#that no matter what i do i can never go back
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
Hey :) I’m just now getting into enhypen, so tell me, what do you think they’re like in bed?
haiiii srry i took so long to complete this but nonetheless i hope you still like it !! i only did hyung line so i hope that’s okie </3 kinda went a little overboard and started yapping tew much in this one lol oopsies..
pair: hyung line ㅊ f!reader | warnings: smut, d/s dynamics, oral (m + f. rec), fingering, praise/degradation, c.ckwarming, p in v, a bunch of other nasty stuff i don’t feel like typing out lmfao
heeseung
don’t even get me started with this man omfg.. like he’s a literal sex god…
whether it be from his fingers, his mouth, or his dick he’s gonna make sure that you cum first always
will rip orgasm after orgasm out of you like it’s nothing, not stopping until you’re a whining, convulsing mess under him, smirking with utmost pride from how good he’s made you feel
he lowkey strikes me as someone with a high sex drive so i feel like the minimum rounds you’d be going on the daily is AT LEAST 3 (though sometimes that still isn’t enough for him), he not giving that pussy a break i fear..
feel like he’d also be very into body worship, just completely and utterly devoted to pleasing every inch of you, taking his sweet time to savor all of you as if it’s his last time he’ll ever get to fuck you— your body is a work of art to him so he’ll treat it as such !
is obsessed with marking you, like there’s just something about leaving hickies in places where only you two can see privately <3
loves fucking you in missionary so he can see your pretty, fucked out face— but is also a huge fan of doggie ‘cause he likes to spank your ass from time to time hehe
the way you feel around his cock, clamping around him with every thrust, has him moaning so much that he has to bite down on your shoulder to control himself ;(
will run slow circles at your clit with his thumb, other hand holding himself up to look at the way your face changes with pleasure
gets so horny for you and the way you repeat everything he says back to him as if you’re nothing but a dumb fuckdoll for him to use.. >~<
when he’s chasing his own high, his moans just get louder and louder, harmonizing with yours until he’s painting your insides with strings of white, quickly pulling out to watch his cum dripping out of you, admiring the beautiful mess he’s made of you ♡︎
jay
he’s the type of partner that would be sooo sweet and attentive and patient with you, like it doesn’t matter to him at all if you’re experienced or not; if anything he’d prefer to teach you new things !! (corruption kink goes craaazy)
he seems like he’d be more into passionate lovemaking rather than just pure fucking, just always treating you like the princess you deserve to be treated <3
loves the build up that leads up before you two actually get into it, like the heavy breathing in between slow, passionate kisses, pulling you in closer to him as you’re slowly grinding on him and the pauses to catch each other’s breaths just makes his brain short circuit 😣
is always telling you how pretty you look like while taking his cock, he’ll never ever get tired of the view of you on your knees for him as you’re sucking him off or while he’s fucking you in all kinds of different positions
i feel like he’s more soft dom leaning but i could also see him being a little mean sometimes, he knows how much you like it when he degrades you and tells you how much of a slut you are (only for him tho ofc)
is defff the type who talks you through it ><
pays close attention to your facial expressions and brushes your hair out of your face while kissing your lips every now and then, just needs to fill you up completely while he kisses you so gently in contrast to the hard and deep strokes he’s giving you. one hand on the side of your face, soothing you sweetly with each touch and the other hand playing with your tits
the way your walls flutter around him makes him feel dizzy, especially how you’re moaning as he fucks you nice and slow, praising you for taking it all so well. his good girl :(
would also be a big fan of cockwarming
idk why but i can just imagine you two chilling like that— you getting used to the feel of him inside of you while making out for a while, jay bringing his thumb down to rub your clit in slow, lazy circles
when you pull back to look at where you both connect together, you moan and he grabs your chin softly for you to look at him, finding your furrowed brows and fucked out expression so stinking cute !!
jake
THE BIGGEST WHORE OMG
like he’s such a freak but only when it comes to you, he’ll literally do anything you asked him to
in the beginning stages he would probs be a little shy at first, he’d be so gentle and delicate with you, kissing you sweetly as he inches himself slowly into you..
it’s like this for the first few times you slept together, taking his sweet time until you’d be able to take him with ease, and then the flip would switch— he’ll get a little more rough with you, calling you a dirty girl for him and how much you’re enjoying it
also strikes me as someone with a high libido, like he’s horny twenty four sevennnn, he’ll wanna fuck you any and everywhere
he hates condoms, he would literally rather die than to use one. is always begging to hit it raw each and everytime you guys fuck, he pinky promises that he’ll pull out !! (which only works about 60% of the time ..)
always always always wants to eat you out, he just can’t help himself he’s addicted to the way you taste, its like a drug to him. he’ll just randomly ask you out of nowhere if you wanna sit on his face and you allow him to do whatever his horny brain likes, plus with a face that pretty how could you not wanna ride it ???
this leads me to thinking about pussydrunk jake who’s so immersed in eating you out and fixated on your own pleasure, he could do it out for hours with absolutely no complaints on his end. it turns him on so much knowing how good he’s making you feel, he almost cums in his pants just from this alone..
i will say this time and time again, jake is very into recording during sex, he likes to record himself eating you out or fucking you, making sure the camera is super close up to capture all the little details; he’s built up quite the collection in his camera roll so far
is always so vocal in the videos, maybe even more than you tbh. he’d be asking you over and over if you like that and how bad you want his cock, he literally never shuts up. he gets a bit more intense when the cameras rolling, loving that you’re into it just as much as he is; you’re his little pornstar <3
sunghoon
i may be biased as hell but honestly i think he’s the biggest freak out of them all, like he’s the type who treats you like royalty when in public but in private ?? yeah, that’s a completely different story..
he just really really likes to fuck. morning sex, middle of the night sex, shower sex, phone sex, you name it. he’s literally down for everythinggg
feel like he’d also be very into corruption, slowly turning you into a sex obsessed freak just like him !! (twinsies)
will not give you what you want unless you beg for it. he likes when you use your words and tell him exactly what you need, if you want it that desperately then you’re gonna have to work for it, and you most certainly will
finds it endearing how much you squirm around and get all whiny as he’s fingering you, humiliating you when you can’t take it ‘cause how will you be able to take him if you can’t even take this small thing ??
he’d pitifully look at you as you’re stuffed full of his fingers, squeezing your cheeks together hard when you pout because you’ll take what he’s giving you and be grateful for it. idk it’s just very sexy— the contrast between his attitude when he’s training you in comparison to the real thing >_<
is a sucker for those cute innocent doe eyes you give him as you’re taking him down your throat, the sounds you make while choking around his thick cock, makes him so incredibly hard. he wants to use your mouth like a toy— his toy, until you’re a crying mess and feeds you with his cum <33
fucks.you.soooo.dumb
he eases into you ever so slowly, already too far gone as he feels warm walls hugging his cock, it has him moaning and throwing his head back in relief, and once he’s fully settled in, he will not be holding back
lots and lots of dirty talk !! will say the filthiest things to you in your ear all while pounding you from behind, you can barely even comprehend all of what he’s saying to you because of your fucked out state, all you can do is moan and repeat his name over and over in response
also loves it when you ride him, the way you’re bouncing on his cock and giving him the view of a lifetime, he’s never felt so desperate to cum before, groaning loudly as he feels you clench and unclench around him, milking him of all his cum
the aftercare is always so lovely and soft with him. he’d be acting like he didn’t just fuck you into a whole other dimension lol
idk, all i know is that i need hoon so badly.. y’all it ain’t even funny anymore :\
#enhypen smut#enhypen x reader#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enhypen headcanons#enha smut#heeseung smut#jay smut#jake smut#sunghoon smut
558 notes
·
View notes
Text
I love writing. The first thing I do when I get up is write, the last thing I do before I go to sleep is write. Between reading horror/fantasy/speculative fiction books, I read books on craft by anyone and everyone. My passions in life are the craft of writing AND storytelling.
Note: those are two different things. Having a story to tell and craft (the way we tell that story).
I am not saying that people who use AI to tell a story don't have a story to tell. They do! But that doesn't make them writers.
We have folktales across every culture about not accepting ourselves for who we are and that way leading to madness. Your version might go a little something like this:
A person who feels different than everyone else wishes to whoever is listening that they wake up beautiful/smart/charming. In the morning they wake to a mirror at the foot of their bed. Their reflection is all of those things! Filled with confidence, they go out into the world but, before meeting anyone, they catch sight of themself in a window. Their reflection normal but (having seen themself in the mirror) they now perceive themself as hideous.
They rush back home to check. In the mirror they're beautiful! What a relief. They stare deeply into the glass. Slowly their hair grows tangled and their clothing ragged. Days and weeks and months pass. They can't do anything without watching themself do it in the mirror. Dishes are done at the sink with the mirror blocking the window they used to love looking at the garden through. They wake with the mirror in bed with them rather than their lover. Etc, etc.
Using generative AI is like that mirror. Surface level, it makes things pretty. It may be entertaining and it may convey the story you want to convey.
But it's not your voice. It's your story, but not your voice. And it will trick you into thinking there is something wrong with your voice, that the way you tell stories is hideous, that you are incapable of the craft of writing. It will lie to you and you will live your whole life feeling disconnected from your own stories because something else is telling them for you.
That's why I'm against AI. Because I love writing. I love the way people tell stories, imperfect or perfect, because it's people telling them. Writers grow and change. Their punctuation choice, their word choice, their choice of form matter to a written story. There is connection in those decisions. A deeper level to a story that AI can never touch, only a person can.
So, please. Give your own voice a chance to grow and be heard.
489 notes
·
View notes
Text
i once had to break up with someone while we were still in love. i was going through a rough patch and they needed more than i had to give. right person, wrong time
they tried to get back together with me on 3 separate occasions in the following month
the first time they sent me this long text about how
“we could work together so that it’s different this time. you didn’t let me help you with your issues and i never communicated mine. i just can’t shake the feeling that we made a mistake”
i missed them dearly and i almost went back…but they hadn’t changed and neither had i. as much as i wanted to pretend we could work on it, i knew that it would just be a matter of time before we broke up again. breaking their heart once almost killed me and i simply couldn’t risk doing it again. so i wrote a heartfelt paragraph to say
“i wish you the best and i want to make you happy, but it’s only been a week and nothings changed. im sorry but no”
it hurt, but it was necessary. i hope they understood where i was coming from. then a few days later, they texted me again and said
“we had something special” (and we did) “i take all the blame. you were always enough, all i need is you”
again, i thought about it for a moment…but the truth is that if they didn’t have needs then we wouldn’t have broken up. i knew i was just as much to blame as them. they just wanted the grief to go away and would say anything to make it happen. if we got back together, id let them down again so i wrote a few short sweet sentences telling them that
“you have a lot to offer and you’ll find someone else. ill always be rooting for you. im sorry, but no”
the third time they insisted on calling. i told them I wouldn’t change my mind, but they insisted things would be better if we could talk over the phone. for 45 minutes, they repeated everything they ever said. trying to find anything that would change my mind.
“ive never felt like this before”
i tried to be gentle with them but there are only so many ways you can say
“im sorry but no”
eventually they ran out of words. they apologized and said they’d leave me alone, but ill never forget what they said before we hung up
“i wish i could’ve written this off like you did”
they thought that I had just moved on and what we had meant nothing to me i didn’t know how to explain that every time i said
“im sorry, but no”
what i really meant was
“i love you enough to let you go”
#my writing#writeblr#writers and poets#writing#writers on tumblr#poetry#autism#love#mental health#quotes
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Such A Mystery - Part 12 - The End
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)
Summary:
Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.
Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.
The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby.
Warnings:
Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.
Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 12 of 12!
They were alone. Just the three of them.
Colette had never felt so exhausted in her entire life. But she had also never been so happy. Charlie had been fed once more and had then fallen back asleep, curled up on her father’s chest. Colette herself could barely keep her eyes open.
And she should be sleeping, but she could only watch her daughter curled up against Max's chest.
"How did we manage to create something so perfect?" She asked him softly.
Max let out a tired little huff of laughter, not bothering to open his eyes. “She is perfect, isn’t she?” he murmured quietly.
Colette felt a smile tugging at her face. “Perfect and absolutely beautiful,” she agreed quietly, shifting a little to get a better look at the two of them. "So perfect it almost hurts to look at her."
Max smiled at her. "I...There is this thing you should know," he said hesitantly.
Something about his tone, the hesitance in his voice, made Colette pause. "What is it?" she asked curiously.
"I may have told the whole world about us? On Instagram?" he admitted with a grimace.
She could only snort at that. "I think your father made sure that that cat was out of the bag," she told him drily. "What did you say?"
"That we have been a couple for 15 years. That I couldn't be happier with you and our little family," he said simply. "I wanted everybody to hear our truth," Max said softly. "Not what other people write."
"There is a romantic inside you after all," Colette teased him softly.
"You aren't angry?" Max checked.
Colette sighed. "Not at you," she said simply. "I can't be angry at you. You just want people to know how happy we are together. We kept it quiet for years for me," Colette said, staring at her daughter. "Is it weird that it feels like she put everything into perspective?" she asked him, nodding towards Charlie. "I just...I don't care anymore,” she admitted.
Max stared at her, blue eyes wide, but Colette just shrugged. “I was terrified for so long what people were going to think about me once they knew about us...but now...I don't care. What does it matter?"
Max reached over and laced his fingers through hers. "It doesn't," he promised her. "I'll start screaming it from the rooftops tomorrow, if you'll let me."
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I think the media already knows," she teased, squeezing his hand. "We can just put my Instagram on public and let them eat their heart out," she suggested. It wasn’t meant seriously. Not really.
But the more she thought about it, she wondered if that was what it was going to take. Opening up the digital scrapbook of her life. Letting anybody have a peek at their relationship. Hoping that finally they would understand.
"We'd break the internet," Max retorted, grinning at her.
Colette laughed. "We really, really would. Reason enough to do it?" she teased him.
"And give my PR team a heart attack? Absolutely,” Max returned immediately. “Tell me when.”
"I love you," she told him seriously. "And I am ready to love you in public too."
She had done it from the shadows for 15 years after all.
He stared at her. "Are...Are you sure?"
"I am very, very sure, mon coeur," Colette told him softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "The only opinion that matters to me is yours - and my family's. I don't care what anyone else thinks," she added, glancing down at Charlie again, who slept blissfully on, cuddled against Max's chest.
"If people want to call me an attention whore or a gold digger, they are welcome to it," Colette said quietly. "I don't care. I'm happy and you're happy and our baby is happy. Let them write whatever they want."
***
"Marry me," Max blurted out.
His words came out of his mouth before he had even realised what he was saying. The room suddenly became very quiet, as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of it, and Max suddenly realised that he had just blurted out the question he had been meaning to ask for months, at a time that couldn’t be further from ideal.
Colette was staring at him, her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise on her face. She seemed frozen and totally caught off guard by his question. And he didn’t blame her for that. She was exhausted, and had just given birth, and here he was, bombarding her with questions as if this was the perfect moment to do it.
But then she smiled at him.
"Yes," Colette said simply. "Always yes. You know that.”
Relief surged through him so strongly, Max thought he might just about collapse. She had said yes.
Granted she had said yes the last time as well.
He remembered that day like it had been yesterday…remembered coming home that May evening in 2016…Fuelled with adrenaline from his first “proper” win. Remembered the trophy that still had a place of pride in their living room…the bottle of champagne, the Pirelli cap…and the ring that he had bought after that race. The celebratory crepes for breakfast the next day where still a tradition they kept with.
Max felt like he could have exploded there and then, just from happiness. He couldn’t believe that he had just asked her, that she had just said yes. It didn’t feel real. It felt like something out of a dream.
"Yes?" he repeated incredulously, just to make sure he hadn’t actually dreamt it. "You’ll marry me?"
"Properly this time," she teased him, with the most beautiful smile on her face, as she leane up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll marry you, Maxie.”
He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the sound breathless. It wasn’t just exhaustion that made him sound like that, it was disbelief, a sort of giddy lightness.
"Properly this time," he echoed back to her, his words soft. "You’ll marry me properly."
He couldn’t actually believe she was saying yes. "I do have a ring," he assured her. "It's at home. I hid it in the trophy."
Colette laughed. "Of course, you hid it in the trophy," she repeated, her voice warm and amused."Of course you did."
Max gave her what he hoped was at least a resemblance of a sheepish look. “Where else would it be safe?” he said defensively. "And I know you wouldn't look there," he added.
"A perfect place to hide something you don't want me to find," Colette agreed.
Max grinned at her. "Exactly," he said happily, gently brushing her hair from her face.
"Which trophy?" she asked him seriously.
"Spain 2016," he answered honestly. His first one. The one.
"You hid it in the 2016 trophy?" Colette repeated, her smile widening into a grin. "Really?"
"Just felt appropriate,” he answered honestly. He still remembered handing it to Colette for the first time, the ring that he had bought clanging around in the bottom of it.
"It is," she agreed softly, leaning up to press a kiss against his lips.
Max smiled against her mouth, his arms tightening around her, pulling her a little closer. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He couldn’t believe he had just blurted out the one question he had been wanting to ask for ages, and she had actually just said yes.
"You’re really going to marry me," he mumbled against her mouth, unable to help the words. "You’re actually going to marry me."
"I had your baby, but this is what shocks you?" Colette asked him with a laugh.
He laughed, pulling her closer again and nuzzling his face into her shoulder, her words causing him to blush faintly. “I love you,” he mumbled against her skin quietly.
"I love you too," she echoed back quietly. "And yes, I will marry you. As many times as you’ll ask."
"I am the luckiest man in the whole world," he said softly.
"No, I’m the luckiest," she told him gently, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close again. "To have you, and this, and Charlie, and all of it. It’s everything I ever wanted.”
#max verstappen fanfiction#formula 1#max verstappen#max verstappen smau#max verstappen fic#f1 fanfiction#formula 1 fanfiction#max verstappen fluff#mv1 fanfiction#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fake instagram#f1 smau#max verstappen social media au#max verstappen x reader#mv1 x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#mv1 fic#max verstappen x you#f1 grid x reader#f1 grid fanfiction
343 notes
·
View notes
Note
Pookie! I need you to write me something pretty please :)
Can you write Remus comforting a reader with an anxiety disorder when someone told them "there's nothing to be anxious about. You just want attention" ??? Pretty please?? Love you pookieeeeeee
Thanks for requesting!
cw: mean girl stuff, social anxiety
Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 929 words
“Shh.” Remus holds you close to his chest, his hand moving up and down your arm now that your crying has slowed. “It’s okay. It’s just us, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you echo, croakily. You’re glad you can’t see your boyfriend’s face, for fear you’d die of embarrassment otherwise. The looming insecurity of your day stands over you like a grim reaper.
You arrived home from a friend’s birthday dinner to find Remus sitting on the couch, already marking the page of his book as he turned to you with a soft smile.
“Hi, sweetheart. How was it?”
You replied, through a laugh that turned into a sob halfway through, “Not great.”
The dinner had been an event of foreboding for you since your invite. You’d been determined to be a good friend by not bailing, but actually going had confirmed your worst fears; it was loud, crowded, filled with people you didn’t know and didn’t fit with. Your outfit wasn’t right, the menu was daunting, and conversation swirled all around you about things you weren’t a part of. The fallout was basically inevitable.
You perhaps waited too long to excuse yourself. You were sweating buckets and breathing around a lump by the time you did, whispering an explanation to your friend before locking yourself into a bathroom stall to talk yourself down. You’re sure she didn’t mean anything by telling the people sitting closest to her why you were gone—you don’t think she’d do it to gossip, and she’s never talked down to you about that sort of thing, at least not to your face—but by the time you returned one of her friends—a stranger to you, who’s name you can’t even remember—had formulated a fairly decisive opinion and dubbed you an attention seeker.
You stayed only a little longer after that. Just long enough to avoid attracting more attention. And you worked yourself up well enough on the way home that all it took was one innocent question from Remus to send you crumpling into his arms.
You’ve tried to steel yourself more than once, but any attempts at stoicism have been foiled by your boyfriend’s tender looks and whispered placations, which only make you cry harder. If you’re an attention seeker, Remus is your holy grail. Self loathing sits lodged in your throat like a stone.
“Whose friend was it, again?” Remus asks, stroking your arm gently.
You take a breath, trying to steady your voice. “Does it matter?”
“I don’t mean it’s your friend’s fault, sweetheart,” Remus says. He’s all softness and patience, better than you could ever deserve. “I just thought you might talk to her, if you want to. She ought to know her friend is going around saying cruel things.”
“She was there.” Your throat tightens at the memory.
“Oh. Then I don’t suppose you need to say anything; I’m sure she’s already very upset for you.”
You try to laugh, frustrated with yourself when it only seems to spur another wave of tears. “Rem. You’re biased.”
“What?” Remus sounds genuinely surprised. “You don’t think she’s angry with that other girl?”
“She’s her friend.”
“So are you.” His arms tighten around you protectively, chin bumping your head. “I may be biased, but the other girl was clearly in the wrong. There’s no excuse for the way she acted.”
A dozen rebuttals fly about your head, but you keep your mouth shut. You don’t have the energy to argue. Unfortunately, Remus hears your argument in the silence anyway.
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “no one puts themselves through what you do for attention. You don’t choose to feel that way.”
You hunch your back, tucking your head underneath his chin. “I do get attention for it, though.”
“That doesn’t mean you want it.”
“But I—”
“Do you want it?” You can’t see Remus, but you hear the hardened edge to his tone. “Did you like it, when that girl called attention to you in the middle of the dinner?”
Your voice smalls. “No.”
“Right.” The gentleness returns. Remus puts his lips to your head. “I know you didn’t, dovey. So don’t torment yourself, please. She doesn’t know anything about you.”
You push your lips together. He lets you chew on your next words for a while, his thumb swiping softly back and forth over your upper arm, the sleeve of your top shifting slightly with the motion.
“What if…” You gnaw the inside of your cheek. Remus waits. “What if everyone thinks that?”
“Mm. Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think most people would. Surely not anyone who knows you, or anyone worth being around.” He takes a breath, thinking. “You can’t always control what people think. I know you say I’m biased, but anyone who thinks something like that really isn’t worth thinking about at all. You’ve got enough going through that head of yours, yeah?” He kisses your hair fondly.
“I guess so,” you admit.
“Yeah,” Remus decides. He pulls away to see your face, pushing hair away from your tacky cheeks. “I’d say so.”
You wonder if you look as horrendously in love as you feel. You think you must, because your boyfriend’s expression softens impossibly further as he turns his head to give you a proper kiss. You feel raw but comforted, and suddenly, totally exhausted.
“Let the bullies worry about themselves.” Remus gives you a tender look. “I’ll worry about you.”
You let a small smile tilt your lips. “And what am I left to worry about?”
“Nothing,” he says solemnly. “Think you can manage that?”
“Nope.”
“Mm. Well, try.”
#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x fem!reader#remus lupin x you#remus lupin x y/n#remus lupin x self insert#remus lupin fanfiction#remus lupin fanfic#remus lupin fic#remus lupin hurt/comfort#remus lupin fluff#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin scenario#remus lupin drabble#remus lupin blurb#remus lupin one shot#remus lupin oneshot#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#the marauders#hp marauders#marauders era#marauders x reader
314 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi!!! If you're still taking requests, can you do a bodyguard headcanon for the LADS boys pls and thanks 🙏
After talking to @ballorawan740 a little more, an extra detail added for the request was that MC was hired as a bodyguard for a young girl by their family. So I made all the men single dads for this HC. IDK who had they this child with or how it happened, just go with it.
Hey Miss Bodyguard...
Zayne:
He's a rich, famous, doctor stretched thin. He hadn't expected being a single dad would be this challenging. Being the youngest person to win the Starcatcher award was no small feat after all.
His fear stems from his refusal to work with Ever. He's terrified that they'll take his daughter as leverage.
He holds interviews of course, because how else can he find the best person to keep his little girl safe? When you walk in, he feels a connection that was absent with the other candidates. You got along easily with his child, and it was obvious that you cared for her more than beyond seeing her as a paycheck.
He keeps things professional and beyond offering you a drop home at night or sometimes bringing takeout, he mostly keeps to himself, but he's drawn to the way you spend time with his daughter. He sees how happy she is around you, and he's confident in your abilities to keep her safe.
It's his daughter that points out he likes you. "Miss...I think my daddy like you!" she'll say matter-of-factly while she gets her shoes on for school. Zayne nearly chokes on his coffee, his ears turning red as you stifle a laugh behind your hands, ushering her out the door. Later that day, Zayne calls asking if it would be all right if he asked you to dinner. You accept of course, because how could anyone resist the stoic, handsome, doctor with the cute daughter?
Sylus:
Sylus has a never-ending list of reasons as to why he needed a bodyguard for his daughter. He was the leader of an organized crime group after all, and there were several people who would gladly claim his head on a platter.
He tried to entrust Luke and Kieran but after an almost near accident at a gun range he decided maybe they weren't the best choice.
His daughter is suspicious of you when Sylus hires you. You simply looked out of place in the N109 zone and part of her didn't feel like you were 'one of them'. She would constantly complain to Mephisto and insist uncle Luke and uncle Kieran weren't that bad, and that they were sorry about the gun range incident.
You finally gain her trust when you teach her how to shoot soda cans with your hunter's gun. She's impressed and says you're not a bad shot, the highest compliment she could think of.
She expresses her approval to her dad and says to him, "daddy, she can outshoot you. You should shoot guns together." Sylus who is tossing a salad for their meal glances at you thoughtfully just as you're about to walk out the door. "Is that so? Well, what does our bodyguard think?" You'll freeze for a minute and retort that you had to think about it and leave. Sylus smiles reassuringly at his daughter. "That's a yes."
Xavier:
Xavier decides to ask you to be his daughter's bodyguard after finding out there are traitors amongst the Backtrackers. Their anger at him for deciding to stay in this timeline with his daughter knew no bounds. He feared they would kidnap her and attempt to fly back to dying Philos. They'd never make it, he knew, given the condition of their spaceship. His bigger concern was them getting stuck in the deepspace tunnel with no way to find their coordinates.
Xavier's daughter has an easy relationship with you. She's seen you around the building before and you always have candy ready for her sweet tooth. If Xavier was too busy to give her attention, then down the elevator she came to knock on your door.
On multiple occasions Xavier has come down to retrieve his daughter from you, reminding her that it's not ok to visit when you were off duty. This upsets her and she looks at you teary-eyed and you insist that she's not a bother.
At this point his daughter bursts out loudly, "Daddy, I'm always either at our place or hers. Miss should just move in with you so that I don't have to come downstairs anymore!" Both you and Xavier laugh awkwardly, both of you blushing before bidding each other good night.
But after Xavier has put his daughter to bed, he considers the idea. It seemed practical, but he knew you'd never go for it. So instead he asks you if you'd be interested in joining him for hot pot one of these days.
Rafayel:
Rafayel somehow believes that because you are his bodyguard, it means you are his daughter's too. Even after you told him it would cost double since you're trying to protect two people he shrugs it off and asks Thomas to write you a check for more.
The young girl is similar to her dad and has an artistic flair, painting breathtaking landscapes and adorable little cartoons alike. She often watches you chastising her dad for not following rules and not being safe enough and senses there's more there.
She can't help but notice that some of her dad's portraits feature people with features similar to yours; the same nose, the shape of your eyes, or the fullness of your lips. When she points this out Rafayel shakes his head in denial.
Determined to be right, she pulls you into his studio where all the portraits are kept while he's out one day. You do see the resemblance but try to console the girl that artists can find inspiration from anywhere, and it might not be as simple as him having feelings for you. Of course, she pouts (so much like her dad!) and that's when Rafayel walks in.
You ask him to correct his daughter, that your relationship is strictly professional. Rafayel sighs dramatically, then says, "Yeah, it's professional. But only because I can't get her to change her mind." His daughter smirks in triumph and you leave the room blushing, wondering how you got tangled up with this family.
© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating
@brekkersgf @ladyparamount @otomegamesforlife @shddyboo @supernaturalbaesduh @sweets-kozume @theimmortalbuns @venussakura
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader#zayne x reader#xavier x reader#rafayel x reader#zayne love and deepspace#xavier love and deepspace#rafayel love and deepspace#sylus love and deepspace#lads sylus#lads x reader#lads x you#lads rafayel#lads zayne#lads xavier#love and deepspace x you#ncs#ncs scribbles#ncs replies
275 notes
·
View notes
Note
uuuhhhhhm can i pretty pretty please with cherries on top request a Dae-ho x reader where the reader was also in the military? but its like that ep. where they revolutionized? if that makes sense? idk i think it be cool if reader eas good eith a gun
anyways HAVE A LOVELY DAY/ NIGHT love reading your stuff (i binge read it :p)
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
pairing: Kang Dae-ho x gn!reader
summary: As a former soldier, you know just what to do when all hell breaks loose.
word count: 3.7k
warnings: guns, death, blood, squid game stuff, panic attacks, ptsd
A/N: i've played so many shooting games i feel like i've been training to write this fic my entire life. i even named it after a shield from my favorite game (brownie points if you know which game). if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3 tried to make this gender neutral but if you find any slip ups lmk so i can fix it
**this can be read as romantic or platonic**
You look at the woman standing between bunks with wide eyes. You weren't sure earlier when you saw her on the screen, but seeing her standing ten feet away from you, you're absolutely positive that you know who this is.
"Sergeant?"
Cho Hyun-ju turns and gasps when she sees you, a smile lighting up her face. She quickly embraces you, you happily hugging her back. You were always her favorite soldier (she never admitted it, being the sergeant of the Brigade, but you both knew she liked you best). You were one of the only people who supported her when she came out. You tried to fight against her discharge but, as a low-ranking soldier, you had no say in the matter.
"I knew it had to be you!" you say, pulling back with a smile. "When I saw someone go back into the playing field to help a guy with only ten seconds left, I just knew it was my sergeant!"
"It's good to see you," she says. "Though, I wish it was under better circumstances."
You nod solemnly. You had just watched at least a hundred people die while screaming and begging for their lives. As a former soldier, it was hard that you couldn't do anything to help the civilians. All you could do was stand there and listen to the screams and gunshots, and then the silence.
"How are you here? Are you not part of the Brigade anymore?" Hyun-ju asks.
You shake your head. "No, I actually left not long after you were discharged. It wasn't the same without you, and I just couldn't be civil with the others after how they treated you."
She nods, understanding. "Well, if I'm going to be here with anyone, I'm glad it's you. I trust you with my life, soldier."
You smile. "And I you, Sergeant."
<>
You and Hyun-ju had made it through the next two games together, along with some allies you made along the way. Together with Young-mi, Yong-sik, and Geum-ja, you had been the first team to succeed in the six-legged pentathlon.
You had also made it though Mingle with some new allies, though not all of your old allies made it. Young-mi's death was hard on your whole group, but Hyun-ju had been taking it the worst. While you had grown closer with Yong-sik and Geum-ja, she had formed a special bond with the young girl and had to watch her die right in front of her.
While you would like to take the time to mourn Young-mi, a lot has happened in the few hours since the third game ended. The vote on whether to go home or stay ended in a 50-50 tie, meaning you're going to have to redo the vote tomorrow. Then, a huge fight apparently broke out in the men's bathroom, leaving five players dead.
Both sides group together to count their numbers, and you find that there's now one more X than O. While the players around you celebrate, a feeling of dread shoots through you.
"Attention please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime."
Shit.
Player 047 stands in front of the group. "Listen, you cannot change your minds. We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow, alright?"
As the other players around you nod and move to their beds, you stay sitting, watching the O players. They're already looking at your group. Watching. Waiting. You look at Gi-hun, the previous winner, and know that he's thinking the same thing you are.
<>
"Those bastards are acting suspicious," Dae-ho says, returning to the small circle you formed on the ground. "It looks like they're up to something."
Jung-bae breathes out a laugh. "Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it'll all be over."
"You think we'll be okay?" Dae-ho asks, concerned. "They say things were really crazy in the bathroom earlier."
"We need to be ready," you say from your place between Dae-ho and Gyeong-seok. "They've been watching us since the moment they found out the prize money goes up if we kill each other."
The group around you tenses before Gi-hun speaks up as well. "Once the lights go out, people on the other side will attack us."
"Really?" Yong-sik asks from beside his mother.
Gi-hun nods. "Because if they kill us, they'll be able to win the vote and increase the prize."
"So what do we do?" Yong-sik asks.
"Let's attack them first," Young-il suggests. "They're probably thinking we'll just wait for the second vote. We can use it to our advantage. We'll attack them first once the lights go out."
"That's right," Player 047 says. "It'd be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked we'll be at a disadvantage." You send him a glare that makes him freeze for a moment before continuing. "Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning."
"I agree," Player 145 adds.
"We can't do that," Gi-hun says.
"But we have to get out of here," Young-il argues. "You said it yourself. Staying calm won't get us anywhere now."
"That doesn't mean we should kill each other," Gi-hun says. "That's exactly what they want us to do."
Jung-bae leans forward. "'They'?"
Gi-hun looks at him. "The ones who created this game." He turns to face the rest of the circle. "The ones who watch us play. If we're going to fight someone, it should be them."
It's silent before Dae-ho speaks up. "Where are they?"
Gi-hun looks to the ceiling. "Up there."
You all follow his gaze before looking around at each other.
"On the upper levels," Gi-hun says, "are the rooms they control the games from. The man in the black mask is their leader. Once we capture him, we'll be able to win."
"How are you going to fight them?" Young-il asks. "They have guns."
"We'll fight them with guns, too," Gi-hun says.
"But we don't have any," Jung-bae says.
Gi-hun turns to him. "We'll take their guns."
You and Hyun-ju look at each other. This is what you were trained for.
"From those masked men?" Gyeong-seok asks nervously.
Gi-hun nods.
"That's too dangerous," Young-il says. "Even if we manage to take a few guns, we'll still be outnumbered."
"What then?" Gi-hun argues. "Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive? Is that what you want, Young-il?"
Hyun-ju breaks the silence. "Do we... stand a chance?"
"We do if we catch them off guard," Gi-hun says. "Out of everyone, they're the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all."
"How are you going to take their guns?" Young-il asks.
"Once the fight begins tonight, we'll have our chance."
<>
"Lights out in ten seconds."
"Ten,
nine,
eight,
seven,
six,
five,
four,
three,
two,
one."
The lights dim, then turn off completely, leaving only the red and blue lights from the floor.
You roll out of bed, getting under the frame. You feel someone else trying to get under your bed, and you move a bit to make room for Dae-ho. Just as you get in position, you see bodies creeping towards your side of the room, illuminated by the bright blue O on the floor.
There's a scream, and all hell breaks loose.
The lights strobe as you hear the sounds of screaming and bottles being smashed coming from all around you. Somewhere to your right, a bunk is toppled over, sending someone to the ground. Another player runs up to them, stabbing their fork into their neck.
You feel the ex-Marine next to you tense up and put a hand over his, trying to bring him some comfort, or at the very least trying to keep him from blowing your cover.
You hear the buzzer of the door and the lights come on. One of the soldiers fires into the air to stop the fighting as about twenty masked guards come into the room, all armed.
You quickly army crawl out from under the bed, Dae-ho following you as you lay down on the ground.
You hear footsteps getting closer to you, and your ear is moved as a device scans behind it.
You open your eyes, grabbing the soldier so they can't move. "Dae-ho! Now!"
The ex-Marine smashes a bottle over the head of the guard, knocking him unconscious. You take the opportunity to grab the submachine gun off of the soldier, shooting another soldier coming toward you and Dae-ho. You're so focused on the fight that you fail to notice the quivering boy holding his hands over his ears against the bunks.
Grabbing another gun, you quickly scale one of the bunks to get a better vantage of the fight.
"Sergeant!" You yell, gaining the attention of Hyun-ju. She looks to you and you toss the SMG to her. She drops her pistol and catches the weapon, turning just in time to shoot one of the pink guards coming for her.
You use your position to fire at the guards hiding behind bunks. You pull the trigger until you hear a click, cursing as the mag runs empty. You jump down from the bunk, using the butt of the gun to knock a guard out cold. You quickly take his ammo and reload your own gun, firing at a guard trying to shoot Gi-hun.
"Retreat. Retreat."
The voice over the intercom announces and the pink soldiers make their way towards the door. You're able to shoot two more, but most of the soldiers who are still alive are able to make it out of the room. The main guard with the square on his mask is too busy firing back to realize that the door has closed behind him, sealing him in the room with you just as he runs out of ammo.
"Stop! Hold fire!" Gi-hun yells.
Jung-bae and another player run over to the square guard, making sure he won't fight.
"You goddamn bastards!" you hear someone yell on the other side of the room and turn to see Player 047 aiming his gun at a bunch of O players.
"No!" Gi-hun yells, stopping the man before he can shoot. "This is not what we took these guns for. If we do this, we'll be no different from those masked men."
Player 047 lowers his gun, hanging his head and he softly cries.
Gi-hun steps to the center of the room. "Everyone! Don't be scared. Gather round, please! We're not trying to hurt you!"
You walk to stand by Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok.
"Get the guns and ammo from the dead," she tells the both of you.
You nod, doing as your sergeant says while she takes out the cameras in the room.
<>
Placing one of the last guns on the mattress in the center of the room, you move to stand in line between Jung-bae and Dae-ho, handing the extra SMG in your hand to Dae-ho.
Gi-hun steps forward. "Everyone. We will now head up to the masked men's headquarters. We'll capture the ones who captured us, put an end to this game, and make them pay. Anyone who knows how to use a gun and wishes to join us, please step forward."
You look at the crowd in front of you, but everyone stays where they are.
"Hey," you hear a voice next to you say and turn your head to see Jung-bae stepping forward. "I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But this may be our last chance to make it out of this place alive. Fight with us so we can go home together. All together."
One of the players in the back of the crowd steps forward. "I'll fight with you."
Gi-hun waves at him to come and take a gun. Two other players come forward as well.
You watch as Yong-sik makes a move to step forward, but he catches your gaze as you shake your head at him. It's very brave of him to think about volunteering, but he hasn't even served his mandatory military service yet, and it would kill his mother if he didn't come back. You breathe a sigh of relief when Yong-sik stays where he is.
When it's clear that no one else is stepping forward, Gi-hun turns to you all. "Please check your guns and ammo."
"Let's take one radio each," Jung-bae says. "We'll use channel 7, the lucky number."
You put the strap of your gun around you, checking the mag and putting it back in place when you're satisfied with the amount of ammo that is left. You look to your right to see Dae-ho fiddling with his own gun. Just as you're about to help him, Hyun-ju steps forward.
"Attention," she says, holding up her gun. "This is the MP5, a submachine gun." She continues on the demonstrate how to load the weapon and set it to the mode you should be using. When she's done, she looks at you all. "Are we clear?"
"Yes," you answer, falling right back into the rhythm with your sergeant.
Hyun-ju nods to you, silently telling you to stay by her when you get out there.
"How do you two know each other?" Dae-ho questions, his voice a bit shaky.
You smirk, cocking the MP5. "I was in the 13th Special Missions Brigade. Hyun-ju was my sergeant."
Dae-ho stares at you, completely stunned. "You were in the Decapitation Unit?!"
You chuckle at his disbelief, nodding.
The man can't believe it. He's been bragging about being an ex-Marine while there's been two ex-Special Forces soldiers right next to him the whole time.
Gi-hun points a pistol at the square-masked guard. "Take it off."
The guard slowly removes his mask, revealing a boy no older than 25.
"Good God," Jung-bae says. "Do your parents know what you're doing here?"
The guard just stares at him.
Gi-hun cocks the pistol. "Take us to your captain."
<>
"All players, it is bedtime now. Please return to your quarters immediately. Otherwise, you will be eliminated from the game. Let me repeat..."
Gi-hun fires at the speaker, effectively shutting up the voice. Three guards are stood over you. "Get down!"
You duck behind the wall of the stairs. Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you turn to look at Hyun-ju behind you.
"Cover me!"
You nod, shooting at the guards while she sprints to the top of the stairs. From her new vantage point, she is able to take out one of the guards, causing their body to fall over the ledge and down to the floor.
When you duck down to reload, you see Dae-ho next to you. The ex-Marine is sitting in a ball, covering his ears and flinching every time a shot rings out. You look at him with concern, but your attention is stolen by Gi-hun telling everyone to hold their fire. Dae-ho gets a grip on his weapon and you all move, following Gi-hun and the un-masked guard.
As you move down an alleyway, Gi-hun stops the guard. "How much farther? Is this the right way?"
The boy points toward the end of the hall. "The entrance to the management area is around that corner. The control room is right above it."
Gi-hun pushes him. "Move it, then!"
"Wait," the guard says, reaching toward his pocket.
"What are you doing?" Gi-hun stops him.
"I need my mask to pass security," the guard explains. Gi-hun nods and the guard takes the mask out. He looks up, but before he can say anything else, a bullet goes right through his head.
You all take cover as more shots are fired at you. Something slashes onto your face, and you turn to see Player 072's lifeless body falling to the ground.
You drop the floor and crawl over to Hyun-ju, both of you taking positions in a green square area of the stairs. You nod to each other and duck out of cover, firing at the guards. You can hear the men speaking to each other at the other end of the line, but you focus on taking out as many guards as possible.
You and Hyun-ju alternate firing and taking cover, both of you shooting with deadly precision, doing your best to not waste any of the already low supply of ammo you have.
A player next to you screams and is shot. You turn, shooting at the guard approaching from your rear, taking out a few that are behind that one as well.
"Everyone! Check your magazines!" Hyun-ju calls out.
You take the mag out of the gun, seeing that you have about half of a clip left. Everyone announces that they're around the same.
"Young-il, Dae-ho, can you hear me?" The voice of Jung-bae erupts from your radio.
"Go ahead!" Young-il says.
"I think we're right below the control room." Shots can be heard in the background. "But we need backup and more ammo."
"We're running out of ammo, too!"
"There should be spare magazines in the soldiers' pockets in our quarters. Go get them!" Gi-hun yells through the radio.
"Did you hear that?" Young-il turns to the group. "They need backup! Three of us will go, and the rest will stay! Join us once you get the magazines! Who wants to go with me?"
Players 047 and ... volunteer and they run off towards the end of the hall.
"I'll go get the magazines!" Hyun-ju yells. "I'll come back as soon as I can, so just hold on until then!"
"Hyun-ju!" A voice yells. You turn to see Dae-ho raising his hand. "I'll go!" He hurries over to where you and Hyun-ju are taking cover. "I- I'm out of ammo."
"Do you know the way?" Gyeong-seok asks. Dae-ho nods.
"We destroyed the cameras on the way, follow them," Hyun-ju says.
"I'll go with him," you say. "I still have some ammo, so I'll cover him."
Hyun-ju nods. "I'll cover you. Go!"
You and Dae-ho take off down the stairs. He stops a few times, but you pull him along, keeping your eyes up to watch for the broken cameras. As you're running down the stairs, Dae-ho stops, and you turn to see him staring at a dead guard hanging over the ledge of a window.
"Dae-ho!" Jung-bae yells. "Can you hear me? Where are those magazines?"
You lift your own radio to your mouth. "We're getting them now."
"Alright! We're counting on you!"
You put your radio back in your pocket, grabbing Dae-ho's hand and pulling him along behind you.
You burst into the quarters, letting go of Dae-ho's hand as you sprint to a guard, taking the spare mags out of their pockets. You hear someone say your name and look up to see Yong-sik.
"What happened? Why are you back by yourselves?"
"We're low on ammo," you say, not looking up from the guard you're looting. "We need to get the magazines from their pockets. Help us!"
You look up to the boy to see him nod and run over to a nearby guard. Geum-ja and Jun-hee come over to the help, as well.
Once you've looted all the ammo from the guards, you place them into a jacket you found on one of the dead players. You tie it up and give it to Dae-ho, thanking the others as you lead him out of the room.
Gunshots can be heard as soon as you step outside. You keep moving but when you check behind you, you see that Dae-ho has stopped where he is.
"Dae-ho, we need to go," you urge.
He looks at you silently, but the fear in his eyes sends the message. You've seen soldiers like this before you joined the Special Forces.
Dae-ho stands in his spot, paralyzed other than the shake of his body in fear.
You hear your name and Dae-ho's through the radio. "Where are you? Can you hear me?"
You watch as Dae-ho lifts his radio, staring at it as Hyun-ju's voice comes through.
"Did you find the magazines? Are you on your way?"
Dae-ho looks at you. "I'm sorry," he whispers, dropping the radio on the ground and running back into the quarters with the magazines.
"Shit," you say under your breath. You follow Dae-ho into the room, looking around to find where he went. Yong-sik points toward a bunk and you find Dae-ho curled up there, rocking back and forth. Running over to him, you take the jacket with the mags, ready to run out of there. You take a look at Dae-ho, the pure fear coursing through him as he whispers apologies over and over.
You sigh, remembering one of the lessons Hyun-ju taught you as your sergeant.
Never leave a man behind.
Taking out your radio, you bring it to your lips and press the button. "Charlie Foxtrot."
You put your radio down, knowing that Hyun-ju will know what to do. You had picked up the phrase from your U.S. counterparts, saying it to each other when something goes wrong.
Moving to sit on the bed, you take Dae-ho's hands into yours. "Dae-ho, I need you to breathe with me, alright."
He slowly looks at your face before launching himself into your arms, sobbing into your shoulder. You rub his back comfortingly, knowing you can't leave him alone like this.
After a few minutes, Hyun-ju runs into the room shouting you and Dae-ho's names. She comes running over to you, stopping when she sees Dae-ho in your arms.
"What happened?"
Dae-ho jumps a bit at the new voice, burying his face farther into your jacket.
You look up a Hyun-ju, shaking your head at her. She nods, understanding. You point at the magazines and she scoops them into her arms, ready to take them to the others when the buzzer for the door goes off and more pink guards enter the room, firing in the air and making everyone scream.
Hyun-ju reloads her SMG, ready to take on the entire group on guards by herself. You watch as Geum-ja puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.
"You can't die like this."
You sigh in relief as Hyun-ju puts the gun down. From your hidden area, you try to get the guns and mags away from you, making it seem as though the three of you have been here the whole time.
As the guards come further into the room, you use your body to shield Dae-ho from them as he whimpers. You make eye contact with Hyun-ju. Whatever happens next, you'll face it as a team.
~
Dae-ho tags: @whatthefuckeryfuckityfuck @ally1uvsu @thebiggestigurosimp @come-as-you-are-111 @hiphip-horray @k1michii @tpwkcaryslizb @louissst28 @sshwaa @jennwonwoo @sunnysurvives @lalalaa2210 @tayshs @sunshinethatlooksalive @plntmxrss @lxnnrobin @mariaxman @alexx-iia @batty-barty-crouchjr @kxsm3t @takuma-talkz @peacemakersbeloved @skywalker0809 @soobinbunnie5
#squid game#squid game 2#player 388#squid game season 2#dae ho#dae-ho#kang dae ho#dae ho x reader#kang daeho#squid game fanfic#squid game x reader#squid game s2#daeho#daeho x reader
274 notes
·
View notes
Text
17 years old | a.p.
alexia putellas x teen!reader | 1.3k | you make your senior debut for barcelona
ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the pollito universe. i hope you enjoy it :)
Standing on the sideline, waiting for your number to be put up on the board, you felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest. You’d been ready for this day to come since you’d been invited to train with the first team. Though it still feels like time has gone by so quickly. It felt like just yesterday you were in the stands watching your mami on this very same pitch.
But that was four years ago now. Now you were older, your siblings were older, you weren’t that 13 year old watching her mami play. You were 17 now, about to step onto the same pitch that you had only dreamt about playing on. A world of responsibility was about to unfold the minute you stepped out, you weren’t just playing in the youth teams anymore, but about to play with the same players you’d grown to idolise.
It was a surreal feeling but one you were sure you were ready for. You’d watched your mami for years and everyone knows Alexia would’ve done everything she could to make sure you were as prepared, mentally and physically, as you could be for this moment.
You knew you’d be making your debut in this match, despite having been on the matchday squad list for a fair few matches before this one. You also knew that your mami had been told as well, considering that you’d overheard her trying to get as many people as she could to come support you today. Your Tia Alba on the phone asking your mami what was so special about this match and then your mami’s hushed whispers were a dead giveaway to anyone who was overhearing.
The club saved Alexia’s number just for you, everyone knew you would definitely make your way through the teams to the first. There was never any doubt. Your passion for the game and your work ethic was identical to Alexia’s. There was a moment where you had second thoughts about taking the number eleven. But it was your mami’s legacy and you couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else wearing that number at this club.
Standing on the sideline, the number eleven with your name this time on your back, it didn’t feel as daunting as you always imagined it would. You were nervous, yes, but you knew no matter what happened today your mami was proud of you. Your family, your teammates, your mami’s teammates, the club, they were all already proud. Yes you had some big shoes to fill, you knew the expectations of the fans were going to be high, but you are a Putellas and you know you can do it.
You almost missed your number being shown on the board, being brought back to reality when arms were wrapped around you tightly, ‘Show them what you got kid. You’ve got this,’ Whispered in your ear during the embrace. A little nod of your head and a smile plastered across your face you ran onto the pitch.
‘Pollito! Pollito!’ You didn’t need to look back at the stands to be able to hear Mapi’s voice over everyone else's.
‘Pollito, one day they’ll be chanting like that for you here,’ Mapi leaned over, pointing at the crowd that was chanting your mami’s name, ‘And I’ll be the first one,’
Coming on in the 80th minute, you really didn’t expect to be able to add a whole lot of importance to the match. You were just happy to be stepping onto the pitch, getting your first senior appearance. Though whoever was in charge of your script had other plans for you. Not many 17 year olds making their first appearance would have the confidence to take a shot like you did.
Intercepting the ball midway between the half and 18 yard box, one quick glance up to see the keeper off their line and you didn’t take a second to think about taking the shot. Everything was a massive blur, your first touch was a goal and you hardly had any time to even think about it before you were being pulled into hugs and head pats by your teammates.Finishing the match with two goals in twelve minutes, a debut that no one was going to forget.
‘Ale, watch out our little pollito already starting her goal count. Coming to take your top spot away from you if she keeps going like this,’ Mapi slung her arm around your shoulder bringing you in for a side hug. You laughed a little, shaking your head playfully. Your mami rolled her eyes. They’d all made their way down after the match, not wasting a second to come see you. You who was still in shock and not believing everything was real and ready to wake up realising it was all a dream. Eventually it would sink in.
‘You suck at celebrating,’ You laughed at your little brother, ‘All the time you seen me and my celebrations, I’d thought you’d learn a thing from me,’ Your brother was just like you and your mami, going through his own La Masia journey now, and you’d often found yourself practicing and playing football in the backyard together. You were both quite competitive with each other and Alexia has had to break up her fair share of fights and arguments between you both. But your closeness never faltered.
‘Hermano, you gotta teach me how you backflip,’ You smirked looking mostly at Alexia when you spoke to your brother within the group. You knew that if you even thought about trying something like that it would send your mami into a slight panic, the look in her eye now and the slight falter of her smile. You liked winding her up. A backflip celebration was definitely in your future, already planning it for a match you know your mami would be at.
‘Sí, celebrate in style pollito,’ Your tía Alba encouraging it, anything to annoy her sister
‘Eh, you’ll figure it out,’ Your mami pulled you in for a hug, you could see just how proud she was of you, ‘Maybe a less dangerous one, por favor,’ You laughed but made no effort to promise your mami that.
‘Hmm, I guess can’t have you growing more grey hairs,’ You playfully squinted while looking at your mami’s hair, Alexia gently slapping your hand away before you could point any out.
‘If any, you lot are the reason for them,’ Alexia pointed towards the entire group that surrounded you. You all laughed, and somewhere during all the banter and the teasing you realised just how lucky you were. Seeing them all here together, you wouldn’t have made it this far without them.
Your mami turned you around so you were looking at her now front on, her hands gently holding the side of your head, ‘I’m so proud of you pollito,’ Words that you often heard from your mami but this time it felt different hearing it. A good kind of different. Alexia gave you a kiss on your forehead before, reluctantly, letting you go. Your mami still wishes you were that four year old who still fell over every time you tried to kick a ball, you grew too fast for her liking but she’s excited to watch your journey. She knows you’ll go far, mother’s intuition as she likes to tell you when you call her biased.
Your little sister tugged at your shirt and you picked her up, she was small for her age so she still sat nicely on your hip just like she always has. You eventually broke away from your family, still holding your little sister while you went back to your teammates and went to some of the fans that were trying to get your attention.
Your mami watched from afar. Her little pollito wasn’t so little anymore, ‘The world is yours pollito,’
#alexia putellas#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas x y/n#alexia putellas fanfic#alexia putellas imagine#alexia putellas one shot#barcelona femeni#barca femeni#woso#woso community#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso imagine#barca femini x reader
247 notes
·
View notes
Text
Out of reach
Pairing: earlyseasons!Spencer Reid x hotchner!fem!reader Summary: You pull away from Spencer because of your jealousy. You go back to him after a few drinks in. WC: 9k A/N: fluff! pining! idiots/friends to lovers! alcohol consumption; spencer is a bit mean; reader doesn't communicate; hotch is a little older to have a daughter around spencer's age (do not come at me this is fiction). If I missed anything, please let me know! I had so much fun writing this one and it's now one of my favorites <3 masterlist
The jet was quiet as you and the BAU team made your way back from Los Angeles after successfully finding Lila Archer's stalker. The case had been a bit draining, after all, you've only been working with the FBI for a couple of months, and seeing dead bodies and all those other displays of violence was something you were still trying to get used to. Despite your sensitive nature, being Aaron Hotchner's daughter meant that you had mastered the art of a poker face through the years, not that it meant that your inner feelings were any less important. This is how you found yourself sitting all alone in a corner of the jet as everyone minded their own business. On any other day, you'd be sitting next to Dr. Spencer Reid, talking about whatever it was that could get your mind off the case you had just wrapped up. Spencer and you were friends, some would even say the best of friends, but you didn't mind about naming things — what mattered the most is that you got to be yourself around him and you didn't bother hiding behind the Hotchner glare, as he once put it.
Despite being unknown territory for you, after all, feelings and all that were protected by a deeply analytic and practical mind, you knew what you were feeling. Well, you were analyzing your reactions to check what had actually happened — and the thing is, you couldn't admit, not even to yourself, what that sinking feeling in your chest when you watched Spencer saying goodbye to Lila was. Amid your analysis, Spencer quietly approached you, silently motioning to the seat next to you. You nodded, shutting every single thought of him. Or at least, trying.
"Hi."
Hotch glare. "Hi, Reid."
Spencer felt nervous. He had never been on the receiving end of your… wrath before, so it was unknown territory and he didn't know how to act. His racing heart and clammy palms weren't helping him, either. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Listen, um, you... can... can we talk?" The stammering. Way to go, Spencer.
Glancing at him, ignoring the skip in your heartbeat, you nodded. "Yeah. Is everything alright?" A firm, secure tone. You mentally patted yourself on the back.
"You're a little distant... and—and I got a bit worried. Did... Did something happen?" He wanted to kick himself. What kind of person can't hold a serious conversation without stuttering like an idiot? Get a grip, Reid.
"No, Reid. Everything is alright. I'm just... thinking." You said.
Bullshit. You both knew that. Spencer, on the other hand, didn't know why it was bullshit. But he knew it was.
"Are you sure?" He asked, leaning towards you, almost invading your personal space and he shut his eyes before delivering the next question, "Is... I haven't done anything to upset you? Right?"
You took a second to answer him, willing your voice to stay still and the knot in your throat to go away. "No. It's nothing you've done. It's just... it's on me." You gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes — that's when he knew something was definitely wrong.
He nodded, but he was still worried by your sudden change of behavior, especially towards him. It was like he was anyone else, again. And, God, he didn't want that. "What is it, then? You can talk to me, you know. We're best friends."
Best friends.
The words felt bitter on his tongue. The sound of them broke your heart all over again.
Best friends. "Right. Yeah. I know." You said, quietly, and it felt a little lifeless to him. He clenched his hand, fighting the urge to touch you, to ask you what was truly bothering you. "Thanks for offering."
Spencer felt conflicted. If he didn't say anything and didn't push you to speak, you would probably bury whatever it was that you were feeling and it would lead him into being even more worried about you. If he did, you would probably snap at him because of his undesired, bothersome insistence. "It's nothing." He said, defeatedly. "Can you just... Do you promise it's not me?"
Your heart ached and you smiled at him, a tiny, faint, barely there smile. He was so adorable, sometimes. "I'm just upset over something else. Don’t worry. You didn't do anything wrong." You finished, trying to convince yourself that he had not, indeed, done something wrong.
And he didn't. He didn't. You and Spencer, despite your proximity and sometimes incredibly ambiguous relationship, hadn't said anything about deeper feelings towards one another. You let yourself admire him, lovingly, from afar, and were happy with the snippets of attention you had from him when you two had some free time. You two were regulars in the coffee shop near his apartment and, by now, the local librarian, Mrs. Jones, could probably fake your signature from how often you two went there to borrow books. She would watch you two behind the bookshelves, whispering excitedly and curiously to each other about whatever suggestions you were getting from each other. As you missed Spencer's longing glances to read a summary, Mrs. Jones smiled to herself, both at how adorable you two were and how oblivious you were. In museums, you would sit down after some time walking around to his explanations of art and historical movements that impacted the expression of a certain age — you pretended to not know a few things, just so he could speak his heart away and not be interrupted by your own contributions.
You kept silent to make him happy.
Which was exactly what was happening now.
Spencer knew, for sure, that you were hiding something from him. But he also knew that he had no right to force it out. He fidgeted awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands, his heart still clenching. “But, but... you’d come to me if you needed help, right?”
You nodded, unable to speak. You knew you were wrong, omitting things from him. Just as the guilt was starting to weigh in your heart, Derek passed by you two with a magazine in his hands, throwing it at Spencer, exclaiming, "My man!"
You looked down, already knowing what it was. Spencer was a mess beside you: blushing, stuttering, avoiding your and Derek's gaze and throwing the magazine as far as he could, like it had burned him. Your reaction was a subtle twitch of your lips, not in amusement, but in need to disguise the pang in your heart. You both spent the rest of the flight sitting in silence, simply being in each other's orbit. You, guiltily. Spencer, worriedly.
Your reaction — or lack of — was staggering to Spencer. He thought you two were getting somewhere, despite your closed off nature and demeanor, he thought he was finally cracking you up. Everyday was torture, seeing you walk through the bullpen's glass doors with your professional clothes and your composed figure. It was torture to see you walk around so prettily and serious, holding his bare heart in your hands, and not even realizing it. By now, he lived and thrived on those rare opportunities you had to spend time together as he became more and more covered in you.
As the jet landed and Spencer walked out to talk to Derek, you pettily made sure to step on Lila Archer's face when leaving the jet in sheer frustration.
Back to the bullpen, you had gone to the restroom to splash some water on your face in order to calm your nerves and to tell yourself that it was only a matter of time until things got back to normal — until you got back to normal. Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you wondered if Spencer could tell that there was something wrong with you, if you had let any of your feelings slip during your short conversation. The version of you that stared back was as impassible as you ever were. As you made your way to your desk in the dimly lit sea of desks, you caught Spencer and Derek talking, both having their backs to you.
Sighing, you just left the headquarters, not wanting to know what they were discussing, or rather, knowing what they were discussing, but unwilling to stay, even if it would quench your curiosity as to what Spencer had been thinking.
Maybe you didn't want to know the answer.
—
The days went by, cases coming left and right, flights making you almost dizzy — not that you would admit, but you were terrified of heights. Between those and your training, you barely had time to think about Spencer and the entire Lila occasion. You spent your days busy with work, studies and physical training in order to keep your mind away from that, but as you lay awake at night, the memories would come back to haunt you relentlessly to the point you had recurring dreams of them. Together, as you watched from the sidelines. You kept to yourself, slipping further and further away from Spencer.
Reid, on the other hand, felt your absence more than anyone. You took a rain check on all the invitations he made, even when he invited you to movie night, when he would definitely choose a Russian movie because you mentioned once how you liked how the language sounds. There wasn't any more donuts on his desk as he arrived in the morning (he would always joke that you and your father secretly lived in the headquarters and that someday he would see Haley bringing your groceries to the secret house), and there was no one for him to throw his paper airplanes, small flashcards with the Russian phonological alphabet, at. The change in your behavior was absurdly clear to everyone: you barely called or texted him anymore, you didn't look his way when someone told a joke to check if he thought it was funny... He was sulking, to say the least. Upon questioning you, you blamed your lack of free time and as he was going to question you further, you said in a teasing tone that not everyone was like him and that the FBI was actually making you go through all the training phases.
Finally, during the end of a particularly frustrating workday, he finally snapped, grabbing your arm before you could enter the elevator. It was only you and him in the otherwise empty hallway. "Ok. What's been going on? And don't," he said, closing his eyes, "don't dance around the subject. Don't say it's the Academy. Don't say you have to work. Don't. Please, be honest with me."
The exasperation in his eyes and in his tone almost broke the wall that hid your true feelings, but as you glanced at him, you figured you couldn't do it. Be honest? What for? To hear that you're nothing more than his best friend? Losing said friend was not an option, not to you, at least. But you also knew that you weren't treating him right, that keeping him out was not at all fair to him, that leaving him in the dark was as hurtful as it would be to lose him.
Breathing deeply, you answered with the same stoic expression you wore every single damn day. "I told you, Reid. People go through different, busier times in their lives." The lie tasted like acid.
Spencer clenched his teeth, frustration and confusion beginning to override some of his social anxieties. “That! That!” He asked through clenched teeth, his gaze intense.
"That what?" You asked, puzzled.
"You... you stopped calling me 'Spence'—not that you did it often, you did it more when we were all alone, and it... it sucks! It sucks because I don't know what happened or what I did that was so wrong to make you stop liking me!"
Come on, just say something! Get angry, get sad, get something!, his mind screamed.
"I never stopped liking you," you said, looking away from him. His words hit a particular spot that you were totally willing to discover later, but the mere thought that he knew that you liked him more than as a friend made you shiver.
"That's not the point! Or—or rather, it is! Because if you didn't stop liking me, why would you act like you did?" He asked, his tone rising a bit.
"Calm down."
"Calm down? I will not calm down!" He almost yelled. His eyes widened slightly, disbelief clear in his features and tone, not to mention the frustration. "Just. Please.” He said, closing his eyes, willing himself to tone it down, not that it worked... “Tell me what you're thinking, what happened to you! For once! Any normal person would react and stop acting like an emotionless robot!"
You gaped like a fish out of water, taking a small step back, his words digging a hole in your heart. Upon hearing his own words and noticing you distancing yourself from him, all the anger vanished from his body. The widened eyes were a sign of realization of what he had said to you. During the early months of friendship, you had confided in him that you struggled with portraying emotion like others normally did. Maybe it had something to do with growing up with a father who did it so perfectly when he was out of the house. When he wasn't actively playing the ‘dad’ part, Aaron Hotchner would wear an unreadable mask like it was his armor, his defense from the outer world, but as soon as he got home, he was back to his main role. You would watch him with his coworkers and mimic him perfectly to make him laugh. At some point, making fun of and imitating his demeanor had become some serious form of self-defense for you. Spencer, then, joked that you were making your way to the perfect job, but then he had gotten serious and told you that it wasn't a flaw. That it wasn't a problem that you kept deeply to yourself sometimes — that it was okay to be yourself around him. You had felt safe by his side since then.
But now, what did those words mean? Were they lies?
He breathed out your name, softly, "I... I... I'm sorry."
"Just drop it," you replied, pushing the elevator button. Your dismissive tone and your action of leaving made Spencer feel utterly desolate, like he had done the wrongest thing in the world and perhaps he had, but he just wanted you to let him in. For once, he wanted to have the answers from your lips, not spend any more time analyzing your every single action and words...
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"You know, Spencer…" he looked up at you when he heard his name, as you held out an arm to hold the elevator doors open. As if thinking better than to say anything, you sighed and turned to enter the elevator, shaking your head with the most disappointed look he had ever seen on your face.
Spencer tried looking at you one last time before the elevator doors closed, and despite your face being as unreadable as it often was, he saw a flicker of sadness that stung his heart more than he liked to admit. If he hadn't done anything wrong before, now he had utterly fucked everything up.
—
The drive home, for Spencer, was a torture. He knew that he had to pay attention to the road ahead of him, to the other vehicles and drivers, but his mind kept drifting to the last glimpse of you back in the headquarters. Your empty eyes appeared behind his eyelids every time he pressed his eyes closed. He willed himself not to cry, to not blur his vision, taking his frustration out on the steering wheel, where his grip was so tight that his knuckles turned white. As he parked his car and looked up to one of his windows, he remembered you. Because of course he would remember you.
The sight was almost comical, to be honest. You, clad in one of the suits that fitted you so well, sitting on his windowsill, a cup of green tea in hands as you stared out the window, trying to analyze every single drop of rain before it reached somewhere outside your vision range. The funny thing was that you had no shoes on, instead, Spencer lent you a mismatched pair, not being one used to having people over, he didn't have a pair of spare slippers. Then, you sat there with a dinosaur-pattern sock on one foot and a striped-pattern sock on the other.
Spencer, sitting on his sofa and holding his own cup (he had let you choose your mug and stayed quiet when you pointed quietly at his favorite), smiled to himself. It was weirdly calming seeing you out of your character, doing something so... human.
"I can feel you staring, you know," you said. And your tone was almost... teasing?
"Right. Sorry." He said, looking down at his steaming tea.
"I'm not scolding you," you said, turning to look at his direction with a grin.
"Right, no—heh..." he replied, bashfully, cheeks reddening at the sight of your smile.
If only you knew... how many hours he would lay awake at night, as thoughts swirled in his head, how everything seemed to shut down at the thought of you. How he would fall asleep to the wish of being on the receiving end of one of your rare smiles, how he appreciated that you were always the first one he talked to upon his arrival at the headquarters. How... how he would do anything for you to look at him under a different light.
Seemingly out of nowhere, you giggled. Everything stopped.
Spencer.exe has stopped working.
"Heheh—I guess... It's not everyday you get to see a Hotchner so out of its—heheh—habitat." You quipped, looking at him with a smile on your face.
Suddenly, Spencer lost his voice. The connection between his brain and his tongue, which felt heavy, disappeared. Completely speechless, eyes slightly wide at the sound of your laughter. It made you laugh a bit more, but when his stare and open mouth got too much to handle, you looked down at your feet, wiggling your toes to distract yourself from the intensity of his gaze full of awe. Then, Spencer got back to his senses, smiling at you as you missed it to look away in embarrassment.
Spencer blinked away the tears and left his car, entering his apartment. As he took off his shoes, he let the tears fall at the sight of your windowsill.
—
Meanwhile, you were getting wasted at some bar. Not just any bar, but the one you usually went with Spencer when you were feeling daring and wanted a change from the places where you both used to go to. You were a bit of a lightweight, so a couple of drinks were enough for you to start playing trivia with Spencer and let your gaze linger for longer, basking in the sight of him so carefree, having fun with you.
Upon your arrival, the bartender that usually took care of your orders, MJ, greeted you with a smile. When she saw no one was joining you, she frowned. "Good evening, Hotch. Where's loverboy?"
You sent her a look, but since you were letting your guard down, after all, there were no acquaintances or friends around, you didn't know if the look came out as a glare or if you looked like a kicked puppy. She snorted. "Gee... That bad, huh?" She asked, and you didn't answer again, though you muttered a soft thanks, MJ when she gave you your go-to drink.
And it turned into two drinks. Three. Four...
(MJ was now giving you alcohol-free drinks, too worried for your well-being. You and Spencer started to grow on her as you two kept coming back.)
You rested your chin on your left hand while you traced patterns with your right index finger on the counter. MJ was eyeing you suspiciously, drying a few glasses with a washcloth. "He kissed another girl." You admitted, quietly.
"No way." She gasped.
"Way."
"But... I thought you two were a thing." MJ was baffled, placing down the objects she was holding in sheer shock. "I always thought you two were like... together for years."
"We were a thing.... I think, at least... I don't know, MJ." You sighed, tucking a stray of hair behind your ear. Looking up at her, hazy eyes taking in her focused expression, you sniffled, "we were on this case and then he met a girl and then the next moment the two of them were making out in a pool. In a freaking pool."
She tsked, anger flashing in her eyes, "I swear, those nerdy guys are the worst."
"Yeah..." You muttered, fiddling with your straw. "Can I have another one?"
She pursed her lips, but she relented. Then, as she handed you the liquid, a guy sat next to you. Did he look like Spencer or were you already hallucinating?
"Hi. I'm Dave. Can I buy you a drink...?" He asked with a small smile, wanting to know your name.
No, not Spencer. It’s cool.
"Hi, I..."
MJ cut you off. "Hey, Dave, I think she had too much to drink already."
They exchanged looks and it took you a minute to feel offended by her interruption and knowing you were perfectly capable of speaking for yourself, but realizing you would probably have to entertain a stranger, you felt grateful for it.
Dave left with a sour smile. "Thanks." You muttered, again, looking at MJ.
"Do you need me to get you a cab, honey?"
"That would be great." You said, placing money bills to pay for your drinks and the tip.
MJ looked around to spot someone to keep an eye on the bar as she led you out of the place, hand never leaving your shoulder. As she called a cab, she made you stand on only one leg to make sure you weren't gonna need her to go with you. You scoffed, but obeyed her all the same, with a low snicker. As you two waited for the cab driver, a woman who MJ trusted with her life (and her favorite regulars), you tried to make conversation to make up for embarrassing yourself by talking about Spencer with someone. How pathetic.
"So, what does MJ stand for?"
She chuckled, shaking her head at you and at your dazed eyes. "That's classified information."
"I'm familiar with that."
The cab driver, Paula, arrived. She greeted the both of you with a smile and a cheerful good evening! As you entered the vehicle, you rolled the windows down and pressed the subject further, "Seriously, is it Mary Jane or were your parents more creative?"
She rolled your eyes at you, shaking her head. "It's Mary Jane. MJ because who would take me seriously?"
You smiled. "I like the shoes!"
Paula started driving slowly, just to let other drivers drop their own passengers, as you were lost in your own little world, serious expression taking over your face again, not wavering, as you delved deeper into the whirlwind of thoughts plaguing your head. Paula, looking at you through the rear-view mirror, asked, "Is everything okay, honey?"
You buckled your seatbelt. "Yes, yes. Just... keep driving slowly, please."
"Where to?"
Only then you realized you never gave her an address. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you gave her Spencer's, telling her you were going home.
—
An unknown number had sent Spencer a couple of messages.
[8:32 p.m.] Lovergirl is here, drinking all by herself.
[8:32 p.m.] Water, but still. I'm not having her passed out without you here.
[8:40 p.m.] Sent her home, people were starting to approach.
Throughout the time he had spent with you at the bar, the two of you exchanged numbers with MJ in case she needed your help — you know, being FBI agents and whatnot. But Spencer didn't need to see her name to know it was her and she was talking about you; 'lovergirl' and 'passed out without you here' gave him clue enough. His stomach tied in knots when he read that people were starting to approach her, the nagging feeling that the image conjured in his mind was making him feel almost sick, then, it hit him like a truck: Lila Archer.
Their… case? was as fleeting as a careless glance. To be honest, Spencer accepted her advances to spite you for having such power over him, even if unknowingly so. The young agent felt like you were so out of his league, so out of reach — you were all that pile of confidence and stoicism and pure lusciousness and everything to him. And he was a young guy who truly had barely been kissed so far. How could he approach you, charm his way into your heart, especially when you barely bared it? With Lila, it was... nice. Easy, even. It was nice being wanted, to be able to read her intentions and desires like a children's book. With you, it was a tantalizing challenge, one he was, for the first time, struggling with. It was not like having a high-school crush, not like pining over the untouchable girls that would catch his interest as he grew older. No. This was something new. You had hit him deeper than ever or anyone before.
Plus, as much as he hated to admit it, he gave room to the anxious thoughts regarding your father as well. Would it affect his relationship with his superior? Would it affect your relationship with your father? Spencer felt dizzy just by the mere thought of ruining something uniquely yours. No, he couldn't impose himself on your life like that. It was mean, it was wrong, it was immoral.
To want, to desire, is to be selfish.
It was a bold assumption. To think you were jealous of him. Nevertheless, the signs were all there, had been all along. He was just dumb and scared enough of making assumptions.
A barely there, faint sound of a knock on his door made Spencer fly out of his bed, dropping his phone on the bedroom floor, but he didn't pick it up. He had a suspicion as to who could be knocking on his door, but he was too scared of assuming anything. Again. Opening the door, he saw you, breathing a bit heavily. The stairs, he supposed. You always complained about them. Once you exchanged looks, Spencer’s surprised one and your earnest one, you asked, "Do you really think I'm a robot?"
Shit. He could feel his heart breaking in a million little pieces. The insecure edge of your voice and words made him squeeze his eyes shut; in his mind, he was kicking himself simultaneously as he sank down to his knees, on your feet, begging you to forgive and forget his dumb, stupid, frustrated, unrealistic words.
"No," he breathed out, wincing, almost as if he was in physical pain. "I—I didn't mean to talk about you like that. I was..."
"Frustrated?"
He nodded, silently, eyes never leaving your face. Your speech, albeit way out of the ordinary that he was used to, was flawless. If not by the dilated pupils and the faint smell of alcohol, not to mention MJ's texts, he would dare to say you were perfectly sober. "I was, too." You admitted, looking down.
Spencer made way for you to enter his apartment. He watched as you kicked your shoes off. The sight, that had become as common as the act of breathing, made his way flutter. You intended on staying. Or so he hoped. You walked further into the place, noticing everything as it ever was, as if you hadn't been to his apartment for some time now. "You must be thinking why I'm here," you said, moving to sit on the couch and mentioning him to sit on the small coffee table in front of you, as if you owned the place, and not him.
Perhaps it was true.
He closed the door once you were inside, hesitating for a moment before joining you. He kept noticing things about you; the way you were walking, the way you could barely look him in the eye, the way you looked… “How much did you have to drink?” He asked, quietly.
"Not much. You know I don't usually drink because I can’t hold my drinks. And I'm sure MJ was giving me plain water at some point." You said, looking up at him. Well, at least, your speech flawlessly delivered, even though you were moving a bit more… disoriented than usual. She's totally a Hotchner.
"I... I am," he started, sitting in front of you carefully. "I... I'm sorry. It's just... You've never been so distant. I guess that I was mean to you to elicit some reaction."
Your analytical gaze softened upon his confession. You needed to give him some break, be a little easy on him. Well, easier than you were being as of lately. Nodding lightly, you added, "I'm here to apologize, too. I know... I know that I pushed you away and I made you think that... that that was your fault. It's not."
He froze. No, he wouldn't have you taking the blame for how his actions caused you to react. He looked up at you, reaching out a hand to touch your intertwined ones, "It is."
"Hear me out. Please." You said, lowly, not breaking eye contact. This was so hard, and you had never felt so afraid before. How ironic — to be afraid of being brave. "I... I guess that by now you know why I pulled away."
"I do," he admitted, nervously. "It took me some time, but I... I think I figured you out."
You looked down, embarrassed. It was overwhelming for him to see you portray such different and so many emotions all at once. To you, it was as agonizing as it was freeing. "Well, yes. So... It, um, it wasn't fair. We... we are not something. We are not a thing."
His heart, doing all the thinking and feeling, nearly stopped. As if it wasn't enough, you kept on going, "I'm sorry, I truly am, for how I behaved and how I made you feel by being absent. It's... it's not my place. You have your own life, Reid. I can't be upset with you for making decisions. You're a grown man..." you sighed, glancing at every direction but at him. "I know that I'm wrong, okay? And I know that I shouldn't have pushed you away, nor should I have kept my feelings from you."
Spencer drew in a long breath. He didn't know what to say, but you couldn't be more wrong. All at once, he wanted to scream, but he didn't know what ro say; he wanted to run, but he didn't want to leave you alone — not for a second. He didn't ever want you out of his sight; he didn't want to be the one you were apologizing to, hell, he wanted everything to be okay between them, but it was nice that she was talking to him, finally.
"I..."
Every time he thought he could say something, words failed him. Then, you took it as another opportunity to word-vomit everything you've been feeling. "I was... I was jealous. I didn't like to see that. I didn't like that it happened. But I also know that I have no right to be upset with you because you're single and she's attractive and you're both consenting and willing to do whatever you please, so..." You shrugged as if speaking those words aloud didn't stab new holes in your heart.
Spencer looked at you, totally speechless. It made you snicker. And speak further. Shut up, you idiot. Please, please, please! "And, ah—hahahah—I guess I am, indeed, a bit of a robot because it took me a bit of alcohol to pluck up the courage to come here and totally—hic—destroy our friendship by telling you I love you so much; that I'd hate to see you with anyone other than me. It happened and I hated it. It still stings."
Spencer's heart threatened to fail once again. Your giggles, your words, your confession... His mind completely short-circuited. She loved him. She loved him? She loved him?!?!???!!! That’s what she’d just said, apparently. Okay, calm down. And she’d been jealous. She didn’t like him kissing another woman, because she fucking loved him. Say something, you dumb idiot, his brain shrieked. Say something!
You parted your lips to say something else, but apparently decided against it. Another beat of silence of Spencer staring dumbly at you. "I'm going," you blurted out, standing up.
Spencer, at breakneck speed, stood up as well to stop you from walking away, placing his hands tentatively on your shoulders. Your bodies were now apart by mere inches. "No." His voice was so small and pained that you sat back down.
Despite your apparent willingness, your next words told him about your turmoil. "Why would I stay, Spencer? I've been pouring my heart out to you and you haven't said a thing."
Looking at you, so bare and so vulnerable, Spencer suddenly had flashbacks from when he had lashed out on you earlier and simultaneously fought the feelings that were bubbling inside of him upon your confession. Couldn't you see the sheer shock on his face? Couldn't you see that he was battling against every single bit of self restraint not to pull you into his embrace and make you believe him when he would tell you that you were the only woman for him?
Sure, he had dreamed of you saying those words to him countless times as time went by and you two got closer. Shit, he literally dreamed of it. Of you. Speaking sweet nothings to him... He broke out of his daze, realizing that he was deadly silent, "Don't go..."
"Then say something. I'm here. Not as Hotch's daughter, not as your coworker, not as a part of the team you work with. I'm here as the woman in whose heart you've grown over the last few months. I'm terrified of your answer and you keep depriving me of it." There was a hint of annoyance and hurry on your voice, and he could understand you, he truly could. He just didn't... he lost his voice when he looked at you.
Saying your name softly, he beginned, “I said stupid, untrue things, and I’m sorry. I’m a jerk, and I know that I’m a jerk and—" You quirked your eyebrow and he took a deep breath, trying to cut his rant. "Just... don't sit there and think that I have nothing to say."
"Have you said it?" You pressed it, quirking an eyebrow.
"No." He admitted, widening his eyes a bit as he realized his mistake.
At the same time, you shot, "Not saying something is also an answer for me—"
"—but not for the reasons you're thinking! Do you know how hard it is for me right now?" Spencer was starting to sound very desperate and pathetic, not to mention the fact that he wasn't answering your questions.
Deep breaths (from both ends).
"Look, Reid..." He glared at you upon hearing his last name. "I think I should go home. You and I clearly need some space—"
"What we need to do is talk."
You sighed. "Then why won't you give me an answer?"
Silence.
"You won't even remember this in the morning."
At that, you deemed yourself utterly defeated. This was useless. "I'm sorry I came over. I'm... I'll just go, okay? Please, don't be upset about tonight. I apologize in advance."
The sight of her, once more shying away from him and turning to escape from him, was making Spencer frustrated, with himself, to no end. His heart clenched at your apology, to which he shook his head vehemently. The thing is, he wanted to get ready to answer you, properly, just like he always had some trick up his sleeve or some funny or curious fact to blurt during the most random moments. Spencer was good at speaking, but only when the speech was already ingrained into his mind, something he had read or rehearsed before. Plus, he was sure your state of drunkenness would stop you from remembering that moment.
Spencer dashed to his door, barely stopping you. No, no, no, no, no... She can't leave. This might be my only chance. "You're not going anywhere."
"Excuse me?"
"Stay with me. I don't want you to go." He said, softly, slowly, looking straight into your eyes. It made you dizzy. Either that or the alcohol.
"No?"
"Y-you're drunk and I... I don't think it's safe for you to go by yourself and it's late and... and..." he trailed off, nervously, desperate to get you to stay.
"I'm not drunk."
"You're not fooling me. You might be as concise as ever but you're not sober. Stay."
"Promise... promise you won't be upset with me?"
His heart dropped, heavy with guilt. And with love for you. "I promise."
Spencer silently led you back to the couch, gingerly holding your hand. He felt dazzled, speechless, desperate, frustrated, all at once. But your touch was starting to ground him back to reality, where you were real, having confessed your feelings for him, and he was a mess, not even being able to say anything back. Without much thinking, he said, "You should stay over tonight."
"Okay... I'll take the couch."
"As if I'd let you sleep on the couch."
"It's okay."
"Stop... stop acting like I sent you away."
You kept silent. You felt like he did. Through his touch, he hoped to get you to understand that his feelings were a mess, but they existed, and they were real, and they were yours. "That'd be alright with me, you know. Taking your couch. I think I would sleep better on your floor than I would ever in my bed. To... to say that anything is better if you're somehow involved."
His stomach made a flip-flop. Brain short-circuited again. You yawned, as if you had just made an annoying comment on the weather.
"Are you tired?" He managed to mutter.
"I am."
"Come on. Let's get you to bed."
"No."
"What do you mean 'no'? I'm not letting you on the couch. Come on."
"I can't go to your bed with outside clothes." You booped his nose.
He chuckled lowly, confused a little by your words. "Are you seriously worried about clothes?"
"You don't like germs. That's why I removed my shoes."
Okay, he thought, if I manage to put her to sleep without having a heart attack, I definitely don't need a cardiologist's appointment because it would mean I'm that strong.
"Y-you... remembered?" Damn it, Reid. Stop stuttering.
You sighed, tiredly, and rested your head on his shoulder, looking down at his hand holding yours. "I remember everything about you."
"You do?"
"Yes. Fortunately or unfortunately."
Spencer was too stunned to speak. Too stunned, too dumb, too afraid. Damn it. Damn it. He couldn't stop cursing internally. He forced himself to pull you towards his bedroom and even though he still sensed some uncertainty, he kept going. Reaching for a pair of sweatpants and a big t-shirt, he gave those to you. "You can change into these," as he left the room to make you more comfortable.
"Wait!" You almost shrieked.
"What happened?" He prompted, worriedly, reaching a hand out to touch your arm.
"I don't want you to go."
He bit back a sigh. "I'll be just outside."
"Just... stay here?"
"I can't—" he interrupted himself, just turning around so his back was to you instead. At that, he looked up at his ceiling and prayed to any deity to let him survive that night.
He could hear the sounds of your movements. The zipper being undone, the soft ruffling of the fabric as you tugged your shirt up your head... He was imagining your exposed skin, every perfect inch, how would you look without all those clothes that suited you so nicely, how would it be to touch you, to run his fingertips all over your heated skin, how would it be to kiss every freckle on your body, to—"Done."
Turning around, the sight was adorable, which made him somewhat guilty of his early impure thoughts. "I feel like Alice when she shrunk into a tiny human."
He couldn't fight the smile at your words. He led you to his bed, where you laid on your back on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. Spencer left you briefly to get you a glass of water and some painkillers to leave by the bedside table. You thanked him with a silent glance. As he turned to leave, once again, you said in a small voice, almost phrasing it like a question, too afraid of the answer. "Stay."
"I'll take the couch."
"You asked me to stay, thrice, I guess… And I did. I asked you once and you did. I still have a few requests left. I'm keeping tabs."
He relented, laying next to you and placing a pillow between you two. You breathed out a chuckle and he shook his head, clearly knowing where your mind had gone to. He placed his hand on top of the pillow, offering his comfort, and then you tentatively placed yours on top of his. He grinned to himself.
It was hard for him to wrap his head around what had happened that night. He knew his words — or lack of — could be read the wrong way and you possibly did, but he also hoped that his actions were speaking louder. Just as he was getting lost in thought again, he heard your voice once more.
"Spence?"
That damned nickname.
"Thanks for, um, being so respectful. Not that I don't think you'd be. But, um, as you've said, I'm drunk. And I told you I love you. And you're simply holding my hand." He gulped. He was keeping count, too, of how many times you said you loved him. Twice, so far, but he wanted so much more, endlessly. He wanted to lose track. "I guess... that makes me love you even more," you finished, crushing his heart between your palms, voice thick with sleep.
When he finally turned his head to look at you, your eyes were closed and you looked peaceful, drifting off to sleep. Then, when he was sure you were actually asleep, he stood up from his bed, grabbing a pillow and a spare blanket to lay on the floor.
"I'll gladly sleep on my floor if it means I get to have you around, too..."
—
Spencer didn't get any sleep.
He tossed and turned on the floor all night long, both because his carpet was not the most comfortable spot to sleep on, but also and mostly because there was no way in hell his mind stopped working. All through the night, Spencer fought the urge to shake you awake to ask if this was real, if you really loved him, if the words that slipped through your lips were in fact your feelings towards him. Despite his curiosity and eagerness, he let you sleep, figuring that he had already put you through too much already. As you slept, a movie played on his mind: your moments together, your confession of love, and overthinking the words we are not something. We are not a thing. He feared that you would wake up and realize how badly he had screwed up and decide not to want him anymore. Yes, he was that anxious.
You, on the other hand, even though confused by his lack of answer to your heart’s words, felt lighter than ever by speaking out your truth (the booze did help you a lot, though). Being as analytical as you were had its perks. One of them is that you never let yourself suffer too much for too long, too attached to reality to care much about the rest. So what if he rejected you? Life goes on — and that’s what you thought with every other loser that you caught yourself thinking too much of. Spencer, though… Who were you kidding? Spencer was Spencer. And that meant the world… It wasn’t so bad, if he actually rejected you… you’d only have to face him every day, until the rest of your lives, doomed to work together, cursed to think and rethink all over again small, fleeting moments such as an exchange of longing glances.
(You felt strangely calm due to your touch with reality. Maybe, just maybe, you were hoping for the best based on his care with and for you. But boy, were you ready to give him a piece of your mind.)
As your eyes fluttered open, you stretched your limbs on an unfamiliar bed with too much space. Upon your confusion, the memories came back with full force. You jolted, sitting down, searching for him — and, to be honest, not wanting to find him. The house was deadly silent, so you tried to trick yourself that you were sure he wasn't there. You dashed to the bathroom, taking a quick shower to get rid of the shame and the faint reek of alcohol. As you moved around his stuff, you couldn't help but think that you were so familiar with his things that it was almost like you belonged there. Sigh. It turns out that hiding emotions is easier than feeling them, especially their extremes.
As soon as you finished putting on your own clothes, you stopped dead in your tracks as you heard footsteps outside the bedroom. You froze, not knowing what to say. Or do.
Spencer entered the room, holding a tray meticulously organized with some food on it. “Morning. I, um, made you breakfast.” Because of course he would make you fucking breakfast.
“Morning,” you replied awkwardly and hoarsely. Maybe you cried a little bit, who knows… “Thanks, you didn't have to.”
“I did.”
You take your time to get a good look at him. He had bags under his eyes that appeared to be tired. The sight made your heart drop. “I'm sorry…”
“Don't be.”
“But I was wrong.”
“So was I.”
“But—”
“Last night you said some things. Do you, uh, do you remember what you told me?” You nodded, unable to speak. “Do you remember what you told me?” He repeated, trying to get a verbal answer from you.
“Yes, Spencer. I remember.”
“Can you listen to what I have to say now?”
You nodded, weakly.
“I didn't say anything because… because everything had gone in the most opposite direction they could've gone.” He said, approaching you calmly. “I was up the entire night, hoping to find the right words to tell you that would make you believe me after I… was stupid. I… First, I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I know you said that we're nothing, that we weren't something, that we didn't have anything… but… but you're everything to me.” At that, your eyes finally met his. The intensity of your gaze made him shudder, but he kept going. “All the time we've spent together was nothing compared to what I want to have with you… and… and… God! Do you have any idea of the torture I was put through with you? Constantly thinking of what we could be, what we should be, too scared of your reaction or that—that—that Hotch decided to chop off my neck because he found out that I was crushing on his only daughter!”
At the mention of your dad, you burst out laughing. Seriously? That was such a cliché! “Hey! I'm serious!”
“I'm sorry…” You bit your bottom lip, fighting the urge to laugh at him some more. He was adorable.
“As I was saying,” he continued, trying to sound annoyed, but a hint of a smile threatened to break on his lips, and he didn't pull away when you approached him nor he did when you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest, looking up at him, adoringly. He looked down, meeting your gaze, “I… I love you. I love you too. God, it just feels so good to say that!”
You giggled, again. God, he could never get used to that sound.
“And I’m sorry for being so mean to you when I was frustrated. I should have been more patient and my unthoughtful words hurt you.” You kept silent, remembering his words. “I—I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing if you’ll have me.” He added, intimidated by your gaze.
Silence. “Well, I accept your apologies. I was unfair to you as well. And you know where I stand when it comes to you. My feelings, I mean.”
“I do… But…”
“But?”
“I'd like to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you love me?”
“I don't know. Do I, really?” You joked.
He blushed furiously, ready to stutter himself out of that situation. “No, I mean… you—you said that—that you remembered what you said last night and… so… putting two and two…”
Another giggle interrupted him. You traced his jawline, leaning up to kiss his right cheek. “I really, really love you.” A kiss to his left cheek. He chuckled. “I love you.” A kiss on the tip of his nose, to which he snorted, totally lovestruck. “So much.” A lingering, tender kiss to his forehead. He closed his eyes, already anticipating the next spot you would press your soft lips to.
As you made your way to finally kiss his lips, you decided to tease him and let him wait for a bit longer. Spencer groaned in protest and you chuckled a bit, finally deciding that it was enough. Pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, making him sigh, you were thrilling on making him more and more eager. His grip on you tightened just slightly as he let out a shaky breath. You wanted to laugh, but instead, you poked fun at him. “Now you know what it's like to be teased.”
“I love you. Oh, Jesus… You're driving me insane. You're here… And you, you're you…”
You grinned, looking up at him, finally, finally pressing your lips to his. As you let out a small sigh, his breath hitched, both of you utterly drowning in relief and satisfaction. You pulled back a bit, grinning, going back to kissing him. Spencer's hands found your jawline, sliding back to tangle in your hair as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth. Parting your lips slightly, you granted him full access to kiss you properly, and he moaned at the taste of you, gripping your hair rougher than before. You groaned softly, and he proudly heard and swallowed all your small sounds.
The ring of a phone broke the urgent atmosphere that was building between you two. Spencer ignored it, letting it ring until you pulled away, gasping for air. As you did, the noise stopped and you met his lost eyes, totally dumbstruck, and you laughed because you probably looked the same way. He gave you a charming, lopsided grin, too stupid, too hypnotized to say anything.
The phone began ringing again. “Son of a…!” he cursed, picking up the phone. “Hi, this is Dr. Spencer Reid and unless this is an absolute emergency, I'm kinda busy—”
“Reid.” Aaron Hotchner's firm voice hit Spencer like a bucket of cold water. Widening his eyes, he gulped.
“Yes… sir?” You smiled at that. Of course you knew who he was talking to.
“We have a new case.” Hotch announced.
“Oh… okay… I, um, I—I'll be there in 20.”
Silence.
“Is everything okay, Reid?” Hotchner could read anyone, Spencer was now sure of that. Even through the goddamned phone.
“Wh—yeah, yeah… Everything's… totally f—fine.” He cursed under his breath as you gripped his vest, trying not to laugh.
“Do you know where she is?” Hotch inquired after another moment of quietness.
“Who?” He squeaked. You chuckled silently.
“My daughter.” Of course it was his daughter.
Playing dumb is not a good look on you, you mouthed.
“N—no… I haven't… heard from her.”
“Sure.” Hotch said, skeptically. Spencer could feel the sweat on his forehead. After a moment, your father finished the call with an unreadable “We need to talk.”
Once the phone call ended, you burst out laughing at Spencer's reaction. “Not funny.” He protested, a frown on his face and a soft smile betraying his faux frustration.
“Come on, it is funny.”
He glared at you. “What do you think he wants to talk about?”
“I don't know. Men talk. I wouldn't want to get involved.” You said, grinning, pulling him by his vest.
He squeezed his eyes shut, relishing in the feeling of having you so close. “Do you think he knows?”
“Of course he knows.”
“How are you so collected?”
“Because I'm not the one he's going to scare to death, apparently.”
“He said ‘we’ need to talk. Emphasizing ‘we’. If he knows you’re here, then it probably—” you cut him off with a kiss.
“Well, then… Are you ready to face your biggest fear? The frightening Aaron Hotchner?”
Glancing at you adoringly, he chuckled. “I’d face him and whoever, whatever, a thousand times, if it meant that I could get you in the end.”
—
A couple days after the case, you and Spencer meet again, in your apartment. Sitting down on the couch, you ask him, amusedly, “Do you think he noticed?”
“Totally. I could barely look him in the eye for the first moments,” He said with a fond smile, hiding from you the fact that he had awkwardly and bravely spoken to your dad about your relationship. You laughed, placing your legs on the top of his legs. “I guess we should thank Lila, after all.” He joked, and you laughed out loud.
Leaning him closer to him, grabbing his chin and looking deep into his eyes, you muttered, “Don’t ever say her name again, Spence.”
Your wish was always his command. It would always be.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x yn#spencer reid x hotchner!reader#spencer reid angst#spencer reid self insert
359 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hello fellow ADHDer, may I interest you in some management tools?
Option 1: goblin.tools the AI tool that breaks down tasks for you. (Note: if you don’t want to use AI, you can skip to Option 2)
You can delete sub-tasks that don’t apply to you, or click the 🪄 icon to break down sub-tasks further. I often find that I’m not overwhelmed by the number of steps, but instead by trying to hold all those tiny steps in my glitchy working memory.
Option 2: Domestic Labor & Dragons. This strategy originated on TikTok, and most citations trails lead back to @this.isjules but I was unable to find the original video. Here’s my version of it:
1. On a day when you have a brain cell, make a list of the chores in your house by room or section. Number each item, try to make your list lengths correspond to standard dice numbers so that you can roll on them as tables later. Your options are: 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, and 20. 🎲
3. Assign point values to each chore. The number of points doesn’t matter, but I like using 5pts for easier tasks, 10pts and 15pts for medium tasks, and 20pts for especially hard tasks. I made two lists for some unintelligible reason. You can just put the points on the same page, just like write them in another pen color or something.
4. Make your monster. Draw it badly. Use a randomizer website or pull from the monster manual if you want, just don’t get too precious with it, the monster’s purpose is to be defeated and we’re gonna scribble on it. If you want to do a big cleaning day, tally up your total possible points for doing every chore in your house, then divide that by two. (For me, all chores add up to 400pts so I make most of my Big Monsters 200pts)
5. FIGHT! Most of the time I really only end up needing to use the Roll for Chores sheet and the dice, but it’s really fun to scribble on the monster as they take damage and your house gets cleaner. You can optionally assign some reward for defeating the monster, but I just like the dopamine hit of defeating my Blorbo. Mine reset to baby mode upon defeat as seen with Bitey above. Final note: if you refill the same chore twice, take a break!! Get food!! The people who tell you to never stop moving are on their way to burnout!!! You can get momentum again by rolling the dice “just to see” what the next chore would be.
More options: Body Double with a friend, Roleplay that you’re Cinderella or your favorite character, put on a dance music album and only clean until the music stops, invite a friend over to have a reason to make your space clean when they arrive, put on videos of professional cleaners helping people get their space in order, hide shelf-stable snacks at the bottom of piles of clutter and only eat them once you’ve reached the bottom of that pile. Do whatever works! Throw shame out the window! If it works for you it’s not dumb!
(Note: this acronym is also sometimes called INCUP or FOCUS. I just like PINCH best.)
Good luck out there, friends! Now I have to go do the cleaning that I procrastinated by making this post. 😅
Sincerely,
A fellow ADHDer ♾️🦋
Clean home checklist:
"Do the laundry" as if doing laundry doesn't have 27 individual steps that each require other tasks to get done. Each task runs the risk of starting additional secret tasks.
"Organize kitchen" my brain has malware and it's overheating. CPU at 100%. There are no executives at my function
#adhd#managment tools#I made a whole book of these in the year between getting diagnosed and getting medicated#lmk if y’all want to see any other sections#like the one on going to bed#managment menagerie#goblin tools#goblin.tools#AI#coping strategies#domestic labor and dragons#roll for chores#PINCH#neurodivergence#neurodiversity#chores#housekeeping
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
can I say something controversial. I think by interpreting the Maruki reality stuff w Akechi as 'Joker's greatest wish was for Akechi to live bc they're in love!' is kind of a poor read of the text. Not because I don't ship them or whatever, my shipping opinions aren't relevant to this post. But because I think it overlooks a big part of Joker's actual character. He wanted Akechi to live because he saw an innocent person taken advantage of and discarded. He saw someone who needed help. You can even go further with this and say, okay, Akechi wasn't an innocent person - he killed people and tried to kill Joker himself. And what does that mean for Joker's character? It means he saw someone who had done terrible things - some of them to Joker, personally - and he still came away from Shido's palace with the understanding that while he did bad things, Akechi was a victim of Shido's, too. Good, or bad, or in between, that he still was someone in need of help. Joker wanted to help Akechi. He wanted to give Akechi a chance to make things right, and to show him that they didn't have to enemies - that Akechi didn't have to fight the Phantom Thieves, and he didn't have to be alone; that it's never too late to change course and be a better person and that Akechi's life didn't have to be one of hatred and isolation. He could atone for his crimes, still take down shido, and have a group of people to support him. After the terrible things Akechi did as Shido's lapdog, after he sold the thieves out and plotted to murder Joker. Joker still just wanted to help him. Joker saw that while Akechi was undoubtedly a criminal he was also a victim, and there was something in there worth trying to save. But you know what? He couldn't do it. Right as he seemed to be getting through to Akechi, he was killed by Shido's cognitive version.
And so when Maruki's reality brings Akechi back, it means imo that Joker feels guilty. Out of all the people he'd been able to help, Akechi was the one person he just couldn't save. It's not because they're in love, it's because Joker regrets how things worked out. He regrets that he didn't get through to Akechi sooner. He regrets failing a vulnerable and victimized person whom he feels he could have helped. Even if that person hated Joker. Even if that person had previously tried to kill Joker with his own hands. Joker's sense of justice is imo his biggest character trait, followed closely by his massive savior complex. Of course he wanted Akechi to live. Because in Joker's eyes, despite what he'd done to hurt Joker, Akechi was still a victim. He was still someone Joker should have been able to save.
This all comes to a head when Joker chooses to deny Maruki's reality. He's choosing to live with the guilt; to accept he can't save everyone no matter how hard he tries. He's moving beyond the savior complex and recognizing that sometimes, some people are really just unreachable, or don't want to be helped. It's a moment not only of characterization, but of character growth for him.
anyway that's my hot take. by viewing the third semester through a shipping lens exclusively you lose a huge point of characterization for Joker bc you overlook the nuances of Joker's desire to help everyone all the time and the guilt he feels about failing to help Akechi. You misconstrue Joker's desire to help in the first place as coming from a place of love rather than a place of selflessness and justice; a place of 'doing what's right simply because it is the right thing to do.' You miss out on the subtle ways it shows Joker's not biased by hatred or contempt, how despite the heinous things Akechi has done, and despite the harm done to him directly at Akechi's hand, Joker is still capable of seeing that Akechi is a victim, too - which in itself shows that Joker's idea of justice isn't motivated by personal relationships, grudges, or biases.
#thats all on that topic#again this is not related to my shipping opinions#this could probably be more nicely worded idk its 4 a.m#sorry i saw a post that used joker wanting akechi to be alive as evidence of joker being bi. like he is bi dont get me wrong but WOW#i cant say any one reading of the source material is 'incorrect' or that mine is 'correct' since its all just interpretation#but man if all you took from the game is 'theyre dating' then idk. theres a world of deeper themes and characterization out there to explor#persona 5
215 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫
𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
౨ৎ 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡.. what started innocently. over time grew more deeper, more personal, and attraction was undeniable.
- E.T is HIS song, a man that yearns is a man THAT EARNS!!, giggling while writing this, once again he’s a sweetheart, 𝐰𝐜- 1526
𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥…
the halls of the facility were silent, with the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional distant beep of monitors. you moved carefully clutching the stolen clearance card in one hand. the night shift was low tonight, but if anyone caught you.. there’d be no way to explain what you were doing
finally, you reached the heavy steel door that led to where he was being kept. with a swipe of the card and with a soft beep the lock opened. you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in and slipped inside
the dim lighting of the containment room made you feel even more uneasy. seated in the far corner of his glass enclosure was Shadow. he sat with one leg stretched out, and the other bent, his back resting against the wall. his eyes were closed but the moment you entered his ears twitched ever so slightly, and his gaze moved to you.
“risking a lot just to see me again” he said, his voice low and smooth but with the faintest hint of teasing
“yes.” you smiled, stepping closer to the glass barrier
his expression softened in a way that only you ever seemed to see. it made your heart skip a beat every time. he stood and approached the glass, stopping mere inches from where you stood on the other side
“are they suspicious?” he asked, his tone now more serious
you shook your head. “not yet. but I can’t stay long. If they catch me-”
“they won’t.” his voice was firm. his hand hovered near the glass and instinctively you mirrored the action, your fingertips meeting the cold glass that separated you
“I hate this” you whispered, “I wish I could do more. I hate sneaking around like this.”
Shadow’s gaze never left yours.
His smirk returned, faint but there. “You do plenty. more than anyone else would dare.”
the warmth in his voice sent a flutter through your chest, and for a moment.. the severity of what you were doing did not matter. in this moment it was just the two of you.
“time’s running out” you said hesitantly, glancing down at your watch
shadow’s faint smirk faded, “Then go. Don’t get caught.”
you hesitated, your eyes locking with his.
you stepped back from the glass slowly, your hand lingering against it for just a moment longer. “I’ll be back” you promised
“I know” he replied, his voice softer now
your hand was on the door when Shadow’s voice stopped you.
“Wait.”
you turned back. heart pounding, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. he stepped closer to the glass his movements slow
“I want to feel you” he said, his voice low
you knew what he meant. “Shadow…” you whispered, your voice trembling.
“I trust you” he said, the tone in his voice cutting through your fear. “If anyone can do it.. it’s you.”
you hesitated for only a moment before nodding. you had been on the edge of risk for weeks, but this… this was crossing the line. and yet you couldn’t deny him. not when he looked at you like that
quickly, you turned to the control panel beside the glass. your fingers flew over the keys, entering codes you weren’t supposed to know. you had spent countless nights memorizing the system just in case a moment like this ever came
the hiss of the containment seal breaking startled you both. the glass slid aside, revealing Shadow standing there. his presence overwhelming now that the barrier was gone
for a moment, neither of you moved. then slowly he stepped forward. his crimson eyes searched yours, as though waiting for confirmation that this was real
you reached out first, your fingers trembling as they brushed against the soft fur of his chest. the contact sent a jolt through you both and Shadow let out a breathy sigh
“Warm” he murmured, as if surprised
Shadow’s other hand came up hesitantly. his gloved fingers brushing against your cheek. his touch was gentle
you let your fingers trace along his arm, his fur soft under your touch
you leaned against the cold metal wall, your heart hammering. Shadow moved closer his crimson eyes scanning every inch of your face , taking you in completely.
“You’re trembling” he said softly, his voice carrying none of its usual sharpness
you hadn’t realized it until now, but your hands were shaking. the adrenaline of what you’d just done was coursing through you and the risk you’d taken started weighing heavy.
“I’m fine” you lied, your voice uneven
Shadow stepped even closer, his towering presence blocking out the harsh glow of the lights overhead. he reached out his gloved hand brushing against your cheek softly
“Don’t lie to me” he murmured
the concern in his eyes broke you completely.
“I’m just… scared” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly
Shadow’s hand moved to cradle your face, his touch warm despite the coolness of his gloves. “You don’t have to be.”
his words were simple, but enough to melt your fear. his had been building between you for weeks, months…
without thinking you leaned into his touch, your eyes closing shut. his gloved fingers moved gently along your jawline his touch so soft and tender. when you opened your eyes again his gaze was locked on yours.
“Shadow…” you whispered, your voice trembling for an entirely different reason now
he leaned closer, his other hand coming to rest against the wall beside your head caging you in. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes” you said without hesitation, the word falling from your lips too quickly
“Then let me show you what freedom feels like.”
the space between you was no longer there as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. the kiss was cautious at first, as if testing the boundaries. but when you tilted your head to deepen it his hesitation melted away.
his big gloved hands moved to the small of your back pulling you closer, and you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, clinging to him like you would lose him if you let go.
no alarms, no guards, no glass keeping you apart. it was just the two of you, pressed together in the dim corridor. sharing something that puts everything on the line… but was so good.
when the kiss finally broke, you were both breathless. Shadow rested his forehead against yours his eyes half-lidded.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper
you smiled, your fingers tracing the edge of his quills. “me too.”
Shadow’s crimson eyes lingered on yours, his hands rested lightly on your waist, his touch something you didn’t know you needed so bad. for a moment, neither of you spoke.
“You don’t understand what you’ve done for me” he said softly, his voice rough. “For so long… all I had was the glass. All I could do was watch you… memorize every detail of you from a distance. Your voice, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you liked. I lived for those moments.”
your breath hitched at his words, your chest tightening. Shadow’s thumb traced a soft circle against your side
“You were my only connection to the outside” he continued, “Every time you came to see me even if it was just for a moment. but.. it was never enough. I couldn’t reach you. Couldn’t feel you.”
“Shadow…” you whispered
he reached up brushing his fingers along your cheek, his touch slow. “But now, you’re here. You’re real. I can touch you, hold you, feel your warmth.”
you placed your hand over his pressing his palm to your cheek.
his hand slipped from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you closer. “You’re more than I deserve” he murmured. “You’ve risked everything for me.. and I don’t even know how to begin to tell you what that means. your brave, kind…”
he paused, his voice faltering for the first time. “and so beautiful.”
before you could respond he leaned in, capturing your lips in another kiss. this one was deeper, more intense, soaking in every minute of it now that the barriers between you were gone
when he broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you” he said softly.
for the first time... a small genuine smile curved his lips, softening his sharp features. he held you closer, his big arms wrapping around you as if he was afraid you might slip away
“You’ve given me something I thought I’d never have” he whispered
you buried your face in his soft chest, your arms tightening around him.
𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ⏦゚ᢉ𐭩 - 𓊆ྀི𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི [𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰] 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
#౨ৎ#oneshot#shadow x reader#shadow the hedgehog x reader#shadow imagine#shadow the hedgehog#imagine#need him#who said that#fanfic#sonic movie#Sonic#sonic movie 3#sonic the hedgehog#fluff
234 notes
·
View notes
Note
just read your gojo fic and it was amazing!! can i ask does megumi end up calling the reader mom to her face or something along those lines in the end? i’m a sucker for the reader being a parent to megumi so was wanting to know how that plays out 💜
Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader, mom!Reader & Fushiguro Megumi
Warnings: angst, Megumi missing his mum :(
Word count: 2k+
a/n: this takes place after the events of my fic Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow
-
Would Megumi ever call you mom to your face?
Yes and no. He’s a bit shy when it comes down to it.
After nearly dying, you were sick. Your technique became unstable, a flicker of the shadow of what your flames once were.
Your recovery was hard, harder than anyone could have expected. Your eyes were hollow and sunken; you had lost even more weight, and you were always so tired. Megumi saw you dozing off at the dinner table, in the middle of conversations, and one time while you were even standing. It seemed like a never-ending exhaustion—like your own soul couldn’t withstand being… alive.
It scared Megumi. More than words could describe.
When word got around that you couldn't even conjure up more than a spark, Megumi noticed you started to change. You’d disappear for days at a time, you were eating less and less, and you hardly spoke, evident by the strain in your vocal cords when you addressed him or anyone for that matter. He knew you were depressed; he picked up on the signs quickly and felt the weight of your absence. Eventually, it seemed Yuji and Nobara did as well.
It was starting to get to you, he thinks. But Megumi doesn’t entirely blame you. If he woke up one day unable to conjure his shadows, he thinks he’d lose himself, too.
Megumi could tell Gojo was starting to worry. He found him taking you out on strolls around the block a few times, trying to get you out of the house you’d much rather wallow away in. Gojo kept a bright smile on his face the entire time, and he was more open and apparent with his affection for you. His hands were always on your hip, around your shoulders, or your hand was tightly wrapped in his. Megumi wondered if it was to be closer to you or to help you keep your balance. Probably both; Gojo walked slower than usual, half strides that still never seemed quite slow enough to match yours.
It felt like you were just… disintegrating right before everyone’s eyes. To Megumi, it was like watching an angel fall from grace.
One day, he finds you and Gojo on the couch. After finishing his classes, he went to the store to buy your favorite soup, crackers, and some energy drinks he hoped might perk you up, even just a bit. He let himself into the Gojo estate after knocking and receiving no answer. It wasn't a big deal. Not too long ago, it was his home, too, and it's not like nobody was home. He could sense Gojo's presence. It was oddly overwhelming and dense.
He sees why when he finds you.
The room was warm—warm enough to make him break a sweat in his uniform upon entering. The fireplace was crackling, and the central heat was on blast. You were sprawled out on the couch in the main room, and Gojo was behind you, holding you to his chest while you slept. Megumi was ready to leave the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and leave. It didn’t feel right intruding, but-
You were shivering.
He doesn’t get it—why nothing could keep you warm. His whole life, you’ve always brought a warmth that extended beyond your kindness and soft smiles. It was the kind of warmth you shared with him— from those oversized winter coats you bought him, those knitted gloves you make him every year, and you.
He remembers being small and how you’d heat your hands before holding his tightly. Back then, he never had numb knuckles or fingertips whenever you were around. Not only that, you could just radiate warmth, effortlessly warming the air around you. He’s seen you do it a few times when the people around you got too cold. It was like walking past a sauna, a warm breeze that always caught others off guard.
He remembers you doing it just a few weeks ago. Yuji’s eyes widened, and he jumped up and down, annoyingly asking a million questions about your technique. You looked a bit prideful when he compared you to a fire-breathing dragon, which, ironically, might have been the best comparison for you.
He hated that you shivered now. With several blankets, the room cranked to eighty degrees, and Gojo beside you still wasn't enough. He hated that there wasn’t much anyone could do—anything he could do.
Quietly, he ambles upstairs, yanking the blanket off the bed in his old room. When he returns to the living room, he throws it over you and Gojo.
Gojo doesn’t move much but opens one eye, eyeing Megumi for a moment. He acknowledged Gojo with a nod, knowing that he wasn’t asleep. His six eyes have followed him since he knocked on the front door.
However, he notices that Gojo has sweat beading down his temple, his white hair damp and sticking to his forehead. Megumi hadn’t associated himself with Gojo much since the incident, but… he’s happy he’s with you, doing everything he can to keep you safe, protected, and warm, even at his own expense.
The corner of Gojos' lip twitches before his eye closes again.
Megumi leaves a note on the counter before leaving.
Mom,
I bought you some food from the market. It’s in the fridge. Get well soon.
— Megumi
-
It’s when Gojo takes a leave of absence from teaching that Megumi can feel it sinking in—a dark foreboding, an anxiousness that tied knots around his heart, keeping him up late into the night.
“I’m worried,” Yuji admitted sullenly. “What if… what if the damage was so bad she won’t fully heal? I know regenerating cursed energy takes a while, but it’s been weeks.”
“I really hope that’s not the case,” Nobara sighs, resting her elbows on the table and looking out into the distance. “It must be serious for Gojo-Sensei to leave.”
“I can’t imagine how painful it must have been,” Yuji winces a bit, merely playing with the fries on his plate. “… Urggg!” Yuji wines, hiding his face in his hands. “I don’t even wanna be at this stupid sandwich shop without Sensei. It’s not right!”
“Relax, I’ll order her something before leaving. I’ll drop it off at their place,” Megumi grouses, pulling himself away from his thoughts.
Yuji peeks at Megumi between his fingers. “…Can I come?”
Hell no, is what Megumi wants to say, but he bites his tongue. Tsk. You’d probably like to see Yuji—Nobara too.
“Fine,” Megumi laments between gritted teeth. “Just- don’t bother her too much. We drop the food off, and then we leave.”
Of course, Yuji doesn’t listen.
“Sensei, it was crazy! First, it went—boom! Then skeeert, and wham! And then, and then- I went flying! Right into the wall! But it was a short wall! I flipped right over it!”
You held a cup of warm tea in your hands and smiled softly, eagerly nodding along and giggling at Yuji. He animated the story with excitement, bouncing on his toes, and his voice echoed through the halls as he made quirky sounds. Megumi rolled his eyes, finding his friend rather obnoxious, but you looked happy. He supposed that was all that really mattered.
However, Megumi wonders if you have a single clue as to what Yuji is talking about. He surely didn’t.
Yuji threw himself down on the couch adjacent to where you sat, right beside Nobara. “Man… they banned me. Can you believe that?”
“They banned you? That’s egregious.”
“I know, right!”
You wiggle your eyebrows before taking a sip of your tea. “Want me to beat up the director?”
Yuji lets out a heartfelt laugh. “No, but that would be kinda funny,” he sighs dramatically. “I guess I’ll just have to start going to other skating rinks.”
“Sensei-” Nobara freezes, your name slipping from her lips.
Megumi couldn’t see what those two saw. He opted for staying in the corner of the room, watching you interact with his two friends. It was hard for him, he realized bitterly, to even look at you. So he stayed in the corner, content with just watching over you from a distance. But suddenly, the air is knocked from his lungs.
Things weren’t supposed to be like this.
Nobara reaches forward quickly, nearly dropping her tea as she does. She rips out three tissues from the tissue box before shoving them in your hands.
However, Yuji freezes. His face goes white as a sheet.
You lean forward, holding the tissue to your nose. Nobara jumps up, putting her hands on your shoulders as she encourages you to stand. “We’ll be right back! Going to the ladies room!”
It’s only when you two walk past him that he sees the bloody tissue, crimson dripping from your nose. Yuji remains silent on the couch, fiddling with his hands and looking at nothing in particular. He looks like he just saw a ghost, and Megumi doesn’t blame him. He felt the same way; however, he had the will to move. In a haze, his feet carry him to the kitchen. He finds Gojo there, plating the food Megumi brought you and putting it in the microwave.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Well, hello to you too, brat.”
“Just tell me already.”
Gojo sighs. “Yeesh. Everything’s fine, you little gremlin. Nothing you gotta worry about.”
“H-Her nose just started bleeding! Out of nowhere.”
Gojo seems to pause for a moment before going back to what he was doing. “Seems Nobara has it handled. They’re on their way back to the living room now.”
“Just tell me what’s going on,” Megumi nearly pleads. He wants to accuse Gojo of not caring, of not doing whatever he can for you during your difficult recovery, but the bitter words never make it past his lips. Megumi knows he is. Even when anger threatens to blind Megumi, he remembers that you and Gojo have weird dynamics that often leave people’s heads spinning; however, the love is always there, alive and apparent. He just had to know where to look.
Gojo loves you, and more importantly, he makes you happy. Megumi knew that even if he didn’t always understand it.
Gojo sighed before reaching for the sink and turning on the faucet. Megumi gives an odd look, but Gojo grins before tapping his ear. Oh. Right. If you wanted to, you could easily pick up on what they were discussing. Megumi imagines you wouldn’t feel great knowing they were speaking about you—even if it came from a place of worry and concern. You didn’t need anything else being added to your plate.
“Is she sick?”
Gojo crosses his arms before leaning his back against the counter. “She is,” he answers honestly. Megumi wanted the truth, yet he flinched when it was handed to him. “She is sick.”
How can he do that? Sound so indifferent? But, as he looks at Gojo, Megumi notices that he's uncharacteristically stoic, almost stern, as he hands him the cold truth. Gojo didn’t like what was happening as much as Megumi, but there was no avoiding the truth and no sense in lying about it.
“What can we do?”
“Not much,” Gojo answers easily. “We just… wait.“
Megumi can’t quite understand that. He hates this, hates waiting, day after day. You were weak; Megumi could sense it, Yuji and Nobara, too.
“She’s outputting more energy than she is retaining… how do you even begin to fix something like that?” Megumi murmurs, his eyes finding the floor. He was afraid. You were his mother, the woman who loved and raised him and always kept him warm. He feels like he’s losing you, like a candle wick running dry of wax.
Suddenly, Gojo reaches up, ruffling Megumi's dark hair. “She’ll be alright, brat.” Gojo playfully pushes his head back as he pulls away, a small smile now gracing his lips. “Leave all the worrying to me, yeah? I’ll take good care of her. I promise.”
-
“Sensei! I’m praying for you!”
Nobara rolls her eyes. “You’re not supposed to tell her, dimwit.”
“I know, but I want her to know I’m praying for her recovery!”
Megumi groans, stepping away from the shrine. “Just shut up, Yuji.”
You smiled from your spot beside Gojo. You were leaning on him, your head resting on his shoulder. One of your arms wrapped around Gojo’s, your fingers grasping his bicep. Your other hand reached down, intertwining your delicate fingers with his. Clinging to his arm, which you held close to your chest, you smiled sweetly as you observed the scene around you.
You still looked exhausted, and there were still bags under your eyes, but you had enough energy to get out of the house today, at least.
“Thank you, Yuji,” you smiled. “I appreciate it more than anything.”
He beams, giving two big thumbs up.
“Whatever,” Nobara brushed Yuji off, stepping forward. “I, on the other hand, got you an omamori!” She presents the small charm to you with a broad and cheesy grin. It was a Kenko charm—an amulet for good health and protection from illness and disease.
You hesitantly reach for it, clasping it with one of your hands. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to. You have exams coming up that you should be focused on.”
Nobara waves you off harmlessly before looking at Gojo. Her eyes squinted. “You didn’t get her anything. Tsk. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Wha- I got her something! Look! Show them sweets!”
You laugh, putting Nobara’s charm in your pocket and rummaging around. You pull out two other charms—en-musubi charms. Your cheeks flush a bit as you happily present them, and Gojo perks up, looking the proudest he’s ever looked.
“Two en-musubi? Hm,” Nobara hums passively. “And yet I don’t see a ring on her finger.”
“Hey, that’s not fair!”
Nobara defiantly turns her head from her Sensei. “Whatever, just tell us how you really feel...”
“Y’know, Satoru,” you play along with a slight grin. “She might be onto something…”
“Wait! Hold on, let me buy you a charm!” Yuji dashed away, ignoring how you protested, yelling to him that it was alright and that you didn’t need another charm.
Megumi sighs. He hates to admit it, but that idiot's right. He should get you a charm, too. ”I’ll be right back.”
“Megumi, it's okay! I don’t need another one! My pockets are already full!”
He waves, brushing you off. It was the least he could do. He prayed for you, of course he did, but he wouldn’t say anything about it—unwilling to risk his prayers potentially being unanswered. So, he walks, eventually catching up with Yuji. However, even with the charm in his hands, it doesn’t feel enough.
So, after buying your charm, he walks over to another booth. He takes out his wallet to purchase an ema, a wooden plank on which he can write the wish he has been praying for over the past few weeks.
What Megumi doesn’t see, though, is Gojo nudging you and pointing over to where Megumi stood. Just in time, you see him hanging his ema, placing it alongside hundreds of other wishes. It’s only when Megumi turns around that he notices you and Gojo have been watching him the entire time.
He coughs, cheeks flushing as he walks away. He puts his head down before walking to where Yuji and Nobara are waiting for him, too embarrassed to look your way. Yuji and Nobara’s smiles were sincere. Yuji even offered him a friendly squeeze on the shoulder.
There were tears in your eyes as you read the ema.
I wish for my mother to get well soon.
-
a/n: just a little blurb following the events of wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow :p
Let me know your thoughts or if I should write a longer fic detailing the reader's recovery. I have a few ideas in mind…
As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3
#milawritess#angst#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x you#satoru gojo x you#warm and comfy#megumi fushiguro#mom!reader#jjk fanfic#jjk blurb#jjk#jjk megumi#Megumi loves him mum#yuji itadori#nobara kugisaki#jjk yuji#jjk nobara
203 notes
·
View notes
Text
❛❛ ⛸️ + 🏒 ❞
fuck you, christopher sturniolo
✎ t.w.: sexual tension!
you sighed, throwing your books in your bag. what was the point of studying until you felt physically nauseous if the maximum you could get was always a C?
you didn't understand: you did everything you could think of to memorise and understand the stuff you had to study for your exams, yet it wasn't enough. it never was.
"hey! how..." your roommate turned to face you with a big smile on her face, holding proudly her exam sheet with a big red A written on top of it. her smile faded as soon as she saw your disappointed expression, her eyes falling to the piece of paper you had abandoned carelessly on your desk. "oh, baby..." she cooes, her hand rubbing comfortingly your arm. "it's fine, next time it'll go better, yeah?"
you shake your head, the weight of disappointment sitting heavily on your stomach. you sighed before saying, "i need to get some air. i'll see you at the rink, yeah?"
cherry sighed, but she nodded nevertheless. she whispered a soft "okay," then let go of your arm as you got up and left the room.
the halls were, as always, crowded as fuck. normally it wouldn't bother you one bit, but today...yeah, today you were pissed, to say the least. you just couldn't help it, negativity radiating from every cell of your body.
your original plan of going outside to cool your brain quickly changed, your feet bringing you elsewhere, completely out of your jurisdiction. and before you knew it, you stood at the perimeter of the ice rink, watching as a bunch of hockey players glided left and right across the arena.
your eyes caught the jersey of a man sliding right in front of you, the name "STURNIOLO", the number 3 standing proudly below it.
"yo, ice baby" chris took off his helmet right as the coach blew in the whistle, signaling the end of the practice. your friend shook his head left and right, droplets of sweat flying around. you mentally thanked the presence of the thick plastic walls between you two. chris got out of the rink, stomping his feet to reach you without losing balance.
he sat on the bench near you, putting the helmet down. "so? what are you doing here? you don't have lesson for another hour and a half."
you shrugged, sitting down beside him. "just had to get some fresh air."
chris eyed you, analyzing your face. he clearly didn't buy your lie, and he was determined to find out what was going on in your mind. "yeah, no kid, spill the truth or something cause i'm not buying your bullshit."
you groaned annoyed, well aware that he wasn't going to let it go until he had an answer. sighing, you got up, walking back and forth while explaining to him how frustrated you were at yourself cause no matter how hard you studied, nothing seemed to work and you felt like you were just loosing time.
chris didn't speak, letting you ramble on and on about your problem, eventually nodding to signal that he was, in fact, listening. you took a big breath once you finished talking, feeling definitely better. maybe cherry was right when she told you that speaking does, indeed, help.
"you do know that matt took the same exam, right?"
taken aback by his question, you didn't answer him: did he? he probably took it the year before, cause there was no way you never noticed him. you shook your head, sitting down in front of your friend.
he hummed, shrugging before casually saying "he did. passed with a straight A, maybe he can help you."
"i..."
"it's fine, really. i'll talk to him at dinner, yeah? don't worry, baby, you're gonna ace it." and just like that, he got up from the bench, grabbing his helmet before ruffling your hair and heading outside.
"hey! aren't you gonna shower or something?" you called out, watching confused as chris turned around briefly, exclaiming "water's out!" before closing the door behind him.
you furrowed your brows, clearly not expecting it. you decided to check for yourself, walking towards the door that lead to the locker room.
as you entered the room, you didn't notice the lonely gym bag hiding behind the door, its content spilling from the open zipper. you kept walking towards the showers, wanting to check the water pressure from one of the sinks there.
as you opened the door, steam engulfed you whole, blocking your view. from one of the open showers emerged matt, wrapped in a white towel. you stood frozen at the door, not knowing what to do, but with one thought in mind: fuck you, christopher sturniolo.
right as you turned around to run away from there, matt's eyes caught yours, freezing you on the spot. you couldn't help but admire the way drops of water dripped from his long hair, falling on his face and neck, running down to his exposed torso. and god, was he well sculpted. your mouth dried at the sight, your heart drumming in your ribcage. your hands itched with the want–no, the need– to touch him, to explore his body with your fingers, drawing every crevice and dip and curve of his abs.
"jesus," you whispered softly, almost inaudible, catching yourself in the act and hoping he didn't hear anything. luckily for you, he didn't. and if he did, he acted like he didn't.
he cleared his throat, smirking as your eyes snapped back to his face. "anything you like, baby?" he asked, stepping closer to you to grab another smaller towel he had placed on the sink earlier. he ran said towel through his hair, trying to absorbe as much water as possible, all while not breaking eye contact. for the first time, you asked yourself if he called you by your name or if he meant it as a pet name. either way, you didn't like how much it affected you.
"i- i'm sorry i didn't know you were here," you stuttered embarrassed, trying to regain some decency back.
he bit back a smile, genuinely amused by the situation. "clearly," he murmured, watching you struggle to not let your eyes fall back on his body. he decided to pull a little trick on you, glancing down quickly at his body knowing that the immediate reaction he would get would be a mirror of his own act. and, indeed, your eyes travelled down his body instinctively, a natural reflex of your own body betraying you.
you mentally cursed yourself, realising too late what had just happened. however, you couldn’t help but stare, noticing only now the tent hiding beneath his towel. you didn’t know if it was the steam, matt’s presence or your own arousal, but your mind began fogging like crazy, leaving you dizzy and unstable on your legs. matt took a couple steps towards you, your feet moving backwards until your back hit the cold tile wall of the shower room, effectively trapping you.
you could feel the heat radiating from his body clouding your senses, turning your brain in mush.
“matt-” you gasped, his blue eyes burning holes into your skin from the intensity of his gaze. he slowly raised his hand, caressing so delicately your cheek the same way you would touch a ceramic doll, delicate and careful in fear it might break. you closed your eyes at the contact, so delicate and warm yet so wrong and rushed. you swallowed hard before managing to croak out a soft “what are you…”
at the sound of your voice matt seemed to snap back to reality, his hand dropping by his side. the bubble of tension suddenly bursted, bringing you both back to reality, cold chills running through your arms. “shit, i-” he sighed, running a hand on his face, “you should probably go.”
you stood there paralyzed for a couple more seconds, watching as he turned around and walked away. you nodded slowly to no one in particular before running through the door, leaving the locker room. as soon as the chilled air of the halls hit your face you started breathing again, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
and as you walked towards your room, only one image crossed your mind, repeating on loop: matt sturniolo half naked in front of you, aching to touch you.
© stvrnioloslvt
𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃/𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊. 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓
ও a.n: hi guys, i'm so sorry i haven't posted in a while, i have a shit ton of exams to take and way too little time to write :(
ও anyway, hope you liked the little sexual tension between those two, i sure has hell had fun writing it! as always, you're more than welcome in my comments/inbox to ask questions, requests, etc.
ও also... look how cute this little thing is! it's a fennec fox, and i feel like it embodies 100% baby's personality, cute as fuck but also wild and not too keen on physical contact. in love with it, honestly.
love you all, bree ☾
icy taglist: @shadowthesim @sturnioloszn @sofieeeeex @m4ttg1rl @marrykisskilled @thecrawlys @x0x0bunny @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosweets @sturnslutz @user1smvtysturniolo @gabrielaperez11
#©stvrnioloslvt au[hockeyplayer!matt]#© stvrnioloslvt#🏒hockeyplayer!matt#⛸️figureskater!reader#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo#the sturniolo triplets#sturniolo tumblr#matt stuniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#matt x reader#matthew sturniolo#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo x reader
207 notes
·
View notes
Text
“ GUMI’S HOME!! “
pt. 1 pt. 2 pt.3
✭ Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader (romantically), Megumi x reader (platonically)
✭ synopsis: Megumi grows to learn that he does have a family. Or, raising Megumi with Satoru.
✭ Contains: SEASON TWO SPOILERS! (I think it’s common knowledge by now, though. HEAVVYY FLUFF, more bickering between Satoru and little Megumi. Megumi being sassy again, more use of y/n in this chapter, tiiiiny angst BUT IT GETS HAPPY AGAIN. GUMI IS SUCH A CUTIE PATOOTIE.
September, 2007. Two days prior.
It’s another quiet night in your home. Far away from the bustling city, in a comfortably still neighbor with the right amount of peace that you just adore during times like this. It’s a home that you’ve made yours and decorated to your accommodation. Four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a backyard— not to mention paid off completely, thanks to your adoring man, Satoru Gojo.
Much to his pleasure, you’ve made it your own personal haven. Adorning it with the things that both you and your sorcerer boyfriend enjoy.
Because it’s only the two of you, you never found reason to utilize any of the other rooms, opting to keep it as an emergency guest room (though with how protective Satoru is over you, you knew he’d never lead anyone over to your house). And so, you opt to only use your shared room, which leads to now.
The first time you hear about fushiguro’s child is in your room, getting ready for a night with your partner. It’s been a while since he’s slept over at this house, so you were properly excited to finally have him all to yourself. But before the cuddles and kisses could begin, he walks over to where you’re seated at your oak wood vanity, body language you’ve never seen before in your man before now.
You turn to face him, taking in all his pretty glory— hair down and damp from his shower. You note his clothing, smiling shyly at the just-a-tad-bit-tight tank top that exposes his defined arms. And in true Satoru fashion, his lounge sweats that seem a bit too pricey to be simply for sleeping. And as much as you want to take in the glorious sight of him, you refrain as you take note of the way he rubs at the back of his neck and leans against the wooden vanity, facing you with an unreadable expression. He looks so.. conflicted?? And that piques your curiosity and worry.
“Oh, my.. someone’s stressing,” Satoru is comforted by the sound of your voice as you try to lighten the mood. You can tell, as he’s always been an expressive person. “What’s the matter?”
At your question, he sucks in a breath between his teeth, as if unsure what to say.
“Just.. you’re not gonna believe what the hell happened today. I- I didn’t tell you I was doing this, because I didn’t think you’d approve—“
“Satoru…” you warn in a low tone, though you were really just hoping that he hadn’t gotten himself into any unexpected trouble.
“Hey, I didn’t even explain yet! It isn’t even bad, really,” his body goes back to his usual animated way, which relives you. “It’s just.. I met the kid.. his kid. I found him.”
The words were so bland out of context. But it takes nothing for you to connect the dots. Despite this, your voice still calls out, hesitant,
“You… you talking about fushiguro’s kid?”
Your eyes go wide in shock when the man nods his head, and you stand up.
“Satoru Gojo, you went looking for him?” You ask in disbelief.
“Listen, it didnt go as bad as you’re thinking it did!” He raises his hands up defensively, “I swear, I really just wanted to meet the kid, but turns out he’s like, super strong. I can feel it.”
“Who cares?? What the hell were you gonna tell him, huh? That you killed his father?” You hissed, eyes still widened in shock.
“That’s just the funny thing—“
“It’s not funny!”
“No no, I mean,” he begins to backpedal before he pauses, chuckling to himself and wiping a pale hand down his face, much to your dismay. “Baby, please, listen to me when I say this.” He sighs, taking your hand. You weren’t upset at him, and he knew that. You weren’t just surprised by his uncalled for antics, like usual.
“I’m listening.” you pout, looking up into the bright eyes of your man. His hand squeezed yours and he sighs.
“He didn’t care.” He states, sounding just as surprised as you’re about to be.
“…what? So, you told him.?” You squint.
“No no, I was going to, but, before I could even say the man’s name he just straight up said that he didn’t care. According to him, he didn’t even know him all that well. He never saw him, and doesn’t care to, and he told me that he isn’t interested in whatever he has going on. He’s completely stoic.” Satoru explains the story, passionately shocked as if it was just the most mind boggling thing in the world.
You’re surprised too, unable to believe that a boy so young could be so… cutthroat. And about his own parents. Though, you took into consideration the circumstances between the two.
Though, if you were being honest, you didn’t really care much about the zenin either. More focused on the young boy.
“Well, where is he now? Is he in school? Does he have a home? Oh my goodness, how old is he now?”
Your questions don’t surprise Satoru, as you’re always one to worry too damn much about others.
“The kids fine.. he’s hellbent on being independent. And, if I’m not mistaken, he lives with someone. I heard a young girls voice when I was walkin’ away. A… sister maybe—“ he ponders, and you gasp, distraught.
“Oh, my goodness..” you press a hand to your heart, “Satoru, you have to do something. I mean, how old is he? About.. 6? That boy needs some stability. And if he does have a sister, so does she—“ you state firmly, and Satoru sighs.
“Honey, I’m sure they’re fine. He’s a tough kid.”
“Yeah. A kid, ‘Toru. Just because he’s “strong” and has some sorcerer ability, does not mean he’s safe. A lot of kids get their abilities at a young age. Including me.” You lift a brow, tilting your head knowingly. “And you. And that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a… a figure, in his life.”
Satoru takes in your words, gnawing the inside of his cheek.
At his silence, you sigh and lean in, kissing his cheek and whispering against it.
“The least you can do is check up on him… like you did today. Get to know him a bit more, and about his situation, you know? Take him to the park, the arcade— ice cream, something, just—“ you sigh, and you feel the familiar weight of his hand sliding gently up your back to gently rub at your shoulder, as a touch of reassurance.
“Okay, oookay, my dear,” he hushes you with his words, trying to soothe your ramblings. “Always so passionate, my love.” He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. Then your nose. Then your lips before pulling back with a smile.
“I’ll keep an eye out for him, alright? I’ll kidnap him if I have to. I’ll be totally subtle about it, too.” He grins.
“Yeah..” your brows furrow and your expression drops, “why do I feel like you’re lying?”
He simply laughs again and scoops you up into his arms, peppering your face with kisses. Your cheek muscles tighten as your smile slowly grows at how much it tickles. You hug him back, knowing you’re stuck in the sorcerer’s grasp (not that you’re complaining) for the rest of the night.
You hum in delight, closing your eyes. You know your man will make the right choice.
September, 2007. Present day.
The rain continues to pour, thick raindrops slapping at each and every window pane. You and Satoru are sat on the couch, facing a tiny Megumi fushiguro who sits just angled from the couch, nursing a cup of hot chocolate, clad in some fresh new clothes that were just a bit too big for him. They were the smallest of your clothes that you could find and allow him to wear until his clothes were finished drying in the laundry room.
“…I guess I forgot my house key at school. Tsumiki’s at a sleep over, and I don’t know anyone else.”
You squint your eyes as you listen intently to the boys explanation as to why he has arrived here so abruptly. Such a coincidence that Satoru had given him the address just yesterday whilst on their little mochi excursion. You also can’t help but realize just how right Satoru was when he told you that Megumi is very nonchalant and stoic, unless he’s bickering with the older man.
“Man.. I’m sorry the days has been so hard on you. You know, you’re more than welcomed to stay here until the rain lets up!” You smile, resting a hand on satorus knee and patting it slightly, a silent cue to get him to add on.
“Of course! You’re welcomed here whenever ya want! The three of us will get along just well!” He smiles, animated and genuinely excited to have the new, tiny company.
“When the rain lets up tomorrow, we can head to the school and see if your key is there.
Megumi’s face shifts from blank to annoyed in a second.
“That’s just the thing..” he grumbles, “it’s Friday.”
For a second, the words don’t really make sense, until you think hard. They’re out of school.
“Oh, shit. School’s out for that little renovation period in the city, yeah?” You turn to Satoru. A small part of the city was closed for some slight improvements in the streets, meaning every building within that vicinity is meant to be closed for the time being.
“Oh, you’re right..” Satoru trails off. “And that’s supposed to be for—“
“The month.” The bundle of annoyance frowns harder. Both you and Satoru share a look.
“A month, huh.. ? surely your sister will be back by then, yes?” He asks, and Megumi freezes.
“Riiiight?” Satoru presses again, and Megumi huffs, dipping his head almost in shame.
“No…”
“No?” You question, “I thought she was just at a friend’s house?”
“I lied… she’s out the country for an exchange program. She’s staying for a quarter, and won’t be back until November.” He mumbles quickly, head still dropped. “Sorry.. I didn’t think this would happen.”
Your mouth drops open in shock, and you glance between Satoru and the smaller boy.
“Wh, what was the plan while she was gone?” You question. Who the hell was taking care of those two??
“Hm? What do you mean? Just the usual..” he lifts his head, face still a bit pouty in embarrassment. “Go to school, come straight home.”
“—alone? That’s extremely dangerous. What about food? Bills? Fucking, basic hygiene?” You question harder, and the other two can sense your growing frustration at the situation.
“I mean.. I eat at school..” he states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, but he never realized how bad it sounded coming out of his own mouth. You feel your heart sink at the ridiculous idea that this boy and his sister were surviving off of nothing but school lunch. You didn’t know much about Toji fushiguro, or the woman he married, but what you did know was that no child deserved to starve and go hungry. Not when it could be prevented.
You look to Satoru, and to your relief, his face reflects the seriousness of the news.
“So, you’ve been scraping by.. how?” Satoru questions.
Megumi shrugs, suddenly not feeling too keen on drinking the hot chocolate you’ve prepared for him.
“Tsumiki usually deals with that stuff.”
“So what was the plan now that she’s away?”
There’s a slight pause, and the beat of silence is all you need to know before you grip Satoru’s bicep and give him a pleading look. He soothes your worried look with a kiss to the head before facing Megumi.
“Kid, where’s your sister?” Satoru asks, and the boy’s brows furrow.
“Some American school…” he mumbles, thinking hard. “New York, i believe. Other than the education, she wanted to find a better paying job. So that when she comes back, we’ll be set for the year.”
“Alright. First thing tomorrow, I’m getting on a plane and heading over there.” He states firmly, and you nod in agreement right along with him.
Megumi is surprised at just how… casually he could up and buy a plane ticket over seas. Was this dude made of money?
“I’m bringing her back, and it isn’t up to discussion as to where you two will be staying from now on.” Satoru stands from his spot beside you, immediately reaching into his back pocket to pull out his phone, typing furiously. He’d probably skip a day of class again, to which you’d have to make up an excuse for him to your teachers for the umpteenth time.
Megumi’s eyes follow Satoru as he bustles out of the room before shifting back to you.
There’s nothing but silence between the two of you for a moment. With the exception of the continuous rain from outside the home. Tiny nails scratch at the porcelain mug, almost nervously before he sets it down on the coffee table. You watch Megumi swallow as he gathers his next words, and as you take in his body language, you note that this is the most expressive he’s been since you’ve met him.
“Does that.. am I really staying?” He questions, and you’ve never seen him look so confused. Brows furrowed in pure disbelief.
You hum, nodding, “Satoru and I have made up our minds. You’re six, Megumi. Scraping by, it’s.. it’s no way for a boy like you to live. Your sister may be in a bit of a shock when she finds out, but I’m not backing down on this. I will not, in good conscience, let you and your sister stay alone.”
He continues to stare, as if he still didn’t believe you. And maybe he didn’t.
You sigh, standing up and approaching the longer chair he’s sat in and crouch down to his level.
And god, does Megumi hate it when people try to get on his level. To try and understand him, like they could ever understand whats going through his mind. As if anyone knows.
But the way you do it… he doesn’t feel the arrogance in the position from you, compared to other people. It doesn’t stop him from continuing his frown, but he feels more inclined to pay attention to what you’re about to say. Because… your eyes show no signs of deceit. Which is what Megumi looks for the most.
“Megumi…” you trail off.
“—Why?”
You go to speak, but he beats you to it. And you don’t need to ask again to understand his question.
“Because… because I care. We care, Satoru and I. Maybe we weren’t the best of friends with your father. And no, we don’t get anything out of doing what we’re doing for you. But who the hell cares when you’re living in a beat up home somewhere, Megumi? We want you safe.”
And it’s about as simple as that. You cared. And it seems Megumi excepts that answer.
He watches as you smile at him and move your hand up to ruffle his hair. He doesn’t flinch away— but there is a burning behind his eyes and an ache in his tiny heart that he can’t seem to explain to himself as it’s happening.
“I’m so sorry, Megumi.. for the way things are. But Satoru and I are gonna make it better, yes?”
He feels your hand slide from his spiky hair and to his cheek. The action is confusing until he realizes just how oddly warm they become. Confused, he goes to speak, but feels his voice is constricted, and his nose is nasally.
“Oh, megs..” you giggle a little, “don’t cry.”
Cry?
Was that what he was doing? Hell, he’s pretty sure that the last time he’s ever cried was when he was pushed out of the womb. He’s never cried, and the thought of breaking down in front of a stranger makes him hide his face in his much too large shirt— you giggle, a little louder this time as you scoop him up into your arms in a comforting hug. To which he accepts without any resistance.
“Oh, ‘gumi.. now I’m gonna cry!” You faux weep, pouting. Though the moment was definitely hitting you dead in the feels.
“Who’s cryin’? In here??” You hear from behind you.
Satoru walks up from behind, shock and an amused smile on his face as he watches the scene before him. His own heart aches at the sight of the little boy, but he knows this is a joyful moment rather than a sad one. Megumi was on the right path to living better.
You glance at the sorcerer who smiles, taking a seat on the arm of the couch and gently ruffling the boys hair as he continues to hide his blotchy face into his shirt.
Things were looking to be just fine.
──────
You and Satoru stand in the doorframe of the guest room, watching as Megumi shuffles into the small twin and under the blanket. You pout, leaning against Satoru’s chest as you speak,
“Sorry it’s not the best. We hardly ever use this room.”
To you, the room was probably the blandest in the house. Simply used for emergency. Nothing but a twin bed stuffed into the corner of the room, a cheap nightstand, and a lamp inhabited the space, much to your dissatisfaction. Your priorities is were to 1.) being Tsumiki back. And, 2.) accommodate to the two accordingly. Satoru squeezes your shoulder.
“One step at a time, babe. He’ll be just fine for the night! We two can stay in tomorrow and do some shopping with the card while I’m airborne, yes?” He presses a kiss to your cheek, and the words and touch comfort you.
“That sounds good… Megumi?” You ask.
“Sounds fine.” He shrugs nonchalantly, a huge contract to just and hour ago. “May I sleep now?”
“Oh, of course… here.” You whisper, shutting off the light for a moment. The room is pitch black, completely overcome with darkness for a moment. There’s some slight shuffling to be heard before the room lights up again— a nightlight.
The glow is a soft yellow, and reaches to the center of the room before fading out slightly.
“Ta-da! Think of it as a… welcoming gift.” Satoru chuckles, and you nod, hanging on his arm as you wait for megumi’s reaction.
And of course, he doesn’t. His face is about as blank as a sheet of paper. The silence makes you deflate a bit, smiling nervously and waving it off.
“You’re a big boy now, I know… it’s silly. I can shut it off—“
“No, no— please. It’s nice, thank you.” He says quickly, and moves to fluff out his pillow. Both you and Satoru share a look of excitement and take his pillow-fluffing as a cue to let the boy finally sleep.
“Right… goodnight, Megumi.” You and Satoru whisper in unison, slowly shutting the door.
And now that Megumi is completely alone, finally…
He lets the smile he’s been holding in ono his face, and lets the tears of relief and joy finally fall.
──────
taglist,,
@anything4yoongi @alpha-mommy69 @s4ikoo1 @moonchhu @kianatrg @emryb
#𓆩 gumi’s home !! 𓆪#jutusu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader#jjk x fem!reader#jjk x reader fluff#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader fluff#gojo satoru x reader#satoru x reader#jjk satoru#gojo satoru#satoru x you#gojo x reader#megumi x reader fluff#megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro#megumi fushiguro x reader
165 notes
·
View notes
Text
Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞
(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)
First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.
What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.
honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍
lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙
my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍
I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞
now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️🩹
I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️🩹❤️🩹
this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.
And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.
everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3
It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓
a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖
Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕
I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞
Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.
This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞
(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)
Smoke Eater - Part 11
Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader
Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.
That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.
🔥 Series Masterlist
Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.
Part 11: “Heart of the Home”
You sat very still.
Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.
You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.
But your life had never been quite that easy.
“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.
He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.
The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.
George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.
“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”
George thanked him.
And you sat very still.
A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.
His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.
“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”
You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.
Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.
Your fault.
When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.
“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.
“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”
George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.
“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”
“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”
George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.
You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.
“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.
“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.
He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”
“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”
“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.
“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.
You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”
“Is there something going on?” he pressed.
You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.
“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.
You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.
“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.
“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.
Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”
You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.
You could no longer be still.
Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.
Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.
He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.
“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.
“Normally?” you echoed.
“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”
“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.
George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”
“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”
At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.
Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”
“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.
Benton met the other man’s gaze.
“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”
Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.
Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.
“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.”
You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”
“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.
“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.
Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”
And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.
He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.
“Okay,” you breathed.
“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.
“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.
“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”
“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”
“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”
Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.
“That you do, Lieutenant.”
You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.
Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.
“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.
“Come ‘ere a sec.”
Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.
“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.
George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.
“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”
Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.
Dean’s lips quirked.
“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”
Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”
George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.
She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.
“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”
Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.
“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”
He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.
Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.
Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.
Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.
“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”
“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”
“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”
“Is she all right?”
“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”
“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”
“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”
Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”
“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”
Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.
“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”
“Will do.”
“Thanks, Cas.”
Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.
Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.
So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.
Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.
However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.
While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.
“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.
“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.
“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.
It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.
On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast.
“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.
However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.
“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”
She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.
“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”
You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.
“Nothing.”
Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”
“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.
“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.
Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.
“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.
“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”
Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.
“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”
“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”
By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”
“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”
You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.
Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.
All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.
She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.
But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.
By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.
Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.
He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.
“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”
Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.
“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.
“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.
“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”
That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.
Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.
George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.
“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.
“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.
“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.
“Just some water,” the older man replied.
“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”
“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.
“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.
When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.
“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”
Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.
“Tell me,” he said.
“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”
Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.
That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.
But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…
He realized that he only had one answer.
“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.
George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”
And that night, an agreement was made.
In the morning, your grandfather was gone.
Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.
In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.
This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.
But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry.
He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.
So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.
And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.
“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.
He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.
Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”
You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.
“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”
Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”
You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.
“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.
“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”
“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”
Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.
“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”
You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.
“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.
Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.
Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.
“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.
You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.
You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.
“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”
“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part.
“I’m not leaving you with this.”
Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat.
“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.
For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes.
He’s not leaving you.
Not like everyone else in your life.
You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.
When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.
It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.
“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”
Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.
“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”
“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart.
“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”
You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.
Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.
Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.
He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.
Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.
But he couldn’t leave you.
I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.
“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”
A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.
“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”
You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.
Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”
With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.
“That matters to me,” he told you.
You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”
Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.
“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”
You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.
“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand.
“For what?” he asked.
“For staying.”
AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.
But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.
Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙
Next Time:
The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...
You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.”
Dean smiled.
“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”
You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.
Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.
“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.
Keep Reading: PART 12
Dean Winchester Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Series Tag List (Part 1):
@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb
@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91
@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19
@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420
#genuinely one of the loveliest reviews I've ever recieved 💞💞#reader appreciation#lovely mutuals#smoke eater feedback
563 notes
·
View notes