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pokidot · 1 year

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cani pls have a one shot with heizou @ the soulja boy concert

ANON PLEASE IM SCREAMING

wc: 1,359 note: this is my first time writing a kiss with my stories on here lol

You were having the time of your life, even though you had no clue where your date, Heizou had gone.

Granted, you tried looking for him as soon as you realized, but the crowd had packed you in and forced you to stay there within the seat. You were subjected to just letting someone else take Heizou's seat, since they were struggling to find their own.

Even with the discrepancies of him suddenly disappearing, out of sight out of mind, you felt a sense of pure elation even being at the concert. The stage ablaze with lights and pyrotechnics, dazzling display that reflects the fervor of the arena's compassion, it was making you dizzy.

The experience was electrifying; the music pulsates through the air with a final song. An old classic you knew too well to let go in memory, reverberating through the audience's bodies and igniting especially you with amour and excitement.

You almost didn't want to leave.

The final verses, and a dance break from the team that came out from stage left had the crowd hyped on adrenaline. The last song came to an end quick before the crowd had began to dissipate.

You left out the door to the auditorium halls with an indelible impression on just how fun a Soulja Boy concert could be.

But even as you had so much fun, you were confused on where you date was during the whole concert. Did he really just pay for two tickets to a concert that reached it's crescendo and then ditched you before the actual act can start? What a way to put breadsticks in your purse and run.

Your sense of gratitude and appreciation fizzled out on your tongue, leaving you with slight irritation and faint confusion. The feeling of trepidation creeped in your heart as you walked around aimless; not too sure where Heizou could be, but staying vigilant in your search.

You passed the merchandise, and the food court, and even the little Soulja Boy keychains you desperately wanted to buy because of how ridiculous it looked. You looked nook and cranny for him, desperately hoping to reunite. Because if not...you definitely were going to block him after this.

Despite your best efforts, you remained elusive right up until you saw a crowd at the end of the hallway. You blinked out of your transfixed state, walking towards the noise, only to see your very own date swiftly roundhouse kick someone with a mop in the face.

"Please! Get that psycho away from me!" The cleaner had shouted, their eyes almost blazing with fury, one that echoed even throughout the halls and bared attention from the people exiting the auditorium still.

"Playing innocent again, huh." Heizou squinted, his fingers curled and twisted under his other hand, the joints of them creaking within his control. "That's fine, the police are coming anyway. What are you really cleaning? Huh? The money you got from child exploitation?!"

"What...are you even talking about?!" The cleaner's face raged on, his voice growing stronger with his question.

"Yeah, man. This is a little..." The exhilaration still had some of the concert goers confused, because they had no idea how to even respond to this. "I mean...I personally wouldn't assume he's..."

"Do you even know who he is and what he's done? He is Mr. Satoshi Ueno. Slimy bastard had his hands on Watatsumi Island stocks at one point! He's a pimp under the scene!"

"I'm not! I'm just a cleaner with laundry to do after my shift!" The cleaner cried out.

"Still, even if he's charged for something, it's not ethical to fight with the janitor at a concert."

"You don't think I know that? I was helping Soulja Boy, this is the last thing I want to be doing on my day off. While he was cranking that, I was cranking necks." Heizou whistled. "I think I deserve some gratitude."

You tried processing the gravity of the situation, but your mind was struggling. Heizou...was interrogating the cleaner. Cool.

With a sudden fierce determination in your eyes that was as fiery as your lack of substance from tonight, you drew quickly near to the fight and grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"

You seethed with anger. How dare he even waste your time? The date was literally over, and you hadn't seen him for the majority of it. Was he even thinking about you at all?

But...as Heizou looked down at you with his emerald eyes that sparkled and shimmered regardless under the dull lights, his lip slowly curling once he realized who it was into a charming and disarmed smile, your anger smoothened. It faltered harder than Soulja Boy's new songs. "Oh! Hey, (Y/N)!"

His voice was pure, honeyed sweetness against your ears. It was like dulcet liquid gold was pouring from his lips.

You became overwhelmed, buffeted on all sides of emotional waves that threatened to engulf you if you didn't get out of this situation with him. "Haha.." Your tense arm relaxed against his hands, intertwining them with his and waving at the audience, a faux smile planted on your lips. "Sorry, guys! He didn't take his meds today...you know how it is! Dementia and all...heh...bye."

Disgruntled that you were forced to bear witness to a merciless scrap while the police enter the room, you looked at your date with a complex stare.

You were almost convinced that he did this to himself out of sadistic pleasure. "What in the actual hell, Shika."

His hand rose up to scratch the back of his head, fingers fumbling nervously through his burgundy strands while he watched the police help the poor cleaner up from afar. "Heh," His eyes darted away, "To be fair, I really did think it was Satoshi Ueno."

The tenderness of your heart clouded your vision. Just enough for the wind to be knocked out of your lungs, but not enough to assess the situation as you cleared your throat. "You missed the Soulja Boy concert to assault some rando."

"Hey, hey! Not assault! Defense!" Heizou lifted his hands up, unwavering in his look towards you. "He had a clear reason why he thought that he was being attacked, and I have a clear reason as to why I think he's a dirty piece of garbage and he should be locked up. It's an equal bargain."

"An equal bargain?" Your eyebrows furrowed. "You did martial arts for five years and had no lead. He was a loser with laundry, what equity was there?"

Heizou couldn't help but give you a goofy grin. "Everyone gets a happy ending. He gets to go home and possibly get 3 days off from injury! And I," He paused to place his arm over you, a sense of warmth emitting against the chill you felt from the outside, "Get to prolong our date."

And even in this situation, with absolutely no concern for him kicking a guy in the face with the most ridiculous rhyme and reason to exist, your heart swelled at his words. "Did the date even start..? I went to a Soulja Boy concert all by myself."

But you couldn't be mad at him, because he got closer to you, leaning closer to meet eye level with you. "How ever can I make it up to you, (Y/N)? Dinner?"

You were struck by the sheer bond you had to his actions, a sense of wonder crashing over you. You practically had hearts in your eyes. "Italian."

Heizou's lips curled into an even wider grin, effervescent with delight as he suffused his triumph with a press to your lips. His touch against you was soft, gentle enough that it pricked at your heart like needles. The palpable love exuded from the two of you, and once he pulled away, you had practically melted.

"Let's go, then. You can tell me what songs Soulja Boy played." Heizou locked his hands with you tighter, as you two walked out of the building.

"Are you sure? You don't even know what the songs are." You smiled.

"Yeeeah. I can't name a single Soulja Boy song."

"Uncultured."

#✮ emily writes #✮ emily’s asks #genshin fanfic #genshin modern au #shikanoin heizou #heizou x y/n #heizou x reader #heizou x you #genshin oneshot

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pathologicalreid · 6 months

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Dude I love ur writing sm!! It’s literally so good and Buried Alive was amazing! If ur down for it (totally no pressure at all) I was wondering if u would eventually write a second part where Spencer helps the reader with the aftermath? Like maybe they struggle with PTSD or severe claustrophobia after that? Idk ur literally amazing enough I’m sure u have great ideas and again, it’s completely up to u, I was just wondering

above ground | S.R.

part one part three

in which spencer helps you cope with the aftermath of your abduction, and you reciprocate

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: hurt/comfort, angst

content warnings: claustrophobia, being buried alive, nightmares/night terrors, ptsd, death, cpr, use of pet names, mentions of drugs, therapy, suffocation

word count: 2.2k

a/n: hello anon! i am absolutely always down for spencer reid hurt/comfort!! thank you so much for asking!!! i've been super overwhelmed with all of the support i've received on buried alive and i'm so so grateful for all of the kind things people have said.

Standing in a dark room, you looked around your surroundings. There was nothing around you that told you where you were. The walls were all blank, the ground was cement, and it was too dark for you to even see the ceiling.

Hesitantly, you reached out your palm, touching the wall just for it to be met with something… damp? You pulled your hand away, and your skin came back dirty. Your stomach churned as you observed the soil that had settled in the creases of your fingerprints. “No,” you breathed, quickly moving to dig at the walls.

You felt it on your elbow next, like the dirt walls were encroaching on you. You turned around to see the dark room was just getting darker, and the walls started to deteriorate. Like an avalanche, the dirt of the walls falls to the ground, covering your feet, “No,” you cried out this time.

Digging at the walls just made your earthly prison bury you faster, so instead, you tried to climb toward the ceiling. You whimpered in defeat as you reached the previously unseen ceiling. The loose earth reached your chest, constricting your breathing. You tilted your head back in an attempt to keep the dirt out of your mouth.

Your face felt cool like a gentle breeze was being blown on it. You choked, but to your surprise, you didn’t choke on dirt.

There were hands on you, one hand on your shoulder and another on your waist. That didn’t make sense to you, someone hauled you into a sitting position, patting your back in an attempt to help you clear your throat.

The choking turned to coughing, which then turned to dry heaving off the edge of your bed. Very rarely did anything ever come out, but you kept a trash can there just in case. You blinked as someone reached over and turned on the lamp on your bedside table, the comforting hand remained on your back.

Desperately, you tried to catch your breath, tilting your head back as you tried to open your airway. “You’re safe. I’m right here, angel,” Spencer whispered from behind you, he leaned his forehead between your shoulder blades and drew hearts on your back with his index finger.

You took a deep, shuddering breath as you finally filled your lungs, visualizing the air going in and out of your body. Breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth.

Spencer continued whispering to you, not once did he tell you that your dream wasn’t real because it was real. To you, being buried alive was very real. The suffocation was real, it had happened to you.

Two months ago, you had been abducted and buried alive by a family, a mother and her two sons. All of whom were in jail awaiting trial. The two agents from the Omaha field office who had left you alone in the funeral home apologized profusely, you had a private meeting with the director of the FBI, and the BAU rallied behind you, it was nice, but none of it made the fear go away.

The first nightmare came the same night you were back in Virginia, and you had screamed so loud that your neighbors called the police. Spencer handled everything, and when the officers insisted that they needed to speak to you directly, he flashed his FBI credentials, something he really wasn’t supposed to do.

Your response was to avoid sleeping, at least at night. You stayed awake at night, reading, or watching TV with headphones on, and you slept during the day so that when you opened your eyes, you could feel the sun on your face. The problem was when you needed to go somewhere, you didn’t sleep, or when it rained, you didn’t sleep.

The exhaustion just made your anxiety worse, and Spencer caught on to it. He sat you down on the couch and held your hands, telling you that he understood that you didn’t want to feel like you were burdening anyone with your nightmares, but he needed you to understand that you were killing yourself at the same time.

He didn’t do it for everyone, but for you, Spencer took over the role of protector. He found you a therapist in the district that specialized in patients with PTSD and claustrophobia. It was an hour round trip, but Spencer was more than willing to take you the first few times.

Dr. Montgomery quickly diagnosed you with PTSD and claustrophobia. You hadn’t realized that claustrophobia was something you could be clinically diagnosed with, but the doctor told you that there’s a difference between a fear of enclosed spaces and what you had. He was straightforward, which you liked, and he told you that your claustrophobia was a response to the traumatic event that you had experienced.

A steady course of treatment that included medication and exposure therapy had slowly been giving you your life back.

But then there was Spencer.

Spencer had Morgan help him take the inside doors of your apartment off the hinges so air would flow, and you wouldn’t be afraid of suffocating. He left the ceiling fan in your bedroom on even as the weather cooled so the air never got stale.

Six weeks ago, you had mentioned offhandedly that you were having a hard time sleeping in total silence, and Spencer had come home later with a white noise machine.

When you apologized to him for needing the lights on to sleep, he responded by stringing lights around the entire apartment, telling you he read that warm light can help prepare the mind and body for sleep.

He turned in all of his PTO, even accepting some from David Rossi, who didn’t use his anyway, so he could stay home with you while you were on mandatory medical leave. He tagged along to therapy appointments, to the neurologist, and even to the FBI physician who needed to clear your physical injuries to your ribs before you could return to the field.

On his nightstand, there was a stack of books all about claustrophobia and loving someone with PTSD.

Not once through this whole endeavor did you question your relationship with Spencer, he made himself perfectly clear through his actions. He wasn’t going anywhere.

The FBI physician cleared you two weeks ago, your neurologist faxed Hotch paperwork stating you were without any deficits, and your psychiatrist told you that as long as you felt like you could avoid your triggers, you should be able to go back to work. In fact, Dr. Montgomery thought going back to work could be beneficial.

You were supposed to go back tomorrow.

Spencer was now sitting in front of you, and he offered you a small smile as you blinked yourself out of your nightmare-induced stupor and met his eyes, “There’s my girl,” he whispered. For a moment, you focused on his movements, smoothing your hair back with one hand and leaving the other hand resting on your waist. “I love you. You’re safe, you’re at home with me,” he reassured you.

You narrowed your eyebrows, “It was- I was in the ground again.” Hesitantly, you looked down at your hands, they were perfectly clean, not a speck of dirt to be seen.

“It was a night terror, angel,” he said, speaking gently to you as he reached over and pulled the strap of your tank top up and over your shoulder from where it had fallen. A night terror, not a nightmare.

Tears dropped down your face when you closed your eyes. “I couldn’t breathe,” you whimpered. Taking a gasping breath, you looked at Spencer as you tried to draw air into your lungs, “I couldn’t breathe, Spence. I couldn’t breathe.”

Quickly, Spencer pulled you into his lap and held you, “Shh,” he cooed. “I’ve got you, my love. I’m right here,” he murmured as you set your chin on his shoulder and cried.

“I suffocated,” you whispered, it was a fact of your life, that you had stopped breathing for a period of time. The doctors estimated you had been down for almost ten minutes.

His hold on you tightened, “I know,” his voice broke slightly. “I know, baby,” he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “What do you need?” He asked, watching you intently as he reached up and used the pads of his thumbs to wipe away your tears.

You blinked the last of your tears from your eyes before meeting his, “Can we go outside?” You asked him, placing your hands on both of his shoulders.

Spencer nodded, leaning over to grab his glasses off of his nightstand before standing up and picking you up as he went.

Instinctively, you yelped, but a laugh escaped your lips. It was a foreign feeling sometimes, but Spencer always knew how to elicit a smile from you. “Put me down,” you said, but your tone was light.

Once your feet were touching the ground, Spencer looked at you, “I just wanted to see you smile.” He said earnestly.

Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirked up, “Thank you.” You reached over to grab your phone off the charger and slide it into your pocket before you led Spencer out to your apartment’s balcony. He sat down on one of the chairs and pulled you down onto his lap.

You let him hold you, not moving and just letting your body settle on top of his. The cool autumn air filled your lungs as Spencer held you. You let him hold you because you knew that his fear was just as valid as yours. While you were afraid of confinement because you had been confined, he was afraid of you dying because you had died.

“I can hear you thinking, honey,” you whispered, leaning your head on his shoulder. “What’s on your mind?” You asked him, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers together.

He sighed, “I’m worried about you,” he admitted. “I want to tell you not to go back to work yet, even though I know that logically it’s the next step for you,” Spencer said, you watched his honey-colored eyes as they studied your face. “And I know that you need it, you need to return to something dependable.”

You move your head so you can look him in the eyes better, “But?”

“But,” he continued, “the BAU isn’t dependable. You have this great routine that we’ve very nearly perfected and I’m so worried about you straying from it. The long hours at work could very well cause you to lose all of the progress you’ve made in the last two months,” he tells you candidly. “What happens when you need to get on an elevator, or when you need to get on the jet, and you can’t? What about when you-“ He cut himself off, swallowing thickly before he said something he couldn’t take back.

You shifted so you were facing him, shoulder to shoulder, “What is it, Spence?”

He took a deep breath and cupped your cheek with his hand, “The last case you worked on, you died. I pulled your dead body out of a casket. Fuck, Y/N,” his curse took you aback, he usually strayed from swearing. “I did CPR on you before Morgan took over,” he finished, voice growing hoarse.

Your lips parted; you couldn’t answer him. You didn’t know how to answer him, but you took his hand and selected his third and index finger before pressing them to the pulse point on your wrist. In response, he sighed and leaned his forehead to yours. You watched his lips move as he silently counted the beats per minute.

The both of you jumped when your phone went off, and dread filled your stomach when you checked your phone.

Penelope Garcia: Local case. Round table room in thirty if you’re up for it.

“If you ask me to stay home, I will,” you told Spencer, sweeping his curls behind his ears. “I won’t hold it against you, I’ll tell Hotch I need more time.”

Spencer shook his head, “You know I can’t do that. I can’t make that decision for you, and I don’t want you to make the decision for me, you need to choose what you want.”

You both went, Spencer distracted you for the entire elevator ride up to the BAU, but he was still tense. Even though he insisted he was fine, you knew him better than that.

Spencer followed you up to Hotch’s office and when you told Hotch you wanted to work but you didn’t feel ready to be in the field, your unit chief nodded and told you that you were welcome to stay in the local precinct and work on a geographical profile with Spencer.

You watched the tension leave Spencer’s body. He tried to tell you that you didn’t need to do that, but you just rolled your eyes and dragged him to the roundtable room.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid whump #spencer reid hurt/comfort #david rossi #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid angst #written by margot #margot's asks #criminal minds angst

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