s part, she was gentle, almost too gentle, as if you might break at any moment.

You wrapped your legs and arms around her and she held you so carefully, so mindful of your burns. You shuddered in the cool water as your hips pushed against her.

Emily moaned into your mouth, her hands faltering for a moment.

“Y/N,” she said breathlessly, pulling away to hold your face in her hands. “We don’t have to do this." She looked at you a moment longer, then added, "I love you.”

You kissed her again. Her mouth. Her forehead. Her collarbone. Emily’s chest heaved into you and your heart beat rapidly.

“Please,” you begged. “Show me.”

Emily pulled you into her, letting her tongue and her lips roam over your neck, letting her hips meet yours as the water surrounded you, soothing your burns the way Emily soothed the roiling, burning despair inside of you.

“I love you,” she whispered as she kissed your eyelids. “I love you,” she whispered as she pressed her hands into the soft flesh of your ass. “I love you,” she whispered as she slipped her fingers inside of you. You bit back a moan and trembled against her, your body pulsing around her.

She fucked you slowly, tenderly, as if it was both your first time and your last, though this was neither. And she kept saying it–“I love you”–again and again, never stopping, so that all the darkness in your mind, all the self-doubt, didn’t have any room to make itself heard.

You let out a strangled groan as your body tensed around her, and when your pleasure flooded you, it was like you were on fire. And this fire was so much better, louder, brighter, than any flame you’d ever held to your body. It was a burning that consumed you, one that would leave you new and glistening afterward instead of scarred and in ashes.

You fell limp against her as she removed her fingers, kissing your forehead, your collarbone, your mouth, swirling her tongue with yours until you felt drunk on her. “I love you,” she said, and you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of hearing it. “I love you.”

You were quiet as she turned off the shower head. Quiet as you both dried off, as Emily gently pressed a towel to your side, making sure your burns were clean and dry. She sat you on the toilet lid as she pulled gauze squares and antibacterial ointment out of the bathroom cabinet, spreading the ointment on the gauze, then pressing it gently to your skin.

“Lift your arms up,” she said quietly, as she circled your body with bandages, wrapping it just tight enough that it wouldn’t shift in the night.

She knelt down in front of you and caressed your face. “Bed?” she asked. You nodded.

“You go ahead,” she said, patting your leg. “I’ll be right there.”

You felt self-doubt start creeping back in as you laid in bed on top of the covers, your burns still too hot to sleep underneath. When Emily came into the room, she carried a glass of water and a bottle of pills.

“Take these,” she told you, handing you a few. You drank and swallowed obediently.

She lay down in the bed and motioned you over. “Come here and let me hold you.”

You rested your face in the crook of her neck, and she played with your hair, careful to avoid your burns.

“I love you,” she whispered after a few minutes, kissing the top of your head.

“You said.” You meant it to be funny, but your heart wasn’t in it. Not yet.

“And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it.”

You were quiet for a minute, then spoke. “I love you, too, Em.” You nuzzled your way closer to her, hoping against hope that her arms around you were enough to keep the darkness and the numbness away for the night.,

And as you drifted off, she kept saying it–“I love you.” And then a kiss on your head.

As your eyelids fluttered closed–“I love you.” And she pressed her face to your forehead.

As your breath slowed and evened, and your body went limp–“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss drabble #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #hurt/comfort #self h@rm

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damn-stark · 1 day

Text

Chapter 37 Strong heart

Chapter 37 of Sugar

A/N- I hope you guys like it :) I liked writing this chapter

Warning- Swearing, ANGST, FLUFF, violence and blood, talks of DEATH, and pregnancy, flashback, SPOILERS!!!! long chapter!

Pairing- Choso x Gojo!fem-reader, Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader

Episode and or chapters- Chapter 243 to chapter 253

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

Choso’s not responding, why is he not responding?

You take a step closer but stop out of fear that you’ll meet up with a corpse.

“Ch…” You trail off in a quivering voice and continue watching his unmoving body.

Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be gone, please…

You force yourself to go to him, but you head to him slowly because your fear of losing him is polluting your mind. After all, when you found Suguru last year he was on the ground, bleeding out, barely alive, and missing an entire arm. What if you come across that horrifying scene again, but this time you don’t even get to say goodbye?

“Choso?” Your voice comes out hoarse as your need to cry weakens it. “Choso?”

You cast a shadow over him as you stop a foot away from him because you’re scared if you get too close you won’t hear him breathe.

“Choso?” You basically plead.

And this time, at last, you catch his fingers shift on the ground—but! Does that mean he’s okay? You see a lot of blood staining his clothes, and two giant fist-sized holes on the back of his vest.

Choso then slowly lifts his head and you hold your breath when you meet his honey-imbued eyes. He mutters your name as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing, and his pupils dilate as he keeps watching you with the rays of the sun shining around your head like a glorious halo.

You step closer and pull the worm cursed-spirit off your shoulders to try and crouch, but Choso pushes himself up and that’s when you freeze completely because of the two gaping wounds you see close to his side. You can’t see through them, it seems like they went all the way through since there’s holes on his back, but there’s raw flesh now that makes his wound look like two dark voids.

“Choso,” you gasp.

Said man doesn’t seem to believe you’re real, he just studies your face as if he’s admiring some painting for a lingering moment before he lunges forward and throws his arms around you.

And you can't believe his chest was moving with signs of life, that you're actually looking into his pretty eyes until you feel his warmth and his strong arms around you. “Choso,” you whisper in disbelief and cling onto him.

“My love,” he whispers. “You’re okay. You’re safe, you’re back to me.”

His voice is so comforting, so soft and soothing. You wish you could say it kills the fear you felt clinging onto your heart, but you won’t stop being afraid about his well-being until you’re walking out of this fight hand in hand.

“You’re alive,” you point out to yourself. “Why didn’t you answer me? I was calling out your name?”

Choso pulls back and grabs onto your jaw to tilt your head and then step back to study your body for any wounds he might’ve missed.

“I’m okay,” you assure him as you watch his eyes roam your body. “We’re okay, Kenjaku didn’t even touch me.”

Choso’s eyes snap to you and he doesn’t seem to believe you, so you grab his hand and yank it down to put over your belly. “Remember you can feel them. They’re okay, yes?”

Choso holds your gaze as he searches within himself for the confirmation over the twins' status. And once he’s assured that they’re okay just like you told him, he sighs with relief and once again holds your face with both hands to check you out one more time.

“I’m okay,” you whisper and caress his shoulder with a sweet smile.

He lets out a deep breath and nods in comprehension, and as he stays attached to you, you slip your hands down to his chest with a smile still glued to your face, and then shove him back with your face quickly twisting to show your anger.

“You scared me!” You scold him. “I kept calling out to you, I texted you twice and you didn’t answer me. I thought…I…” you trail off and swiftly turn on your heels to catch your breath and stop yourself from crying.

You already cried so much today, that you don’t want to keep crying.

“I’m sorry,” Choso quickly tries to comfort you. “I just didn’t want you to see me hurt. I wanted to heal before you got to me, I’m sorry,” he whispers those last two words as he grabs your shoulder.

You turn your face away and lift your hand to gnaw on your nail. “How…how did it happen?” Your voice comes out muffled.

Choso sighs. “Sukuna surprised me. He was too fast, I tried to use piercing blood, but from one second to another he was before me and jammed his hands through me.”

Any higher and he would’ve hit his core, and his heart, Choso was close to death, he could’ve died. You were close to being a widow once again, you were close to having to live without him.

“I should’ve been more careful,” he adds sincerely.

Yes, and no. He was just trying to help the best he could, he didn’t expect to get hurt the way he did, but you can’t help but be upset because he was so close to death.

“You,” you spat and snap your head around to pierce your glare at him, but when you meet his guilt-filled eyes, when you see the life in his eyes your anger falls and your relief completely takes over, making you throw your arms around his neck instead.

“I’m happy you’re okay,” you whisper in his ear. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Choso balls your clothes as he grabs onto your back and breaks the truth. “We’re still not done yet.”

Your breath trembles, but you don’t let his comment bring you down. “I know but let me just appreciate you’re okay for now.” You say and snuggle your face in the crook of his neck.

Choso hums and keeps holding you for as long as you need until you remember what you have and pull apart with a smirk. “I have something I need to give you,” you clue him in even though he might have an idea.

You then walk over to pick up the worm cursed spirit and drape him around your shoulders before you reach towards his mouth. “Now, I’ll tell you what I told Shoko, I’m sorry for the way it’s brought over, I just didn’t want to carry this around in my hand,” you tell him and pull out the jar with Kenjaku’s brain. “This is yours,” you let Choso know, and assure him that his father is gone once and for all. “You and your brother can rest easy now that he won’t be roaming this earth.”

Choso clenches his jaw and anger passes behind his eyes, but it’s all then quickly replaced by relief, and then lastly sorrow that brings tears to the corner of his eyes. And you can’t imagine it’s sorrow for his father's death, he hated his father, so it must be sorrow born from joy more than anything; joy that at long last a monster who terrorized him, his brothers, and his mother is finally gone.

It was all thanks to you.

“Your mother and your brothers can rest now too,” you tell him softly. “He won’t torment anyone anymore.”

Choso looks at you and his eyes gleam with awe and joy. “Thank you,” he muses as he takes the jar. “Thank you for doing this for me and for my family.”

You offer him a gentle smile and reach over to wipe a tear off his cheek. “You welcome and if it wasn't just me, it was Okkotsu too, but you are welcome.”

Choso grabs your hand to give it a gentle squeeze, and as he holds your gaze the love he has for you only heightens and grows more passionate and tender. He also thanks the stars and fate for letting your paths intertwine.

“What will you do with it?” You ask Choso, making him snap from his stupor to glare at the brain with a seething anger.

“Burn it,” he sneers, “and then I’ll disintegrate those ashes until there’s nothing left. I don’t want to give him even the slightest chance of coming back, especially not now that we're going to have children.”

You hum and nod in comprehension.

“I wish I could do it now,” he grumbles, “but it seems we don’t have the time.”

He looks up at you and pushes the jar towards you. “Can you keep it safe until I can get rid of it?”

You take the jar from his hand and assure him without hesitation. “Of course I can.”

You return the jar to the Worm so he can keep it safe within him for now.

“Did you…” Choso pauses, making you look back at him with a soft curious look—“recover Suguru Geto’s body?”

You blink in surprise and avert your gaze to nod. “Yes,” you respond quietly. Again not out of shame, you just don’t know how much you should talk about Suguru with Choso.

“Shoko says she can mend the wounds we left him and get rid of the those nasty stitches Kenjaku left,” you share with a faint smile, and when you look over you see Choso struggling to keep his eyes on you.

It’s probably just as awkward for him as it is for you.

“That’s good. Satori will be able to look at her father one last time without thinking about Noritoshi,” he says what you thought about too. “And you,” he pauses. “Will be able to put him to rest too.”

You sigh and nod. “Yeah,” you mumble. “I know…It’s not weird, is it? Talking about him?”

Choso keeps his eyes on his hand clutching onto his wound and blinks before he shakes his head. “No…it’s just…strange, but it’s something I know shouldn’t bother me.” He finally looks over at you and looks at you with a guilty look. “Don’t think you have to avoid talking about him in front of me…I understand he was your husband. You loved him.”

You hold his gaze as you feel your heart envelope in warm bliss and awe that could almost mend your shattered heart.

“You’re sweet,” you coo and grab his chin with your thumb and pointer finger to lean in and press a gentle peck on his lips. “This is why I love you.”

The corner of Choso’s pink lips tug up and his hand cups your wrist to caress your skin and send waves of comfort throughout your aching body.

“Now,” you change the subject as you slide your hand over to take his hand. “Why don’t we go sit so you can finish healing before we meet up with Yuji? I have something to show you.” You bounce your eyebrows and flash him a giddy grin.

Choso studies you and this sudden burst of excitement that he knows isn't just caused by anything, there’s a specific reason behind your outburst and he assumes one thing. “Did Satori send you something?”

You walk him toward a nearby wall since there’s no benches anywhere nearby.

“No,” you tell him and peer back at him with your lips and eyes hard to read. “Manami and Toshihisa were going to keep her distracted all day today. I didn’t want to risk having her catch a glimpse of the broadcast. So she’s too busy having fun.” You assume, but you also know that it’s not too far-fetched considering who’s taking care of her.

“It’s something else,” you tease him and sit you both down on the cold ground and press your backs against the wall. “Are you ready?” You only begin to excite him now.

“I don’t know if I should be,” Choso remarks nonchalantly.

You giggle as you pull out your phone and meet his gaze to pass him a giddy look that causes a gleam to spark in your eyes, and makes his heart skip a beat.

“Shoko checked on me after I got back,” you begin to explain to him as you surf on your phone until you find the video you just took of the twin's heartbeat—“and she heard this.”

You press play and push the phone near him so he can see the screen, even if it’s just Shoko pressing the wand against your belly.

At first, though Choso doesn’t seem to understand what he hears, he thinks that the two running hearts are just your own heart racing too fast.

“I don’t—” just before he can express his concern though his mouth goes agape and his eyes widen.

“It’s their heartbeats,” you make it clear so he can process the news faster. “It’s Suki and…”

“…Tsukuyomi,” Choso finishes for you, making you beam at him and nod in confirmation. He then carefully takes the phone from you to pull the phone closer to his ear.

“That’s them, that’s their hearts,” he muses.

You watch as his eyes cloud with blissful tears, and his smile spreads with a tender adoration dancing on his lips.

“They sound strong,” you repeat what Shoko told you. “They have strong hearts.”

Choso tears his eyes away from the video and looks at you with even more tenderness that softens his eyes and makes his eyes glimmer. “Just like you,” he whispers confidently because out of all the things he knows, he knows he’s more than sure about that.

You hear it, the sincerity behind his tone and you can’t help but also redirect it at him. “And you.”

Choso’s smile fills with more admiration and he responds by leaning in and pressing a kiss on your forehead.

You smile softly with glee and take his hand before you rest your head on his shoulder and listen to the video one more time to use that as a sliver of joy in this storm of agonizing sorrow.

After Choso plays the video a couple more times he rests his head on yours and gently squeezes your hand in the silence he keeps. You can’t help but keep smiling as you think about your dream of growing your family, of raising your children the way you wanted to be raised and loving them with your husband who loves you unconditionally.

What more could you ask for—

Oh…

Satoru…right.

No matter what he was always in your future, even if you imagined him distant when you didn’t talk, he was still there in the background of your dreams. Now…where he once was is replaced by a black void that slowly swallows everything and leaves you hopeless for the future.

“Once this is done,” you break the silence to avoid drowning in your grief. “The snakes will lash out at the Gojo clan.”

“What do you mean?” Choso probes a bit confused.

“They won’t accept my daughter as their leader so they’ll try and replace her with one of my male cousins most likely,” you explain and already start to feel irritated.

“Even if your brother left in his will that he wants Satori to be leader after him?”

You nod. “Yeah, one, my daughter wasn't raised with the Gojo’s, two she's a woman, and three her last name is Geto and she didn’t inherit her father's technique.” You sigh but smirk mischievously. “Not like it really matters, sure it’s annoying, but I’ll go chop off a few heads to make them listen, and if Satori chooses not to be leader, well, I’ll take her place and pass on the title to one of our children. Hence following the procession of the clan with my line.”

That will surely teach your family for mistreating you!

You love being spiteful.

“Are you sure?” Choso surprises you by asking.

You pull away from his side and meet his gaze with a serious and determined pointed look. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you swear.

Choso didn’t want to try and argue or convince you that it was a bad idea, all he needed was to ask if that’s what you really wanted to do. Now that he has his answer he’ll leave it be and let you do as you please and what best suits your daughter, and your brother's wishes because it’s what he would do too if he was in your shoes.

“I know it hasn’t been long, but how’s your wound?” You interject as you turn around to sit on your knees and grab his vest and robe to pull it aside so you can check out his wound yourself.

“I feel better,” he tries to assure you, even if you look at his wound right now and see that it’s still pretty deep. They’re not as deep as before, but they’re not near closing yet. However, you know you can’t reason with Choso, not when Yuji is still in commission, as well as you. You would need to knock him out cold to get him to sit back.

“Cho,” you still try to argue regardless. “I see—”

“I’m okay, I can keep fighting,” he cuts you off a bit harshly so you won’t try and argue again. “Don’t worry about me right now.”

You drop your eyes to the two holes in his flesh and groan before you steal a glimpse at his blood-stained abs and let his clothes go to fall back into his place.

“We should…find Yuji,” you bring up a bit begrudgingly. Only because you wish he’d heal 150 percent.

“That’s what I was thinking,” he says as he stands on his feet.

“That’s what I was thinking,” you mock under your breath as you follow him up.

Alas, he catches you and slowly cranes his head back to look at you with his thick eyebrows furrowed.

You sass him and shoot him a pointed look that makes him scoff before he steps aside to let you walk ahead as he keeps an eye out from behind.

However, he’s not looking out for Yuji, he’s watching out for trouble that might try and catch you off guard. Even if Sukuna is fighting alone and he has no reason to come after either of you unprovoked, it would still be stupid to not be looking over your shoulders.

“I hope you know the moment you get hurt I will throw you over my shoulder,” Choso proclaims, making you smirk and look back at him.

“Oh really?” You say teasingly, causing his eyes to snap to you, however he doesn’t catch your flirtatious smile.

“Really,” he says seriously.

Your smirk deepens and your voice turns silkier. “Why don’t you try it out right now? Just show me how you’ll do it, hm?”

Choso blinks and is finally hit with the realization of what you’re really getting at. “Oh…well…I can show you,” he tries his best to hit you back with something flirty just as smoothly as you.

“I might argue,” you say and come to a stop so he can fall right behind you, to the point his chest grazes your back—“what will you do then?”

Choso swallows thickly and glances at your lips, making you steal a glimpse at his own before you turn around and show him an example with a short kiss.

“There’s one way to keep me quiet or…?” You trail off so he can finish.

“Or,” he trails on as he holds your gaze completely star-struck. “I can,” he pauses and raises his hand to let it hover over your mouth and make sure you’re okay with what he’s doing. When he notices that you aren’t protesting, and keep waiting with a smirk on your face, Choso gently presses his hand against your lips and slowly lets his thumb graze over your bottom lip as he holds your gaze.

Your heart skips a beat with excitement and his pounds, but even as he stands there nervously he still gently penetrates the tip through your lips. When he feels the warmth and wetness of your mouth he shoves his whole thumb in, making you suck gently before you pull away from his touch and laugh.

Not at him. Of course. You laugh with excitement, having forgotten for a moment what tormented you, and steal a passionate kiss that you savor before you press your forehead on his and grab the back of his neck.

Choso lets out a deep breath and cups your cheeks to caress your jawline with his thumb, making you lean your face towards one side to steal one more moment of comfort.

Just a short moment before you both pull away and continue down your path side by side.

After a few moments of walking, you finally come across Yuji on his knees in the middle of the highway with blood spilling out of his mouth. And just ahead you see only a glimpse of Maki and Sukuna before they disappear from your view. But even if he’s gone you still feel a chill run down your spine as you assume you’ll be facing him off soon now that you’re closer in his range…

Soon though, now you focus on Choso and his brother, and with a look alone you press Choso to help his brother.

And even if your husband understands what you mean he still hesitates. “What if I say the wrong thing? He said I’m not good at teaching, I don’t want him to get something wrong because of me,” he pauses and drifts his gaze away from Yuji to look at you with a soft pleading look. “Could you help him, remind him to take it slow?”

You glance at Yuji in distress and do have the need to help him, but if you were him all you’d want is your brother's help, even if it is a smidge of advice.

“He needs you,” you advise Choso. “Just don't over-explain it. Talk to him as if you were talking to Satori,” you say and rub his shoulders, but he doesn’t seem content with that so you come up with one more thing. “Ah! Just explain it to me and I’ll tell you if it's okay.”

Choso swallows back nervously but doesn’t hesitate this time, he draws out a deep breath and brings his hand up to press his thumb on your forehead. “Healing comes from here. All you need to do is just visualize. Watch it spread like roots,” he explains tenderly as he moves his thumb down. “Spread it everywhere and focus on mending what’s really wounded.”

Choso traces the veins down to your hand and stops when his thumb lands on your warm palm. And as he holds your hand his tenderness slowly twists to worry. “Was that okay?” Choso asks somewhat panicked.

You offer him a bright smile and nod. “That was perfect. I’m sure he’ll understand,” you assure him as you grab his hand with your free one to gently massage his palm.

Choso sighs deeply and glances at Yuji, still seeming to be spaced out and distressed on the ground. This time though, without hesitation Choso leaves your side and reaches his little brother.

“Take a breath,” you hear Choso guide Yuji as he presses his hand on his back. “Remember what you were taught. Visualize it. Allow the blood to spread throughout every corner of your body like roots. Visualize an outline of your body made with veins.”

You can’t help but smile in awe as you watch the interaction, as you watch how kind and patient Choso is with Yuji even if this is a moment of distress. You watch him being a caring old brother and once again you’re reassured of the fact that he’ll be a great father, and an even greater partner to raise your family with.

Once again as you watch him help Yuji you can’t help but count yourself lucky for having fate cross your paths.

——

Dear Satoru,

How does one relish in the peace gifted to them after so many died trying to get this far?

I can’t help but feel guilty about being happy and being able to live my life the way I dreamed of. Choso and Shoko tell me I shouldn’t feel bad for the dead anymore, but how can I look at Satori who's a couple of months away from turning 17? How can I look at my twins laughing and playing with their father, my youngest girl Amaterasu clinging onto her father hoping that somehow she could live in his skin so she wouldn’t be too far away from him. How can I watch my youngest son Ryusei get more and more curious about the world without feeling bad for those who sacrificed themselves and couldn’t live past another day of their lives?

I smile, I laugh, I’m grateful, but there’s always that twinge of guilt I feel in my heart—

“Turtle.” A little voice pulls your attention off your paper, and as you look up you see your youngest child Ryusei holding a weird turtle-shaped rock, but his 2-year-old mind has latched on to that word and is labeling everything and everyone turtle because it’s his favorite word of the week along with “no”.

You really hate the “no” phase, all five of your kids had it, so you’re more than glad that Ryusei will be your last child. You can’t handle any more terrible two phases…even if Choso is starting to hint at wanting another one.

You can’t handle it anymore though. As cute as they are and as much as you love newborn phases, all you want now is to just focus on the kids you have and be able to love your man in peace without having any more snotty kids interrupt you—with peace and love.

“No,” you correct Ryusei and take the rock from his hold to look at it because that’s what he wants you to do. “This is a rock. See? It doesn’t have eyes or a shell, silly.”

Ryusei reaches over to take back his rock and studies it as he carries it in his palm. The wheels in his mind spin as he thinks about what you said for a moment before he pouts just like his father, and nonchalantly drops the rock.

“No,” he argues and waddles away,

You hear a giggle behind you and as you slowly look back you catch Satori with her head up and grinning with amusement.

“He showed me his toy and said it was a turtle, when I corrected him he threw it at me and waddled away,” Satori shares between giggles, making you sigh and slouch.

“He’s the most hot-headed out of all of you, I don’t understand why,” you contemplate your child’s behavior.

Satori pushes her sunglasses down to shield her eyes and flashes a grin. “His grandfather. Probably.” She snickers.

“That’s still not funny ten years later,” you grumble and look away, finding the twins, Suki and Tsukuyomi, and your youngest daughter Amaterasu going towards the oceans shore without their father towing behind him, so as curious as to where he went, you drift your eyes away and find him on his feet where they all once were.

“Suki, Tsu, your brother is going over to you, hold his hand,” Choso warns the twins since they’re the oldest, and Amaterasu finds it in herself to argue as if she’s the one that was left in charge of her little brother.

“But the waves are not strong at all!”

She lacks responsibility because she’s the middle child, and she’s never in charge like Satori or the twins, so she’s turned lax.

“It doesn’t matter,” Choso counters his daughter. “He can still stumble.”

“You’re not even in charge Amaterasu,” Tsukuyomi snaps at his sister. “Why are you talking back?”

“I’m just pointing it out!” Amaterasu yells at her brother as she stomps her foot in the water around her ankles—“Gosh…” she trails off and you watch her mouth move as she seems to mumble something under her breath.

You sit back on your hands and watch all four of them with a little smile on your face.

They argue often; all five of them, over little things but they make up like nothing, they apologize quickly and go back to laughing and smiling at each other, and after some desecalations, you can’t help but smile over their bickering because it reminds of you and your brother.

When you were young—no, you argued all the time too, as they do, and made up just as fast. You got older and things happened that kept you two estranged, but you found your way back to each other. You don’t want your children to go through that same strain, but you want them to experience all the good and the bad about having each other. You want them to know that same bliss about having a sibling that you still hold onto all these years later...

You grin and feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes born from joy that you express in your letter.

—but never about my kids. I never feel guilty about having my kids and knowing that joy. They’re my blessings, they’re my everything. They’re the good piece of me, and a piece of my beloved, Choso. They’re even a piece of you, Satoru.

I see you in them all the time, in Suki, Tsukuyomi, and Ryusei’s white hair, in all their unbreakable spirits. So that’s one thing I can never ever be guilty about. Because of them, I feel like I will always carry a piece of you.

Is that cheesy?

Still, I want rid of this guilt annoying my heart like a splinter in your finger that you can’t pull out—

“Look,” Choso pulls you away from your train of thought getting engraved on paper, and first drifts your attention to the shadow he casts over you before you meet his honey-kissed brown eyes looking down at you tenderly—“a mochi I took from Ryu’s snack bag.”

You flash him a smile and take the half he offers you in your mouth. He then takes a seat on the sand next to you and keeps holding your gaze, letting you notice the red tint stamped over his nose and his cheeks.

“Cho,” you point out with your mouth full and lean over to grab his chin. “Did you put sunscreen on your face? You’re getting red.”

Choso blinks and thinks as he keeps looking at you, and when he seems to think back to a specific moment he groans and shakes his head. “Amaterasu needed help putting sunscreen on so I stopped just as I was about to apply some on my face. Sorry.”

You sigh deeply and first finish your mochi before you reach into your bag and pull out a bottle of sunscreen to press some on the tip of your fingers before you lean close to Choso, and gently massage some on his face.

“No matter what you still need to remember to put some on your face. You still burn.” You remind him sweetly.

The corner of his lips pulls to a tender smile as his eyes soften. “Why, when I can have you help me?”

You pause briefly to swoon before you leave a sweet peck on his lips and continue to protect his face from any further burning rays of the sun.

“Do you want some too, Satori?” You tease your teenage daughter in a baby voice.

“No,” she quickly rebuttals. “Thank you. I can put my own on.”

“Oh, but—”

“No,” Satori cuts you off before you can reminisce about her when she was a little girl, making you drop your hands off Choso’s face and pout.

Choso sees your flicker of sadness and strokes your chin.

No matter what though, no one will take away the sadness at watching your little girl only get older—it’s not a bad sadness you lament, you wish for her to only get older, but there’s always something about watching your kids get older that just gets you a little sad.

“She’s always the one arguing and always the one holding his hand,” Choso muses.

You follow his line of gaze and smile softly at the sight of Amaterasu pulling Ryusei up with her to jump over the small wave unfurling over the sand.

The little boy giggles and watches the next wave approaching before glancing at his sister as he anticipates the next wave he’ll jump over.

“Trying telling her that,” you quip lightheartedly.

Choso chuckles, making you look at him and only grin in admiration as his shoulders shake, and the sun makes his brown eyes twinkle as well as highlight that infinite joy he always has when watching his children just doing their own thing.

He always looks at his kids with pride, no matter what nothing takes away that love he looks at his kids with because he never wants his kids to feel the same way his own father made him feel; unloved and unwanted. It’s what makes Choso an excellent father, and it’s why you love having the honor of being Choso’s partner and having him be the father of your kids.

And it’s while you admire him and think about his big heart and the life you’re lucky to share, that you realize the answer to your question, going unaware that even after 10 years Choso has the need to steal glimpses at you to engrave every detail of your face as if it was the first time laying his eyes on you.

….I get it now. The answer to my guilt is living my life for those who died fighting. I’ll love for them and live so their sacrifice isn’t in vain.

Love, your beloved sister.

——

*2 MONTHS AGO*

“What is Gojo’s sister to you?”

“To me?”

The camera focuses on Yuji Itadori holding a half-bitten sandwich, and the person behind the camera nods in confirmation, making the pink-haired boy wipe his mouth and hum as he thinks before he sits up and responds honestly.

“Well to me she once was someone I had a crush on, I mean did you see her in magazines and on runways?!” He smirks and laughs lightly. “But now, she’s like my bodyguard. Gojo—oh our teacher, Gojo asked her to protect me from the people after me, so she turned out to be that which is cool. But you know how they say you should never meet your idols?” He sighs and takes a bite from his sandwich. “Yeah, that suits my situation…” He trails off and his eyes widen with panic, but before he can seem to correct himself the camera cuts off and displays three other students.

“Who is she to me?” Maki Zen’in repeats the question and scoffs with displeasure.

“Salmon!” Inumaki exclaims, making Panda nod as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“She tried killing us last year,” the black and white bear shares with a huff. “And she’s been the only person who’s been able to deflect Inumaki’s technique.”

“I heard she killed some members of her family a few years back,” Maki cuts in and makes the camera shift to focus on her. “She’s also a stain on the Gojo clan. The one fallen from grace, or so they say. I would say I admire her but she tried to kill us so she’s a killer.”

The clip cuts off and now they’re back inside facing Yuji Itadori with his sandwich and a panicked reaction.

“…not that I don’t think she’s not strong!” Yuji finally gets to explain himself before someone gets the wrong idea. “She’s strong and cool! And very beautiful, in Iike, an ethereal kind of way, like if you tell me to think of royalty, that’s who I picture her to be. But I guess it suits her considering who they say she is in the sorcerer community.” He says and flashes the camera a smile, leading to a smooth transition to some courtyard of some shopping center with a short-haired girl in the center.

“How many of these questions are you going to ask me?” Nobara Kugisaki asks as she puts on some sunglasses to block away the sun from shining in her eyes. “Anyway,” she speaks softly and with no ounce of deceit. “She’s someone I can say I admire regardless of all I hear about her because she’s proof that you can be both strong and a woman. She’s proof that we as women in the sorcerer society don’t have to fit into a stupid stereotype. Plus she dresses so cool even when she’s out on missions with Itadori, I want to dress like her.”

There wasn’t even a second of stepping into the dark side of your character, despite all that’s said about you, Nobara spoke from her heart and never thought of holding back to fit in with what others had to say about you.

The same could be said about Kento Nanami, albeit he might have some bias for you.

“First off,” Nanami directs at the camera even if watches the road ahead of him. “She has a name, she’s not called Gojo’s sister,” he scolds the interviewer and instantly counters by saying your full name to the camera before dipping into the question. “And she’s my one and only best friend, there’s no one I trust more than her…” he trails off to push his glasses up his nose and watch the road as he seems lost in thought.

The video may display a few seconds of passing time, but in truth, Nanami took a lot longer than that to continue, and even then he sounds quite pensive when he speaks about you.

“Besides being strong, and a bit egotistical like her brother, she’s extremely loyal, there’s no one you’d want more fighting beside you in a tough situation than her. She’s really a force to be reckoned with,” he says and finally glances at the camera with his eyebrows narrowed.

“Should you really be recording while I’m driving—”

The video is cut off and lastly, there’s one more clip left of a tall man with white hair and dark shades on his face.

“Well as everyone knows she’s my sister!” Satoru says in an almost teasing manner. “My little sister. She’s the only sibling I have, and you know being raised in an important clan like mine brings a lot of responsibility, but she made it all tolerable…” he smiles softly ahead and then he can’t help but smirk.

“I’m strong, the strongest there is, but,” he snickers. “I wouldn't go messing with her. There’s a reason she's a special grade, but she’ll be a pain in your ass, trust me. I wouldn’t underestimate her,” he trails on softly, and if anyone who really knew him heard him, they’d even say that he sounds full of admiration talking about his little sister. They’d also be able to see the softness painted on his face, but he has a good way to mask that to look smug in front of the camera.

“Oh!” He exclaims and claps his hands before he stops and turns, making the camera turn too to face him directly. Albeit he then surprises the camera as he leans in close as if the speakers or the camera wouldn’t capture what he has to say. “Despite what she wants you to believe she’s not scary. Don’t believe that crap,” he laughs and turns the camera off forcing the interview about you to end.

——

*NOW*

“Well,” there’s no avoiding it now or a continuous chance to be a backseat watcher. “Looks like it’s almost my turn…” you trail off and gulp before turning away from the disaster Sukuna and Maki are leaving in their fight.

You’d like to say you’re heading to this fight completely fearless, but your trembling hands and your pounding heart say otherwise.

“No one would blame you if you chose not to fight,” Yuji suddenly interjects, sounding like his big brother. “You have a big reason to stay behind.”

You blink in disbelief and slowly lift your head to watch him watching his hands turned to red claws. He doesn’t look up to meet your gaze when he feels it boring in him, instead, he watches his fists as if trying to find a fault in them.

“I’d blame myself,” you tell him as you approach him. “I’m strong and I’m powerful, but besides that, I’m fighting for something much bigger than myself.” You come to a stop and cast a shadow over his body hunched on the ground, and raise your hand to clutch onto the heart locket Choso gave you, the one that holds a picture of Nanako and Mimiko.

“Sukuna took something from me too,” you whisper and feel your fury boiling inside, but you also feel grief you have yet to really let your heart feel. “He took the girls who taught me how to love full heartedly, he took the girls who made me a mother. What mother would I be if I didn't try and get revenge for what he did? They were my daughters and he took them away.”

You let out a shaky breath, but you drop the tears that came with it. Instead, you actually proceed to meet Yuji’s brown eyes as he finally lifts his head.

“Oh,” he whispers shamefully. “That’s right. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and crouch down to be at his level. “Keep your head up, kid. He hasn’t broken your spirit yet. You’ll break his. He may be a monster, but there’s still something in there you can crush. I know you’ll find it. You’re strong and brave, and you have a good heart.”

Yuji raises his head and swallows thickly, he parts his lips and seems to search for something within you. When he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for he sighs and mutters. “How did you do it? Find the strength to keep fighting after losing so much?”

“My daughter,” you bring up with hesitation but find it in yourself to try and find something he can relate to. “Considering you don’t have kids, then I’ll say this. I have faith in myself. It gets shaken, but it’s reliable. You have that too, that unbreakable faith. I see it.”

Yuji’s eyes soften and his chest rises as he draws in a deep breath. When his chest falls a half smile tugs on the corner of his lips. “Thank you,” he says hushedly.

You flash him a smile and gently pat his shoulder before you stand to your given height to face Choso who refuses to look at you, but still hangs onto every word you just told his brother.

“Cho,” you whisper and close the gap left between you to grab his arm crossed over his chest to turn him to face you. “Don’t be mad. We talked about this.”

Choso keeps his gaze pierced on the ground, so you lift your hands to grab his face and tilt his head up so you can meet those eyes you love so much.

“You can go pull me out of the fight if I get hurt,” you try to assure him, but his dark eyebrows pinch together and his eyes pierce into you before he retorts.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

You sigh and he finally unfolds his arms to clutch onto yours. “I can’t be okay with you going to risk your life,” he spills out what he had been keeping inside for so long. “I was okay with you facing my father because he was weaker than you, but Sukuna? He can kill you before I even have a chance to react. How do you expect me to be okay with that?”

You shake your head and counter softly. “I don’t expect you to be okay with it, I’m not okay with you being here either, but what choice do we have? And you heard me just now, my reasons to be here and fight him. You were with me the day I found them, and you were with me every day after that as I’ve mourned them. You know the thirst for revenge too, and you know it’s impossible to sit idly by until you know you’ve gotten justice for the ones you lost.”

Choso's lips curl to a deep displeased frown, and his eyes drop before he groans out of frustration because he knows you’re right. He’s known it, but he doesn’t want to see you go.

“I’ll be okay,” you reassure him as you tilt your head so you can keep holding his gaze, so you can keep holding onto that warmth and keep it within you when you go out there and fight. “I’ll make it back. The twins will be okay. I’ll fight like hell to stay alive, I swear.”

Choso blinks repeatedly to avoid crying, but he can hardly stay strong so he lets his forehead fall on yours, while his grip trembles.

“Please don’t scare me like you did when we fought Noritoshi. Stay alive, I need you.”

Those words are so full of fear for your life, yet so genuine and full of nothing but love. It makes it hard to leave, but you can’t just stay back, you have to fight at least once. You don’t want to die so you’ll fight hard to avoid that fate for him, and for Satori waiting for you to reunite. But if life takes you down that path you can’t stop it, you’ll only hope you were able to give everyone a chance to defeat that great evil.

“I’ll make it back,” you assure Choso against his lips. “To you, my love. I love you.” You whisper with honey dripping off every word and lean in to press a gentle and lingering kiss on his soft and wet lips refusing to let you go. He keeps your lips captured until you gently push back, but even then he grabs your hand with his unbeatable strength and pulls you back towards him.

“Choso,” you warn him softly.

“Just,” he interjects softly but full of desperation. “Let me…” he trails off and lowers his gaze before he presses his palm against your belly.

He doesn’t say anything, but Yuji notices the silence and looks over at his brother finding comfort in the fact that his kids he made with you are safely growing inside you. Yuji takes note of his brother's hand clinging onto your arm, hoping that will be enough to keep you with him forever. He sees his brother's faint smile that mirrors yours because even if the babies are still too small to move, their mere presence is enough to make you both content.

Yuji takes note of the both of you desperately trying to find any excuse to stick close to each other, and can’t help but think that you’re both brave for coming out to fight even if you’re waiting for something so precious that deserves both parents to live without a burden of fighting this nasty monster. Lastly, Yuji watches you and that smile that decorated your face fade before you force yourself to pull away.

“Strong heart,” you try to give Choso courage before you pull something out of your pocket. You don’t show him what you have, instead, you grab his hand and place the object on his palm before pushing his hand towards his heart.

Choso refuses to identify the object just yet to be able to hold your gaze for as long as he can. Even when you look out at the city past the rooftop you’re on and see Sukuna knock Maki out with a black flash, he refuses to lose sight of your beautiful face, hoping that some way, somehow, that would keep you with him where he could protect you.

“Strong heart,” you repeat tenderly as you tear your gaze away from the tragic scene and meet the worried but sweet gaze of the man you love. “Keep it safe until I come back.”

You leave Choso one last kiss before you walk back. When you’re on the edge of the rooftop, when you feel nothing but the air of the world below on the heel of your feet, you force yourself to tear your gaze away and finally give your back to Choso and Yuji before you can stay, or Choso could force you to stay by his side.

And it’s only once your figure nor your face are painted before his very eyes that Choso pulls back his fist and opens his hand, seeing the little red and orange glass swan he had given you so long ago.

You had left a piece of your love behind that he could hold onto while you fought bravely, and so knew that you meant it when you said you'd go back to him because it’s true, you do want to go back to him. You won’t die against Sukuna, that’s not your heart's desire. You’ll fight fiercely because he took something from you.

He took Nanako and Mimiko. He took the girls who taught you how to love full-heartedly. He took the girls who made you a mother. He took your daughters. He took your daughters who loved you unconditionally. He took them away from you and didn’t stop there. He continued to break your heart by taking your brother too.

He was your best friend. Your beloved brother and he killed him too!

You’d like to fight Sukuna because he took Satori’s uncle, but you’re more selfish than that because Satoru was your brother first. You’ve loved him all your life and she’s only known him for a year of hers, so no, you aren't fighting for justice for her uncle's death, you’re fighting for justice for your brother's death.

Your brother, your daughters. Sukuna took them away. He’s a monster and you’ll kill him, or you’ll make him feel a fraction of what he made you feel. You’ll burn him so he can feel that agony he put you through even if it means your death.

Luckily he doesn’t notice you towering over him, he’s too lost in his glory after scoring a black flash against a teenage girl to notice you. Besides your cursed energy isn’t as strong and flashy as Satoru’s or Okkotsu’s, and for once you’re grateful for it because you can jump off the roof towering over Sukuna without getting noticed. At least for a few seconds that is.

When you get close, when your shadow casts on the ground around him you see him turn his neck and lift his head to catch what’s approaching him, but you force the elements to your side and use the air as your dance floor to twirl around Sukuna’s head before he has the chance to see you with either of his four eyes. Once you're behind him again you let gravity pull you down, and wrap your legs around his neck, and slap your hands on his eyes.

“I’ll take you to hell,” you sneer and light your hands on fire to burn his eyes.

Sukuna quickly throws his hand back and grabs you by the back of your head, but you stab your burning fingers in his deformed eyes and burn your fire fiercely and so bright that your fury is as clear as the burning sun in the sky, causing the giant beast to sneer before he digs his claws in the back of your neck and finally rips you off his back and hurls you off him.

You manage to use the air to catch yourself before you can hit the ground, and swiftly flip in the air to land with both feet on the ground.

“You,” Sukuna snarls.

You stand up smoothly and face him with a menacing glare. “Me,” you mock him.

Smoke rises off his eyes burnt shut, making his optical advantage nothing more than another wound he can’t heal. Which inflates your ego, you do admit.

Seeing the great Sukuna wounded because of you makes you stupidly proud.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he doesn’t show any sign of defeat, and why would he? He just rolls his shoulders back and raises his nose further in the sky, casting his menacing glare on your delicate soul.

“I thought you’d be mewling over…” he trails off and taps his chin. “Who was it now?”

He’s just trying to tick you off. You can’t let him get to your head.

“I’ll burn you Sukuna Ryōmen,” you try to project your anger cool, you need to stay level-headed.

“Ah,” he snaps his fingers and lays his eyes on you. “Nanako, and Mimiko.”

You dig the heel of your feet into the ground and swallow back thickly at the sound of their precious names coming out of his dirty and cursed mouth.

“Oh, don’t forget Satoru Gojo too,” he brings up unbothered but with a taunting look pierced on you. “Dead brother, dead husband, and dead daughters.” He snickers under his breath and flashes off his wicked smirk.

And how can you stay so level-headed when he plays so carelessly when he tosses out the names of the people you love as if they meant nothing?

They meant the world. They were the world to you and he killed them. He took them away from you. You can’t behave so rationally, you can’t act with both mind and heart when it’s your heart that mourns and weeps.

You can’t.

You have to act with your blinding anger and with your agonizing grief. You have to kill him.

“I’ll kill you bastard!” You cry out fiercely.

Sukuna throws his arms out and begins to laugh manically. “Show me what you got oh Fallen One!” He bellows.

You blast off the ground and fly toward him with both fists basking with fire, and fury burning in your red-orange eyes.

However, instead of barreling your ignited fists in him, you use your cursed energy to manipulate the ground beneath his feet and rip off a piece of the ground to blast him to the sky.

You quickly follow him by meeting him in the sky and bring your hands together to display a dangerous hand sign.

“I am death. I am the One Fallen from Grace, and today Sukuna…you will know pain,” you grimace and pierce your glare into the depths of his soul to chant. “Domain expansion; StormsEnd!”

Tagged- @deniseabad1928 @secondary-character-25 @starlightanyaaa @notsaelty @d4rno @moonnime @kodzukein @yozora7154 @heijihattorisgf @elegantweirdorchest @natakina

A/N- Flashforward or an illusion? Whatever it is, we need more of Choso and his babies.

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allalrightagain · 1 month

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In the past week and a half, I’ve written 5k, including 10 microfics (mostly for the workshop I’m hosting at hpffwg), hit my smart watch’s default fitness goals 5 consecutive days, made dinner three times, and grocery shopped in person.

I’d like to thank spring break, my rheumatologist, and the vitamin b12.

#can’t articulate the degree to which most of these things are impossible for me #it’s been ROUGH #but even a month ago all of those things were absolutely impossible #except *maybe* the grocery shopping one #and that’s been even more impossible for longer #is this a sustainable lifestyle? absolutely not. but the fact that I did it at all is wild #take your vitamins y’all #you don’t know what’s missing until it’s long gone #LT talks #chronic health tag

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starstruckmiraclekitty · 3 months

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Simon knew it was wrong, you were his best mates sister, but he simply couldn’t help himself. You were stunning, simply the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

You were off limits, Johnny made that known to everyone on base. You were the forbidden fucking fruit and Simon knew well enough to keep his distance. That was… until one night.

You spoke to him like you did everyone else, but Simon Riley was no fool. He saw the way you looked at him, noticed the way you stood closer to him than anyone else on base. And he certainly didn’t miss the way you bit your lip, the way your eyes took in every inch of his frame when everyone else had gone to bed.

He couldn’t help himself the night you kissed him, he couldn’t control the way his heart practically began to beat out of his chest, the way his cock twitched in his pants when you let out a pretty little moan against his lips.

He certainly couldn’t help himself when you invited him back to your room, your beautiful fucking smile making his knees weak. The way your naked frame was illuminated from the moonlight, practically making you look like a goddess sent to ruin Simon’s self control.

Simon lost all sense of self when your lips wrapped around his length, tears beginning to fall from your pretty eyes as you stared up at him, sucking his cock like the perfect good girl you were.

And when Simon finally fucked you that night, any thought to Johnny was long forgotten. The moment your tight pussy wrapped tightly around his cock, he knew he was done for. Your pussy was made for him, and Simon Riley was fucked.

You were his now. One night with you was all he needed to know that for certain.

He wouldn’t tell a soul about the two of you, that was your secret to share, but don’t think he wouldn’t have a shit eating grin on his face the next morning when the entire base found you littered in hickies that Simon had left on you.

He should’ve been given a fuckin’ award for how nonchalant he acted when Johnny began to throw a fit, demanding to know who had done such a thing to his innocent little sister.

And what Johnny didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him…right?

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #cod imagine #mw2 imagine #ghost x reader #ghost mw2

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 3 months

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𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞.

Synopsis: What I think Alastors wife would be like, if he had one of course.

Warnings: mentions of blood, pinning, harassment?, Alastor being himself, not in a specific time period but at some point shifts to hell? Let me know if anyone is interested in a part two!!

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! // Serendipity Writes (event)

Alastors wife probably didnt like him at first, and that’s a guarantee. He likes a challenge, but Alastor also likes being liked by people. It fills his ego, makes him feel good about himself. He likes to watch people stumble and fall but quite literally cracks under the pressure of doing just that when it comes to winning you over. Chances were he was constantly trying to figure you out, for two reasons. One, being that he didn’t understand how you couldn’t like him. I mean come on, look at him! He’s got the charm, the manners, the style and the class, the status. What more could you want? The second reason being, the more you denied him, the more he took it as a challenge, the more he wanted you.

Well, surprise surprise, you dont like people with an image to keep up; and to his dismay, that’s exactly what he does. He projects an image. One he refuses to change, and even after marrying you, still doesn’t drop the image, but starts to become more real and honest with himself.

“People who project an image of themselves to others are just trying to fool themselves into being someone they aren’t.” Was what you told him.

Alastor had also asked you out multiple times before you finally said yes. Everyone knows Alastor is very picky with the people he chooses to surround himself with. Everyone he associates with is either there to serve him, or to provide him with something, even if they’re unaware of it. Which only made you trust him less. What purpose did you serve him? What if one day he found you no longer useful and tossed you to the side? Well what were you to do then?

Denying him proved to be a challenge in itself, seeing that he’s quite literally everywhere all at once.

He’d try cheap tricks first. Buying you gifts, constantly showing up at your doorstep with a bouquet of flowers or a stuffed animal. One time he even got you a whole gift basket of your favorite treats. How sweet~ if it was actually about you and not him just trying to patch up his ego. Well at least that was what you thought on the matter.

If that didnt work he’d resort to going ghost. After all, people only miss you when you’re gone right? Well not in this case. He had left you alone physically, at least to your knowledge, but he had still kept a close watch on you. Why, he just knew it would bother you that he suddenly stopped! Until he overheard you speaking with a friend about how happy you were to finally get some peace and quiet. Well that simply wouldn’t do. After all, you should always make an impact, and what kind of impact would he be leaving on you if you went back to your old boring life? No no that just wont do dear.

He’ll start showing back up at your doorstep, taking you on surprise outing to force you to spend time with him. He’ll take you on a walk around a nearby park, a restaurant one day, the picture show the next. He has a long list of places to take you, so you’ll never go to the same place twice! Get your dancing shoes because he’s gonna take you out to the town for the night, after all the city never sleeps! This is when he becomes less forceful, but more of a decent calm. He begins to listen more when you speak, and you actually begin to care about what he’s saying, what a shock!

It’s almost like a switch flips after your outings. He’ll take you to an orchestra show, snickering to himself when he sees your eyes begin to water as the show closes out. He’ll force you to hold onto his arm as he walks you across the street on a rainy night, making sure you don’t slip or trip on the wet pavement. If you ever do, he’ll try his best to catch you and if he doesn’t? Oh what a nightmare, it seems he’s fallen too! For you that is~

You two begin to feel closer, not only physically but emotionally. He gets you to open up about your personal struggles, and in turn, he’ll share some of his own, but not too much. He doesn’t allow himself to be fully and completely vulnerable with you, not yet. But he does try his best to sympathize with you when you share your piece of mind with him. He feels accomplished to know this part of you, and his ego is the last thing on his mind anymore, but instead you take up all the space.

He doesn’t use pet names for you, not cute ones anyway. He’ll call you his devilish belladonna, especially if you love flowers. His creepy spider Lillie. He’ll often speak in the ‘language of flowers’, and will educate you on it if you don’t know so you know exactly what he’s talking about.

He’s the type of person to correct people in public to make them feel stupid, but he never does that with you. Instead he’ll wait until it’s just the two of you and tell you jokingly how wrong you were. You’ll get upset because he let you look like a fool, but in his mind he’s just protecting your feelings. If anyone else corrects you, they’ll have their mouth sewn shut that’s for sure!

He never gets you the same bouquet of flowers. They’re always different, and every week or so you have a new one. He keeps a separate batch for himself so he knows when to get you another. That being said he also makes the bouquets himself, he does not buy them for you already made.

When you finally take Alastor up on his offer to court you properly, he is over the moon about it! Finally, you seem to be coming to your senses dear! Though you quickly follow that comment up with a “Let the blood rush to your head first.” He just bats his lashes at you with a smile. You always know how to make him feel so loved!

Gets very jealous very easily. If he sees you laughing with someone that isn’t him, he’ll size them up before deciding if they’re a threat or not. Heaven forbid anyone actually put their hands on you and uh oh! Limb of the floor someone come get it!

His possessive nature is rooted in abandonment, and thus being said, he has deep attachment issues to you. You are never out of his sight when you two begin dating, and you’re hardly ever far from him in general. You two dress similarly too, especially if you’re from the same era. He’ll switch up your wardrobe slowly so it complements his.

He isn’t one for strong PDA unless he feels like he needs too or just has a strong want too. Usually it’s an arm around your waist, or you hanging onto his arm loosely. The most he’ll ever really do is a kiss on the back of your hand or to your temple. That being said, he’s like this for various reasons.

One, he has a lot of enemies, which means that not not only does that put you in danger, but if you’re also a powerful overlord, it puts him at risk too, though he doesn’t care much about that part.

Second, he doesn’t like physical contact much, and though he always makes an exception for you, he has his image and pristine reputation to keep up. Which you extremely dislike but tolerate because it’s Alastor and if he hasn’t changed much in centuries, nothings going to change ever.

Alastor is very very fond of you, whether you believe it or not. Your fiery attitude has him whipped more than he likes to admit. He’ll joke with other sinners that he’d sacrifice you to save himself but you both know that isn’t true, his nervous ticks prove it to be false, if you do say so yourself.

He’s very fidgety. He’ll tug a piece of your clothing or twirl a strand of your hair between his claws. If you claim he’s messing up your hair he’ll cast a tornado of shadows around you to fuck it up even more, and then smiling at you lovingly when you threaten to cut his ears off because you can’t tell if they’re his hair or just furry ass ears. You always give him a good laugh.

Other sinners are actually convinced you both hate each other, but turf wars on the news show that you two are the most in love when you’re wreaking havoc on innocent sinners for no possible reason other than the fact you two had an argument and the best way to settle it? Dancing in the rain, which actually isn’t rain, just blood falling from the sky because you like to kill people for fun.

“My darling looks the best in red if I do say so myself! Especially if she’s dressed by another’s remains, oh the beauty!”

Alastor has and will continue to get in his feelings about you and his mother getting along so well. He loves you both to pieces, so seeing his two favorite people together makes his dead heart swell with joy.

He’ll ask you to accompany him to the tailors, he values your opinion more than others so you often make adjustments to his suit and he’s just like ‘Whatever she says that’s what’s going on the suit.’ You also make him your personal dressing doll, trying different patterns and styles on him for fun. Alastor is a true skinny jeans hater and he will die on that hill, again. He really appreciates the 60’s style, but prefers to stick to his own decade.

He will take you out hunting with him, and the two of you share breakfast together with the fresh meat you’ve caught. He only gets the best quality for you because he refuses to have you two ‘eating like chums’. A restaurant tried to lie to the two of you, saying their meat was high quality and fresh. Alastor killed everyone in it and you two shared remains like a true power couple. Hells finest of course. ;)

He’s very critical of picking out jewelry for you. Hunting for the perfect ring for you took him ages, mainly because he knew exactly what he wanted but no jeweler had what he wanted all in one ring. So instead he forces them to make him a custom one. Torn limbs and bloody parts later, you have the ring that Alastor worked so hard to give you. He proposes to you Extermination day, claiming he’d love to spend another year in hell with you before the angels come to rip you two apart from each other. It was such a sweet day, at least to you it was.

The type of relationship where he plays the piano and you sing. He loves when you sing and will gush about you to anyone in sight even if he doesn’t know them.

Is very needy in private. He’s a stage 10000 clinger, and will stick to you like his life depends on it, but will be damned if anyone catches him. You don’t tell anyone about it, you like the private life.

You two have cook offs all the time. You make the hotel staff judge, and ultimately Niffty is the tie breaker because she’s brutally honest. Once she told Alastor he should stay out of the kitchen because women were better at it for a reason… harsh!

He was fine though, he got her back by ridding the hotel of bugs. He knows she likes chasing them around and for that she sobbed at his feet for ten minutes asking him to bring them back. It didn’t take much actually, Sir Pentious brought them back on his own, much to Charlies dismay.

He loves to read with you. You two often read a book and once you both finish you have a tea session over it. It starts off being about the book and then somehow shifts to just gossiping and talking shit about the other overlords, except for Rosie, we love Rosie in this household.

Speaking of, Rosie is usually where you get your clothes from. She’s a sweetheart when she isn’t picking pieces of muscle from her teeth, that sharp smile is a killer! She loves to talk about Alastor with you, and usually she’s where you go after you two have had an argument. You’re also her personal Barbie doll. She puts you in outfits and she and Alastor judge over them. Nine times out of ten you leave her boutique with a new wardrobe every time.

Now let’s talk about Vox.

Honestly the whole reason Vox knows about you is probably because he was digging through Alastors shit. But when he sees you? Oh lord, this man is HOOKED.

He doesn’t even know how Alastor managed to get you entangled with him. He finds out about you when you and Alastor aren’t dating yet, and he basically jumps at his chance to try to be with you.

Vox will forever consider you the one that got away, you can’t change my mind.

Alastor has proven time and time again that he’s basically better than Vox. He took a seven year back, came on the radio one day and boom all his viewers were back. In Alastors mind there’s no competition, just Vox being obsessed with the fact Alastor said no.

Valentino uses it against Vox all the time, and it will always make Vox buffer.

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin demon #alastor #Alastor and vox #Hazbin hotel #helluva boss vox #hazbin hotel rosie #hazbin valentino #charlie morningstar #hazbin niffty

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soaps-mohawk · 10 days

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 17: Alone

Summary: Your pack has left on their first deployment since you joined them, leaving you alone on base.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,866

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, ANGST, anxiety, fear, nightmares, PTSD, trauma, just super depressing overall.

A/N: I'm so ready for these next two chapters, you have no idea. Things are happening, things are gonna happen, it's just...so good. You'll see 🤭. They're pretty heavy chapters emotionally, but don't worry fluff will be coming very soon. I won't leave you hanging too much for too long.

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“We'll only be gone for a few days. A week at most. Dr. Keller will take you to and from meals and anywhere else you may need to go. If you need anything, contact Kate. We'll call when we can.”

He leaves you with a kiss to your forehead. You’re forced to stand there and watch his back as he boards the plane, the ramp closing and sealing you off from them. They all looked guilty, as if it was their fault they had to leave, as if they were suffering as much as you at the idea of parting, even just for a short period of time.

You don't sleep that night. You lay in your bed and stare at the ceiling until far too late when you decide to abandon it for John's room instead. You slip under the covers, disrupting the immaculately made bed as you surround yourself with his scent. You’re on edge, the barracks far too quiet, far too empty. Every little sound has you tensing, holding your breath. The door is locked, yet it’s not the same without your pack there to protect you. If you scream, no one will hear you now.

You manage to fall asleep at some point in the early hours, your mind plagued with horrible nightmares of monsters devouring and tearing you apart.

You wake with the sun, dragging your feet back to your room. You miss the quiet sounds of your boys getting ready in the morning after their workouts, taking extra care not to be too loud. Now you wish for it. You want them to be loud and wake you, because then they’d be here with you. The hallway feels too empty, the barracks too large. You’ve spent plenty of time alone in the barracks, but it’s never felt like this. They’re not just across base from you, they’re probably in an entirely different country.

You stare at their closed doors, all four of them feeling like voids knowing the rooms behind them are empty. Even Ghost’s closed door feels particularly empty.

You shuffle into your room, locking the door behind you as you get ready for the day. You’re not quite sure what you’re going to do, now that you don’t have them around. You suppose you could just go about your day as you usually do while they’re at training, except you won’t have their inevitable return to fetch you for meals to look forward to.

It’ll be days before you see them again.

If you see them again.

You force that thought back into the recesses of your mind. You won’t entertain it, not now while you’re still trying to process the fact that they’re gone. Even if it is a possibility.

You’re sitting on your bed when the knock comes, clutching your phone in your hand. You don’t want to be without it, in case they call. You don’t want to miss a chance to talk to them, especially if it’s your only chance. Or a call from Kate telling you something happened.

You open the door, Dr. Keller standing in the hallway with a small smile on her face. It doesn’t feel strange having her in this space, even with the rest of your pack gone. She’s been here before, and you trust her.

“How are you doing?” She asks as you step out of your room, closing the door behind you.

“I don’t know.” You say, letting out a sigh. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“I don’t blame you. Feels strange, being alone here, huh?”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s too quiet. Too empty.”

“I bet.” You follow her out of the barracks and into the cool morning air. “Let’s get some food in you and then you can take it easy for the rest of the day. I know this is a big adjustment, and it happened rather suddenly.”

“Was gonna happen eventually, though.” You say. “For the three months I was with the CIA, they drilled it into my head that their job would always take priority over everything else. Still sucks.”

“It does. Separation is hard for everyone in a pack, even if it’s short term. Add on the stress of their jobs and I can only imagine what it’s like.”

“I’m trying not to think about that.” You say.

“I think that’s the best thing you can do right now.” She squeezes your arm. “Come on, we’ll get the food to go and we’ll eat in my office. I usually do that anyway. It’s much quieter than the mess.”

You get your breakfast, following Dr. Keller to the medical center. You are silently glad you won’t have to eat in the mess without the protection of your pack. The stares from the others might have been your tipping point, and without Ghost to scare them off, you’re sure it would have only been worse.

“Make yourself at home.” Dr. Keller says, letting you into her office. “You can sit at the desk to eat, if that’s more comfortable. I don’t mind.”

You take her up on the offer, sitting in the chair across from hers at the desk. She moves some papers out of the way before taking a seat herself. It feels almost strange, being so informal in her office, but then again, she’s always been more laid back with the formality between the two of you.

“If there’s one thing I miss, it’s good diner food.” Dr. Keller says as the two of you begin to eat.

You stare down at your porridge for a moment, having gotten used to the change in food over the last almost nine weeks. “I miss a lot of things.”

“Would you ever want to go back and visit America?” Dr. Keller asks.

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sure they’d take you, if you asked.” She smiles as you stare up at her in surprise. “I don’t think there’s much they wouldn’t do, if you asked. They care about you a lot.”

“I’m starting to realize that.” You say.

“Good. It’s reassuring to see such strong, natural bonds forming between all of you, despite how the situation came about. You’ve made a lot of good progress already, even with the few bumps in the road.”

It falls silent between the two of you as you eat, finishing your breakfast. Your stomach churns with anxiety, hand closing around the phone in your pocket as if it might ring at any moment. It makes you sick, the thought of what they might be doing, what might be happening right at this very moment.

“Can I ask you something?” You break the silence, needing to take your mind off your swirling thoughts.

“Of course.” She says, looking up from the papers she’d been looking through.

“Since I’m your only patient, what do you do all day?” You ask.

She smiles. “I do a lot of things. After our sessions I log the notes I take and read over them, I make sure your medical chart is up to date, I read through a lot of studies and journals on new research and methods that may be helpful, I talk to colleagues all over the world, including here on base, and I sometimes go around the medical center and sit in on meetings and classes to keep my skills sharp.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re wasting your skills here?”

She shakes her head. “No. Before I took this job, I was caring for sometimes over one hundred omegas at various institutes. It was a high stress environment with long hours. While it was fulfilling work, there’s a high turnover rate for Omega Specialists in that field for a reason. Being a private doctor is a bit of a relief after that, and truthfully, the pay is considerably better.” She folds her arms on her desk, leaning forward. “It’s no less fulfilling than working at institutes. It’s nice to have the time to put together the best care plan for you and your needs.”

“It is nice having an Omega Specialist to myself.” You say. “There were several at the institute, a lot of students doing their residency. They weren’t always...good at their jobs. A lot of them were just going through the motions, doing what the more experienced specialists told them to do.”

“Unfortunately that’s rather common with residents.” She says. “Most of them don’t make it past residency. Like a lot of specialities in medicine, it takes a certain kind of personality to succeed as an Omega Specialist. Not everyone has it in them. I wish more schools and programs would take notice earlier before they get to their residencies and steer them down a different path.” She smiles at you. “Now my question for you. Would you rather hang out in here today, or would you prefer to go back to the barracks? You won’t hurt my feelings either way, nor will you be a bother.”

You think about it for a moment. While your knee jerk answer is to go back to the barracks, what are you going to do? Sit alone in the silence and worry until it makes you sick? Sit in the rec room and watch TV alone and worry about your boys until the next meal time? As much as you want to be alone, you also don’t want to be alone.

“I’d...like to stay here, if that’s okay?” You finally say, making your decision.

“More than okay.” She smiles. “Make yourself at home, do whatever you’d like. Watch YouTube videos, dig into some books, take a nap. You won’t bother me in the slightest. You’re always welcome to hang out in here.”

You look over the titles on the bookshelf, picking one that looks interesting before settling on the couch. You spend the day with Dr. Keller, relaxing in her office and going to meals with her. It doesn’t calm the anxious thoughts by much, but at least the loneliness is abated a bit.

You return to the barracks after dinner, debating whether you should sit in the rec room or just go to your room. The rec room feels too open, too exposed without the safety of your pack, so instead you choose to retreat into your room, locking the door behind you.

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping as tears gather in your eyes. Another night without them, another night without the safety and comfort of their presence around you. Another night knowing they’re not on the other side of the wall, a knock or a yell away.

You fight the panic starting to bubble as you get ready for bed, your mind swirling with thoughts of something happening, someone breaking in, someone taking advantage of their absence to get to you. You know it’s an irrational fear. Most of the alphas on base ignore your existence, aside from the couple incidents you’ve had with them. The most they do is stare, though that’s to be expected as an omega.

What if they’re holding back something more sinister, though? What if the only thing stopping them is your pack? This would be their opportune moment.

You’re shaking, eyes wide in fear as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Sure, you’ve learned a few ways to defend yourself, but could you really utilize them? If the moment called for it, could you defend yourself enough to get away? Where would you go? Dr. Keller won’t be in her office all night. Could you run and seek protection from another medical professional that was still working? Could you find a different high ranking official on base and hope they’d help you? Could you go for the guards at the gate and hope they help you?

Or would it be safer to run for the woods? Try to lose whichever alpha decided to attack you and hope you don’t get lost in the trees? You would just have to survive the night, and Dr. Keller would notice you missing come morning. What would she do, though? Call Kate? It’s not like the guys could just come home and help you. Would Kate even tell them something happened and put them at risk of getting distracted? What if something happened to them because of you?

You turn the shower on as cold as it will go, stepping under the spray in your pajamas. You sink to the floor of the shower, letting the cold water snap you out of your panic and prevent you from distressing. No one’s coming through the door, no one’s going to try and hurt you.

Your teeth are chattering by the time you reach up to turn the water off. Violent shivers rock your body, your hands and feet numb. You take deep breaths, feeling more awake and aware than you have since yesterday.

The panic has dropped to almost nothing, your shaking now due to the fact you’re freezing. You strip out of your wet clothes, leaving them in the tub as you wrap a towel around yourself. You’re still shivering violently as you change into warmer pajamas, opting for one of John’s shirts and sweatpants.

You slip under the covers of your bed, piling every blanket you own on top of the covers before tucking yourself against your giant bear. You won’t sleep, but at least you’re not panicking anymore.

The days begin to blend together without the routine of your pack to keep you steady. Dr. Keller comes to get you at the same time as you expect for your breakfast, and then you spend all day with her, sitting in her office, keeping yourself occupied while you wait for an inevitable phone call. It will either be your pack calling to check on you, or it will be Kate with bad news.

You’re not sure which is worse. The anticipation of a call from your pack letting you know they’re all alright, or the dread that it will be Kate telling you something happened to them.

You’re still not sleeping well, the anxiety and the worry you might miss their call meshing with the nightmares that were already plaguing you before they left. You’re exhausted and strung out, the worry beginning to eat you alive. You’re constantly on edge, every little sound close to sending you spiraling.

Your thoughts have slowly shifted from missing your pack to ruminating about the fact they might not be coming back. It’s a risk you’re well aware of. The kinds of things they do put them at risk, every deployment carries the risk of one, or all of them, dying. One thing goes wrong, one small freak accident and your entire pack could be taken from you.

You’re not sure you’d survive that.

Most omegas don’t.

“Still nothing?” Dr. Keller asks as you sit there, staring at your phone for what must have been an hour at least.

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

“Sometimes no news is good news.” She says. “I know you’d prefer to have any news at all, though.”

“I can’t stop thinking...what if something bad has happened?” You say, fingers trembling from gripping your phone so hard.

“Kate promised she’d call if something happened, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“She’s a woman of her word, I can say that much. I’m sure they’re fine. They’re very capable soldiers. They wouldn’t be in Spec Ops if they weren’t, much less on a highly specialized team.” Dr. Keller stands up, moving to the closet. “It’s still hard, not knowing where they are or what they’re doing. I remember when my brother told our parents he was enlisting. Our mother cried for a week straight.” She pulls a pillow and a blanket out of the closet. “I still don’t think she’s completely forgiven him. It’s hard for omegas when someone leaves the pack, even temporarily, especially if you can’t have constant reassurance that they’re alright.”

Your brows pinch in a frown at her words as she kneels on the floor beside the couch. “Your mom was an omega?”

She nods. “And dad was a beta. Wound up with two beta children, though I don’t think mom complained much about that. We grew up in a big pack with lots of people around us. I think mom would have been worse off if it had just been her and dad.” She sets the pillow on the couch, gently prying the phone from your fingers. “Come on, lay down.” She directs you.

You do as she says, laying down on the couch, resting your head on the pillow. She covers you with the blanket, tucking it up around your neck. “Is that why you’re so good at this job?”

She smiles, setting your phone on the arm of the couch above your head. “Maybe. I think it gave me more empathy for omegas and the struggles you face every day.” She gently squeezes your arm. “They’ll be alright. They’re probably just as worried about you, as you are them. But, you need to get some rest. You don’t have to sleep, just laying with your eyes closed will help.”

You tilt your head, glancing up at your phone. “What if I fall asleep and it rings?”

“Then I’ll make sure you get a chance to answer it.” She says, squeezing your arm again. “I promise. Get some rest.”

You let out a breath, not wanting to risk falling asleep, but you close your eyes anyway. It doesn’t stop the thoughts from coming on, the nightmarish images the anxiety feeds your brain flashing before your eyes. What if they’re lying dead somewhere right now? What if something’s happened to Kate and she can’t tell you? Would you ever find out? Would you ever know?

Despite the anxiety prickling through your body, the warmth of the blanket begins to lull you into a false sense of security. Perhaps it’s the sheer exhaustion from your lack of sleep over the last couple weeks, paired with the exhaustion from your constant worrying, but you find yourself slipping between sleep and consciousness as you lay there on Dr. Keller’s couch. You don’t mean to, but you can’t help it as you begin to drift off to sleep.

Screaming. It’s loud, piercing your ears. Something’s holding you, hands clutching at your form desperately. It hurts, nails biting into your skin, fingers gripping too hard, yet you don’t care.

“You won’t take her from me! I won’t let you!”

You’re crying, sobs wracking your body as you cling just as tightly to the form holding you.

Hands grab at you, squeezing and pulling, trying to free you from the constricting grip around you, but it won’t let go. You cling to it just as desperately, afraid of what will happen if you let go.

You know what will happen if you let go.

“She’s no daughter of mine.”

The words bite into you, slicing through your skin straight into your very soul, the prickling pain of your own flesh and blood rejecting you making your skin crawl. How could he just let you go like that? How could he turn against you so easily, over something you have no control over?

Pain erupts across your entire body. Something snaps, your ears ringing from more screams. You’re being pulled away from the safety of the hold around you, your body going cold as the warmth around you disappears. Hands close around you, fingers ripping into you as you're torn from your mother’s hold and into the unknown.

“Easy, easy.”

You’re gasping, breathing wheezing as tears choke you.

“Deep breaths. In and out, nice and slow.”

Your breath hitches, catching painfully in your chest.

“You’re alright, you’re safe.”

You force your eyes open, blinded by tears as something is tucked into your arms. You squeeze the bear against your chest, hiccuping as you fight for control over your emotions. You’re on the couch in Dr. Keller’s office still. You’re not at what was once your home, not stuck in the nightmare you’ve lived over and over.

Slowly breathing becomes easier, your sobs quieting to sniffles. The tears still spill down your cheeks, dampening the fur of the bear in your arms.

“You’re alright,” Dr. Keller says, rubbing your back gently.

You slowly push yourself up to sit, pulling your knees against your chest. You press your palms into your eyes, trying to get the tears to stop. Dr. Keller shifts her position, sitting next to you on the couch.

“How long have you been having nightmares?” She asks quietly, watching you as you try to calm yourself.

“Since my heat.” You say, voice rough from crying. You wrap your arms around the bear again, holding onto it tightly.

“You haven’t said anything about it.” She says gently, shifting slightly so she’s facing you.

“I didn’t want to.” You say quietly, shame burning through you. She’s not reprimanding you, yet you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. “I shouldn’t be having them, I mean...it’s not even that bad compared to...compared to what the others have gone through. The kinds of nightmares they have.”

“It might seem that way to you, but trauma is still trauma. It might not be the worst thing someone else has gone through, but it is the worst thing you’ve been through.”

Her words give you pause. You’ve never quite thought of it that way. The kinds of things your pack does, the things they’ve seen, the things they’ve done, are far worse than anything you’ve experienced. The things you’ve experienced may pale in comparison, but they’re your experiences. No one else’s.

“If you want to talk about them, that’s what I’m here for.” Dr. Keller says, leaving things open for you to decide what to do.

You don’t have to tell her. She won’t force you to do it. She won’t force you to do anything, to say anything you don’t want to. It might be nice, though, to let someone know, someone neutral, someone who won’t tell anyone else. It might be nice to finally put into words the things that are eating you, have been eating you.

You lay back down, curling up into a tight ball on the couch. You hug the bear close to your chest, letting it ground you. “My nightmares, they’re always about the day I left for the institute.” You start, taking a shaky breath. “I haven’t had them in years.”

“You were sent early after your presentation, right?” She asks.

“The day after.” You answer.

“Being sent to an institute can be traumatic when done within the normal time after presentation. I can’t even imagine what being sent that soon was like.” She lets out a breath. “Sometimes when we go through something traumatic, the brain and body hold onto it, because we don’t feel safe enough to process it in the moment. The brain can hold onto it for years, until we finally feel safe enough. Then the brain can start to try and heal from that trauma without us even realizing it.”

“You think that’s what’s happening?” You ask.

“It’s possible. Going through your heat successfully, being claimed, building close bonds with your pack, all could aid in helping you finally feel safe enough to process that trauma. Things usually feel worse as the brain works through the trauma, which could be why you’re having nightmares about that event suddenly.”

“Is there anything that will make them stop?” You ask.

“There’s some things we can do together that might help the process. I’m more than happy to help you with it, if that’s what you’d like to do. If you decide to, I think it will be a good idea to set up appointments at least twice a week, at least at first.”

“What are we gonna tell John?”

She gives you a look. “Well, I’d advise telling him the truth. I think you should tell your pack about your nightmares. They can at least offer you some comfort and understanding. Of course, that’s entirely up to you and what you want to do.”

You let out a sigh, getting comfortable on the couch again. Dr. Keller adjusts the blanket over you, squeezing your arm gently.

“Think about it.” She says. “We can talk about it more after they get back and things have settled back to normal again.”

You’re brushing your teeth when the call comes. You quickly spit into the sink, not even bothering to rinse your mouth before you’re answering, anxiety twisting your stomach into knots. You hadn’t even checked the screen to see who was calling. You’re just anxious to hear from someone after days of silence.

“Hello?”

There’s a beat of silence before the voice on the other side responds, the audio distant and slightly garbled, but you hardly notice.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

You fight back a sob, your inhale shaky as relief floods through you. “Alpha.” The title slips through your lips before you can even catch it, your body nearly vibrating at hearing John’s voice after so many days.

“I’m here. We’re all here.” He says, distant voices sounding in the background.

A smile tugs at your lips, happy tears blurring your eyes as you collapse on your bed. “Missed you.”

“I know, we’ve missed you too.”

You move to your bed, flopping down on the mattress in relief. “You alright? Is everyone alright?”

“We’re alright. Few bumps and bruises, but nothing we haven’t had before. How are you holding up?”

The urge to spill the truth to him is strong. You’ve been depressed and worried and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that you haven’t panicked about something. You’ve been having horrible nightmares and haven’t been sleeping. There’s an ache in your chest that won’t go away, and you’re afraid it might kill you if you don’t see them soon.

“I’m alright. Sad cause I miss you a lot.”

“I know, sweetheart.” There’s a sound on the other end, something you can’t make out and the line buzzes for a second. For a moment you’re worried you were disconnected, but John’s voice cuts through the noise again. “We’re finishing up here soon, and we’ll be home in a couple of days.”

You can’t help but sigh in relief at his words. They’re alright. They’re all safe, and they’re going to be home soon. You’re going to get to see them soon, touch them again, smell them again. “Hurry back.” You say, your voice shaky with emotion.

“We’ll try, sweet girl. We have to get going, but we’ll be back before you know it.”

Saying goodbye doesn't hurt as much as you expect it to. Maybe it’s the relief from hearing their voices, from knowing they’re really alright paired with the knowledge that they’ll be home soon. Two days doesn’t seem so far now that you know that’s all that stands between you and seeing your pack again.

You roll over in your bed, pressing your face into the pillows. Nothing smells like them anymore. Not their shirts that they scented before they left, not your pillows or stuffed animals. The couch in the rec room, and even John’s bed have started to smell more like you.

The first thing you’re going to do when they return is get a big whiff of each of them, even if you have to tackle Ghost to do it. You want to refresh their scents all over everything, roll around in them until they’re the only thing you can smell.

For the first time in days, you manage to sleep that night. It’s not much, but it’s a deep, nightmare-free sleep, aided by the relief from the constant anxiety that has plagued you.

You update Dr. Keller the next day on the news of your pack’s imminent return. You elect to spend the afternoon in the barracks instead of her office, the building suddenly not seeming quite so empty now that you know they’re coming home soon. You clean up John’s room, making his bed again after you’d made a mess of it trying to sleep. They’re all going to be tired when they return, and you want to help them in any way that you can. You pick up your room as well, even though you know you likely won’t be spending much time in it for a while. You’re going to latch yourself onto them and not let go until the ache in your chest has disappeared.

You bristle when the knock sounds at your door. You glance up from where you had been sorting the clothes you’d stolen from the guys from your own so you can get them to scent them again. You’re not expecting a knock yet. It’s too early to be Dr. Keller coming to get you for dinner, and she would have announced herself like she has been, if it was her.

That means someone else is in the barracks. Someone you don’t know.

Your mind races as you try to think of who it could be. You don’t know many others on base, and certainly no one that would enter the barracks just like that, unless it’s an emergency. Is there an emergency? You’re almost certain if there was an emergency on base, then there would be alarms going off or something. There’d be some sign that something was happening, but it’s quiet outside, or at least, there’s no noises you’re not expecting.

The knock comes again, louder and sharper. Whoever is on the other side is obviously not going to just go away. You debate calling Dr. Keller, telling her someone is outside your door, getting her to help you on this, but instead you grab your phone, holding it in your hand as you move towards the door.

You unlock it, holding your hand on the handle in case the person on the other side tries to force their way in. They don’t, so you open it slowly, just enough that you can see out. There’s a soldier outside your door. A woman. You don’t recognize her, but then again you don’t see many women on the base, and you don’t pay much attention to the other soldiers.

Maybe you need to start paying more attention.

She’s a beta, you can tell just by looking at her. She’s wearing scent blockers, keeping her scent from projecting into the barracks to erase the fact she was here.

She says your name, staring at you with hard set eyes. “General Shepherd is waiting for you.”

It takes you a moment to process what it is she’s saying. You’ve never met any of the higher ups on base. The person with the most authority you’ve met is John, but you know he’s only a Captain. There’s others above him, but you weren’t any concern of theirs, so you have never bothered to meet them. Even in your time with the CIA, the person with the most authority that you met seemed to be Kate. You hadn’t even been given names of anyone higher up than her.

Apparently something’s changed.

Something in the back of your mind begins to tingle. Something isn’t right about this. You should have called Dr. Keller, or even Kate. You shouldn’t have opened the door so recklessly.

“But, I’m not supposed to-” You begin, unsure of what to do now.

“It’s a direct order from your superior.” The woman cuts you off, her tone sharp and impatient.

You’re not a soldier. The only superior you have is John and he’s certainly not behind this.

You wouldn’t dare say that out loud. Not right now.

“Okay, okay.” You say, stepping back slightly from the door. “Let me just get some shoes on.”

You close the door, staring down at your phone. You debate calling Dr. Keller or even just sending a text, but you don’t put it past the woman outside to barge in if you don’t hurry. You can feel the panic rising, the thought of someone invading your space so carelessly making the back of your neck tingle. So instead you slip on a pair of shoes, shoes you know you can run in, before you open the door again.

She’s still standing in the hallway, stiffly at attention. Her gaze pierces into you, making your skin crawl. You close your door behind you, slipping your phone into your pocket. She doesn't say anything as she turns on her heel, walking down the hallway towards the door. You follow behind her, having to walk quickly to keep up with her. You’re reminded of your early days on the base when you would be escorted around by Ghost.

You’d take those times back over this right now.

Your palms start to sweat as you leave the barracks, dread starting to fill your stomach as you realize how much of a mistake you’ve made, leaving with this stranger. She could be taking you anywhere to see anyone. You’re not even sure General Shepherd is a real person.

The thought of being led blindly into a room of alphas like a lamb being led into a den of hungry wolves nearly makes you panic, your steps faltering just slightly as you debate running. You could make it to the medical center quickly from here if you sprint the entire way. Would she chase you if you took off running? Would you get in trouble? Would the guys get in trouble if you did?

You don’t want anyone to get in trouble.

Especially not with this being the first time you’ve been on your own. They’ve put a lot of trust in both you and Dr. Keller in their absence. If you get into trouble while they’re gone, that might change things. You could ruin everything you’ve built by misbehaving.

The woman leads you to a building you haven’t been in before, leading you down a clinical-looking hallway to a door. She pauses in front of it, turning to face you. You stare at her, still on edge. What if this is a test? What if they’re testing you to see if you’d just blindly leave with a stranger while they’re not there to protect you.

You’ve made a big mistake.

The woman holds out her hand, and you stare down at it dumbly. “Your phone.”

You continue to stare at her hand for a moment, trying to swallow the nervous panic rising within you. You don’t have much of a choice now but to obey. Your hands are shaking as you pass your phone over, the woman pocketing it before she opens the door.

It’s bright inside, the LED bulbs burning your eyes. You’re uncomfortable and uneasy, a dangerous mix for an omega, but the person inside doesn’t seem to care. He stands from his seat, towering over you. He screams alpha before his scent even hits you. You’re thrown back into the memories of your father, the way he carried himself, the way he stood. Back straight like a rod, hands clasped behind his back, face pressed into a stern line.

He’s in uniform, decorated with more patches and pins than you could put a name to. Army, you think, judging by the color of his jacket. It looks like General Shepherd is a real person after all.

You try not to flinch as the door clicks closed behind you, sealing you in this room with an unknown alpha. Though it’s only one, you still feel like the helpless lamb standing before a hungry wolf.

No one will hear you scream. No one will care.

“My name is General Shepherd.” He says, his voice gruff and laced with authority. “I am the acting commander of Task Force 141.”

You’re not sure if you should say anything, or even bother introducing yourself. He probably already knows you well, even though you’ve never met him before in your life.

“I was one of the driving forces behind the omega initiative, and I decided the 141 should be one of the first to participate. I also signed the approval for you to be assigned as their omega, did you know that?”

You shake your head. “N-No sir, the CIA didn’t give me any names.”

“Good.” His lips twitch in what you assume was supposed to be a smile. It doesn’t ease your nerves any. “They weren’t supposed to. I’m sure you’ve learned that confidentiality is everything in this line of work.”

“Yes, sir.” You try not to flinch under his gaze, piercing and probing. The back of your neck is tingling, every single instinct in your body screaming at you to run, to escape, to get somewhere safe.

“I came here today to ensure your pack was doing as they were instructed. I’m impressed with what I’ve seen so far. You’re getting along well with them?”

You nod again. “Yes, sir. There were some...bumps along the way, but we all get along fine now.”

“Good.” He closes the file on the table, taking a step closer to you. You fight the urge to take a step back, not wanting him to invade your space while you’re so vulnerable. “The success of this program is imperative to the future of the military and its functionality. You’re doing important work here with the Task Force.” His hand lifts, slowly pulling the collar of your shirt to the side so he can see your mating mark.

You fight the urge to lift your hands and wrap them around the back of your neck, the instinctual urge to protect yourself nearly winning out as he stares at your mark. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the fear-driven adrenaline making your fingers tremble. Half a second and he could scruff you, half a second and he could overpower you.

No one would know. No one would care.

“I’m satisfied with what I’m seeing so far. Of course, the true measure of success will be their efficiency in their current task.” He steps back away from you, moving back to the table. “How have you been adjusting to them being gone?”

“It’s been difficult,” You say, breathing for a second to collect yourself. “But I know separation can be a rough adjustment at first.”

His lips twitch again in a twisted smile. “You’re a smart girl. That’s why I chose you for this position. You’re doing good work. Your efforts will change the course of military history, hopefully for the better.”

Something about his words don’t sit right with you.

You’re trembling as you exit the room, led out by the woman that had brought you to the building. Your breaths are heavy as you try to keep a grip on the anxiety threatening to overtake you. Your hand is trembling uncontrollably as she give you your phone back, your knuckles going white as you clutch it to your chest. You’re sweating, the cool air chilling your skin as you step outside.

You barely remember the walk back to the barracks, numbly following the woman as she leads you back to your safe space. It doesn't feel so safe anymore, now that she’s breached it. She entered without permission, breaking that trust that’s so sacred to packs.

She doesn't even seem bothered by it.

She pauses outside the door to the barracks, staring down at you. You fight the urge to race inside and lock yourself in the safety of your room before she can change her mind and enter again, or take you somewhere worse. You stand your ground, meeting her gaze.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” She says, as monotone as she had been the first time she spoke to you.

You finally realize what it was that made her seem so off to you as you think over her words.

She’s American.

“Thank you for escorting me.” You say politely, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Have a safe trip home.”

You quickly enter the barracks, speed walking down the hall towards your room. You want to burrow under your covers and hide until the guys return and you can feel safe again. You pause in front of your door, staring down at the handle. The back of your neck is prickling again, anxiety burning hot in your veins. Your hands have begun shaking again, clinging to the phone still pressed against your chest. You fight the urge to hyperventilate as you stare at your door, half of your brain telling you to run and the other half stuck, staring in shock and disbelief.

Your door is ajar. Open just a crack, just enough to be noticeable by looking at it.

You always close your door. You always ensure it’s shut every time you leave the barracks, even when the guys are home. You remember shutting it before you followed the woman out of the barracks. You remember distinctly listening to the click of the handle as you pulled it shut behind you in the quiet of the barracks.

You stare at the gap, the line of the frame visible. It’s open. Your door is open.

Someone was inside your room.

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse #x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 #task force 141 x reader

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boxofbonesfic · 4 months

Note

scene prompt! bucky eating you out until you physically can’t take it anymore but he doesn’t stop.

Title: You’re Gonna Give Me Six

Pairing: Mechanic!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Absolute Filth. Cunnilingus, Overstimulation

You don’t even see him before his arms are anchored tight around your waist, his face buried against the back of your neck. He smells like sweat and motor oil, and you know the fingers he’s digging into your hip through the fabric of your dress are stained with the stuff—they always are. There’s a smudge of it on his cheek, a testament to how quickly he’d fled the garage downstairs upon seeing your car pull into the driveway.

“Missed you.” Bucky breathes the words against your skin and you shiver as they leave goosebumps. You know he means it, the way he sighs and presses his nose into the loose curls at the nape of your neck. Bucky doesn’t talk much—a trait you still find a little unsettling, but you’re learning to read him the way he reads you; learning how to hear words hidden in the slow pass of his hand or the upward curl of his lips. It makes his words heavy, like they’re carrying more than just themselves—so you know he means them.

“I was only gone a week.” Your words are muffled by his shoulder. You can feel his lips curve against your throat. He hums low in his throat.

“S’ too long.” When he dumps you onto the bed, the sheets all smell like him, like he’s spent every night you were apart here in your apartment. You suspect that if you were to bury your face in the pillows, you’d smell his aftershave.

“How’m I supposed t’sleep ‘less I can feel you right next to me, Peach?” Your feet dangle off the edge of the bed as Bucky settles himself between your thighs. “Ain’t slept good in days.” His hands are warm on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing circles into your bare skin as he pushes the hem of your dress up over your hips.

“And that’s my fault?” You ask teasingly, though your boyfriend nods without missing a beat.

“Mmm.” He drags his finger down over the swell of your cunt through your panties, before cupping it with one huge hand. “Got some apologies to make, I reckon.” You squeal as he tugs your panties tight, tugging them back and forth between the lips of your pussy like dental floss. You gasp.

“B-Buck—” He snaps the elastic against you before tugging them to the side.

“That’s good, Peach,” he says, his rough hands spreading your thighs apart as he lowers himself between them. “All I wanna hear s’ my name.” The first touch of his tongue is electric, gently tracing the outline of your lips like he’s trying to map them out. Your sharp breath elicits a chuckle, and you feel his mouth curve against you. Bucky spreads your thighs further apart, slipping his tongue into your folds with a soft moan of appreciation.

“Should’a done this before you got in that damn taxi,” he mumbles. “Should’a tasted you before you left.” You want to respond, but the words keep devolving into meaningless babble as his tongue works against you. His fingers dig into your thighs as he sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling it.

“O-oh f-fuck—”

You cum without warning, squeezing your thighs around his head as you rock your hips into his face. Bucky groans, holding you in place as your thighs tremble. He doesn’t stop, forcing your trembling thighs back open.

“B-Bucky what, what—oh—” You arch into the mattress as he finds your swollen, overworked clit with his tongue. “B—” It’s like electricity exploding behind your unseeing eyes, and you keen as he slides two thick fingers into your sopping cunt, moaning low in his throat as you clamp down around him.

“You’re gonna give me six more, Peach,” he says lowly. Bucky spreads his fingers, scissoring them inside you with a wet squelch. “One for every day you missed.”

#ask the bones #requests #drabbles #bones drabbles #boxofbones drabbles #boxofbonesfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan fandom #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky x reader

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daycourtofficial · 2 months

Text

You’re losing me

Summary: Azriel has always put his duties as spymaster above his own needs and wants. How long can you let him keep putting work over you before boiling over?

Author’s note: I am so sorry about this babes, this is pure heartbreak. Anyway angst is a new genre for me so please lmk how this goes for you (good, bad, awful - lmk)

(1k celebration masterlist 🍾)

You sit in the library of your shared home, the soft cushion of your favorite armchair not providing the comfort it used to. The library was your favorite room in the house - you and Azriel spent thousands of hours in here reading independently, reading to each other, or just enjoying the silence with each other for company.

The room was beautiful- you both adored the entirety of the house, but this room drew both of you in immediately. It’s beautiful stain-glass windows creating brilliant hues of color to move about the room during the day, bringing life to the dark wood that adorns the walls of the room.

Vivid colors from the scenes in the stain glass window would dance across the floor, as if reenacting the depictions just for you two.

It’s dark now, the sun having set hours ago, and you can’t remember the last time you enjoyed the light of the room. The last time you and Azriel had enjoyed the light of the room.

The last time you and Azriel just enjoyed each other’s company without knowing he was going to leave in a matter of hours.

It was a song and dance you were familiar with by now - he’d return home from doing some work requested by Rhys, you’d make him some food, you two would snuggle or have sex, and he’d be gone by the time you woke up.

It wasn’t always like this, but the two years since the war have caused Azriel to dive headfirst into his work, accepting every scrap of work Rhysand would push his way, darting out the door like it was calling to him.

You hear the front door open, knowing who it is despite their silent entrance. Sighing, you stand up and walk out of the library, closing the door behind you.

You walked through the halls of your home, feet softly padding on the hardwood floor until you see him across the living room, still in his leathers.

It used to amuse you, when he’d return in his leathers, compared to you in your frilly nightgowns. It was quite a sight, the dark leather surrounded by the satins and cottons of your nightgowns.

Now it just furthered to prove the divide between you.

“Az, we were supposed to go to the bakery today to taste cakes.”

You hardly let him walk through the door before picking a fight, but his absence at the bakery hours ago left you ample time to stew in your negative emotions.

He runs his hand down his face, the purple and blue bruising under his eyes having grown more and more prominent over the weeks. Truthfully, you don’t want to start a fight, but you’ve let too many of these things slide in the past two years and you’re at your tipping point.

Missed dates, rescheduled dinners, missed anniversaries, cancelled trips. You had tried talking several times about it, but you need your fiancé around more than he has been. No amount of begging can make him do anything about it, though.

The most egregious of all was the continually delayed status of your wedding ceremony. You’ve had to rescind the invitations two times now, and you’re have tempted to send out fresh ones that just say “date: TBD”.

He just sighs in response, telling you, “I had to work, I had a mission.”

You sigh, knowing it was the truth. Your fiancé would never cheat on you, but he would put everyone else’s needs above his.

And above your own.

“Azriel, I really needed you today. It was important to me for you to be there.”

“It’s just a cake - pick any flavor you want. You know what I like,” he says, sitting onto the couch and taking off his boots.

“It’s not just a cake! This is your wedding too - I cannot make every decision for this. It’s supposed to be about us, not about me.”

You shake your head, exasperation bubbling to the surface, “I feel insane going to these appointments because I have a fiancé who never shows up! I swear I heard the florist say she pitied me because I pretended to be engaged!”

Azriel drags a hand down his face, “can we not do this now? I’m exhausted and want to bathe before bed.”

You huff out a laugh, as Azriel tries to move past you but you continue to follow him. “When would be a better time? You’re hardly home lately, and you leave at a moment’s notice for Rhysand.”

He whips his head at you, “it’s my job, my duty.”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure you could delegate a decent proportion of your work to the people under you that you both hand selected and trained yourself!

He sighs, exasperated, “it’s my job.”

A line you’ve heard a thousand times. You knew who he was when you began dating him, you’ve always known who he was and what he did.

But you thought his need to feel worthy would wane with time, not get worse.

“You put Rhys’s needs over mine!” You’re shouting now, something you never do, and Azriel bites back, “he’s my high lord - and yours.”

“That doesn’t mean he gets to keep you at his beck and call!” Your hands were running through your hair, unable to have the same argument again and again.

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“Oh so was it Rhys’s beck and call to push our wedding back three separate times?”

He whirls around at you, pointing, “That’s not fair and you know it.”

“Three times is not fair! It’s like you don’t even want it!”

His silence to your accusation rings through your ears. A damning, deafening silence.

You count to ten in your head, and he hasn’t made a sound, only looking at the ground.

His lack of words echo through your mind, even as his hands reach out to you, his desperate pleadings of “I-” and “baby” falling on deaf ears.

“I’m glad to see where we stand.”

You begin to turn, but stop yourself.

“When I told Nesta our wedding was delayed again, she told me if you really wanted it, really wanted me, you’d suggest we just run off and get married like Rhys and Feyre did.”

You take a shaky breath, “but you never did.”

You step back from him, unable to look him in the eye, unable to do much of anything, except retreat from your shared bedroom, softly shutting the door behind you.

Azriel stands in the now empty room, your footsteps ceasing down the hall but continuing in his mind. Every second he stands there, the further you become. He starts to move, starts to pick up his feet, his shadows urging him to go, go, go.

You can fix this, they tell him. Go, now.

His thoughts are broken up by Rhys’s voice, a smooth sound at such odds with the chaotic edges of his thoughts.

Az, I need you.

Azriel doesn’t even ask if it can wait. You’ll understand. He’s sure of it. He can fix things when he comes home. Rhys just needs him right now, he can help him out, then he can talk to you.

He scrawls a quick note on the table for you to find before retreating into his shadows.

He returns home a few hours later, his assistance speeding up Rhys’s needs. He stops to grab you your favorite flowers, a book you’ve been eyeing, and a necklace he’s had his eye on in the shop for ages.

The necklace gives him pause, as he realizes he first saw it eight months ago, its shine reminding him of your eyes.

Had it really been eight months?

He kept telling himself he was going to buy you the necklace for a special occasion, but so many have slipped by without his acknowledgment this past year.

Gods, he thinks, did he even celebrate your birthday?

Surely he hadn’t gotten that caught up in his work.

Had he?

The streets are quiet as he makes his way back to your shared home. He thinks over the past year and how he hardly saw you, and when he did, he often left not soon after seeing you.

He opens the door, the house eerily silent following your fight earlier. He deserved your silence. He couldn’t tell you how scared he was to marry you, tethering your soul to his for the rest of your lives.

You, who was so kind and so loving, shackled to him for eternity. He knew the insecurities were ridiculous, that you loved him with every part of yourself.

But that didn’t stop the self-hatred from oozing out of him every moment.

He hadn’t been there for you this past year. He had let his own need for approval overshadow your needs.

He groans, needing to find you so he can fix things. He walks through the house, not even realizing the book he’s carrying is a duplicate to the one sitting on the coffee table.

He starts really thinking, trying to remember the last time he had touched you, kissed you, held you.

Too long, he realizes, as he’s made his way through the whole house without a sign of you. A shadow wraps around his wrist, pulling him into the kitchen. He finds the note he had left earlier still on the table, but you had scrawled a second message underneath. Five words that break his resolve, forcing him to his knees. Your handwriting so clear, save for the splotched ink, wet from tears.

I wouldn’t marry me either.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #acotar writing

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erwinsvow · 1 month

Text

𝐫𝐜 - 𝟐:𝟏𝟏𝐩𝐦

you slept at tannyhill every night now.

it was commonplace to see you making breakfast in the kitchen, by the pool with sarah or inside watching some silly movie with wheezie. that was only sometimes though, since all your time was usually spent with rafe.

he liked having you around at tannyhill all the time—he thought it was cute. you wait for him to get back like a little housewife, looking pretty and pampered and tan, like he wants.

he doesn’t like waking you up early when he’s leaving for the day. you used to set your alarm to get up and drink coffee with him but he’s started turning it off—you don’t have any reason to be up that early.

sweet and always compliant, you do as he says, sleeping in. rafe presses a kiss to your forehead in the morning before he leaves, day filled with meetings and business things that he doesn’t always tell you about in detail. you just know that he’s gone.

“stoppin’ by barry’s and then the club with kelce. we’re playing golf with-” you listen to rafe while he puts on his watch and his rings, but you drift off half way through. you feel the warm press of his lips on your skin and the sound of him saying goodbye.

you’re not sure when it happened—you used to get up early and get ready for the day, filling your summer days with friends at the beach and your books by the pool and never going more than an hour alone. but now that you’re with rafe, it’s so easy to sit around and wait for him. you don’t even want to see anyone, you just want the hours to pass until he’s back.

maybe it’s not healthy. you don’t really care much even if it’s not.

you fall back asleep, and wake up when the sun is pouring in between rafe’s dark curtains. you stretch and debate going downstairs to eat something, but after brushing your teeth you crawl back into rafe’s bed. the sheets smell like him and you stare awfully long at the pillow he sleeps on. shifting the pillow to lay on it, you fall back asleep, not waking up until you hear the door to his room open.

rubbing your eyes, you glance up, hoping it’s not ward looking for him since you’re just in one of rafe’s shirts and nothing else, but the shape in front of you gets closer and clearer.

“what’s this? been in bed all day, kid?” you yawn again.

“what time is it?” you question, laying back down against rafe’s pillow.

“two in the afternoon.” he comes and sits by the edge, stroking your hair while you melt into his touch. “got any plans to get up today?” you shake your head.

“your bed’s comfy. and it smells like you.”

“that’s cute, kid. gotta get up eventually.”

“you’ll have to make me.”

“that can be arranged.” you giggle, lifting yourself up to give rafe a hug, head resting on his shoulder. "but i like you like this. don't have to lift a finger, do'ya?"

“no," you agree, nodding your head. maybe you could get used to this. "missed you.”

“i’m back now. nothin’ to miss.”

“i still do.” rafe presses another kiss to your forehead, and you nestle in further. “i could fall asleep like this.”

“yeah, no.” in one motion he scoops you up, placing you on your feet. you yelp in surprise, fighting against his grip.

"i'm still tired! i thought you wanted to spoil me, this isn't spo-"

“shut up. c’mon, we’re gonna go shower.” that shuts you up right away.

“okay,” you sing sweetly, suddenly compliant.

“yeah, i knew you'd get out of bed for some dick. little freak.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #time series

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kiss-inthekitchen · 1 month

Text

same sky | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader

a late night phone call with Spencer. unruly amounts of fluff. no gender identifiers in this one. apologies to residents of las vegas, i did insult your city's aesthetics. i had to do it. for the plot

word count: 2k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3 by the same name. it's the second in a series of fics i've updated from my vault of oldies :) this one's for the girlies who liked the banter in no vacancy <3 oops! all banter

“I miss you,” you say into your cell phone, standing on the back porch and gazing out at the sky. It’s late, but you can’t sleep. Spencer has been gone on a case for the better part of a week, and you don’t sleep as well without him.

“I miss you, too. But I’ll be home soon,” Spencer replies, keeping his voice low.

“Is everyone else asleep?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long day.”

“Where are you right now?” Even though you aren’t in danger of waking anyone up, you find yourself mirroring Spencer's tone.

“Best guess, somewhere over New Mexico.” They’ve been in the air about an hour, and given their trajectory, he’s pretty sure he’s right. Spencer is seated at the edge of the couch, his back against the arm of it and a blanket thrown over his legs, barely covering his mismatching-socked feet.

“How come you’re still up?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says. Somehow, he can feel you smiling across the line. It makes him smile, too. He doesn’t ask why you’re awake when it’s even later where you are; he knows already. "What are you doing?”

“Looking up at the stars.”

“You know, you won’t be able to see me up here.”

“Ha ha.”

“Here, I’ll open the shade on the plane window. At least we can share the same view.”

“Hm. Almost like we’re together,” you hum.

His heart aches. It’s only been a few days and he still can’t stand it. “Almost.”

For a minute, neither of you speak, looking out at the sky from two different time zones.

“When I wake up tomorrow morning, you’ll be here, right?”

“Mmhm. Maybe even before that,” he responds, a low, soothing hum in your ear.

“Should I stay up until you get here?” you already know what he'll say, but you kinda like the idea of it anyway.

“No, no, it’s at least another four hours. Don’t worry about it. When you wake up, I’ll be there.”

“Sounds good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You’d intended to let him go after just a quick call once you realized that the rest of the team were resting not too far from him, but you don’t want to hang up. He doesn’t make any moves to do so either, wanting to hear your voice as much as you want to hear his. “So, how was Tucson?”

“Oh, you know. Hot. Desert-y. Lots of murder.”

“Less murder now.”

“Yeah.”

His voice sounds strained. He doesn’t like indulging in a sense of accomplishment after closing a case, doesn’t ever feel like he’s done enough. He shows up too late and does too little, and then he gets to leave while the families of the victims have to pick up the pieces. You understand why he doesn’t like to think about the work that way, but you’ve tried to remind him that the good he does is incalculable; how many lives saved, how many tragedies avoided. It’s all you can do.

You pivot a little, not wanting him to get too caught up. “I remember, when I first moved to Virginia, I was so shocked at how green everything was. I swore I’d never seen that much green in my life.”

“I had a similar experience,” he says, fondly, aware of your tactics.

“Oh, I can only imagine. I’ve been to Vegas. It’s icky.”

“Icky?” he asks, laughing at your word choice.

“I mean, no offense, but… it’s kinda ugly.”

“Wow, okay, insult my hometown, why don’t you.”

You laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re right.”

“I know,” you sigh. “Always am.”

“Well, statistically, you actually have a seventy-two percent chance of being right, which is still impressive, but hardly a flawless track record.”

“Spencer Reid coming in hot with the stats. I love when you talk numbers to me.”

“I don’t think we’d have gotten very far if you didn’t.”

“But I think I should be right more often than that.”

“Are you asking me to fudge the numbers?” he asks with put-upon shock.

“I’m just saying, maybe you’ve got it wrong.”

“Oh, so you dare to challenge the accuracy of my eidetic memory? Or is it the statistics that you think I’ve calculated incorrectly?”

“This is affecting my score, isn’t it?”

“I’ll have to factor it in. You understand.”

You giggle, and Spencer starts to feel some warmth come back into him after too many days of stress, doubt, and destruction. He hadn’t been able to talk to you nearly as much as he wanted. And it was hard to talk to you on certain cases, to allow you to make him feel lighter when reality was so dark. When he felt so much weight on his shoulders, when he should be focusing on the profile and apprehending the unsub and… sometimes he just didn’t feel like he deserved to have that weight lifted by you, even for a little while.

“Spence?”

“Will you go inside?” he asks, his tone full of something like reverence for you. “Please?”

“If you insist,” you sigh, already opening the door.

“I do. I do insist, very forcefully.”

“I’m already inside with the door locked.”

“Man, I’m good.”

“Mmhm.”

“Going to bed?”

“Yeah. Will you talk to me for a few more minutes?” you ask, sliding under the covers. Spencer hears the slip of fabric as you pull them up over your shoulders, and it sharpens the ache he feels to be home with you already.

“I’ll talk to you for the rest of the night, if you want me to.”

“No, I don’t wanna keep you awake, too.”

“I probably won’t get much sleep regardless.”

“I don’t condone that,” you say, your frown evident in your voice.

“Noted,” he replies, though he sounds apologetic.

Four hours feels an eternity too long to wait. You miss Spencer, and you hate how tired he sounds. You want to fix things for him. You want to run your fingers through his hair til he falls asleep and you want to make sure his dreams are peaceful when he does.

“What do you wanna do when you’re back?” you ask, hoping that planning for it will make the time go faster.

“Oh, I’m taking a shower and getting right into bed. And you can’t make me get up.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m serious. Don’t ask me to do a single other thing cause I won’t do it.”

You laugh. “For the whole day?”

“Probably. And you better not go anywhere either. We could both use the rest.”

“Okay, rest day all day.”

“We can order Thai though. So we’ll get up for that. But even then, it’s just to sit on the couch.”

“Maybe the floor.”

“I will also accept floor,” he concedes, and then it occurs to him that you might’ve been asking because you want to do something with him. “Is there something you wanted to do the next day though?”

“Well... the saucer magnolias are blooming at the Smithsonian again.”

“Say no more.”

You sigh wistfully. “You’re my favorite boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

“Well, I should hope so,” he says, smiling. “You’re my favorite, too.”

“Aren’t I the only partner you’ve ever had?”

“Ha ha. I had a girlfriend in college.”

“Spencer, you were like sixteen in college.”

“I wasn’t sixteen the entire time,” you hear the eye roll in his voice, “I have three PhD’s, it took me a little while.”

“Well, who is this girl? Do I need to beat her up?” you joke.

“No,” he laughs. “You are my favorite, after all. She wasn’t very nice to me.”

“Okay… so you told me not to beat her up but then gave a reason why I should?”

“Please don’t beat up my ex-girlfriend. I do appreciate your violent impulses though.”

“Mm, okay. As long as you know I could.”

“Sure, angel. You’re very scary,” he placates.

You let out a little gremlin laugh.

“Oh, and you’re delirious,” he notes, an amused lilt to his tone.

“Delirious because I miss you,” you sing, dragging out the ‘you’.

“God, where did I even find a weirdo like you,” Spencer laughs.

“I found you. You attracted me with your peculiar aura and soulful eyes. Trapped me in your… fucking what’s-it-called. Tractor beam.”

“You know, the term tractor beam was actually coined by science fiction author E.E. Smith in 1931 as an updated version of his original term ‘attractor beam.’”

“Hmm, yup. You caught me in that.”

“Did you call my eyes soulful?” he asks, seemingly just processing that part.

“Oh, you don’t like my adjective choice? Next you’ll have a problem with me calling your aura peculiar.”

“I mean… I don’t know that I loved it.”

“Here he goes fishing for compliments,” you sigh, rolling over to your other side and creating a bunch of shuffling noise on the line. Spencer wrinkles his nose, holding the phone a little farther from his ear until he hears you speaking again. “Okay, your eyes are big and brown and beautiful and they contain a standard unremarkable amount of soul, and your aura is also really regular. Regular Reid, that’s what they call ya.”

He’s frowning, you can practically see it, but he’s also fighting off an amused smile. “Well, that one started off nice, at least.”

“God! You’re so difficult. My boyfriend is sooo difficult. Why don’t you come home to me first and then I’ll come up with some more adequate compliments?”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

The two of you talk for a little while longer, with you telling Spencer about the new coffee shop you’d tried out and how their lavender latte actually tastes like lavender, which is basically unheard of. Spencer tells you about the standoff between him and an all too curious roadrunner that he swears was trying to get into his motel room. Calling it a standoff is generous; the man got bullied by a bird.

You try not to laugh and end up unsuccessful, with Spencer insisting that you were taking sides and he was well and truly in danger, which only makes it funnier. His voice pitches up even as he tries to keep his volume low, and you argue that his energy is just so attractive that even the local wildlife are drawn to him.

“Don’t start,” he warns, overwhelming fondness in his voice.

You make Spencer tell you something boring to calm yourself down from the image you’ve conjured of him being chased by a roadrunner, which, in your exhausted state, is even funnier than it should be. He claims to regret confiding in you with this, but he knows he’d do it again just to hear you laugh.

Instead of telling you something boring, he recites some of the poems he’s memorized over the years. It works the way you’d intended, and you regret it when you have to stop him to tell him you’re falling asleep. He’s just a little smug about it.

“So, you’ll be home in four hours?” you ask, the start of your goodbyes.

“More like three now.”

“We made time go faster.”

“We did.”

“Will you try to get some sleep?”

“Fine. Only because you asked.”

You hum, victorious. “Goodnight. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Hours later, just as the sun is beginning to change the hue of the sky from deep navy to a hazy cerulean glow, you feel your mattress shift underneath you. You’re barely awake, but still you register the scent of Spencer’s shower gel, fresh and sort of woodsy.

Half asleep, you shift to accommodate him, and he slips an arm around you as you lay your head on his chest. You wrap an arm around his torso and throw your leg over his hips, as close as you can possibly get without literally being on top of him.

You sigh, deep and relieved, and Spencer’s heart stutters.

“I missed this,” he chuckles, resting his cheek against the top of your head and wrapping his arms tighter around you. You just hum in response, the last of your energy before you’re pulled back under. Within minutes, Spencer is asleep too, and the two of you sleep through sunrise and into the afternoon.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #my fics #your honor im obsessed with him

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