#but better to vomit it all out now so i can look over it later and see how my opinion changes over time. i want to archive my fresh thought

[mastersoftheair]

ok, so my own final (and very, very fresh) thoughts, bc i wanted to wait until i'd watched everything to make a sweeping opinion of the whole series, and it's quite opinionated. and long. probably too long. i write essays for fun (everyone point and laugh):

my personal (and very, very fresh) ranking of the hbo war shows (not including gen kill bc that's a different war, sorry) goes- band of brothers > masters of the air > the pacific (it's the same for my title score rankings. that hasn't changed yet)

my main points of contention with MotA are 1) the nine episodes, 2) the length of the episodes, and 3) certain editing choices. nine episodes, compared to the classic ten, isn't Nearly enough time to showcase all that they wanna showcase (especially when the episodes are as short as they are, once you get past the recap and "next on" parts). and they wanna showcase A Lot! there so much going on! i'd ask them to pace themselves, but they literally Can't!

i mean, the editing choices are a Whole Thing! practically gives me whiplash sometimes lol. i feel like the weaker episodes still have parts that are Really good, but like. Individually. they don't work together as a stronger whole, which is to the episode's detriment. rather than jumping around (as the show often did), they could've benefited a lot from focusing on the One Story instead of squeezing three more stories into there (i say that, but i think the 4-5-6 episode run (all with multiple stories per episode) did this very well while Still being very good episodes, so it's not like it Can't be done, it just didn't work for 7, 8 and (partly) 9). granted, i suspect a chunk of the weird editing can be blamed on, well, there being only nine (and not all that long) episodes and no one wanting to cough up enough money for a tenth. ugh! i'm blaming both hbo And appletv for this (and covid19 ig). it's just One More Episode, how much could it cost?? and on the subject of episodes, why no episode titles? you used to love episode titles! i could've brainstormed episode titles for them For Free!!

when it comes to the characters, the rankings remain the same: BoB > MotA > TP. it's not totally fair tho, since BoB followed the exact same (and large-ish) group of guys from beginning to end, so you're Gonna know who they all are and get attached. this wasn't the case (for me!) when watching TP, since, unlike BoB, they jump around from group to group. i never felt like i got to know them all that well, outside of the main characters. i think MotA almost hits that sweet spot, especially knowing they had those two main things going against it: large cast And jumping from group to group. there's a case to be made for bias here (i Was the blog blogging about everything MotA for like. years.), but i still think they found a good enough balance of fleshing out the main characters while Also helping the audience get to know about a bunch of minor characters, of which there are a shitton (and their personalities, motivations, backgrounds, quirks).

there's also the representation of women. actual angel renée lemaire is and will always be a cut above the rest (bastogne is just That Good, argue with the wall). she's written so well that it almost makes me forget about how a bunch of women are portrayed in carentan. i have...issues with how women are portrayed in TP (even tho i love lena), so there's that. MotA falls in the middle (again) bc there's Way more women on-screen, but the writing can be questionable. balanced (as all things should be?) captain l'sandra wing-westgate is a character of all time, but episode 7 birthed the craziest discourse known to man (the hbo war fandom), but it wasn't all that unwarranted. manon and michou were sooo cool, but we didn't see nearly enough of them (another victim of the 'editing too many stories into one episode' problem. why not a whole resistance episode? or at least as the only b-plot?). paulina was interesting, but fulfilled one of those 'attractive foreign woman gives sage advice during/after sex' tropes (there's probably a tvtropes page for that idk). so many red cross girls, but none of the in-depth payoff :/ epic highs (multiple women!!) + epic lows (writing women??) = pretty tolerable. not great, not terrible. it was aight. i trust the fandom to build on this tho.

narrative is the big one tho. it's the whole "doing so much with so little" thing they've got going on (i'm ignoring their big budget here lol, could've been bigger). rather than having one main story with many connecting side stories (like BoB), it does the TP thing where there's many semi-connecting side stories set in the same general area. it helps that there's crosby's narration (i enjoy narration, sue me!), and he helps everything connect, sorta. but there's still other side stories that have Nothing to do with him (sandra's side gigs (revealing what she did takes away the mystery of what she Might be doing), the tuskegee airmen, quinn and bailey's eurotrip). would it have helped if there were two narrators (say, someone like rosie)? idk. gonna sit with that one. if there's a through-line, it's not super obvious like in the other two shows. which is insanely funny to me bc i literally like TP less, but that show's got an Extremely tight through-line all the way down. i can't lie and say it doesn't!

back to budget- i've seen people criticize this show for being called "masters of the air" when there's not much of "the air". ig that's fair, but there's the money issue, again. also, it'd get very repetitive if they were always in "the air". there was enough confusion about identifying who was who with the masks on, so imagine if that was Every Episode. out of All the issues the show has, this is the least issue-y. again, that's just my opinion, and it could change.

another budget thing (i think??)- idk enough about costuming and hair for period pieces so i can't comment on that with my 0 background in it, all i Can say is that i knoooooow people were clowning on marjorie cleven's hair in episode 1 (and i could see why, no such thing as 1940s beach waves). but from what i could understand- that actress' addition was a last-minute thing (bc i had No idea who the hell she was and i already found someone cast for marjorie all the way back in 2021). maybe there's something to say about the quality of rush jobs, but i really do think it was the most last-minute thing bc it came out of Nowhere, and timeline-wise, it looks like that bit was done long after everything else had been filmed. outside looking in, it seems something probably went wrong/didn't work out with who or what they already had and there wasn't enough wiggle room (time and money) to fix it. this isn't me being an apologist (lol), but i feel like a theorist at a big board bc nothing adds up! and i wanna know what happened! i'm just speculating! speculating on this blog is All i did for like Years lmaooo.

this is more of a side thing, but some of the lines in MotA feel really on-the-nose, almost corny. and that was Gonna be a knock against it, but there's some equally Extremely on-the-nose lines in both BoB and TP (Especially in BoB), so if i give MotA shit for it, i'd have to give all three shows shit for it lol. none of them are free of cheese.

another silly aside- no peaches, no main gingers, no main eugenes! we can't have 'em all, but c'mon!

there Is some good tho lol. one thing that MotA really has going for it, that i think the other shows have less of, is- and GOD it feels so weird to call this "world-building" when it's actual goddamn history, but- it's got world-building. maybe that isn't the best word for it. but i like how much Bigger ww2 feels in this show. BoB is one stop, then the next stop, then the next stop, which is, admittedly, good from a narrative-perspective (easy to follow), but not as good when you want a scale of how devastating the war is (in fairness, it was filmed in 2000). even TP feels pretty "enclosed" in a way. there's island-hopping, yeah, but all the damn islands look the same (not including australia lol). it's a theatre of the war we otherwise don't really get to see, but there still isn't all that much to see. it's water and sand and rock and dirt. which is the point, but Whatever! would've been cool if we saw sledge and co. in china, but moving on. MotA's able to really show the scale of it, both in the air and on the ground (that scene in germany during episode 6 was both harrowing and fantastic, also the inclusion of the actual children forced to fight nearer to the war's end in the finale). idk i just liked how it was able to zoom in and zoom out (and in and out again) in a way that the other shows weren't.

another thing it's got that the other shows don't is Really driving home how young everyone is (not "child soldier" young, but damn young). the cast is full of baby faces (rip babyface). a lot of ww2 shows/movies don't bother casting to reflect this, but i think overlooking that takes away from the overall impact. you browse through some old newspaper articles or photos of soldiers during ww2 enough and you're gonna Regularly get hit with the face of someone who looks like they could've sat in the desk next to you during a high school lit class. a lot of those b&w grinning faces look like kids bc they pretty much were (more so if they lied about their age). you don't really get that in BoB or TP (it's Crazy when the real life pics of the soldiers portrayed in those shows look younger than the actors).

i'm mixed about the tuskegee airmen. what we have, i love (thank you, dee rees). unfortunately, my biggest irk is that it leaves me wanting more of them, which i won't ever get. speaking as a black person (not speaking for All black people, just how i personally feel about it), having them included feels like a catch-22. if they weren't included in any capacity (all while knowing there were whole tuskegee airmen in stalag iii with the white main characters), there'd be a problem. however, including them (all while having these time constraints and not enough focus on them) leads to the feeling of having them "tokenized" (which i can see). there's no world where there'd be 50/50 split (even a 70/30 split) bc, at that point, just give them a show of their own. but there'd still be a general annoyance that big budget ww2 shows are only ever white. on the other hand, hanks and spielberg and orloff and miller and all the directors (except dee rees) are white, and how good of a story about black people are you really gonna get from the perspective of nonblack people? that in mind, i personally don't feel put-off by having the three tuskegee airmen in the posters/trailers/promos, bc i just Know there'd be a whole nother problem if they weren't included in them at all despite being in the show for however long (it'd be even worse if they made their pictures smaller). like i don't work in advertising, but i don't know if a "sweet spot" even exists for something like this. people would be pissed off no matter what imo (i'm also speaking with a bias here bc i had to browse through sooooo many comments written by white guys whining and crying and pissing and shitting themselves once they learned that the tuskegee airmen were gonna be in the show in Any capacity, so i'm just cool knowing they're in shambles rn (and josiah cross- he played richard macon- always goes Wild seeing his face in the promos, and his joy is pretty contagious).

i give it somewhere like a 7.5-8/10. 3.75 stars out of 5. not perfect, subject to change, gotta marinate, but i'm overall happy with it! MotA's best episodes are better than many other individual hbo war episodes. should i be grading it using the overall sum of its parts, not just the different parts? idk, i'm not being paid to grade lol.

#i feel like i'm knocking the pacific too much in this even when i like the pacific. i just like it much less #i've talked my sister's ear off enough about it (she adores the pacific the way i do band of brothers) #and like i've got plenty of issues with band of brothers but it just does it for me. idk. i'm complicated by avril lavigne #this is an essay. my GOD is this an essay #but better to vomit it all out now so i can look over it later and see how my opinion changes over time. i want to archive my fresh thought #masters of the air #hbo war #masters of the air spoilers #mota spoilers #band of brothers #the pacific #for once i'm not spam-tagging those. i talk about them a decent amount in here. sorry for the people who don't go here tho #long post

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

I was thinking and wondering about how 141 and könig would react if their s/o started breaking down whenever they dropped a plate or fucked up in some way like leaving something on the stove and their s/o completely breaks down. Apologizing and crying and saying “pls don’t be mad at me” stuff like that.

Or reader accidentally says “ok” I’m a kinda of snippy voice and they genuinely didn’t hear reader, and say “what?” And reader responds with “yes sir” or some shit like that as a trauma response? Srry if this is confusing lol

If this makes you uncomfortable pls ignore

Hey there! I can do this, no problem.

141 + König Reacting To Reader Having A Breakdown From Past Trauma

Warnings: mentions of past trauma, abuse, crying, feelings of unworthiness, swearing - ENDS IN FLUFF!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon Ghost Riley-

Nothing was going your way today. You spilled coffee on yourself first thing this morning, stepped in a muddy puddle with your brand new shoes, and your boss was in a horrible mood, and you were his target.

You made it home later that night, and it took everything in you not to break down. Simon would be home soon, and you knew he'd be hungry, so you mustered what energy you could to head to the kitchen and start cooking.

~

"Hey babe, I'm home." You heard Simon's voice call from the front door.

"Hey, dinner is ready." You turned a bit too quickly to greet your husband, and the plate of food in your hands slid from your grasp, smashing to the floor.

You both stood there for a moment, staring at the mess on the floor, before you let out a choked sob.

Simon quickly threw his gear to the floor and carefully made his way around the broken shards to you. "Baby, what's wrong? It's okay. We can clean it."

"Please don't be mad at me, Simon." You sobbed into his chest. "I didn't mean to it, it slipped."

Simon's eyes widened as he looked down at you, grasping your cheeks in his hands softly. "Sweetheart, why would I be mad at you? It was an accident."

"Because I broke the plate! And you were probably hungry, and now dinner is ruined, and I'm a terrible spouse." Your brain was going a mile a minute as the word vomit continued to pour out. "I'm so sorry, Simon. I'll be better."

Simon pulled you back into his chest as he tore through the thoughts in his head. Why were you so upset? It was just a plate. You two could order takeout? What kind of person would be mad over....oh. A lightbulb went off in Simon's head as he looked down at you.

"Y/N, sweetheart, look at me."

You slowly peeled your head from his chest as you looked up at him, your eyes puffy and red from crying.

Simon rubbed his thumbs along your cheeks gently before he spoke. "I'm not him. And you are a wonderful spouse. I couldn't have asked for anyone better to be by my side every day. I don't give a damn if you dropped a plate. We are all human, kid."

You let out another sob, your bottom lip quivering as you took in his words. It was known, Simon was a man of few words, but he always, always knew what to say to help you in the moment.

"I love you, Y/N, always. I'm always going to be here for you, and I promise you, I'm never going to get mad about trivial shit like this. You're okay."

Simon stayed holding you for some time, rubbing soothing circles in your back as you started to calm down. "Why don't we order some takeout, yeah? My treat."

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

You and Johnny had just finished up dinner, and he was currently finishing up the dishes as you got the show you two were binging ready on the TV.

"Do you want any popcorn or anything babe?" He asked as he placed the last dish in the cupboard.

"Nah, only you and a buttload of cuddles." You said, turning to him with a warm smile.

Johnny leaned back, admiring you, as his hands rested on the stove behind him.

"FUCK!" He cried out, as there was a searing pain emitting from his hand. "Is the stove still on?"

You jumped up from your spot on the couch, alarmed at Johnny's cry of pain, and you went white as you realized you'd forgotten to turn the stove off after cooking dinner.

"Oh my God, Johnny. I'm so sorry." You mumbled, your heart beginning to race as you made your way over to your boyfriend slowly.

"Shite, that fucking hurts." Johnny waived his hand in the air, trying to shake away some of the pain, not realizing his quick movements had you hunched down in the corner, your arms over your head defensively.

"Y/N?" He asked, the pain in his hand long forgotten. "Baby, did you..did you think I was going to hit you?"

"I...I... I'm sorry, Johnny. I didn't mean to, I forgot I thought I turned it off." You cried out, tears now falling down your cheeks, your hands shaking violently.

"Did that..did that fucker hurt you?" Johnny began to put the pieces together in his brain. Before him, you were in a relationship with a man who liked to hurt you whenever you made a mistake.

You gave a small nod, your bottom lip trembling as you tried to prevent a small sob from escaping. Johnny slowly moved to sit on the floor next to to, and grabbed your hands gently.

"Y/N, I will never, and I mean never lay a finger on you like that. Any man who does has no right to be called a man. I am so sorry you went through that." Johnny rubbed soothing circles into your wrists as his eyes stared lovingly into yours. "Don't worry about the stove being left on. It happens. I do shit like that all the time. Plus, I've gotten way worse burns than this, this is child's play."

You let out a soft chuckle as you exhaled deeply. "I love you, Johnny. Thank you. Let me at least grab the burn cream for you."

"I love you too, babe." He have you a warm smile as you walked over to the medicine cabinet and watched as you fumbled with the contents.

Johnny made a silent promise to himself that day, that if he ever saw your ex, he'd teach him a lesson of his own.

John Price-

"Hey, have you seen my white dress shirt? It's not in my closet." John asked, as he rummaged through your shared room. He had a gala tonight he was supposed to attend, and he couldn't find his favorite white shirt.

"Oh! I washed it, I knew you wanted to wear it, let me go grab it from the dryer." You called back, making your way to your laundry room.

You rummaged through the dryer, trying to find his shirt, and your heart dropped when you saw it. You pulled it out, revealing a giant ink stain on the front, and looked over to find a pen that had gone through the dryer along with it.

Your hand flew to your mouth as you let out a muffled sob. "No, no, no."

"Were you able to find it? I appriciate you washing-" John's voice was cut short as he took in the scene in front of him. "Is that my shirt?"

"John...I... I didn't know that it was..there was a pen." You started rambling, your voice trembling with each word.

John took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he took in your state. "It's alright, love."

"No! No you're mad, I fucked up and now you're mad. I'm so sorry. I didn't know there was a pen, and..and.. please don't hate me." You sobbed, falling to your knees, your hands flying to your face.

John felt his heart shatter as he watched you crumble to the floor. He was very aware of the past you had with your family, a family that allowed for very few mistakes, and one that would punish you for any said mistakes.

"Y/N. Baby. It's okay." John crouched down beside you, pulling you into his lap. "I've got you, it's alright."

You choked out a sob as you threw your face into his chest, staining his shirt with your tears. "No, no, it's not. This was your favorite shirt and I fucked it up."

"Love, I was the one who left that pen in my pants. It's my fault, not yours. I promise you, honey, I'm not mad." He rubbed at your arms soothingly as he pressed kisses to your forehead.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding as you continued to clutch onto your husband's arms. "I should've looked, still. I'll buy you a new one."

"Aye, screw the shirt. I'm kind of glad it's ruined. I didn't want to go to that silly dress up party anyway. I'd much rather stay here with you."

"Really?" You asked, wiping away your tears.

"Really. I don't need some to be at some party with stuffy stuck-up pricks when I can be here with my pretty little partner. I'm gonna go order us some takeout. What do you say we get our pjs on and watch a movie, yeah?"

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

"Hey, babe. Can you keep me alive in this game for like 5 minutes? I have to go run to the bathroom, I can't pause it." Kyle called out.

"Oh, yeah, sure. I'm not very good at those kinds of games but I can try." You gave him a sheepish smile as you walked over to him.

"It should be super easy. Just walk anywhere, but where the guys with red bars over their heads are. Those are the enemies." Kyle said, before placing a kiss on your head. "I'll be super quick, I promise."

You swallowed thickly as Kyle walked away, your hands shaking slightly as you held onto the controller.

You managed to do pretty well at first, avoiding all of the enemies that were wandering around you. Luck, however, was not on your side for long.

An enemy came out of nowhere as you were pacing back and forth in one of the corners of the map and managed to kill you with one hit.

"Thanks for watching it, babe. I hate how I can't save my progress in -" Kyle stopped mid sentence as he saw the "YOU DIED" message flicker across the TV screen.

"Kyle, I'm so sorry. He...he came out of nowhere, and I.. it was one hit, and there wasn't anything I could do." You started to hyperventilate, your breathing increasing rapidly as tears brimmed in the corner of your eyes. "I was doing well, and I didn't see him I.. I'm so sorry."

"Hey, hey, it's okay!" Kyle was quick to come over to you, taking the controller from your hands. "I'm not mad, baby."

"But you losy your progress and I fucked up, and now you hate me." Your thoughts were racing through your head faster than you could process, and you threw your face into your hands as you let out a sob.

"Y/N. Baby. I promise you, I couldn't ever hate you. It's a stupid video game. It's okay. You're safe. You're with me, not him." Kyle gently pulled you into his lap as he began to press kisses to your hair. "It's okay, sweetheart. Besides, it gives me a chance to go back and loot better shit anyway."

You looked up to him through your bleary eyes, and gave a wobbly smile. "I don't deserve you, Kyle Garrick."

"Bugger off with that, love. If anyone doesn't deserve anyone, it's me who doesn't deserve you."

König-

You and König were cleaning up in the weapons/gear locker at the end of a brutal mission. The two of you moved in slow motion around the room, removing your gear and laying down your weapons to be cleaned.

"Maus, can you help me get this vest off? I can't seem to get the buckle." Königs voice shook you from your thoughts, and you turned to help your lover.

The strap of the vest seemed to be stuck, so you gave it a little tug. You evidently had put too much pressure, and it caused you to tear a hole in the fabric, leaving the strap useless.

Your mouth flew open, and you quickly ran over to grab one of the sewing kits on the table. You returned to him, and immediately started to thread at the fabric.

"Hey, hey, it's fine. It's just a tear. We can look at it later." König said, trying to grab at your frenzied hands.

"NO! No, I have to fix it!" You shoved him away as you continued to stitch at the torn fabric of his vest. "I have to fix it."

König watched helplessly as tears began to stream down your face, unable to do anything to console you.

He knew of your past boyfriend and how weak he made you feel. Any mistake you made would end with you being on the end of either physical, or mental abuse, and it made Königs blood boil thinking that anyone could harm someone like you.

"Maus." His voice was firm, catching your attention immediately. "Stop, please."

Your bottom lip wobbled, a whimper barely escaping your lips as you looked up at him. "But I ruined it."

"I don't care about the vest, schatz, it's military issued I can get another." He said gently, as he pulled your hands away from the vest. "I just need you to be okay."

"I'm..okay. Please don't me mad at me." You cried softly, looking back to the vest.

"I couldn't ever be mad at you for something like this. I'm not, and will not ever be like him, okay? You're alright, I promise you." His hands dropped yours and landed on the back of your neck, as he turned your head back to him.

"Tell me you're okay." He said, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"I'm okay." You repeated, your eyes fluttering shut.

"Tell me you're safe." Another kiss was pressed to your cheek.

"I'm safe."

"Tell me you're loved." A kiss was placed to your forehead.

"I am loved." You repeated once more as a final kiss was placed to your lips. König had started this "mantra" of sorts one of the very first panic attacks you had with him, and it had become a comfort for you ever since. He was always the best at calming you down.

"You are so beautiful, Maus. I love you so much. Let's get the rest of this gear off and go to sleep, alright? I've got you."

And he did, he always had you. He'd never, in his life, ever let you feel like you were anything less than wonderful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: thanks for reading!

#cod imagine #mw2 imagine #simon riley imagine #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #konig x reader #konig imagine #konig mw2 #gaz imagine #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #price x reader #price imagine #price mw2 #soap imagine #soap x reader #simon ghost riley #konig call of duty

[wosoamazing]

Food Poisoning

Warnings: Vomit, Sick, Hospitals Note: anything in italics is said in Spanish. Request.

“She’s sick right?” Mapi asked only a few minutes into the bus trip, you were sat next to Alexia, you were holding hands with her, having reached out for her hand as soon as she sat next to you, Mapi was sitting opposite to you both, you sitting with Alexia was something that never happened, it had only happened once or twice, everyone knew something was wrong. Alexia just nods, “Wonder if it's the same thing as Ingrid, she isn’t playing today, was up all night.” “Oh, I told her she shouldn’t be playing but she is determined she is fine, we’ll see how that goes.”

_____

You were sweating bullets, your head spun and your stomach churned, you shouldn’t have played, you should’ve listened to Alexia but of course you being your stubborn self didn’t, Alexia mouthed something at you, there was a free kick, presumably she wanted you to take it, but you couldn’t you were about to throw up, you walked, well more like stumbled your way over to the side lines, leaning over and spilling your guts out, before wiping your mouth with your jersey and continuing down into the locker room, knowing you couldn't keep playing like this, well more that no one would let you play like this.

You stumbled your way into the locker room, slumping back in your locker, you brought your knees up to your chest, in hopes to ease your stomach, a tear rolled down your cheek, you really wanted Alexia right now but you knew she would be mad. She probably wouldn't be allowed to be subbed off anyway but you knew she wouldn't want to even if she could because this was your fault after all and you should’ve listened to her when she told you not to play. However Alexia could never stay mad at you, especially when you were this sick. You didn't bother to look up when the locker room door opened just a few minutes later, thinking it was just one of the medics or something, but when the figure sat next to you held a familiar scent you relaxed it was alexia.

“Arms up,” you put your arms up and she quickly pulled your jersey off, before she slid you onto her lap, you were still curled up but relaxed into her and her arms wrapped around you. Her jersey was slightly damp from sweat and you were slightly sticky from sweat but neither of you minded and you quickly fell asleep in her arms.

“Bebita,” Alexia said softly in your ear, causing you to stir, “the medics gave me a hot water bottle, to help your stomach, if you want” you nod and she hands it to you, you place it on your stomach, your legs keeping it in place. You’re hit with a round of stomach cramps and wince, trying to curl into a tighter ball, and you can't help but let a tear roll down your cheek, Alexia quickly wipes it away.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve listened,” you whimpered, “Shh Bebita, it's okay, we can talk about that later, what is important is that you feel better. Take some deep breaths,” you did as she directed, however the deep breaths did nothing and you soon found yourself hunched over the toilet, as more of your stomach contents came up.

_____

You were sitting on the bus, it was just Alexia and you in your section, everyone wanting to give you space. Lucy and Mapi were sitting in the set of four next to you, both looking after Ona and Ingrid who had also started to feel sick again.

“Ale,” “Sì” “My stomach hurts,” you said as you wrapped your arms around your stomach, trying to suppress the camps that were occurring in it. 

“It’s-” Alexia was distracted by the sound of Ona crying, she looked over to see what was happening on that side of the bus, Ona was curled into a ball leaning into Lucy’s side as she cried.

“I told Ona & Ingrid the seafood tasted weird, they just told me I wasn’t used to Spanish seafood yet.” “So you two did this, Ingrid you’re a good cook, how did you let Ona under cook the seafood? Look at Y/N now she is badly sick.” Alexia sternly but softly told them off, if anything it was always more scary when Alexia was “mad nice” than when she was yelling. Everyone knew out of the three of you, you were by far the most sick, having seen you along with every other individual in the stadium, spill your guts out on the side of the pitch, and then also in the locker room. What they didn't know was that it was going to get worse. Alexia gently pulled you back into her side, rubbing her hand up and down your arm, and you drifted off to sleep, much to everyone's relief.

You woke up, and noticed you were now slightly shaking, your head was pounding and your stomach was flipping, you felt really really sick, tears started rolling down your cheeks as you couldn’t suppress how you were feeling. “A-Ale,” “It’s okay Bebita, I’m here,” she said as she handed you a sick back, which you clutched onto with all the strength you had left. However the longer this feeling went on the weaker your grip on the bag was. Which is why you were glad when Alexia moved the sick bag she was holding up near your mouth as she saw the last bit of colour drain from your face and you started to once again lose your stomach contents. Tears were still rolling down your cheeks as you practically collapsed back into Alexia, she wiped your mouth before closing the sick back and placing it in the bin you had been given, she looked over to Lucy who nodded and stood up, moving away from Ona, Alexia stood up and Lucy quickly replaced her, you just lent into Lucy’s side, Alexia moved further back in the bus to make a call, everyone knew who she would be calling, and why she would be calling them.

Alexia just shook her head as she walked back over, which caused Lucy to let out a heavy sigh as she slid into the window seat placing you in her lap, Alexia sitting next to the two of you. You had curled up in Lucy’s lap and had fallen asleep, that was until you woke up to another round of stomach cramps, you sipped on some water as directed by the older women, who were trying to keep you hydrated, but you immediately vomited the fluid up, before yet again collapsing back into one of the older women, and falling asleep.

_____

You stiffened, you were going to be sick, you knew it and Alexia knew it, she grabbed the bucket she had placed beside the bed and placed it in front of you.

“No I don't want to” you pouted as you shoved the bucket away.

“I know, but I think you are going to need it” Alexia sighed as she placed the bucket back in front of you, you dry heaved leaning over the bucket, “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” your breaths became heavy as you tried with every fibre in your body not to throw up.

“’m sorry” you whimpered “Shh it's okay, I’m here” you gagged, but again nothing came up, your stomach was convulsing and you knew the one thing that would make you feel better but it wasn’t happening.

“I don't like this,” you painfully said.

“I know, I know but you’ll feel better after” Alexia reassured you as her hand continued to rub your back, “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” she said as you brought up what was left from your stomach. “Will you be okay for a second by yourself? I just need to go to the toilet,” you slightly moved your head down and then back up, a move that made you feel like you had run a marathon but you actually hadn’t.

Alexia stepped into the bathroom, she didn't actually have to use the toilet, she needed to take you to the hospital, she needed help though and she could trust Mapi, she called Mapi who answered almost straight away, it wasn't actually that late, you were just in bed as you were so sick. “Mapi,” “Ale? What’s wrong?” Mapi said, hearing the concern in her best friend's voice, “it’s y/n, she is sick like really sick, I need you to take us to the hospital, please,” Mapi could hear the desperation in her captain's voice, and it was safe to say she was worried. “We will be there soon, I promise. Ale, it’s okay, she is going to be okay.” 

Mapi was right, after a day in the hospital receiving fluids and treatment, and a few days back at home constantly under someone's watchful eye you returned back to full health.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #barca women #fc barca #alexia putellas x reader

[ssahotchnerr]

Hiya Katie! How about domestic Aaron pampering her when he find out she's pregnant and jack makes her a get well soon card because he thinks she's sick but she tells him he's going to be a big brother and jacks ecstatic and Aaron is just like all smiley and happy about being a father again and maybe hoping for a girl because hotch is such a girl dad like 🤭🤭 also I love your work so much! It makes my day! Your an amazing writer ❤

newest addition

thank you so much & ughh that's the sweetest <3333 cw; fem!reader, jack calls reader mom, pregnancy, reference to vomiting wc; 1.1k

"buddy, what are you doing?"

you've been awake for awhile now, unwilling to part from the comfort of bed. your eyes are still closed, and in curiosity, you keep them that way.

"i made mom a get-well card." jack's voice is closer than aaron's, and you can hear him shuffling at your bedside. you hear a soft crinkle of a paper, a quick stagger of your water glass, as he sets the paper against it. "i heard her throwing up this morning, so i wanted to make her feel better."

morning sickness has been your worst enemy so far during your pregnancy. it was what made you question if you were pregnant at the very start, and has been frequently reoccurring throughout your first trimester. it feels like the majority of your time these days is either spent in the bathroom, or in bed absolutely overwhelmed with nausea.

if permitting - when you're leant over the toilet, aaron is always seated on the bathroom floor beside you; rubbing your back in soothing circles, holding back your hair when necessary, whispering an apology or words of encouragement. you insist he doesn't need to be present, the sounds and visual of you retching surely disgusting nonetheless. but he insists he remain put, joking it's rather romantic actually, there's no place he'd rather be.

but in all seriousness, he claims it's the least he could do, and wants to support you in all and any way he can.

even this morning at promptly five am, you had made a mad dash to the bathroom. aaron, never the light sleeper, accompanied you in the bathroom just as quickly as you had entered it.

his tenderness doesn't stop there; he'll grab your ginger ale, crackers, pretzels, anything to relieve your queasiness and keep it at bay. he even joked (but did consider) with the idea of buying you a mini fridge to keep in your bedroom - for even easier access. or if he's not home, you don't have to search far.

the two of you have known about your new littlest addition for a few weeks, and couldn't be more ecstatic. jack - not just yet. but you figure that's a case that will soon be remedied.

you can hear a soft chuckle escape from aaron, and you can easily picture the smile you know is on his face. "that's real nice of you bud, i know she'll love it. but in the meantime, c'mon, let's let her sleep, yeah?"

you hear jack's sock-covered feet pad away on the carpet, the sound of the door softly shutting following soon after.

you fall back asleep without meaning to, exhaustion reigning over your body. but an hour later, and after tearfully looking at jack's card, his scribbly print wishing you well and a doodle of yourself and him, you find the two of them in the living room; jack's on the carpet, busied by legos, while aaron's on the couch, watching some show on the television.

aaron notices you before jack does, raising an eyebrow slightly in question - silently seeking confirmation on how you are feeling now.

you give him a nod, and he seems to relax more against the back of the couch. as you join him, jack's eyes lift.

"c'mere," you pat the empty spot between you and aaron, and soon enough, jack's sandwiched between the two of you, curled more so into your side. aaron grabs the remote, clicking off the tv.

"thank you so much for the card." you place a kiss on the top of his head, your arm going around his shoulders and giving him a squeeze. "you're the sweetest, have i ever told you that?"

"all the time." jack says, his emphasis making you laugh gently. but concern quickly fills his face, his eyes a bit troubled. "are you sick?"

you shake your head, brushing some hair away from his forehead. "nope."

the concern is now replaced by confusion. his eyebrows furrow, making him look extremely like this father. "why'd you throwed up?"

"well..." you exchange a look with aaron, glancing at him overtop jack's head. there's a smile tugging at his lips, a small sparkle in his eyes. "sometimes... it happens. when you're going to have a baby."

it takes jack a few seconds to internalize what you've just told him. but his head whips up to look at you, and then aaron, and then back to you. his eyes are wide. "a baby?"

"a baby." aaron confirms, arching an eyebrow in question. "any objections to being a big brother?"

"no!" jack vigorously shakes his head, his face lighting up even more, grinning from ear to ear. "really?!"

you grin right back. "really."

jack nearly jumps right onto you in excitement, aaron's hands flying out to catch him so the fall isn't as forceful. his gentle warning of careful, is barely audible over jack's next inquiry.

"is it a girl?!"

"we don't know yet," aaron answers, his voice catching slightly which prompts your gaze to switch to him. there's tears threatening his eyes, pooling at his waterline. you swear, you've never seen him so happy.

you help him, adding on, "we'll find out in a few more weeks."

jack nods at this information, still buzzing. "i really really want a sister. but a brother would be super cool too."

aaron nudges jack with his elbow, lips quirking into a smile. "i really, really do too. but more than anything, a healthy baby is what we want."

"a healthy baby." jack agrees, with a small nod of his head. his arms wrap around yourself, burying his face slightly into your abdomen. "that's so cool! i can't wait."

now it's your turn to look at aaron, tearful.

somehow, now that jack is aware, your family feels more complete. you and aaron have talked about growing your family, have discussed it with jack, for as long as you can remember - what it'll be like, having another little hotchner running around and causing havoc, potential names have been tossed around, jack wants to teach his expertises, legos and soccer. you’re eager to see a newborn in aaron’s arms, the new-dad-to-another glow present in him. at the time, it was distant; all memories to hopefully be made someday.

that time, that someday, has finally arrived. and if jack's reaction is anything to go by, you just know, the two of them will the absolute best of friends.

you can’t wait, either.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine

[marvelslittlewhore]

No Air To Breathe

PAIRING | jj maybank x routledge!asthmatic!fem!reader

SUMMARY | Your asthma is acting up and not just a little bit...

WARNINGS | asthma attack, salbutamol overdose, vomiting, jj being a panicking golden retriever bf, angst with happy ending, my bad description of medical stuff (bare with me I tried my best 😭), not proofread cause I'm lazy 😶‍🌫️

A/N | totally did not write this because it happened to me a few days ago haha...yeah I'm better now tho no worries👌🏻

◃◦---------------●--------------◦▹

The moment you woke up and made your way to the bathroom you knew your day wasn't going to be easy as you already felt out of breathe. You didn't thought much of it, grabbing your inhaler from the cabinet above the sink and taking a puff so you could go on with your day.

Some time later you started to feel how hard it was to do simple tasks, even just grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge without using your inhaler seemed impossible right now.

Laying in bed and listening to music you could still hear the others coming into the Chateau after their surf session. You got up and decided to join them in the living room, sitting down on the couch and taking another puff of your inhaler while JJ plopped beside you, instantly worried when he saw it in your hand.

"You alright, sugar?" He asked placing his hand on on your thigh, squeezing a little.

You nodded with a smile. "I'm fine, just feeling a little wheezy today."

JJ is not really convinced of your reassurance but nodded anyways, draping your legs over his lap and turning his attention back to the others who were bickering on who got the best wave.

Later in the evening you seemed to get even worse, your breathing now a lot shorter and your inhaler not really helping anymore. Slowly you started to worry and not only you did, JJ had been keeping an eye on you and to see how now any movement had you overwhelmed had him fidgeting a lot.

"Babe." He tried getting your attention and you lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him with hooded eyes and your skin paler than usual. "Oh shit, you don't look good at all. I mean, you're still smoking hot but- you know what I mean!"

You chuckled and that was your mistake. You started to have a coughing fit, your breathing even worse now after it subsided.

You let your head fall back against JJ's shoulder, whining in distress and frustration, not understanding what's happening right now. JJ called out for John B, assuming your brother must know what to do, he always does.

A second later John B walked in with a can of beer in his hand. "What's up?"

"I don't know man. She- She can't really move without using this." JJ explained holding your inhaler up.

John B, already in big brother mode, walked over to you both holding your face with both hands, cursing under breath.

"Fuck- how many puffs did you take today kid?" He asked and you shrugged tiredly, not enjoying all those movements at all and your stomach doesn't like it either.

"Bucket..." You mumbled and John B rushed to get you one, just in time when your body wrenched forward to vomit.

"What's happening with her?" JJ asked, trying to keep his cool and holding your hair out of your face while you emptied your stomach.

"She overused her inhaler and now her circulation is fucked up." John B explained, calm as ever and putting the bucket down when you stopped puking. He grabbed his phone next and called for an ambulance, knowing things would get worse if he didn't act fast enough.

John B crouched in front of you, trying to get your attention again which was hard for you as everything seemed to exhaust you, even talking.

"You'll be okay. I called an ambulance, they'll be here soon, yeah?"

You just nodded, closing your eyes to get any type of rest but the boys have to keep you awake.

"Hey, stay with me baby. Just like that. Show me those pretty eyes." JJ smiled at you even when he's practically panicking on the inside and wishing he could just take away your suffering.

Meanwhile Pope, Kie, and Sarah caught up to what happened. All now scattered around the room and anxiously waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

Sure enough the paramedics walked inside the Chateau with Pope explaining what happened and in what state you're in.

JJ was holding you the whole time, comforting you and whispering affirmations in your ear. Just as you expected they have to take you to the hospital to give you proper medication and care there.

As soon as you got an IV drip and a oxygen mask JJ carefully got up with you in his arms, carrying you to the ambulance and gently placed you on the stretcher. He sat down beside you, holding your hand to let you know he's there while the paramedics moved around you.

In the hospital the pogues had to sit in the waiting room, angry that they could only wait for any doctor to tell them if you're fine or not. Even JJ couldn't go with you, only for the ride to the hospital and he almost punched the security guy that held him back from going to see how his girl is doing right now but John B eventually got him to sit down, talking some sense into him.

"Relax, dude. You're not helping her when you get arrested now. I know how this works. They keep her here for a few hours, give her medicine and oxygen, and when her oxygen saturation is better we can take her back home."

JJ nodded, taking his hat off and pulling at some strains of his hair. It kills him not being able to be with you in such a scary moment.

An hour later the doctor came into the waiting room and the pogues instantly sprung up, attacking the poor woman with all kinds of questions.

"Alright, let's calm down first." She told them, looking back at the clipboard in her hand. "So, she's going to be okay. She needs to take these antibiotics for the next ten days. Watch that she's drinking and eating enough because she'll still feel a little weak the next two or three days, so keep an eye on her."

The doctor handed John B the package of antibiotics and told them that they could go and see you now as you're stable again.

You smiled when you saw them rushing inside and to your bed, all of them just so relieved to have your normal self back.

JJ leaned down to give a quick peck to your lips, resting his forehead against yours for a moment.

"You scared the hell outta me..." He said and you reached up caress his cheek with your hand.

"I'm sorry." You pulled back from him. "I just- I thought it wouldn't end like that. I already saw the signs the second I woke up but..." You tried to explain your own stupidity but JJ cut you off.

"It's okay, you don't have to explain anything. You're fine now, that's what matters." He assured you.

"Can we go home now?" You asked and turned your head to your brother.

John B patted your head and nodded. "Sure kid, lemme just get a nurse real quick."

Finally back at the Chateau everyone decided a movie night would be the best to cheer you up and as always they were right, even when you're still not feeling all well you had the sleep that night, knowing your family was with you.

JJ held you the whole night, always on alert when you move just a single muscle, checking if you're alright and getting you everything you asked him for.

You really were blessed with this boy.

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Taglist

For everything:

@lokigirlszendaya @buckymydarlingangel @superlegend216

For JJ Maybank:

@tracymbcm @spideysimpossiblegirl

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank angst #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank x female reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #obx x reader #outer banks x reader #obx imagine #obx angst #outer banks imagine #outer banks angst

[girlgenius1111]

young, drunk, and alone

putellas!reader, infuriates her sister when she sneaks out and gets drunk with her friends. alexia comes to realize that maybe, this is a result of her pushing you too hard.

angst + fluff. brief mentions of blood and vomiting. and alcohol consumption. this is literally 6k word essay on how silly sisters can be.

-----

Sneaking out hadn't been your best plan. Was it really sneaking out if you slipped right out the front door? You weren't sure. Alexia and Olga were heavy sleepers, and because you had the following day off, you figured it was as good a time as any. You were planning on meeting up with some friends from school and going to a club. You didn't drink much; a combination of being a professional athlete, and someone named Alexia, who happened to be your very strict older sister.

You probably should have paced yourself. You also probably should have not run away from your friends, especially when you were blitzed out of your mind. You weren't quite sure where you were, or how long it had been since you'd bolted from the club. Or how many drinks you'd had.

You'd broken one of your... well, one of Alexia's heels, and you carried both shoes in one hand. You were really sleepy all of a sudden, and you spotted a bench a few meters ahead. You headed there, plopping down on the bench before pulling your phone out of your pocket. The screen swam in front of your eyes, and you couldn't figure out if your hand was moving, or if your head was moving. Something was, that was for sure.

You were somewhere. Somewhere in the city of Barcelona. You needed some help, though.

And you knew just the gal to come get you. Alexia could find anyone, but especially you; she had your location.

The phone began to ring, and you heard your sister's grumpy voice come over the line shortly after.

"Why are you calling me from inside the same house?" She said groggily.

"Aleeeeexiaaaaaa!" You sang, proud of yourself for solving your problem all on your own, especially while the earth was spinning so much faster than normal.

"Nena. You better be in your room right now." Alexia said through clenched teeth. You could hear her shuffling, and Olga speaking to her quietly.

"'M not in my room, Ale, sorry." You heard your door bang open, then, and Alexia confirm what you'd just admitted.

"I am going to kill you to death." Alexia warned. "Where are you? Are you safe?"

"I'm not totally sure where I am. There's a road... ooo and a bench. And I think a building. D'you know where I am?"

"My god. You don't know where you are?" Alexia cried, shaking off her girlfriend's advice to calm down.

"Nope. D'you?" You slurred.

"How would I know where you are!?!?" Alexia shouted. There was more shuffling, and Olga's soothing voice replaced Alexia's.

"Nena, Ale has your location. We're going to come get you now. Stay where you are, okay?"

"Yes ma'am." You said, saluting to the thin air in front of you. You hung up then, though you forgot to say goodbye, and awaited your sister eagerly.

-----

"I am going to kill her." Alexia seethed, driving well over the speed limit on the way to your little dot on her screen.

"You can kill her later, let's just make sure she's safe first." Olga sighed.

"This is Alba's fault. Or Mapi's. Or Pina and Cata's. I will find the culprit, and I will make them run so many laps..."

"She's right there," Olga interrupted, pointing to the park bench where you were sitting, looking blankly at your sister's car.

Alexia threw the car and park, and moved to throw her door open, but stopped when her girlfriend grabbed her arm.

"Alexia, she's drunk. She's not going to remember any of this tomorrow, so be nice now. You can yell later, yes?"

"Fine." Alexia sighed. She got out of the car, as did Olga, and they approached you carefully.

"ALE!!" You cheered, standing and tripping forward dangerously as you tried to tackle your sister in a hug.

"Hi." Alexia said evenly, easily catching you and helping you back upright.

"Thanks for comin' to get me," you slurred, slumping into your sister.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get you home nena."

"OLGA!!!" You yelled suddenly, turning and seeing your sister's girlfriend biting back a smile at the sight of you. You were gone. Completely gone.

"Hey nena." Olga said kindly, opening the door to the backseat for you. Alexia barely got you buckled in before you toppled completely over, now laying horizontally across the back seat.

"Ow." You said quietly. Again, Olga had to try really hard not to laugh, turning to her girlfriend, who just look exasperated.

"Maybe I should sit back there with her." The brunette suggested.

"I think that might be best." Alexia agreed, walking around to the drivers side and getting in. She looked in the rearview mirror, seeing you completely slumped on her girlfriend's shoulder, eyes already shut. It melted her heart, just a little, how much you loved Olga, and how much Olga loved you. Still, her overarching feelings right now were anger and frustration.

-----

Once Alexia had carried you from the car, deposited you on your bed, and placed a trash can and a bottle of water within your reach, she grabbed your phone, texting your friends that had clearly not been keeping an eye on you that you were home safe. She then stomped back into her room, throwing herself dramatically onto her bed.

"What was she thinking? Is she stupid? Is she the stupidest person on earth? She has to be."

"Ale, calm down." Olga said, following her in and shutting the door behind her. "Go to sleep. Deal with it tomorrow."

Alexia sighed, laying back down under the covers, before looking over to her girlfriend. "Thank you for coming. And for taking such good care of her." She said quietly.

"Always." Olga promised, pressing a light kiss to Alexia's lips.

-----

The next morning found you not laid in bed until the afternoon like you would have hoped. Instead, Alexia had dragged you out of bed at 9am, which she felt was pretty generous, threw some training clothes at you, and drove over to the Barça grounds. She had to pull over once for you to get out and throw up, but even though you were sweating, exhausted, your head was pounding, and your stomach churning, Alexia was unrelenting.

Olga was still asleep when Alexia had left with you, and you had wondered if you could text her discreetly to put an end to this before it started. Alexia had taken your phone hostage though, so that was a no go.

Now, Alexia had you running sprints. You thanked god above that it was a chillier, cloudier day, but running while you were violently hungover was still... a form of torture. She'd found a whistle, somewhere, and anytime you stopped running, she blew it at you, making the pounding in your head worse.

You managed to last 15 minutes before you stopped a few feet away from her, looking at your sister pleadingly.

"Ale, I'm gonna throw up," you warned.

Alexia's was unflinching, sunglasses down over her eyes as she stood, hands on her hips, watching you.

"I'm not stopping you." She said coldly, gesturing for you to do so.

"Ale, please," you whined.

"If you didn't want to run sprints hungover, you shouldn't have snuck out and gotten drunk." Alexia told you.

You turned away from her, throwing up what little water you'd managed to drink so far. When you were done, you turned back, finding Alexia directly behind you, holding out a sports drink.

"Drink." She instructed. You took it, chugging the whole thing as you held back a gag, knowing if you could keep any of it down, it would be somewhat helpful.

Things continued like this for another 10 minutes, until you were sure Alexia was going to keep you going until you passed out.

In fact, Alexia was just about to call it, not wanting to completely kill you, when she heard her name being shouted from just behind her.

"Alexia, what are you doing to that poor girl?!" Mapi yelled, marching towards her friend, while Ingrid broke into a run, heading towards you. You'd fallen to your knees, retching pathetically onto the grass, even as nothing came up.

"She snuck out and got drunk." Alexia dismissed, looking concerned at the sight of you on the ground, trembling violently in Ingrid's arms. Mapi grabbed her wrist, spinning her back around.

"Alexia. This is really harsh, even for you."

"Good. Maybe she'll learn her lesson." Still, Alexia couldn't help her gaze flicking over to where you were. You were okay, she was sure. She knew what you could take, and what you couldn't. You'd drink some water, take a cold shower, and sleep the rest of the day.

Mapi looked disapprovingly at her captain. "Maybe that would have taught you a lesson. I'm sure there are more effective ways of talking to your sister about this, than attempted murder."

"She's fine. I know her limits, and so does she. If she was really not well, she would have just stopped."

You wouldn't have. You knew your sister was furious, and you would have done anything to fix that. Anything. If it meant running until you dropped, so be it. Alexia didn't think you'd push yourself that hard, though. She way underestimated the lengths you would go to for her approval.

"Anyway, what are you doing here? It's an off day." Alexia questioned, beginning to walk towards you.

"Ingrid wanted to work on a few things." Mapi said.

They reached your side, and Ingrid looked up sternly at your sister, a glare set on her face.

"Ale, can we go home?" You asked pathetically. You were completely pale, covered in sweat, and you were shaking all over.

"Yeah. Let's go." Ingrid helped you to your feet, holding you steady as Alexia wrapped an arm around you, and began walking you towards the exit.

"Should we call child protective services?" Ingrid wondered sarcastically, watching Alexia drag you back to the car.

"Nah. She's 19. And Alexia will have to deal with Olga when she gets that poor kid home."

----

And have to deal with Olga, Alexia did.

She helped you into the house, the AC in the car and the endless supply of water Alexia had for you helping tremendously. You felt more alive now, and honestly, you must have sweated out a lot of the alcohol, because you didn't feel that bad.

You were still shaking, though, still pale. Alexia cringed internally when she heard Olga's feet quietly making their way towards the front door, as she helped you pull your shoes off.

"Alexia." Olga gasped. "What did you do, take her to get run over by a truck?" She walked forward, easing you away from your sister, and towards the living room, shooting her girlfriend a harsh glare over your shoulder.

"No. We had a workout to do." Alexia said casually.

"Nena, are you okay?" Olga asked softly.

You smiled up at her, relaxing back into the couch. "Yep. I thought she was going to kill me for a bit, but she didn't."

Olga sighed. You were back to joking, back to pretending that Alexia's behavior didn't bother you. Back to acting like you didn't need more support from her. This needed to stop. Now.

"Drink some water. We can try to get some food in you in a bit. Alexia, come with me." Olga's tone left no room for conversation as she headed up the stairs towards their room. Alexia didn't listen immediately to a lot of people, but Olga was one of them.

She trailed after her girlfriend a little hesitantly. She knew she'd taken it too far. She hadn't done any damage to you, but it was still too far. And Olga was about to give her hell for it. Which likely, she deserved. Alexia was stubborn, though, and she wouldn't admit to being wrong without a bit of a fight.

"Are you crazy? What were you trying to accomplish, Ale? Whatever you made her do was overkill. You didn't need to take it so far-"

"NO. She is my baby sister, and she is off getting drunk and getting lost, and-" Alexia interrupted, suddenly furious again.

"Alexia, she's 19. This is what 19 year olds' do." Olga defended.

"Not HER. She is supposed to be responsible. She is an athlete, she has responsibilities, she has people relying on her-"

Olga cut her off again. "God, amor, I cannot imagine why'd she'd feel the need to go get drunk. That doesn't seem like a lot of stress on a teenager at all."

Alexia was quiet for a moment. "If she was stressed, she would tell me. If it was too much, she would tell me." She said, though she sounded suddenly unsure.

"Would she?" Olga wondered. "You're pretty strict with her, baby. Maybe she doesn't need Stern Alexia, and tough love all the time, maybe she just needs love." This had been swirling around in Olga's head for the past few weeks, though she wasn't sure how to bring it up to her girlfriend. She'd watched as you would wilt when Alexia would give you a simple 'good job' after a game, directly followed by all the things she thought you could improve. She watched you do things, and instantly turn to your sister, to see if she was impressed or not. If Alexia was, she never let it show.

For Alexia, sternness, rigidness worked for her. She didn't need people to be soft with her, to tell her all the time that she was doing a good job, so she assumed you didn't either. Olga could tell, though, that every time Alexia ruffled your hair instead of giving you a hug, shook off your request to something fun instead of reviewing match footage, it crushed you, just a little bit.

Olga wasn't surprised that this had happened, not at all. You were acting out, trying to burn off some stress while also trying to get your sister's attention.She hoped it would finally make her girlfriend understand that you needed more from her. You were young, living away from your mom, and you needed someone to care for you, not just push you. You wanted that from your sister, too, although you were always appreciative of everything that Olga did for you.

Their argument fizzled out, and Olga realized Alexia needed space to think. She left her there to do so, heading back downstairs to check on you.

-----

You and Alexia didn't speak of the incident in the days following. You could tell something had changed, Alexia was being... different with you. Less intense.

You thought she was just really angry. Which was fair. You'd been stupid and irresponsible. She had every right to be angry. You decided to let it pass, to not push her into forgiving you sooner.

You didn't realize that Alexia was rethinking the entire dynamic she had with you, the role she played in your life. She noticed, suddenly, that you weren't as affectionate as you had been before. You didn't sit close to her on the couch when you watched TV together. You didn't pull her into a hug when you saw her. You didn't talk to her when you were upset after a game. You didn't immediately look for her when you got hurt. She'd been so focused on being the coach that she thought you needed that she'd forgotten to be the sister that you'd actually needed.

She could be your mentor without pushing you so hard, Alexia had realized. You didn't need another coach. You needed your sister. Alexia just wasn't sure how to fix what she'd broken.

When she did figure out how to fix it, it came naturally to her. It was suddenly instinctual, again, the strong feeling within her to take care of you, not push you to be better.

-----

The first time you got some idea that Alexia was making an effort to be different was a few days after The Incident, as you and Olga had named your adventure. You were coming back from seeing your friends; the very same friends you had gone out with. It had started off fine, everyone joking around about your disappearing act. As the conversation continued, though, it became clear to you that a few of them had seen you leave by yourself, and not bothered to go after you. And they had all been significantly less intoxicated than you were.

They tried to excuse their behavior by telling you they were distracted by various people they'd met up with at the club. When you pushed, asking why no one thought to keep an eye on you, or go after you when you ran out, especially after they'd been pushing drink and drink on you, enjoying how increasingly absurd you got, they got defensive. They lashed out, going on and on about how you should have been responsible, and it wasn't their job to babysit you. You knew that, but at the same time, anything could have happened to you when you ran out of the club. It was a miracle that nothing did. The argument escalated into a full blown fight, until you were shouting back and forth at each other, bringing up issues that were long resolved.

Eventually, you stormed out, walking the 15 minutes back to your sister's house, angry tears falling from your eyes. Your friends weren't the best friend's a person could have, you knew this. They were your only friends outside of football, though, the only friends that were truly your's and not also your sister's. That's probably why you kept them around so long, and you never would have thought they would care so little about your safety.

The words exchanged had been harsh, and you knew as you neared home that there was no salvaging those relationships. You were upset, everything hard about the week catching up with you. You just hoped that when you walked through the front door, Alexia and Olga would both be too busy with various tasks to notice how upset you were. Alexia hated your friends, and you knew she would tell you that what happened was for the best. That was absolutely not what you needed to hear, now, though.

You opened the door as quietly as you could, slipping your shoes off and carefully placing your keys down on the little table near the door. You turned to walk up the stairs, jumping slightly when Olga was suddenly standing directly behind you, looking at her phone.

"What do you want for dinner? Your sister and I can't agree," Olga asked, growing quiet as she looked up, spotting how upset you were. "What's wrong?" The brunette's face grew sympathetic, and you ignored how it made you want to cry.

"Nothing." You told her, dodging her attempt to rest a hand on your shoulder, and slipping up the stairs. You shut the door to your room. It was a mess in there, it was past time you cleaned it; and, anyway, you needed to do something to get your anger out, and furiously cleaning seemed like as good of an idea as any.

-----

Downstairs, Olga was conflicted. Normally, she would take this, as the more emotionally available adult in the house. She knew that you didn't want her comfort, though, not in the way you wanted your sister's. And Alexia had clearly been taking to heart what her girlfriend had told her, being noticeably different with you, even if she hadn't figured out quite how to act. So, Olga slipped off to the office, knocking and entering when she heard her girlfriend's voice beckoning her inside.

"Hey, beautiful," Alexia said, smiling from behind the desk. Olga smiled in return, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Your sister just got home from seeing her friends and I think something happened, she was really upset."

Alexia rolled her eyes. "They suck, I'm not surprised. Is she okay?"

"She ran off to her room, but she was crying." Olga replied, watching her girlfriend's expression carefully. Alexia looked conflicted, like she wasn't sure what to do.

"I'll go check on her." The blonde said finally, receiving an encouraging smile from Olga. She stood and headed towards the stairs, pausing when Olga stopped her.

"Just a tip. Telling her that her friends suck probably won't make her feel better. Even is she's mad at them. Just try to be nice." Olga suggested.

Alexia nodded, continuing on her way. Her girlfriend was more than a little amused at how nervous the blonde seemed. It was just you.

For Alexia, though, she didn't really know how to make you feel better. What would have worked for her was clearly not working for you, she saw that now. You were so different from her, so much more sensitive. She was nervous because she didn't want to say the wrong thing. She didn't realize, however, that any attempt she would make would be greatly appreciated by you.

Alexia knocked on your door, feeling a little ridiculous at how nervous she was, opening the door tentatively when you told her to come in. You were pacing around the room, folding clothes and putting things away, even as a few tears remained falling from your eyes. You looked furious as you cleaned rather aggressively, not acknowledging your sister when she walked in the room.

"Hey, nena?" Alexia called after a minute of watching you fold a shirt like you would have preferred to set it on fire. You hummed in response, still not looking towards her. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." You snapped, moving on to another shirt, throwing the recently folded one down on the bed, huffing in frustration when the action messed up your meticulous work.

Deciding not to second guess her instincts, Alexia strode forward, taking the shirt out of your hands and setting it on the bed. She turned you so that you were facing her, placing her hands on your shoulders. You still wouldn't meet her eyes, and you were a good few inches shorter than her, but she could still see your angry resolve cracking, your bottom lip beginning to quiver.

You didn't want to cry in front of her, not over the friends of yours that she hated. It was a waste, and you knew she wouldn't give you the sympathy that you wanted. That just wasn't how Alexia was.

"C'mere," Alexia said softly, wrapping her arms around you and bringing you into a tight hug.

Until this point, Alexia wasn't sure she quite understood what you needed from her. The second you melted into her arms, though, like a hug was all you'd needed, it became very clear. Olga was right; you'd just needed love.

Your shoulders were shaking with silent cries, as if you were trying to keep them quiet, and Alexia frowned, arms squeezing you tighter.

"You can cry, cariño, if you're upset. It's okay to cry." She whispered. Admittedly, expressing emotion wasn't something she was good with. She hadn't realized the effect this had on you expressing your emotions before now.

You cried into your sister's shoulder, no longer holding back after her words of encouragement, for a solid 5 minutes. Alexia didn't shy away from the display of feelings like you expected her to. Instead, she sat you on the side of your bed, carefully wiping the remaining tears off your face with the sleeve of her sweater.

Still sniffling pathetically, you looked down at our hands, not sure if you should tell her what happened, if she'd want to hear. Alexia caught your hesitation, sitting down next to you, and bumping your knee with hers. "Tell me what happened."

You took a deep breath, before launching into the story. Alexia grew tense next to you, clearly with anger, but you weren't sure who it was directed at. If it was at the reminder of how irresponsible you'd been, or if it was at your friends. When you finished, Alexia was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what to say.

"They suck." She said finally, before shaking her head at herself. "No, Olga told me not to say that. You deserve better friends than them, especially if their are so unconcerned with your safety and wellbeing. What if you hadn't had your phone? What if something had happened? I wouldn't have known where you were, you could have been hurt." Alexia went on, growing more agitated.

"I'm sorry, Ale," you told her.

"No, no. I am angry with them." Alexia said earnestly. "For being so careless with you. They should have been looking out for you. I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you, but I probably would have started with ruining their lives."

Protective Alexia wasn't a side of your sister you'd seen in a while. Not since you were 11 and you'd told her that a boy had tried to kiss you on the playground. She'd skipped training to march to your school, asking you to point out the boy. You had, and she'd held him up against the brick wall of the building by the collar of his shirt, warning him to never so much as look at you, ever again. He was appropriately terrified, and no one tried to mess with you again after that.

It was nice, feeling protected by your sister. It felt safe. It made you feel loved.

-----

Even after the conversation about your friends, Alexia still didn't acknowledge that something had changed.

Until after a rather rough match against Atlético. You were having an off day, your passes not connecting, your shots just barely missing the back of the net. She could tell you were frustrated, and she wasn't sure how to make you feel better. Normally, she'd give you a pat on the back, tell you to push through and focus. Alexia realized now, though, that you didn't need that from her.

Still, it was the middle of the match, and there wasn't time for a pep talk. She'd have to wait until the match was over, and then she could figure out what to say to you. Now, she needed to focus.

Alexia did focus. She focused on taking the corner, watching the ball sail towards your head. She focused on Lola's gloved hand extending towards the ball, and connecting squarely with your face. Alexia saw you drop to the ground, clutching tightly to your nose. The whistle blew immediately, and half the team was looking down at you uneasily, waving urgently for the medical staff. Lola was crouched by your head, clearly making repetitive apologies.

Normally, when you got hurt, Alexia kept her distance. She didn't want to suffocate you, and she didn't want to act unprofessional. On the pitch, you were teammates. Appearances didn't matter, though, not really, and she could be your older sister too, she knew.

Alexia sprinted to you, shoving players of both teams out of her way in her quest to get to your side. Lola saw her barreling towards her, and wisely backed up, leaving the spot just above you open, while the medics were arriving on either side of you.

You were still on your stomach, clutching tightly to your face, feeling hot blood seep into your hand. It was broken. You'd heard the crunch. And, like always when you got hurt, you wanted your sister to come hold your hand. You knew she wouldn't. She had to be professional, she had a reputation to protect. You were surprised when her soft voice met your ear.

"Hey, nena, can you roll over for us?"

Although your position smushed into the turf felt like the most comfortable you could get currently, you slowly rolled onto your back with a groan.

"Oh, honey," Alexia whispered, taking in the sight of your very broken nose, blood pooling all over your face.

"Broken," you mumbled, the movement of speaking hurting, blood filling your mouth. So as not to allow you to choke, Alexia and one of the medics carefully sat you up, tipping you forward, allowing your nose to drip into the towel being help against your face.

"She's right, I heard it break," Lola added, still hovering near you. It had been completely accidental, what she'd done, and she felt guilty. She backed up, though, when Alexia shot her a harsh glare.

"Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Are you going to pass out?" Alexia asked anxiously, knowing that you weren't a fan of blood. The medics exchanged amused looks at your suddenly overbearing sister, as you looked at her, less amused, and slightly comforted.

"No. Fine. Hurts't talk." You got out, closing your eyes as the pain intensified. Alexia's hand rubbed circles into your back, and you were floored when she pressed a kiss to the top of your head, right in front of the entire stadium, before looking to the medic for permission to help you to your feet. When he nodded and grabbed your other arm, they got you up, supporting you all the way to the sidelines, where another medic took over for you sister.

"Should I tell Jona to take me off?" Alexia asked you, still glued to your side, even as you neared the tunnel.

"No, go win." You spit some blood onto the ground, barely managing the words, and Alexia agreed uneasily, watching you all the way back inside.

The rest of the team was looking at her like she had two heads. Never before had they seen her be so nurturing with you, so outwardly worried. Alexia loved you, no one doubted that. She was just normally much more reserved about showing affection for her youngest sister.

-----

By the time Alexia got back to the locker room post match she was startled to see that you weren't in sitting in front of your locker waiting for her, or with the team doctors. They informed you that Olga had taken you home. You had a slight concussion, and your nose was broken, but didn't need to be reset, and you didn't want to wait for most of the second half to finish for your sister, so when Olga offered to take you home, you took her offer gratefully.

She sped through her shower and her post match routine, continuing to ignore the surprised expressions on her teammates face, and the rather satisfied one on Mapi's; the defender was finally seeing the return of the Older Sister Alexia she knew.

Alexia arrived home, abandoning her bag in the car and rushing inside. She wanted to make sure you were okay, more than anything. More than anything. It was like she'd just remembered that she was your sister, not just your captain, and her instinct to protect you was overwhelming her.

She marched right into the house, finding you laid on the couch, your head resting in Olga's lap an ice pack held over your nose by your sister's girlfriend, who was telling you an animated story about the crazy fan she'd run into in the stands today.

"Nena," Alexia sighed, feeling slightly better at the sight of you, more or less in one piece.

You sat up, still rather confused at the complete 180˚ your sister had done. "Hi." You had a rather disconcerting lisp to your speech, your lip swelling from the contact with the opposing goalkeeper's glove.

Alexia sat right next to you, removing the ice pack, and inspecting your face carefully.

"Does it hurt?" She asked.

"Not as much now. The ice is helping."

"Have you eaten? Taken anything? You should drink a lot of water, and ice every 15 minutes, and make sure you sleep propped up on a pillow, and we should go to the dentist tomorrow, just to make sure your teeth are okay." Alexia rambled, gently nudging your lip up to look at the swollen gums surrounding your upper front teeth. "Are they loose? If they're loose, we should go to the dentist now."

You exchanged a look with Olga. You were rather confused, while she just looked pleased with herself.

"They're not loose. I feel fine, Ale, and I ate some pasta. I think I'm just going to go to bed, I'm really tired."

You stood, keeping the ice pressed to your nose, catching the slightly frantic look on your sister's face. "You'll wake me up if it hurts, or if something is wrong, right?" She questioned.

"Yeah, if you want me to." You told her.

She nodded, relieved. "I would like you to."

"Okay. Goodnight, guys." Before you could step away from the couch, Alexia was standing and pulling you into a gentle hug, being extra careful with... your entire face. She kissed your forehead, before shooing you off towards the stairs.

Bewildered but pleased with your sister's odd behavior, you headed for bed, hoping that Alexia would be more normal, if still just as caring, tomorrow.

-----

You knew that was out of the question when your door opened softly an hour after you went to bed. You turned, not having fallen asleep yet, seeing your sister stood in the doorway, a blanket in hand, worrying her lip between her teeth.

"What's up?"

"Can I sleep in here? I'm worried about your face, I can't fall asleep." Alexia admitted, taking one step forward before pausing, looking anxiously at you.

You blinked at her for a minute, wondering if this was some kind of bizarre dream where your sister had undergone a personality transplant, before nodding.

"If you want," you agreed, scooting over to make room for you sister. She climbed onto the bed eagerly, smiling at you. You smiled back, wondering if it was possible that your sister was on drugs. She took several minutes to get comfortable, settling under the covers before turning on her side to face where you lay on your back, eyes closed. You could feel her watching you.

"Alexia you can't sleep in here if you're going to stare at me all night like a psychopath." You said, not opening your eyes.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just worried. I'll stop now." Alexia promised, rolling onto her back too.

You didn't say anything for a moment, not wanting to ruin the very sweet moment you were having with you sister, but also feeling curiosity burn through you.

"You're being really weird." You said finally.

Alexia sighed, like she'd known this was coming.

"Am I dying or something and no one bothered to tell me? Is that why you're being so nice to me?" You were only half joking. Alexia sighed again, and somehow, it sounded guilty. "Am I?" You asked, opening your eyes and looking at the blonde.

"No, idiota, you aren't dying. I'm just... I'm trying to be a better sister."

You heard all the time that your sister was awkward, but you'd never really gotten that vibe from her until now.

"Oh. Okay. You're a good sister already, Ale." You said gruffly, looking away from her.

Alexia blinked at you. "Well, I'm glad you think so, but there is always room for improvement. You shouldn't be surprised when I'm nice to you, or take care of you. That should be normal."

"Thanks." You said after a minute, clearing your throat. You hated when Alexia was so nice it made you cry. Hated it.

"You don't have to thank me. I love you, hermanita." Alexia said, and there was no mistaking the vulnerability in her voice.

You were so going to tell Alba about this, and make fun of Alexia endlessly for being so bad at human emotions. For now, though, you rolling into her side a little, resting your head on her shoulder.

"I love you too, Ale."

Alexia smiled to herself. God, she normally hated when her girlfriend proved her wrong, but this time, it had been so needed. She was greatful for Olga, and for you, for being so forgiving. It was very youngest sister of you, never holding a grudge. She loved you. A lot. She was going to be better about showing it.

-----

this got out of hand i won't lie.

hope you enjoyed :)

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #putellas!reader #platonic #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader

[sleekswosobession]

a bad batch

barça femeni x teen!reader

request: here

A/N: do you guys ever wonder what showers in the diff teams lockerooms look like? is it just a big room with showers and they’re all naked together or is there cubicals? if anyone knows please enlighten me

TW: Vomit, illness, swearing

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It wasn’t your fault really, it was whoever decided that the KFC given to you was actually safe to eat. Don’t they have quality managers for that? Despite it literally having feathers on it still, it was pretty meh. Not even enjoyable chicken.

That’s how you find yourself hunched over a toilet bowl, throwing up all contents of your stomach and more. You’re sweating but cold, you definitely know you have a fever or sorts but you’re uncertain how bad.

Worse thing is, training was supposed to start in 5 minutes. No way you were getting there now, not like this.

You shoot a quick message off to Jona explaining you don’t feel well and it’s probably something you ate. He replies quickly saying the usual of taking off however long is needed to get back to full recovery.

What’s the one thing you don’t consider in all this? You’re very overprotective teammates.

You end up puking more, and passing out on the bathroom floor due to exhaustion, the cool tiles feeling magical against the heat your body radiates.

- - - - -

You’re awoken by harsh knocks on your door. Your head hurts, your throat is scratchy, you’re dizzy and delusional, you feel like shit.

You stumble toward the door, opening it to see Frido and Keira.

“Jesus.” The Englishwoman says before pressing a firm hand and against your ablaze skin.

“Jona told us you said it was a light sickness? This is bad.” She says, rushing inside with the blonde Swede behind her. You were teammates with Frido on a national level as well so she took on more of a role while you settled in Barcelona.

“Come on, you shouldn’t be standing älskling (darling). Sit down, come.” She rests her hand on your back guiding you to the couch to sit down.

“Have you eaten?” She wipes away the sweaty hair away from your forehead.

“No.” You whisper softly.

“Ok, we’ll get you to eat and then into a bath ok? If we don’t get this fever down we might have to take you to a hospital.” The words compute in your mind, you don’t want a hospital. You just have to follow what the older 2 say and you’ll be fine. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

- - - - -

After eating a couple spoons of chicken broth Keira gave you, you’re taken to the bathroom and stripped into your sports bra and bike pants.

“Get in the water älskling, you’ll feel better I promise.” Frido kisses the side of your head, helping you in the bath.

It’s cold, and you do not like it.

“Frido, cold.” You whimper, trying to get out.

“I know but you have to stay. This is needed, trust me?” Her heart breaks at the sight of you in so much discomfort. But she knows it’s for the better.

You cry, along with everything else you’re feeling now, you’re cold and not allowed to move. Keira starts to stroke through your hair whispering soft words of affirmation.

“Shh bub, stop crying. You’re ok, it’s all gonna be ok.” She looks over to her teammate who is measuring your fever.

“It’s still a bit high, 37.8. Just a little longer älskling, then you can go to sleep does that sound ok to you?” You can’t even recognise her statement, only focusing on the cold your body feels.

After a couple more minutes, the girls decide you’ve had enough time to cool down so they change you into fresh pajamas, putting you to sleep in your own room before coming up with ways to hopefully get you to feel better.

- - - - -

When you wake up again a couple hours later, you feel even worse. Every body part aches and you feel the need to throw up again. So, you muster up all the energy you have and make a bee-line to the toilet.

Luckily making it in time, you spill more contents of your stomach. Someone has tied your hair back but you can’t will yourself to move.

“Hey, relax.” The accented voice says. You do as told and fall into Caroline. When did she get here? But you do as told, not wanting to feel this way any longer.

“Feel like shit.” You mumble, exhausted.

“I know, Marta and Ingrid are also here now. We will check your temperature soon ok? Right now you just need to not stress and stay here alright?” She runs her fingers up and down the sides of your torso until Ingrid comes in.

“I’ve got the thermometer. Could you open your mouth for me?” You open it without question, and she visibly cringes at the reading when she takes a look at it.

“This is not good, this isn’t normal. Look.” She shows it to her national teammate. Who also cringes.

“Tell the others to pack her stuff, get Frido here. Tell her the temperature and we need to go to the hospital.” This is when you start to worry, even in your delirious state.

There’s commotion outside the walls of your bathroom but you can’t will yourself to care, slumped against Caro hoping you’ll feel better soon.

Frido rushes inside, picking you up off the floor. She rushes to the car and gets in the backseat. In the front is Keira and Ingrid, in another car is presumably the other couple.

- - - - -

Arriving at the emergency department, you’re immediately taken to a private room where they hook you up to machines and an IV. You try to fight them, feeling too overwhelmed by the situation but Frido takes the chance to hold your hand in hopes of calming you down.

“Deep breaths älskling, it’s not too long before they’re gone.” Her words are a comfort to your ears, and she’s right because the doctors leave soon after that.

You look down at the little thermometer on your finger, showing the temperature of your skin. 41.5°.

You cringe like all the other girls who had seen it previously. Despite your hatred for hospitals, you’re happy because it means that the pain should go away sooner.

Frido has been on the phone for a bit, and she walks over to you.

“Magda wants to speak with you.” She smiles lightly, and you take the phone holding it against your ear.

“Hi Magda.” You say, voice an octave higher than usual.

“Hey little one, heard you weren’t feeling too great. Are the girls treating you right?” You hum.

“Yeah, they’re good.” She seems content with the answer.

“Ok good, we need you healthy for the next camp. Can’t have the mini star gone.” You laugh slightly at the given nickname.

“Alright pass me back to Frido, stay well and don’t do anything stupid. Please.” She begs over-dramatically.

“Come on, I’m not that bad!” You laugh, even if it made your stomach slightly hurt.

“Sure, sure. Talk to you later little one.”

“Bye Mags.” You pass it back to the older Swede and the door to your room opens revealing Mapi and Alexia.

Alexia walks over to you, concern visible between her brows. Mapi heads straight to Ingrid. (Not a surprise).

“You don’t look well at all. I’m not sure how you managed to text Jona.” You shrug, she takes a long breath.

“We’ll talk about saying how sick you actually are later, for now you should get some rest. We’ll be here when you wake up.” You do as told, quickly falling asleep without fight.

- - - - -

Over the coming days, the girls watch over you like hawks until they’re sure you’re better and you won’t snap in half at a slight gust of wind. It got annoying, but you couldn’t really say no when they were just trying to make it easier for you.

Whenever you threw up, cried in pain or overall didn’t want to do anything. One of the girls would be there to take any anguish you had away. No matter what, Barca isn’t just a team. But also a family.

—————————————————————————

sleekswosobsession: number 1 writer for cringe ending lines

anyways i need help from you anons, i have an english short story (800 word) narrative coming up but i need ideas.. i’m a writer not creative producer. but i do know that YOU have some ideas so please give it to me. these are the topics:

1. betrayal of trust

2. consequence of bad timing

3. Individual against society

(go wild but not too wild cuz i have to give it to my teacher)

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni #barca femeni #barcelona femeni x reader #barca femeni x reader

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Second Chances Are For Winners

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

WC: 2.7k

TW: Swearing, teasings, blood, abduction, breaking and entering, Criminal Minds General list of triggers apply here.

A/N: Hiya gang! so actually I have been so unmotivated to write and I just got back from vacation so I promise I will finish up VDVE soon. But please enjoy this mouth vomit that Just came out of my mind. It's a part one since the rest of it is mapped out, just not written! (also why is like every other gif his mouth moving. This man really just doesn't stfu and it's only hot on him)

Spencer Reid being overwhelmed was an understatement. He needed to get out of that police station as soon as physically possible. JJ confronting him about his hostility towards her had not gone the way she had hoped it would, and Spencer was once again, fuming. 

The Oklahoma heat was not kind to someone who only wore sweater vests, a fact in which he would later start to reconsider when planning his outfits to places where the heat had personal vendettas against the living. As soon as he stepped outside, it was like he was met with a brick wall of temperatures well over what they should be. As the sweat dripped down his forehead, so did the tension. He took a couple of breaths before picking up the phone and dialing a number he knew all too well. 

“Speak and be heard, Wonder Boy” 

“Hey Garcia,” A small smile formed from hearing the familiar voice. “I need you to look up someone, and find their cell number for me, if that’s okay.”

He could hear Garcia roll across her ‘batcave’, “Hit me.”

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N…” 

“Give me two seconds…..Isn’t she—” 

“Garcia, please.” 

He could hear the smirk forming across her face as her fingers flew across the keys. 

“You’re looking up more than her number…”

“One point for Boy Genius everybody. Yes, I’m looking up more than just her phone number. She’s the gorgeous mystery woman who kissed your cheek in front of the whole team—of course I’m going to look her up now that I have her name.”

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose, starting to regret the decision to call Penelope in the first place. “Can you just send me her number and snoop around later Garcia?” 

“Fine Genius.” His phone beeped. “Just sent it to you.” 

“Thank you Penelope.” 

“Anytime Boy Wonder.” Reid hung up the call before looking at the screen, opening the text Garcia had sent him. He smiled at the number, and almost dialed before thinking better of it. Maybe after the case, he’ll call you and take you out for lunch to catch up. But it’s nothing more, Spencer decided. You probably didn’t feel the same way, but at least he knew that there was someone who wasn’t a part of the team in which he could finally vent his frustrations to. Now he’ll finally be able to get an objective view on the whole Emily situation. 

Spencer looked at the file in his hand and sighed, opening it up. As he was reading through it for the umpteenth time, something occurred to him, and he quickly made his way back into the station, and towards his team. 

_____________________________________________________________________________

Once the jet touched down in DC, Spencer was the first one off the plane. He walked through the hanger, and towards his car. He could feel the others watching him, especially Emily, but his mind was elsewhere. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out, dialing the number Garcia had sent. 

“Y/L/N and Associates, how may I help you today?” 

Spencer didn’t even try to bite back the smile before he cleared his throat, reaching into his back pocket to grab his keys. 

“Hi, yes, I was wondering if I could speak with Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Sure, let me make sure she’s available. Her meeting should be ending soon. Can I ask what this is for?” 

Spencer pursed his lips before answering. “She, uh, just told me to call this number.” 

He heard the person on the other end shuffle something around before answering, “Good enough for me.” They hummed. “Can I just get a name?”

“Yeah–uh, Spencer–Spencer Reid.” 

“Give me one moment Mr. Reid” was all he heard before he was put on hold. He sighed and entered his car, chucking his go-bag into the passenger seat. As Spencer turned on the car, he heard your voice.

“Spencer?”

His face lit up, and a smile graced his features. 

“Hey! Yeah. Um” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Hi.” 

She laughed. “I knew you’d find me eventually, Doctor, but a whole week? I feel that maybe your profiling skills need a bit of sharpening.” 

“Well–I was, I was working on cases. I-I didn’t forget—”

You cut him off, voice softer than he remembered. “I’m just teasing Spencer. So what do I owe the absolute pleasure of having Doctor Spencer Reid grace my line.” 

“Well, I was hoping you’d give me your cell number so I don’t have to annoy your secretary…”

You were silent for a moment. “Well my number is going to cost you something.” 

“Y-Yeah absolutely.” Answered a bit too quickly, almost out of breath. 

“I expect a meal sometime soon, and maybe throw in coffee one of these mornings as well.” 

Spencer smiled so brightly he almost couldn’t see the road as he was driving. 

“I-I, um, think that’s something I can do.” 

He heard you hum in agreement.

“What about tomorrow night?” 

Spencer paused. 

“I–...I actually can’t do tomorrow night, I have a team meeting, but what about breakfast the next morning?” 

He heard you shuffling papers around and a bit of typing on the keyboard before you answered him. “Seems like I’m all yours Doctor.” 

Reid smiled and parked his car outside of his apartment. 

“Then you’ll have to give me your cell phone’s number and it’s a sealed deal.”

“Are you usually this good at negotiations? Should I start prepping my list of demands for breakfast…” You joked, letting out a small laugh. 

Spencer shook his head before he realized you couldn’t see him. “N-No, well yes actually. It’s a part of the whole FBI thing.” 

You laughed at his joke before giving him your cell number. “I’ll see you soon Spencer. Bye.” 

As you hung up the phone, Spencer sent a quick “hey!” text before getting out of the car and heading up to his apartment. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a tense week after all. 

______________________________________________________________________________

The Team isn’t stupid. They’ve noticed that Spencer was somehow in a better mood when he arrived at the office the next morning, despite the way he basically ran away from the jet. They also noticed he was spending a lot more time on his phone than before, especially since Spencer was not the one to text. 

As Spencer dumped his sugar into his coffee mug, Derek came up next to him and started to prepare his own coffee. 

“Wanna tell me why you’re in such a good mood Pretty Boy?” 

Spencer pondered the offer for a moment before putting the sugar back on the counter, next to the coffee pot. “Nope.” and he walked back towards his desk. 

Derek was taken back a little bit, but finished his coffee. He made eye contact with Emily and shrugged. 

Emily was next, since her desk was next to Spencer’s. 

“Morning Spence…” 

“Morning Emily.” He quickly replied, and even flashed her a quick smile before his phone lit up and his attention was taken away from her. He sent a quick text, before placing his phone face down and started looking through his files to find the right paperwork to finish the consultation he had started before they left for Oklahoma. 

“Wanna tell me what’s going on with you?”

“Nope.” Spencer replied yet again, and now that Derek was back, he watched the same look pass through Emily’s face before she looked at Derek. 

Derek decided he was going to try a different tactic this time. “Hey Reid, wanna tell me who you're texting there man?” 

Derek’s face lit up like a Christmas Tree not even a moment later when Spencer ignored his question. 

“Is it…oh what was her name…”

“Ohhhh,” Emily joined in, “It’s the lawyer from last week…” 

Spencer just shrugged and tried to stay focused on the paper in front of him, yet all he had been doing for the past minute was rereading the same line over and over because all he could think about was when you were going to answer his text. 

“The lawyer, right right…” Derek smirked and looked at Emily, both knowing they hit the jackpot. “Wasn’t her name…Y/N?” 

At the mention of your name, Spencer made the mistake of sitting up a bit straighter, which both profilers noticed instantly.

“Oh so Y/N has been texting you all morning huh. Is that why you raced off of the jet last night? Couldn’t wait to go see he–”

“No.” Spencer cut off Derek, looking up at the pair. “I haven’t seen her since last week’s case. Now if the two of you wouldn’t mind leaving me alone I have a lot of paperwork I need to make it through before I head home tonight.” He turned back to the file in front of him and tried to read it again. And again. And again. Eventually, Spencer was able to continue his work once Derek and Emily let him be. 

But anytime his phone buzzed, he could feel the smirks from his friends, he just didn’t care. 

__________________________________________________________________________

You were so over your entire day. Every single one of your active clients decided that they had an issue that needed to be resolved in the second they called you. 

So when you woke up, face leaving a print against the wood of your desk, you let out a groan. 

The little clock in the corner of your laptop's screen flashed the time, causing you to let out a string of curses. 

“I cant fucking believe it’s 2 am. Fuck.” You grumbled, standing up and stretching your arms over your head. 

Your phone screen lit up with a notification, which also showed that you had missed a few text messages from your favorite profilers. The last one was a, correct, guess that you had fallen asleep at your desk. You smiled and responded with: 

Do you ever get tired of being right all the time Doctor Reid?

As you packed up your things, your phone buzzed. 

Not really. It’s just in my nature. 

You laughed out loud a bit, shaking your head. 

And why are you still awake? 

That’s when your phone rang. You held it in your hand, staring at it for a moment, before remembering to answer it. 

“Hello?”

“Did you even check caller ID or are you trying to encourage stalkers?” Spencer’s voice rang through your body as you let out another laugh, placing the phone between your shoulder and your ear, packing up the rest of your things. 

“Well Spencer, I seriously can’t think of another person to call me at this hour besides you…; and maybe this Baby Daddy who won’t leave me alone.” You grumbled, shoving your laptop into your bag with a little extra force than normal. 

“Baby daddy?” 

“Yeah, one of my clients, he’s a sweet guy—great dad. But because he’s so worried about his daughter having any sort of parenting time, he’s been calling me nonstop, freaking out about supervised visits. Like, I get it, but it’s fucking 2 am and I stop working at 5, maybe 6 the latest. 

You heard Spencer hum in response, but no words. “Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?” 

“Ye-yeah, I uh–”

“Did…Did you think I was talking about someone I had a kid with?” 

Spencer sputtered out a “n-no, why–why would…”

You let out another laugh, that was like music to his ears. “Spencer, I feel like you should have figured that out from the way that you clearly used the FBI to look up my office number to get my cell number. You would’ve found out if I had kids.” 

“Y-Yeah I guess…” 

“Give me one second Spencer.” and before he could respond, you put your phone down, and pulled out your airpods, letting them connect to your phone so you could go hands free. 

“Can you hear me?” You placed your phone in your skirt pocket, adjusting your airpods so that they would be comfortable. 

“Yeah? Is everything okay?” 

“I just had to put my headphones on, I need my hands.” You slid on your heels, and walked out of your office locking the door. “Tell me about your day Spencer, I have to walk around and lock up.” 

Spencer hummed again and looked up at his ceiling. He had been sitting in his apartment, trying to read, waiting for you to answer his text–partially because he thought the worst, but mostly because he couldn't stop thinking about you. 

“Well. Not much happened. I was at work, and was trying to finish a report for this case I’m consulting on by sending them a preliminary profile, and then Derek was up my ass all day.” 

“What about?” You asked, placing your bag on the floor near the office, going to check the rest of the offices to make sure no one was still there. 

“Oh, um, well…”

You laughed again, causing his chest to swell again. “So it was me.” You teased me. “Excited to talk to me?”

You could feel Spencer turning redder and redder as the moments went on.

After a brief pause, Spencer responded to you. ��And what if I am?”

It was your turn to blush, but it only made you feel a bit bolder. 

“Getting a bit flirtatious, Spence. This is not the Reid I once knew from all those years ago.”

You could hear Spencer laugh. 

“You sound tired. Why don’t you get some rest Spencer.” 

Spencer sat up straighter. “No. I’ll stay on the phone with you—” He interrupted himself with a yawn. “Until you get home. What kind of agent would I be letting you walk home alone at this hour.” 

“I’m not going to stop you, but if you fall asleep….I’m hanging up.” 

“Fine—Just text me when you get home?” 

You hummed and nodded. “Can do sweetheart. Night Spencer.” 

“Night Y/n” 

You hung up the phone and turned on your spotify, listening to some music that would make this fifteen minute walk bearable. You usually drive into work, but it had been such a nice day, and you usually don’t mind getting in the extra walk since you sit behind a desk all day. 

You paused before you exited the first set of doors—part of you felt like you should just go back upstairs and sleep in your office. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it would provide a certain agent with a lot more comfort knowing you’re somewhere safe. 

But then you thought about your bed, and the new sheets you put on the night before, and the weighted blanket spread out across the bed spread, and you realized you’d much rather sleep under that than on a stale couch without even a pillow. 

You managed to make a fifteen minute walk into a ten one. Speeding home at 2 am was not exactly what you wanted to do, but you’d rather that then the couch. You quickly unlocked the front door and made it up the stairs and into your apartment. 

You sent Spencer a quick text saying that you had arrived home, and immediately moved into your bedroom. 

The apartment was a small one bed, one bath. It would have been considered a studio if not for the door between your bedroom and the kitchen/living room/entrance/dining room. Your bedroom was quite small, with a skinny closet, a dresser, and your bed. You had gotten lucky enough to shove your bed against one wall, and create a reading nook in the turret window on the other side of the room, which was only about ten feet away, but still. 

You kicked off your shoes, and made your way into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and listening to whatever music spotify had decided to play for you. 

You took off your outfit for the day and pulled on your pajamas, which felt so good against your skin as you slid into your bed, and shut the lights off. 

You wished you took the first option when two minutes later, you heard your bedroom door creak open, and a voice tell you not to scream. 

To Be Continued...

________________________________________________________

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[eideticmemory]

BETTER OFF AS LOVERS | SPENCER REID

Three years after ending your relationship with Spencer Reid, you find yourself representing him in court on federal murder charges.

Word Count: 12k.

Warning/Includes: MAJOR CW for Spencer’s dilaudid arc and graphic mentions of drug use. Prison!Spencer, Lawyer!Reader. Bounces between the past and present through bold italics. Mentions of murder, prison, and violence. A little bit of smut.

Because both you and Spencer are compulsive overachievers, it’s been hard to ignore each other. He saves a kids life every other week and your quick wit has taken you to the (very near) top of the DC law food chain. He picks up a newspaper, you’re smiling arm in arm with the district attorney. You turn on the TV, he’s up there declaring national manhunts. It’s hard to avoid each other, but you have both tried so, very hard.

So hard, in fact, that when Spencer is lying in a jail cell, waiting for any sign of life to shine through the bars, he is not even thinking about you. He’s thinking about his mom. His job. His future. His very recent past. But not you. And even though he doesn’t realize it in the moment, it’s a blessing. He should’ve taken the moment to be grateful.

When Emily comes up to his cell, he hops up and all the thoughts stuck in his head rush out in word vomit. Why isn’t she in the office? How is the office? How’s his mom? And once he learns that everything else is perfectly fine, he remembers that he, alone, is fucked.

And Emily’s very good at that soft voice, that everything will be okay voice, but she doesn’t know that. Not really. Spencer knows that she doesn’t and he swallows himself in self pity, saying, “I don’t even have a lawyer.”

“About that…” Emily says before a beat can pass. “I, um…I made a call…”

Spencer tilts his head at her.

“I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”

You’re eating lunch when you get the call. You have a sandwich held in your mouth as you scribble notes on a legal pad which you promptly cross out.

“Miss [y/l/n]?” your receptionist announces herself at the door.

You drop your sandwich, “Hey,” you smile. “Yes?”

“You have an Emily Prentiss on the line for you. Do you want me to patch her through?”

Your smile drops, you can’t help it. Your heart sinks to the very bottom of your stomach and you have to clear your throat, remind yourself to breathe.

“No,” you shake your head. “No,” you stand to your feet. “No, thank you. I’ll answer her in here.”

You close your office door behind her. You close the blinds. You stare at the blinking light on the phone for what feels like hours. You take a seat at your desk, you stare some more. Then you pick up the phone.

“This is [y/n].”

“Hi, [y/n]. It’s Emily Prentiss.”

“Emily…” you breathe out. “Hey.”

“Do you have a moment to talk?”

You sigh, “Is…is this about Spencer?”

Emily pauses, just for a moment, but she knows it’s best to be honest, “It is.”

“Is he dead?” It seems blunt. But, to you, it sounds like a fair and natural question.

Emily clears her throat, “He’s in jail.”

Maybe she expected a gasp. A soft cry. But all you do is close your eyes and draw in a deep breath. You say, “Okay.”

“Now, I understand if you decline. I do. But I have to ask…are you available to come to Quantico for a legal consult with me? Just me?”

You stare at the ceiling, grinding your teeth so hard that you think your jaw may crack under the pressure. And in the span of just two hours, you tell her yes. You reschedule your afternoon meeting. You walk through a metal detector and pat down in Quantico. Yet, you’re not truly in your body until you step on the elevator. You feel yourself rising through the building and the familiarity of it hits you like lightening. You think, not now. You cannot break down now.

Later.

You stand and look over at Spencer’s empty desk, only for a moment and then you tear yourself away. You knock on Emily’s open door and she immediately stands when you sees you, “[y/n], hi,” she moves around her desk, “Hi, thanks for coming.”

You give her a hug, and she holds on for longer than she means to. She looks you in the eye and asks, “How are you?”

“I’m okay. How are you?”

She sighs, walking back to her desk as you close the door. “We’ve been better.”

You take a seat across from her, look around the office, and now you smile, “I like you in here, chief.”

She chuckles, “I assume you heard about Hotch?”

You nod, “I did…only courthouse rumblings.”

“Yeah, well, uh, team’s been good,” she rummages around her desk. “Pushing through. I see you’ve climbed the ladder in recent years.”

You shrug, smirking, “All bribes.”

She laughs, “Oh, c’mon, we both know that’s not true. You’re the best of the best. I wouldn’t have called you if you weren’t.”

And when she sees the light go out in your eyes, reminded by the reality of the situation, she does nothing but set the file in front of you. You exhale quickly out of your nose and you stare at Spencer’s name etched along the edge. You pick it up and place it in your lap, ducking your head to read it. His mugshots nearly make you gasp, but you stifle it. You put your finger to your lips and you try. You try so hard not react. Not in front of Emily, even though she can read you anyway.

You read the entire file. Front to back. Your eyes flick off of the last word and you slam the manilla folder closed. You look up at Emily, her looking at you, waiting for you, so patiently. You open your mouth, and she prepares herself for whatever you could say. Anything. Everything. She’s prepared.

You breath out, “He was high?”

She was not prepared for that.

She shakes her head, “He was drugged. The guy we’re after is notorious for using drugs to incapacitate his victims.”

You nod, “And let me guess. The bureau won’t help with his legal defense?”

She shakes her head, “He broke protocol.”

You roll your eyes, “Stupid…”

“[y/n],” she calls to you.

You look up at her, raising your eyebrows.

“I understand if you don’t wanna be involved. I know defense isn’t your normal side of the bench. But I meant it when I said you’re the best of the best. When I didn’t know who else to call, I called you. That doesn’t mean you have to agree to this.”

You look out the window and your eyes fall on Spencer’s desk once again. It is empty like he has not been there for weeks, lifeless. You turn back to Emily, “Where are they holding him?”

In the dead of night, you burst into the law library in town. It was pouring rain outside and when the receptionist saw you drenched and leaving muddy footprints behind you, she asked, “You need any help, hon?”

“No, thank you,” you called, but you did not stop moving. You marched over to the torts section, you knew it all by heart. You swiped your fingers over every author, noting the alphabet in your head and you were slightly enraged to find that the book you needed was missing. You groaned and checked again. Then again and again. You sighed. You looked around the dimly lit library and it was almost instant. You saw his table, you saw the book, and then you saw him.

And before you really knew what you were doing, you were walking up to him and he was so entranced in reading that he didn’t even look up at you.

“How much longer are you gonna be?” you asked him. And then he looked at you. You thought, oh wow he’s pretty, but you were on a mission here.

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“With the book. How much longer do you think you’ll be?”

“Uh…I probably have…about a hundred pages left so…five, six minutes maybe?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, “Are you fucking with me?”

He couldn’t help but laugh, an awkward laugh, an uncomfortable laugh, but mainly an oh fuck a pretty girl is talking to me laugh. “No. No. You can…sit and watch, I swear. Time me if you want.”

You looked at him, arms crossed. You checked your watch and nodded, taking a seat, “Fine. Five minutes. Go.”

He gave you a small smile and then went back to it. You watched him trace his fingertip down the page, flick to the next one and down he traced again. You were curious. But irritated. But intrigued? You checked your watch with one minute to go and he went, “Okay, done,” and slid the book across the table.

You caught it in your palm, and looked up at him, “You are so full of shit.”

“What?”

“There’s no way you just read all of that in five minutes. There’s no way.”

“But there is a way because I did.”

“No you didn’t.”

He laughed, “I can recite it all to you right now. Front to back.”

“Where are you?” he seemed confused by this question so you continued, “Hm? George Washington? UDC?”

“Quantico.”

“Oh, you are so full of shit!” you went to grab the book and leave but he wasn’t ready for you to go.

“No, no, wait. Seriously. Look at my badge,” he pulled it right out of his bag. “I just got it today.”

You took a look, and when it wasn’t clear enough, you stepped closer, held it in your hands.

Spencer Reid. Behavioral Analysis Unit.

You handed it back to him, “Never met a twelve year old fed.”

“Twenty-three,” he corrected you. “And, uh…I get that a lot.”

“And what does a twenty-three year old fed need with a first year law book?”

He shrugged, “Just light reading.”

You rolled your eyes and he could just tell that you wanted to smile and so he smiled so big at you, hoping it would rub off.

“Book’s all yours,” he said. “I’ll find another.”

No smile.

“A-a-and if you’d like to…I-I don’t know…stay out of the rain, I’d…like it if you’d…maybe sit and read with me?”

You bit down on your lip and you hesitated, looked around as you weighed your options. Then, you took a seat. He grinned over at you as you flipped the book open and it was there.

Small, but a smile.

Back in holding, Spencer sits. He waits. He digs his nails into the bandage on his hand and his knee won’t stop bouncing. The same thoughts rush through his head, but every so often they are cut off by images of you. Every you. Every season. The last time he saw you. His breath catches so tightly in his chest that he actually hunches over in pain, squeezes his fist. His eyes keep darting towards the door, anxious, quick, hoping you’ll come. Hoping you won’t.

What gives it away is your heels. They’re fast and they’re loud, a rapid click-clack-click-clack on the floor. He sits up straight, holds his hands in his lap, forces his leg to stop shaking. Emily walks in first, and in behind her comes you. Picture perfect, dolled up, professional you. Your eyes connect and it should make him nauseous. Instead, his body relaxes. You’re the one that’s nauseous.

“Well,” Emily says to cut the tension. “I know this is an legal meeting so I’ll just give you two some privacy.” And she gets the hell out of there.

You step to the side as the door closes behind her. You set your brief case down on the table and have a seat. As the two of you sit in silence, Spencer feels that you’re judging him. Scolding him, staring him down. But all you’re thinking about is how much his hair has grown, from his head and from his face and underneath it all, he is still him.

You clear your throat, look away, “I’m obligated to remind you that everything you share here is kept confidential by attorney-client privilege.”

“I didnt use,” he spits out.

You pause, your eyes cutting up to him. He is staring into your soul. He wants you to hear him.

“I didn’t,” he shakes his head. “I wouldnt. I swear.”

You have to let that simmer in the air for a moment. You have to swallow it like a large pill, let it force its way down your throat and into your stomach. Through your bloodstream.

“I believe you,” you say. “Tell me what happened.”

“I-I…I did not kill her.”

You nod, “…okay. What else.”

“I-I…don’t remember anything else.”

“Well that…doesn’t help me here. It doesn’t matter if you say you didn’t kill her and you know that. What matters is evidence. The facts of the case.”

“I’m telling you I don’t remember anything, [y/n]. If I did, I would tell you but the entire thing is a-a blur.”

“And I’m telling you I can’t do anything with that.”

“Just… tell me what you really want to say.”

You consider it.

“I’m not here to judge you,” you tell him. “I’m here to build you a legal defense.”

“Whatever’s going through your head, I can take it,” he huffs. “Tell me.”

You purse your lips at him. You shake your head. But he insists. He peers into your eyes in waiting. Begging.

You inhale and with a hefty wave of breath, you shout, “Going to Mexico? Not telling anyone where you are? Smuggling experimental drugs across the border? Are you serious?”

He nods. He takes the blows as they land.

“Do you even comprehend the shit hole that you’ve dug for yourself? I mean, honestly, you-you should go to prison for at least,” you pinch your fingers. “A little bit because it should be a crime to be this stupid with an IQ that high,” and you punctuate it all with a sigh of relief.

Spencer sniffles, “Feel better?”

“No,” you say instantly. And you say this next part very clearly, “Because I can’t promise you that you won’t go to prison.”

The reason that you and Spencer worked so well together, you think - you thought - is that there was a certain amount of independence. After your meeting in the library, after all the pulling he did to sweep you off your feet, you decided that yes, you could do this. You could have a boyfriend who traveled for work. You could handle not seeing him for days or weeks on end. Just in your second year of law school, you thought: I will never have time to miss him. I will drown in school work and textbooks until he returns. It will not phase me. It will not change me.

Then you kind of fell in love with him. And suddenly you always, always had time to miss him.

“Hey,” you found yourself smiling when he called. On the other side of the country, it was only nine but you were in DC still studying at midnight.

“Hey, honey,” Spencer cooed. “I knew you’d be awake.”

“Like I could sleep at a time like this? No, thank you, this is all nighter territory.”

“Sorry I won’t be there the day of your exam.”

“Don’t worry about it. They need you out there more than I do.”

“I know, I know, I’d just slow you down,” he laughed.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” you nodded. “But…I miss you…wish you were here to slow me down.”

“Soon.”

“I know.”

“And, y’know, if we just moved into together, it could be even sooner.”

“Ooh, yeah, and we could get a plant too and watch it die a slow death because no one’s ever home.”

He cackled, quieted down as he whispered, “Just…try to actually get some sleep, okay? You can’t pass your exam if you’re exhausted. And make sure you have a good breakfast. A real breakfast, not coffee and some pop tarts. At least toaster strudels, okay? And afterwards, take yourself out for lunch or-or take someone with you. But don’t sit and think about it and drive yourself crazy. You’re gonna do great. You always do.”

You nodded, stifling a soft laugh, “Yes, doctor. Anything else?”

He shrugs to himself, “Just that I miss you. I can’t wait to see you.”

You grinned, “Soon.”

When your alarm went off at seven in the morning, you checked your phone to see that Spencer had woken himself up, three hours behind, to send you a message.

Two words: Toaster strudels!!!!

And over the next few days, you were truly too busy to miss him. You took your exam at ten o’clock on the dot and you took his advice, you went out to lunch. You thought about the exam only a little bit, to run through it with your friends before you started day drinking, and then there was nothing to do but wait. Keep yourself busy.

As soon as the jet lifted off, Spencer called you. Your phone was buried at the bottom of your bag, which was swinging against your hip as you walked across campus. You didn’t realize it was ringing until the very last second and by the time you pulled it out, he had already left you a voicemail.

As you waded through the crowd to see your posted exam score, you held the phone to your ear and listened.

“Hey! Hey, [y/n], we’re, uh, on the way back now. Safe and sound. I should be there by this afternoon. Uh, let me know if you get your exam results, okay? I’m so excited to see you. Call me when you can.”

Posted on the wall was the glare of your future, staring you in the face, chewing into your soul and you dropped the phone back in your bag.

When Spencer landed and still hadn’t heard from you, he slowly came to expect bad news. He bought you flowers on the way home, he called you, he texted multiple times to tell you he’d be coming over. He walked up to his apartment solely to drop off his things and before he could get to the door, he stopped in his tracks.

You stood up quickly, your face breaking out into a wide smile. Your hands shook and all you could say was, “I passed! I-I passed!”

And in an instant, he dropped everything except your flowers and ran to you, engulfing you in a big, tight hug. “Of course you did!” he shouted. “Oh, god [y/n], of course you did! Here…” he released you so he could rush to unlock the door.

“And I didn’t just pass, babe. I passed with flying fucking colors!” You let yourself into his apartment, still rambling while he dragged his things inside. He stood in awe as you paced around the living room, throwing your hands in the air. “Do you know what this means? I could be a real lawyer any day now!”

You looked at him, huffing and puffing with this toothless, wide smile that sat in your cheekbones. So happy and pretty that he forgot how to talk. “T-These are for you,” he stuttered, walking over to you with a bright bouquet of flowers.

Your eyes darted to the flowers, but only for a moment and then back to Spencer, and he was looking at you with so much love that you felt it in the pit of your stomach. You held eye contact with him as you took hold of the flowers, your fingers overlapping for a split second. And in one swift motion, you pulled him in by the back of his neck and dropped the flowers on the couch. It stunned him, sure, but it was instinct for him to grab onto your hips and kiss you. That is, after all, exactly what you wanted him to do.

You stood of the tip of your toes, took hold of his face and balled your fist in his hair. He grunted against your lips, held onto you tight as you dragged him into his bedroom.

“Okay, okay, okay, just-“ he stuttered as you tore off his shirt. His head got caught, the two of you burst into laughter, and you gave him a kiss as soon as the shirt hit the floor. You swiped his books off of his bed and laid yourself down, pulling him on top of you. When your pants got suffocating, you flipped him over so you could take them off. Your boobs hung in his face as you grabbed a condom from the nightstand and he ran his hands all over your body. Even when he could hardly breathe because you were rolling the condom onto him, he caressed your thighs and his nails rolled on your skin.

You giggled, going, “Stop, that tickles.”

He said, “Sorry,” and tickled you again, laughing as your body squirmed around and you chuckled into a kiss with him.

You were usually a lot softer with him. No rush. But the adrenaline in your body had you bouncing on his cock so quickly that you wondered if the whole bed might cave in. You kept looking at Spencer to make sure he was enjoying himself he was enjoying himself. His head was hanging off the bed, hanging loose from his neck and his mouth was wide open, releasing some of the loudest moans you’ve ever heard from him. When he realized he was getting close, he would grab your hips real tight, you’d stop and after a few breaths, he’d let you go. He’d let you get right back to it.

Afterwards, you collapsed beside him and tucked yourself in the crook of his arm, your hand on his heaving chest. You kissed him softly and he moaned, “Mm…” rubbing your back. “I love when you get a good grade.”

You cackled and threw your head back, tracing his bottom lip with your fingertip, “I love when you’re home.”

“Oh!” he suddenly shouted. “Speaking of, we have dinner reservations on our anniversary at seven. I’ll probably get called out before then but I will be back in time. I promise.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Then I’m a bad boy. A very bad boy,” he grinned, leaning into you as you laughed.

You held his face, gave him a kiss and nodded, “It’s a date.”

And he did eventually get called out again just over a week before your reservation. You have a very vivid memory of kissing him goodbye the day he left. He was himself. He was happy, and towards the end of the week, he called overly cocky saying that this case would be wrapped up soon. That he’d be home with a night to spare.

He lied.

People know you here. When you speak with the distric attorney on Spencer’s case, he knows you. He knows Spencer. And that should make it easy to negotiate here, but it unfortunately makes it that much harder. Luckily, you’re as stubborn as you are determined and with a bit of sparkle, you can get Spencer down to two to five years in federal prison.

That is, until new evidence arises. In that moment, all the oxygen and arguing and fight you’ve given goes out the window. Emily trails up beside you when you return, saying, “I just got the news. What now?”

“Now,” you sigh. “We tell Spencer.”

And as soon as you walk into the room, he is rising to his feet, staring at you. His eyes scan over your features and he goes, “That’s not a good face. What happened?”

“I…” you start. “Was able to talk Martinez down to involuntary manslaughter.”

“Manny Martinez?” he interrupts you.

“Yes,” you enunciate. “And he offered two to five years.”

Emily glances at Spencer, and asks you, “A deal? Well, that could mean they know they have a weak case?”

“Maybe,” you shrug. “But they could also just be in a rush to close this with minimal publicity.”

Looking to Spencer, you owe him the truth, “But they found the murder weapon in the desert. About an hour ago. The blood and prints are yours.”

The words knock the air out of him like a strong punch to the chest. You can see his eyes zone out, stuck on the floor as he sits himself down and tries to breathe. Emily is spinning gears in her head but you cannot stop watching him.

“Okay, so, where do we go from here?” she asks you.

“Well, the two to five quickly came off the table. Now, it’s five to ten at minimum.” Still, you watch Spencer. He can’t stand to look at you.

“And this is the only way he can avoid trial?”

You purse your lips and nod, shrugging, “Plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter, write a statement to the bureau. That’d be the end of it. Any other course of action will require presenting evidence to a jury.”

When Spencer finally decides to lift his head and speak, he looks you dead in the eye and asks, “Do you think I should take it?”

Your face visibly softens and you shrug, “Beats twenty-five to life. Which they will sentence if you’re found guilty, and with this evidence…it’s likely…”

He looks at Emily and when he cannot take the look of pity in her eyes for one more second, he asks you, specifically, “May I speak to you alone, [y/n]?”

You glance at Emily and nod, “Sure.”

The door closes and Spencer, comfortable enough to let his guard down, suddenly stands from the chair, hiding his face in his hands. He paces around the small room and pulls at the root of his hair. It’s very unlike him but in this moment, he says, “Fuck.”

“Yes,” is all you can add. “What do you want to do here, Spencer?”

“I-I-I don’t know. You’re my lawyer, can’t you just tell me what I should do? Tell me what to do.”

“I can’t do that. I’m not the one facing prison here. You have two options, okay? If you want to take your chances in court, I will be there. I will bring every weapon in my arsenal to defend you, but I can’t guarantee that the outcome will be better than five to ten.”

He shakes his head, “The team will crack the case. They will. They’ll catch Scratch and they’ll clear my name.”

“Oh, my…when?” you raise your voice. You don’t mean to. “This month? This year? This decade? Who knows? W-who knows how long you could be locked up before they catch a break?”

He sniffles, one single tear falling down his cheek as his head falls in defeat, “What…what do I do, [y/n]?” he cries. “Just tell me what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

And against ever fiber of your being, you instinctively cross the room and engulf him in a hug. He sobs into your neck and holds your waist in tight in his arms, breaks down when you run your hand through his hair.

He’s hurting but this helps. This helps a lot.

“Hey!” you answered Spencer’s phone with a joyous greeting. “Hi, Diana. Hi! It’s [y/n], how are you?”

And while she was beyond excited to talk to you, she rambled about her son. How he hadn’t called her in close to a week. How she missed the sound of his voice. “It just isn’t like him,” she said. “It just isn’t like Spencer. He calls me. He calls me everyday. Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied as you stood over him in bed. “Yeah, he’s okay. He’s, uh, he’s…”

He waved you off, silently ordering you to hang up and leave him alone. He rolled over onto his side and hid his face under the blankets. He wanted to make sure he was as avoidant as possible.

“He’s just…tired. But I know he…he’d love to speak with you…”

He did not move. And he had not moved since returning home from Tobias Hankel. He just hadn’t. You weren’t sure if he ever would. But as you continued to talk on the phone, the sound of your voice going, “Yeah, yeah,” grating his nerves, he hopped out of bed and went straight for the bathroom. The door slammed, it locked and you just hoped Diana didn’t hear it.

“Yeah,” you told her. “Yeah, he’s busy right now. Y’know, case paperwork and such. I can have him call you back?”

Then there’s a thud. Loud. It shakes the floor of the entire apartment and your breath catches in your throat.

“Yes, of course. I will have him call you,” you stared at the bathroom door. “I promise. Okay. Alright, bye.”

You rushed to the bathroom, immediately trying to open the door but it was locked. You wiggled the knob, you pounded on it, calling, “Spencer? Spencer?”

You found the key on top of the sill, with your hands trembling as you shoved it into the lock. When the door swung open, it stopped against something. Something heavy, something big. So you pushed and shoved enough that you could poke your head in and when you did, you screamed. You shrieked at the top of your lungs. The thing blocking the door, the thing laid out on the floor.

It was Spencer.

Spencer is due to appear in court this morning. You’re going to vomit.

You arrive promptly with thirty minutes to spare and you spend that time trying to find your client. Though you do not see his face, you notice him standing at the phone, dressed to impress in a sharp suit. His hand bandaged in the least disgusting way possible.

“Mom,” he says into the reciever. “I want you know that I’m safe and I have a great lawyer.”

You cross your arms over your chest, stand firm behind him and proudly eavesdrop.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it’s actually, um…[y/n]. Yeah, no. No, we’re not back together, she just…she’s a great lawyer. The best.”

And he goes looking for you, at the mention of your name, he starts scanning the room, like he can feel you somewhere. Somewhere. He turns around to find you leaning against the wall. He smiles. He can’t help it. Neither can you. You throw up a small wave and he waves back.

He speaks into the phone, telling Diana, “She says hi.”

The judge comes into the courtroom and almost immediately, she looks ready to leave. You weren’t nervous before, you don’t think Spencer was all that much either. But now, shit is getting real. Shit is getting very real.

“Miss [y/l/n],” she says to you. “Your client is a federal agent?”

You rise to your feet, nodding, “That’s correct, your honor.” You both notice Spencer still sitting and you whisper through your teeth, “Stand the hell up,” and he stands the hell up.

“Some very serious offenses brought against you today,” she tells him.

“Yes, your honor,” he nods.

“Miss [y/l/n], does your client wish to enter a plea at this time?”

You nod, “He does.”

“And how do you plead, Agent Reid?”

Spencer looks her in the eye and proclaims, “Not guilty.” You hope nobody sees you roll your eyes.

“Mhm,” the judge nods. “And as to bail?”

“The people oppose bail and request remand, your honor,” the district attorney responds, now standing.

“Remand?” you repeat. “Your honor, my client does not present a flight risk.”

“He’ll be staying with you, I suppose?” he fires back and you can’t help but cut your eyes at him.

“Good one, Manny.”

“Your honor,” he continues. “The defendant fled the scene in Mexico…”

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” you interrupt. “He was drugged against his will.”

“And failed to inform the FBI of his international travel, effectively breaking protocol.”

“With the intent to return home and care for his mother, who struggles with schizophrenia and alzheimer’s and lives with him full time. He is her sole caretaker, in addition to his career as a highly decorated member of the BAU.”

“And as a member of the BAU, he has connections all over the world that could prove highly useful if he chose to flee.”

“Agent Reid is more than willing to surrend both his professional and personal passports if it pleases the court.”

“Again, he has the connections to both recieve a counterfeit passport and evade arrest.”

“Your honor, all Agent Reid wants to do is stay here and clear his good name.”

“He should’ve thought about his good name before sneaking across the border.”

You glare at Martinez and look back to the judge, “I can provide sincere and respected character witness to the court today. All highly decorated members of FBI, willing to speak on Agent Reid’s behalf.”

“Miss [y/l/n], I am not particularly inclined to hear character witnesses at the moment,” the judge tells you.

“Then we can abide by a curfew, court ordered restrictions…”

“Too little, too late for that, Miss [y/l/n],” she silences you. “If past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior, and I do believe that it is…then your client does present a flight risk…” and with one, dramatic pauses, she says, “Bail is denied. The defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

The gavel lands and that’s it.

Spencer is put in handcuffs, in front of his entire team, in front of his family. In front of you. And all he can do is look at you. Eyes wide and terrified, looking at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “I’m so sorry, I’ll come see you as soon as I can.”

He believes you. He has to believe you.

Standing there in shame, the feeling in your gut quickly turns to anger and you march out of the courtroom, pass the team and into the hallway. You see the district attorney walking towards his office and chase him down.

“A flight risk?” you catch his attention and he turns around. “Really, Manny?”

He shrugs, “Judge Frost agreed.”

“Yeah, judges tend to do that when things are taken out of context.”

“Hey, the facts were clear as day. Don’t be mad at me because your boyfriend might go to prison, okay? That’s on him.” And with that, he walks away. You want to throw something at the back of his head.

You want to burn the whole building down.

Instead, you run. You run off to an empty corridor, where you are well aware no one will find you. You pace up and down the floor, your chest heaving, your hands on your hips.

“[y/n]?” Emily calls from behind you. When you cannot get out of your own head, she repeats, “[y/n]?”

“Why did you call me?” You shout as you turn to her. “Why did you bring me into this? Why? Why?” you sob and you put your face in your hands, sliding down the wall in a dramatic breakdown.

Emily immediately rushes to you, bending down to hold you in her arms. “You did everything that you could,” she tells you. “You did your best.”

“I’m always doing my best!” you whine. “I’m always, always doing my best for him and it’s not enough! It’s never enough!”

There’s too much for Emily to unpack there, so she shuts her mouth and she holds you.

The day that you graduated law school, Spencer stayed by your side the entire time. And that was good. That was good because you could be sure that he wasn’t shooting up and you could relax. He looked good that day. Not perfect. Not clean. But good. He dressed up, he could walk in a straight line and he was so, unbelievably proud of you.

He handed you flowers the moment the commencement was over. He took all the pictures so you could have the memories forever. He hung on your arm like a trophy boyfriend because, that day, he was a trophy boyfriend and he could not have been happier.

“Surprise!” was shouted at you as soon as you stepped into your apartment. Adorned with balloons and family and friends, you were overwhelmed and nearly dropped your degree. You turned to Spencer and he dropped his shoulders bashfully, too shy to outright accept all the credit. And still, you took him in a firey kiss, you gave him all the credit.

As you walked around, having something to eat, thanking everyone for coming, talking about your plans for the future, Spencer came up to you and said, “I’m going to grab the cake, okay, honey? I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“Oh, okay, baby, thank you,” you smiled and gave him a kiss.

He didn’t come back for an hour.

And when he did come back, he overcompensated by putting the cake down in front of you and going, “Sorry! Sorry about that. Traffic was crazy,” and placing a big, sloppy kiss on your cheek.

Right then, you knew.

He was bouncing off the walls, extroverted, enthusiastic, eating cake that other people had cut into and not able to get enough of it. Grabbing onto your waist and kissing your neck in front of a crowd, dozing off when he actually sat, flicking himself in the neck to keep himself awake.

And you knew.

By the end of the night, when everyone had cleared out and Spencer was missing, you stepped around the quiet apartment and found him passed out in your bed. You put two fingers on his neck, made sure he was alive, and you slept on the couch.

You woke up early even though he slept like a rock until closer to noon. You sat on the couch until he decided to get out of bed and come looking for you.

“Hey,” he smiled, his voice hoarse. “Hey, what are you doing out here?”

You could hardly stand to look at him. You hands were bound in front of your lips, your eyes focused on the coffee table. It wasn’t until that second that he looked down and noticed the collection on the table. Needles. A little vial.

“How…” you cleared your throat. “How long have you been hiding this in my apartment?”

“I…” he spit out. “I…that’s old. It’s old. I forgot it was even here.”

You choked out a gust of air and couldn’t help but laugh, “You are so full of shit.”

“[y/n]…”

“No!” you shouted, rising to your feet. “Tell me what’s so fucking good about this shit that you needed to shoot up during my graduation party?”

“I…I didn’t…I was just excited. I was excited for you.”

“No, you were fucking loaded.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Stop.”

“I wasn’t.”

“No, stop! Stop treating me like I’m fucking stupid! I mean, fuck, Spencer! After all the therapy and meetings and outpatient rehabs, you do this? Really?”

“I didn’t.”

“And what’s worse is that you lie. You lie about everything. You’re lying right and you don’t care!”

“[y/n]…”

“You don’t care. You don’t care. I’m the one who shot narcan up your fucking nose so you wouldn’t OD on my bathroom floor. I’m the one who couldn’t have one fucking night to myself and you, dont, care!”

You let out a quick huff and he simmered in the silence of your anger.

“I…I can’t do this anymore…” you said softly.

He stared at you, shaking in his own skin, “W-what? You can’t do what?”

You released a slow sigh, “I can’t…be with a drug addict.”

“I…am not…”

“You are. You are, Spencer, and you need help. You need more than I can give you.” And before he can retaliate, you set a box of his things on the table. Some books, some clothes with blood on the sleeves, some records.

He started to cry. You knew these were real tears because when he merely wanted to get his way, they would start flowing instantly. Here, they came on slow, rolling down his pale face. “[y/n]…”

“No.” You said sternly, avoiding eye contact. “You need to leave. Leave.”

“B-b-but I-I’m better,” he tried to touch you and you flinched. “I-I can get better. I can do that.”

“Not here. Not with me. Please leave.”

“B-but…” he cried. “But I don’t wanna leave. I wanna be with you. I need to be with you. Please. P-please, [y/n].”

You shook your head, quickly wiped away your tears. “I don’t want you here. Please leave.” You held the door open for him and put his box on the porch. “Please.”

“[y/n], please don’t do this,” he tried to shut the door but you held your own. “Please, please, I’ll go to a meeting right now. You can come with me. I’ll get better. I can get better.”

“Spencer…please. Go.”

“No.”

“Please,” you begged. “Leave.”

“No. No, I’m not leaving you.”

And so, because you had to, you absolutely had to, you pushed him out. He fought, never to hurt you, but he dug his feet in the ground and tried to push your hands away. “N-no, [y/n], please. Please. Please don’t do this.”

Spencer was never that strong before the dilaudid. But when he was on it, he was weak. He was slow and even with all his strength, he could not stop you from throwing him out and slamming the door in his face. You locked it quickly, pressed your palms to the wood to keep it closed up tight as he knocked lightly.

You could hear him sobbing, “[y/n]…please…[y/n]…” and his voice cracked. You heard him slide down the door and sniffling, “[y/n]…”

There was a moment where you thought to open the door. To take it all back. To change your mind. Tears were running into your mouth and you ground your teeth together to stifle your cries. Instead, you stood up straight, you took a deep breath. You went into your room, closed the door and turned the TV up loud.

Spencer still lives in his same apartment. So as you go up the stairs, hundreds of memories come flooding back to you at a hundred miles per minute. It makes you so dizzy that you nearly trip, fall down the stairs. Run.

But you make it to his door and knock, greeted by a younger woman who gives you a bright smile, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you wave to her. “Cassie?”

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m [y/n]. I’m-I’m a friend of Spencer’s. Is Diana here?”

“She is.”

“Is she up for a visitor?”

You let yourself in, stepping in to find that the apartment has not changed much. Same couch, same chairs, same coffee pot in the kitchen. Diana is sat near the window reading a book, picking at her nails anxiously. When she looks up and sees you, she stops and her entire face lights up like you’ve come back from the dead.

“[y/n], hi!” she greets you. She stands from her chair and rushes towards you with open arms. You let her hug you tight, her hand in your hair, your head on her shoulder and you want to cry. “Hi, honey, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m okay…” you shrug. “Can we talk?”

Her eyes go wide. Scared. “This is about Spencer. About that awful mess he’s in.”

“Yes,” you nod.

“Well, please, come, sit. Do you want some tea? Cassie makes a great cup.”

“Sure. Yes, please,” you smile as you sit across from her.

“Y’know, when I heard what happened to Spencer. I-I couldn’t believe it…my baby boy, in a jail cell,” she shakes her head. “But then he tells me that you were his lawyer and I could,” she exhales. “Breathe. You, such a smart and fierce young woman. There’s no one I’d trust more.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek and you shake your head, breaking eye contact with her.

“Oh. Oh, no, no, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Sorry…” you whimper. You wipe your face and huff, “Ugh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“For what? For what, honey?” she takes hold of your hands.

“I-I couldn’t…I didn’t…” you sob. “I…Spencer pleaded not guilty, but the judge ruled him a flight risk. S-so, he’s…in federal prison. Pending trial.”

You can see the shock spread across her face and it makes you sick to your fucking stomach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried.”

“Hey, you don’t apologize,” she squeezes your hands. Tight, tight, tight, tight. “You don’t apologize, you hear me? I know you did everything in your power. And if you couldn’t do it, then no one else could.”

You choke out another sob and she rubs your arm, cooing “Oh…oh…” and when Cassie sets a mug in front of you, Diana orders, “Here. Here, [y/n], please, have some tea. Calm down, sweetie.”

While you take sip, hiccuping against the glass, she changes the subject entirely. The rest of the visit spirals into a nice chat, mainly about you. What you’re up to these days. And as you fill her in, her eyes light up in pride, in almost disbelief. The last thing she says to you is, “Oh, I do wish you and Spencer could’ve worked things out. You are just…so special, [y/n]. Such a special, gifted girl. You made him so happy.”

She hugs you before you leave and you stroll beside Cassie to the front door. “Um…” you whisper to Cassie. “Is she normally this lucid?”

She purses her lips, “There are good days. There are bad ones.”

You nod.

“That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen her recognize anyone, though.”

For an extended amount of time after your first breakup, you thought Spencer was dead.

After you kicked him out of your apartment, there was radio silence. Scary radio silence. And you had visions in your head of him laid out with a needle in his arm and too much dilaudid in his veins and vomit in his mouth. Or, perhaps, he ran in front of a bullet in the field and no one thought anything of it. For months, you were so sure he was dead.

When you saw him on the news a year later, only then, you could breathe. You visibly and loudly sighed in relief just seeing his face, hearing his voice. More than grateful he was alive, you were grateful to see him healthy. Very clearly clean. Weight back in his face, light back in his eyes. You had almost forgotten what it looked like on him. It wasn’t until then that you knew you’d made the right decision.

You wouldn’t see him again for another two years. Save for a few local newpapers articles, the radio silence continued. You had moved to a larger apartment, close to the courthouse where you were still clawing your way to the top. Somehow, someway, Spencer found this new apartment. It was a conscious decision to do so.

He knocked on your door and you, not expecting company, catiously checked the peephole. You dropped from your tippy toes, sucked in a breath and opened the door. “Spencer? What…what are you doing here?”

“I’m…I’m sorry to drop by like this…” he stuttered, sucking back tears. “I am. I’m sorry. I…Emily…died.”

Your eyes went wide and you visibly stepped back. “What?”

“Y-yeah, she, um, she was murdered. Bled out in the ambulance and I…” he descended into a fit of cries and you just stood in the doorway, watching him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-I don’t mean to be a stalker. I don’t mean to barge in on you. I-I-I-I was just scared of what I might do if I was alone and n-no one else understands why I’m so scared to be alone and-and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You stood there in shock for a long time. The only thing that cut the tension was a sound from the TV, a strange sound that caught Spencer off guard. He peeked inside your apartment, sniffling, “What are you doing in here?”

“Uh…um, I’m playing Wii Sports?” you told him, holding up the remote dangling from your wrist. “…I have two remotes if-if you wanna play. It always makes me feel better.”

He tilted his head at you, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Oh, c’mon!” you shouted in front of the TV, swinging your remote through the air. “Put your back into it!”

“I am!” Spencer yelled, taking another swing that just barely hit the digital tennis ball.

“No, you’re not!” you swung and scored a point, Spencer feeling especially defeated by the cheer of the crowd. “You’re losing, is what you’re doing.”

“I give up,” he takes off his remote. “This game is rigged.”

“Is it?” you smirk. “Or are you just a sore loser? Not used to it?”

“Uh, yeah. Duh.”

You laughed and it poured a blanket of warmth over him that he had not felt in a long time. “You hungry?” you asked him.

“Starving.”

So you ordered a pizza and you got so caught up in speaking with him that you barely heard the knock on the door. When you set a slice down in front of him, he instantly picked it up and shoves it in his mouth, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy. He noticed you watching him and chuckled, wiping his mouth, “What?”

“Nothing…”you smiled. “Nothing, it’s just you’re…eating so good, you…you look good.”

He smiled at you. Not a big smile, not a proud smile, but a soft smile. A thank-you-I-did-it-for-you smile. “Thank you. I feel good.”

“Good,” you nodded. “That’s good.”

And the two of you ate in silence with the TV on to keep the peace. By the end of the night, his head was resting in your lap and his knees were tucked against his chest. He rubbed his thumb on your knee lightly and said, “I can go. If you want me to, I can go.”

“Yeah…” you whispered, your fingertip tracing his ear, your hand running through his hair, “Yeah, it’s getting late.”

He breathed you in one last time and sat himself up. He looked at you and you looked at him and if he stared at you any longer, it would’ve torn him apart. Instead, he hopped up from the couch and escorted himself to the door, you following close behind him.

“Thank you,” he told you. “For letting me stay. For feeding me. For taking care of me.”

“For kicking your ass at Wii Sports?”

“Yes,” he laughed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you nodded.

“Okay,” he huffed. “So…”

“So…” you shrugged.

He reached out to give you a hug and before you knew what you were doing, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him. That is, after all, exactly what he wanted you to do.

His arms locked around your waist and you moaned softly under your breath, sticking your tongue down his throat, drowning in the familiar taste of him. He pushed his body into yours, boldly nudging you towards the couch until you fell back and he could fall on top of you. Right where he was meant to be.

You’re uncomfortable in the prison. Milburn isn’t exactly known for it’s favorable accommodations and the last thing you want to do is appear prissy, but fuck, it’s gross. It’s crowded. It smells. You think: this must be killing Spencer.

He sits down across from you and he looks tired. Tired, but relieved to see you.

“Oof,” you exclaim. “You’re so lucky you look good in blue or else this would be really shitty for you.”

He snickers, shakes his head, “That was actually my exact thought.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “JJ says you’ve been by to see my mom?”

“I have. She’s doing okay, she seemed okay. We spoke for a long time. It was good to see her.”

“I bet she was excited to see you.”

“She was, it was sweet. I…I don’t wanna sound insensitive here, but, if she has an alzheimer’s diagnosis why does the memory of us breaking up just… linger?”

He wants to cackle but he stifles it, “Tell me about it. Every so often, I get an earful about how I should’ve done more to keep you around.”

“Oh. You…you didn’t tell her that I…”

“No,” he says quickly. “No, I didn’t.”

And just like that, a moment that was lighthearted and comfortable becomes unbearable. You clear your throat, “Well, I didn’t just come by to visit, I have news. It’s not great.”

“Okay, what is it?”

You sigh, “Your trial is postponed. I can’t say how long, but I will be the first to know and you’ll be the second.”

“Postponed?” he mimicked. “W-why? Why?”

You shrug, “They didn’t say. But it could be anything, I mean, higher profile cases, judge schedules, anything.”

He ducks his head down, breathing hard through his nose to prevent himself from crying.

“Hey…” you coo. “Hey, I’m going to figure this out. Don’t worry.”

“I know,” he nods. He looks up at you, “I know you’re trying. Thank you for trying.”

You nod, break a toothless smile, “Always.”

When Spencer wasn’t on drugs, you two managed to stay together for a whole four years. This was twice as long as you made it the first time around and not once did you worry that he had relapsed. You spent a lot of time worried that he might. You spent a lot of time keeping an extra close eye on him, watching for any of the signs, overly cautious. For a reason.

And Spencer was patient with this. He worked so hard to regain your trust because he knew how badly he had fucked up before. How different he’d become, how much he’d hurt you. He could not bear to ever put you through that again. And he never did. He was consistent, he was loving and he was sober.

On your third anniversary, he flew back into town late but he came straight to you. You had not officially moved in with him, but you had a drawer and a toothbrush and you could walk to work from his apartment. He woke you up from your peaceful slumber in his bed just to present you with your gift.

“C’mon, c’mon, I’ve been waiting so long to give it to you,” he cut the lamp on and you groaned, rolling onto your stomach. “Noooo, noooo, c’mon, my love. Look.”

You rolled back over and he was holding up a gold charm bracelet that immediately caught your eye. It woke you up entirely.

“I know you’re not a big jewelry girl,” he whispered, placing the bracelet on your wrist. “But this, uh, has a little charm of your birthstone and one with your birth flower. And, I don’t know, I thought it’d be nice to have on while you’re arguing in court, y’know? Wave it around a bit. Persuade the judge and jury.”

He fixed the clasp and you admired the gold against your skin, tracing it with your finger softly. You grinned, your eyes flickering up to him. “Wave it around…” you teased. “Like this?” and you motioned for him to come closer with your finger. The charms rang lightly and Spencer smirked at you.

“See, it’s just so compulsive, I can’t help but obey you,” he crawled on top of you, his voice mixing in with your laughter. “You’ll never lose a case again.”

And ironically, you went an absurd amount of time without losing a case after that. The bracelet was, in every sense of the word, your good luck charm. Your wrist came to feel naked without it and the ring of the metal gave you a special kind of confidence that couldn’t be replaced or replicated.

The day that Spencer got shot and nearly died, you were due to argue what would’ve been your tenth successful case in a row. You were on such a roll. A streak that no one around you had seen before and they were all eager to see how it progressed.

But as you approached the courtroom doors, your phone buzzed in your hand and you answered without much thought. You kept your brisk pace, speaking with a normalcy that JJ tried her best to match. Your heels were fast, click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, until the information ran through your ears and into your brain and then there was click-clack, click-clack, click…and you stood in the middle of the hallway. Stuck.

Your bottom lip trembled, at the thought of Spencer in critical condition. At the thought of him dying. Dying, dead, without you. You looked back at the courtroom and zoned back into JJ’s voice. You took one step towards the door, stopped and turned around.

Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.

Contrary to the belief of the BAU, Spencer is not your only client. You have to remind yourself of this as well. Despite a pile of work that you slowly chip away at, you find yourself running back to the details of Spencer’s file. Over and over, as if something new will stand out. It’s happened to you before. You think, it could happen again. It has to happen again. It doesn’t seem like it will.

“Hey, [y/n]?” you coworker calls, knocking on your office door.

“Hey!” you pip.

“Wanna grab lunch? My treat.”

“Lunch? It’s already lunch?” you check the clock and gasp, “Holy shit.”

She laughs, “You work too hard. What do ya’ say?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I, uh, thought you had to meet a client at Milburn this afternoon, though? The armed robbery guy.”

“Ah, no. Whole prison’s on lockdown. Something about a bad batch of heroin or meth or whatever they pass around in there, I don’t know. Attorneys are still allowed in but I’m not walking into that. I mean, can you imagine?”

It all pours out of her like a joke. Like a comedy of epic proportions that you are meant to laugh along with. But you can’t. You think about Spencer and you just can’t.

“[y/n]?” she calls, pulling you back into reality. “You alright?”

“Yeah!” you overcompensate. “Yes. Sorry. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

You grab your purse and swing it over your shoulder, following her out of your office and reminding yourself to breathe.

“You’re sure?” you questioned the doctor. “You’re positive?”

He released a hearty laugh and nodded, “Yes. He is fully recovered. No swelling, no tenderness, he’s cleared to work and resume any physical activity.”

“Any physical activity?” Spencer asked. You blushed and put your hand to your cheek.

“Yes, that’s right,” the doctor confirmed. “I must say, Spencer, this is quite impressive progress with such a severe injury.”

“I couldn’t have done it all without [y/n],” Spencer beamed, holding onto your hand. “She’s been amazing. She oversaw all my treatment and physical therapy. Slapped me aside my head when I was stubborn. It’s all thanks to her.”

You smiled, bashful and sweet, though you felt a weird, painful knot in your stomach. “Well, that’s quite a spectacular lady you’ve got there.”

“I think so, too,” Spencer grinned and kissed your cheek.

Immediately after Spencer was shot, followed by a long hospital stay, months of physical therapy and doctor’s visits, you lost your streak. You lost your glimmer. You lost that aura of shock and awe that you once so proudly carried. Though you kept it hidden from Spencer, you were one, giant ball of anxiety. All the time. It wrecked your brain, scrambled into a big pile of goo until you were having panic attacks in the courthouse bathroom.

Days later, you finally brought home a winning case. The adrenaline of a successful verdict rushed through your veins and you raced up the stairs to tell Spencer. You unlocked the door to his apartment and burst inside, stopping dead in your tracks when you saw him. He had cleaned, cooked and set up the dining room table with a meal for two.

“Hi, baby!” he exclaimed. “How was your closing statement?”

“Uhh, good. The judge ruled in our favor…” you spoke slowly, setting your things down.

“Really?” he smiled. “Of course! Of course they did. Baby, I’m so proud of you,” he held your face in his hands and gave you a kiss.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “What’s all this?”

“Oh, well,” he lead you into the dining room. “I made us a roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and corn on the cob. It should be good, I followed the recipe exactly. And, uh, some sparkling cider and I got you some lilies from the florist down the street and-and I even went to that store to get you a bath bomb even though all the smells give me a headache.” He was quite proud of himself.

“You went to Lush? No way.”

“Way! I thought we could take a bath together. Or you can take one by yourself, if you want. I got some candles, too.”

“Spencer, this is so sweet. What the fuck?” you wrapped your arms around him and the thought pinged in your head, “Ohhh. Oh, you wanna have sex with me.”

His face immediately turned bright red, “W-what? What? Sex? No. Ew…gross…”

You cackled and put your hands on his waist, “You got the go ahead from your doctor and it’s been driving you crazy. Admit it.”

“It has not been driving me crazy. I-I…have…been thinking about it quite a bit. But that’s not why I did this. I just wanted to thank you. Wanted to do something for you.”

“Mhm, keep talking,” you nuzzled your nose into his. “You’re almost there.”

He giggled and took hold of your hands, “C’mon, c’monnnn, I worked really hard on this dinner. Can you sit down and eat with me and then, maybe, after…”

You kissed the tip of his nose and took a seat at the table, “Definitely after,” you smirked at him.

He grinned and sat right next to you. And he watched you the entire time that you tried your food. It was delicious, you made sure to tell him that. You made sure to praise him, tell him that you loved him. He was already overrun with joy, but when you suggested a nice bath, he all but jumped out of his seat.

“The dishes!” you laughed.

He scurried back to the table, picked up your plates and dropped them in the sink. As he ran to the bathroom, he grabbed onto your wrist and dragged you along. He turned the water on, let it heat to just the right temperature and left it running. You undressed each other from head to toe and despite the sensuality of it all, you couldn’t stop giggling.

Sat in the tub, he cradled your back against his chest and he said, “Y’know…this bath bomb actually doesn’t freak me out as much as I thought it would.”

You laughed, “It smells really good, right?”

“Yeah! And the colors are cool.”

“I told you!”

Spencer got out of the bath first and he held out a towel for you to wrap yourself in. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you looked at yourselves in the mirror. He caressed your hair, whispering, “You’re so beautiful.”

You smiled, “Thank you. So are you.”

He kissed your shoulder, resting his chin in the crook of your neck, “I love you.”

“Eh,” you shrugged. “You’re alright, I guess.”

Your laughter overlapped with one another’s and you quickly corrected yourself, “I love you, honey,” with a kiss to his temple.

He turned his head and looked at you, his lips pressed against your ear, “Hey.”

You turned to him, “Hey.”

“We should get married.”

Your jaw dropped and you took a step back, “Are…are you just saying that because I’m naked and wet?”

He chuckled, “No,” he pulled you close, chest to chest, “No, no. I mean it. I mean, I don’t have a ring and I’m in no condition to get down on one knee but you deserve that, you deserve everything and I want to give that to you. I love you. So much. And I never, ever want to experience life without you again. I want you to be my wife, I want to be your husband. I want that. Don’t you want that?”

You let out a dry laugh, furrowing your eyebrows at him. You take his face in your hands, gripping tight on boths sides of his jaw and smush your lips into his. You undo the towel from around your chest and it falls to the floor, leaving every inch of your body open to Spencer’s touch.

“Mm…” he moans sharply when you break the kiss, giggling when you drag him to his bedroom by the hem of his towel.

The two of you landed on the bed with a thud, Spencer on top, tangling his body in yours, kissing your neck. Kissing your chest. Making his way to the apex of your thighs where he spread your legs and buried his face in between them.

Your breath caught in your throat but you released it all with a guttural moan, your arms limp around your head. The thing about Spencer, and that beautiful, talented mouth of his, is how gentle he was. His tongue was never rough, never hard flushed against you, but light and soft, hitting all the spots that made your body twitch. He could make you come so easily. And if you’d let him, he’d do it again and again and again.

But you took hold of his shoulders, you brought his face to yours and tangled your hands in his soaking wet hair and that is how you stayed the entire time that he fucked you. Close to him, bonded to him, staring into his eyes. You legs wrapped tight around his waist. Your body weakened underneath, became consumed by him and you swear, you have never come so hard in your life.

After his own orgasm, Spencer’s eyes focused in on you and you were crying. Not sobbing, just silent tears.

“Oh god, oh my god, [y/n]? What happened?” he panicked. “Are you okay? Did I-did I hurt you?”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, no. I…that was…it was just very good for me.”

“Oh…” he sighed. “Oh,” he gave you a kiss. “For me, too.”

He laid at your side and held you in his arms, rubbing your back, squeezing you tight.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, Spencer.”

You managed to fall asleep in his arms, but not for very long. All through the night, you shuddered awake like your skeleton was trying to crawl out of your skin. When your eyes popped open as the sun was starting to rise, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You emptied your drawer. You packed all your clothes. You put your toothbrush in a ziplock. And for the rest of the morning, you sat at the dining room table with a pen and paper. Every thought that rushed through your head sounded trite. Cliche. Dumb. So you kept it short and sweet and wrote:

I love you. I LOVE YOU. But I can’t. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.

Aside from the shitty note, it was the perfect goodbye.

Spencer doesn’t want to see you right now. He doesn’t want to see anyone right now but especially not you. When the guard notifies him of his lawyers arrival, he’s confused. A bit irritated. But he has no choice but to let them haul him off.

They let him into the meeting room, where at first, you are sitting but when you see him, you stand to your feet. Your eyes scan all over his beaten and bruised face and you order the guards, “Cuffs. Off. Please.” And they’re off Spencer’s wrists just like that.

The guards leave the room and you are still staring at him. Now you are touching his face. Now you are whimpering, “What…what happened?”

You can see him soften a little bit, only a little bit, and then he is shrugging your hand off of him. He’s never done that before and it kind of hurts.

“You shouldn’t be here, [y/n].”

“What happened? Who did this to you?”

“[y/n.]…” he’s stern, but he quickly changes his tone. “You need to go. Please. I don’t feel like talking right now.”

You huff, “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

He shakes his head, “I’m just not in the mood to talk. I don’t think anyone needs to be around me right now.”

“Well, too bad. I’m here, you look like someone took a walk on your face, and I want you to talk to me.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“What are you getting into in here? Huh?” you scold him, waving your hands around. “Didn’t everyone tell you to shut up and lay low? You didn’t listen, did you?”

Your charm bracelet catches his eye and he cannot stop tracking it, “…You don’t know anything anout anything.”

“I think-“

“No, you know what I think?” he snaps. “I think you ended our relationship in a fourteen word note and now you’re here for what? For what, [y/n]?”

“Okay, lower your voice.”

“Seriously? Your obligation is done. You fought the good fight. Let me rot. It what you would’ve done anyway.”

“Oh, fuck you. Do you know why I left you a note, Spencer? It’s because I really sucked at breaking up with you. You have one little meltdown and suddenly, it’s me. Suddenly, I’m the answer to all your problems. Well, I’m not. I never was. I’m just one of the many melodramatic problems that you have and I needed to be released before it just happened over and over and over again.”

“Melodrama- okay…” he turns around and bangs on the door, signaling the guards to get him the hell out of here.

“Spencer!”

“We’re done.”

“Will you just- talk to me,” you beg.

The door swings open and you instantly clamp up, attempting to appear calm and collected. You watch Spencer leave the room and you want to scream. You want to shout at him from the top of your lungs but you don’t. You think, if I can just get outside. If I can just cross the parking lot. If I just get to my car, I can scream.

You never make it.

By the time Diana is able to visit Spencer, by the time Spencer gets in contact with Emily, rambling and screaming into the phone like he’s just witnessed a murder, nearly a full night has passed. Emily meets Spencer in the moonlit prison and it takes her an entire minute to get him calm enough to talk, to explain thoroughly. The memories of Mexico that come flooding back, the woman who drugged him.

“Has anyone checked on my mom?” he shouts. “Can someone please check on my mom?”

“Spencer,” Emily calls to him. “We did.”

“And?”

“And, she’s fine. Apparently, Cassie was unable to come in and they sent another nurse in her place. But, um…”

Spencer leans forward in his seat, “What? What?”

“Cassie said this was delivered to your apartment,” she digs through her bag. “No name, no address. Just a knock at the door.”

And she holds up your gold charm bracelet, sealed in an evidence bag, “Do you recognize it?”

Author’s note:

Inspired by me finishing Better Call Saul and being torn apart by Jimmy and Kim. Also added Saul Goodman to my list of Old Men I’m Obsessed With 😭 Anyways stream the Breaking Bad universe on Netflix! Thanks 4 reading!! <3

#mine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reidxreader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #Spotify

[d0youc0py]

Could you do any 141 member (I don’t really care I love them all) comforting civilian!reader while she’s on her period? Like the cramps, nausea, mood swings?

Thanks!

He winced as another pained groan left your lips.

“Pain killers didn’t help?” He frowned. He laid down behind you tucking you against him. He pressed a kiss to the back of your head, his hands pressing down on the heating pad against your stomach. The pressure made you feel better and you softly grabbed his hand and put it under the heating pad, silently asking him to massage your stomach. “I got you.” He pressed another kiss to your shoulder.

“Are you done with your paperwork yet?” You whined.

“Ya, Sweetheart.” He lied. The thought of leaving you alone to suffer on the couch made his stomach turn. “You rest up, now and I’ll fix us some dinner later, yeah?”

“Don’t leave till I fall asleep please.” You requested, scooting closer to him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He’s literally the dream partner when it comes to this stuff

He has always been a very nurturing person

He has your special week marked on his calendar so he’s never caught off guard if you snip at him or you wake up and need to change the sheets

When he can’t be with you he always ships a care package to your house with all the things you could possibly need (snacks, pads/tampons, medicine, a card saying how much he loves you)

He’s the best honestly

“Kid, open the door!” The door handle jiggled. You splashed cold water over your face trying to calm down, but no matter how hard you tried sobs wracked your body. You blamed the hormones. You and Simon were new in your relationship, about five months in, and you had just recently started spending the night at his place. You always had a plan for what to do if you got your period during the night but you didn’t plan for it to come almost a week early. You woke up feeling a familiar wetness and practically ripped yourself out of Simon’s arms. To make matters worse he had his thigh resting between your legs, meaning- you didn’t even want to say it. You shook the thoughts out of your head.

“Sweetheart, c’mon.” Simon sighed from the other side of the door. “You know what I do for a living, yeah? You think a little blood is gonna scare me off? I find that a bit offensive if I’m being honest.”

“It’s disgusting and embarrassing!” You shouted through your sobs.

“It’s not disgusting.” He shot back. “Whoever made you feel that way is a cunt. And it might seem embarrassing now, but I promise you in a week it’ll make you laugh. Out you come.” He shook the door handle again. He did make you feel better. “There she is.” He whispered. You looked him over, happy he had changed his sleep shorts. A clunky thumb wiped away a few remaining tears.

The man is completely unbothered

You can throw a whole hissy fit and he’ll just ask if you’ve eaten anything today

Bodily fluids don’t faze him at all- you could bleed, vomit and cry all over him and he’d just pat you on the back

He’s still doesn’t always understand how to take care of other people, so if you want/need him to do something all you have to do is ask

He never ever makes you feel bad/embarrassed about anything

“Si, you aren’t going to believe the blood clot that just came out of me.” “I’m proud of you Sweetheart.”

“I just can’t believe he did that to her!” You sobbed, wiping your eyes on your husbands shirt.

“What a bastard.” He growled, wiping a tear from his own eye. He wrapped an arm tighter around you, throwing a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth.

“Get off the screen!” You shouted, throwing a few pieces of popcorn at the TV.

“Ya, fuck off!” Johnny yelled after you tossing a few pieces as well. You both looked at each other before bursting into a giggle fit.

Every time you on your period it seems like Johnny also goes on his

You would think both of you being so emotional would cause problems, but it really makes you feel less alone

He definitely steals higher grade pain meds from the base to help you (Price caught him and started doing it for his own partner)

Absolutely loves to take warm showers with you

This man is also unfazed by bodily fluids ;)

Whenever you feel sick he is on the other side of the door cheering you on

You hated when you got your period and he wasn’t here. It always reminded you of how sucky life was before him and how much spoiled you are now. You pressed yourself deeper into his pillow, inhaling his scent. Your muscles relaxed slightly- but it was nothing compared to the real thing. The pain killers had yet to kick in and your body felt so hot and uncomfortable. Your ears piqued up when you heard the door open.

“Babe?”

“Ky!” You screeched. The ache in your stomach couldn’t stop you from running through the flat to greet him. “What are you doing here? Your not suppose to be home for another two weeks?” You questioned between both of you pressing kisses against each other.

“I can just stay for two days.” He sighed, scooping you up. “I told Cap you weren’t feeling well- and let’s just say being the favorite has its perks.”

If you thought Price was good wait till you meet Kyle He definitely learned it from Price

Total Princess treatment to the max

“Ky, I can tie my shoes.” “Don’t worry bout it love.”

He shows love through acts of service so this is his time to shine ✨

Has a stash of all your favorite snacks/drinks for when the time comes

He usually puts you between his legs and the two of you play video games for the next eight hours- distraction helps take you mind off of the pain

#cod #cod men #d0youc0py #doyoucopy #cod mw2 #cod mwf2 #cod x reader #fluff #sfw #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #cod captain price #kyle gaz garrick #ghost x reader #soap x reader #captain price x reader #gaz x reader #female reader

[freelancearsonist]

so scarlet, it was...

➔ post-outbreak Joel Miller x afab!Reader - series masterlist

➔ 1.3k words

➔ “Go ahead, yell your fucking head off. That’ll make everything okay, won’t it?”

➔ Rated MA for dark fic kinda, a/b/o themes (alpha joel, omega reader), established... situationship? i guess, pregnancy/contemplation of termination, contemplation of self harm, reader is not in a good headspace. one instance of vomiting, joel is not very nice, this fic in general is not very nice. takes place three years post outbreak. [please let me know if i missed any warnings so i can add them in :)]

➔ thank you so much to my darling @bitchwitch1981 for the prompt, i'm so sorry this is probably very much not what you wanted 🤣 extra special thank you to @perotovar for making this wonderful joel gif for me, if ur reading this ily <3

You’ve never actually used one of these things before. You’ve only read about them in books or seen them in movies from years ago, and they’ve only ever been an object of abject horror.

You understand why now, looking down at those two little lines on the stick cradled in your hand. You’ve never been quite so terrified in your life.

You never should’ve pocketed this test when you found it in that miraculously untouched drug store. You could’ve stayed blissfully unaware. Better yet, you should’ve been more careful. Three years of living like this has been more than enough to make you firm in your decision to never bring life into this broken world. This isn’t a place for a child, this is barely even a place for you. Every day is a fight, every waking moment is a nightmare. But you’ve been so careless with him and now it’s all crashing down, this blissful bubble where you can pretend that everything might be okay because you have the pack and, more importantly, him. 

You won’t have him for much longer when he finds out about this.

You wonder what it’ll take to right this wrong before he finds out about it. It must be pretty early, so maybe it won’t take much to reverse it. Maybe all you’ll have to do is bump into something just right, or trip over the right log.

The thought makes you sick–more stomach bile than anything else coming up because you’ve hardly had more to eat than stale beef jerky and some precarious berries in the past few days. Resources have been so slim; another reason this can’t be happening. You hardly have enough to tide you over, much less a child. And it’ll be even worse once the pack abandons you.

You bury yourself into the haphazard nest of blankets and his worn clothes, letting the heavy, musky scent of him soothe your wracking sobs. 

Maybe you should just accept your fate now, sacrifice yourself for the good of the pack. Everyone is going to die eventually, after all–sooner rather than later in this world. You’ve only been postponing the inevitable. They never have to know why you do it, and it’ll be one less mouth to feed. Two, technically, but they’ll never have to know that. He won’t even really miss you, it’ll be one less burden on his hands. On all of their hands.

You don’t hear them return early from scavenging–maybe because the volume of your own sobs drowns out any other noise. Or maybe because he can sense something is wrong as he enters the run-down little shack you’ve been holed up in for the past few weeks, and he softens his approach because of it.

Joel has never been quite as tender as he is when he takes you into his arms, pulling your face out of the pile of fabric to wipe at your tear-streaked cheeks.

“My omega, shhhh, I’m here. It’s okay,” he murmurs, wrapping you into his big, strong, safe arms. He doesn’t know. Maybe he thinks you had a nightmare, or you just missed him, or a million other things except the truth. But he doesn’t know, and you know he doesn’t know because you feel the moment he connects the dots. His eyes drop to the little white stick clutched tightly in your fist and his entire body stiffens like a board. Suddenly there’s no more warmth or comfort to his touch, nothing soothing about the pheromones drifting from him. He pulls away like you’re infected, and maybe you are. Maybe the thing that’s taken root in you is worse than cordyceps could ever hope to be.

You’ve never been terrified of him before. Joel is dark and brooding and imposing, but he’s only ever fought to protect you. His omega, who wormed their way under his skin despite him fighting it every step of the way. His omega, who’s been the only source of anything remotely close to comfort he’s had since outbreak day. His omega, who’s given him purpose in this dark world.

His omega, who’s betrayed him in such an unforgivable way.

“What the fuck.” There’s nothing but venom in his tone–he looks at you with pure disgust and your resolve crumbles.

Maybe there was a little, tiny, miniscule part of you that hoped it would be different. That he would be excited to be a father, or at least be understanding. But that hope dies so suddenly when you look up into his scowling face. He towers over you, dark eyes flashing with anger, and for the first time since you met him two long years ago you’re scared.

“You were supposed to be careful.” His voice rises further and further with each syllable, as if this isn’t partially his fault too. As if he wasn’t the one in such an uncontrollable rut last month that he kept you in bed all week, losing the willpower required to pull out with each powerful thrust of his hips. As if it isn’t his seed blooming in your womb as you speak.

“What do we do now, huh?” He growls, eyes darkening, fists clenching at his sides. “I’ve fucking marked you, I can’t turn you loose! And we barely make it by as we are! How the fuck are we supposed to handle this?”

He rants for what seems like hours and you flinch with every booming word, curling tighter around yourself in a desperate attempt to simply disappear; to not have to deal with this any more because your heart shatters with each irreversible word he throws at you. You shrink and shrink and shrink in hopes of vanishing because this is undoable. No matter what happens, nothing will ever go back to the way it was and that’s the knowledge that crushes you completely.

Your voice is so small when he finally quiets enough for you to speak. “Go ahead, yell your fucking head off. That’ll make everything okay, won’t it?”

Joel stops in his tracks, white knuckles unclenching for the first time in minutes. He sees the fear and regret in your eyes, and he almost lets it soften him. He loathes himself for this look on your face–for making you scared of him.

His omega. So small and fragile, curled in a pile of his clothes because his scent brings you comfort. He’s dedicated two years of his time and effort to keeping you safe and comfortable, if not happy. He’s supposed to protect you, not hurt you. He’s supposed to give you children and raise them with you, be a family with you. That’s what being your alpha means, and he has so sorely failed you. 

But he knows he can never do that again. That’s never what this was supposed to be. He didn’t mark you out of anything but necessity–if he had let your uncontrolled scent waft every time you went into heat, every alpha in the country would be targeting your little pack of four. You’re his omega out of biological necessity–a warm hole to fill when his rut threatens to tear already strenuous ties with his brother and Tess. That’s what he tells himself because the alternative is so startlingly incomprehensible that he won’t allow himself to even consider the fact that he might care about you; that the urge to care for you and protect you is more than primal, biological instinct; that you mean more to him than anyone ever has.

Not just his omega now, but his mate. His unborn child is growing and growing and growing with each passing second inside your womb and he’s powerless to stop it.

“We’re thirty-seven miles from the Boston QZ,” he growls from somewhere deep in his chest. “We leave at first light.”

You don’t get a chance to argue or plead your case before the door slams shut behind him. 

➔ beta: @beskarandblasters and @fhatbhabie

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#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #alpha!joel miller #the last of us fic #joel miller fic #dark fic #the last of us #tlou #joel tlou #cece writes #series: maroon

[strangerstilinski]

𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; steve takes care of his sick gf

warnings; no use of y/n, (steve refers to reader as ‘girl’ but no mentions of specific anatomy i don't think), multiple descriptions of vomiting, steve being stupidly sweet, casual/non-sexual nudity, sickfic, fluff

word count; ~4k

a/n; i wrote 99% of this while i was sick and exhausted myself, so i'm not insanely happy with it??? but, uh.. fuck it? right? also this is my first time posting something on here that isn't DOB so pls, pls be nice — i beg you.

You had thought it would get better.

You'd thought that sleep would be enough to get rid of the overpowering warmth that had begun to prickle uncomfortably under your skin, the congestion that left your head feeling like it was just a little bit too big, too heavy, for your body. The better part of the last twelve hours have been spent curled up in bed, hoping to sleep it off.

You're not entirely sure what illness is to blame for your current state, but you're cursing each and every possible one as you stumble into the bathroom and fall to your knees in front of the toilet. An immediate ache from the collision against the floor goes ignored, as does the cold that bites at your shins through the glossy tiles.

Now, as your body rolls and tenses with heaves and coughs that have you spilling the remains of your dinner from the night before into clean porcelain, you can't quite believe that you'd dared to be so naively optimistic.

Time passes in that horrible way it always does when you feel poorly, too slow at times and a total blur at others. Your head has been pillowed on your arm at the edge of the toilet for one of those blurred stretches, time fuzzy while you catch your breath. You hear the loud trill of the phone ringing out from down the hallway and your head shoots up at the sudden noise. You intend on hobbling out of the bathroom to answer it, but the too-quick motion of your head snapping to attention has your stomach turning all over again.

The ringing continues as you upend the final contents of your stomach, and the grating noise of the telephone finally dies off only to pick back up again just as your puking turns into nothing more than dry-heaves, body still protesting despite there being nothing left inside of you to give.

When the roiling of your stomach settles slightly, it takes all of your strength to pull yourself to your feet, flushing the toilet and grabbing the bottle of perfumed bathroom spray to mask the lingering smell that's doing absolutely nothing to ease your nausea.

You fumble for a moment as you locate your thermometer, placing the end of the small glass tube under your tongue as you lean onto your elbows over the sink, head dropping weakly as you wait. When you pull the device from your lips a few minutes later, the little red line reads somewhere around a hundred, and you drop it to the back of the counter with a huff.

Your weight continues rest heavily on the edges of the sink as you flick on the tap and proceed to take a few long sips straight from the stream of cold water, rushing to take in grateful gulps. It clears some of the bitterness from your tongue, washing away the rancid taste of bile and stomach acid while settling cooly in your feverish body.

You push back up, weight resting on your palms until you can regard your unusually pallor complexion in the mirror. Your eyes are bleary, a little wet still with tears from your battle with your own body a few minutes before. The sight of just how truly unwell you look has your stomach turning all over again, the cold water in your stomach suddenly feeling as if it's moving in heavy, churning waves inside of you, as if it's fighting to break free.

You barely make it back to the toilet before you're retching and dumping back out all of the water that you'd forced into your body perhaps a bit too quickly.

You're so exhausted by the time your stomach settles once more, you don't manage more than flushing the toilet and misting the air with another quick spritz of freshener before you've slumped against the wall and begun to doze.

When your boyfriend eventually comes knocking at your front door, the sound isn't enough to rouse you, not even when the noise grows a little more frantic from anxiety, palms slamming against the surface paired with muffled shouts of concern through the thick wood.

You remain entirely unaware as an increasingly worried Steve Harrington begins searching for your spare key with muffled curses. He nearly upends the potted plant you have outside your door, kicking your doormat across the hallway in his haste to unlock your door and shove his way into your apartment. Steve stumbles through several rooms before he finds you in the bathroom and his steps falter at the sight that awaits him.

You look so pathetic it's startling; curled in on yourself in a way that makes you appear smaller, weak and innocent, younger even. Your head is tipped against the wall, lolled to the side until your nose and chin are nearly touching your shoulder. He knows it has to be wreaking havoc on the muscles in your neck, and he nearly winces at the thought, pushing further into the room and squatting down in front of you. Steve's hand finds your cheek, supporting some of the weight of your head to straighten your spine just a touch as he assesses the sickly pallor your skin has taken.

“Oh, honey.” Steve says softly, thumb stroking from your jaw to the apple of your cheek and back down again.

The soft touch is enough to finally wake you and he watches your eyes blink heavily, feverish confusion pulling your brows together as you struggle to focus on the face in front of you. You pout at him and the sight of your lip jutting out is so cute that Steve fails to notice your arm rising weakly from where it was blocked by the toilet. Not until it's too late.

A honeysuckle scented mist sprays in his direction, forcing him to flinch back in surprise as the perfume invades his nostrils.

“Jesus!” Steve exclaims in surprise, hacking slightly at the taste of it on his tongue, “Baby, what the hell?”

Your nose scrunches up as both your arm and the spray bottle fall heavily into your lap. You blink at him slow, “Smells like vom in here.” You explain meekly.

“It smells fine.” He tries to reassure you, pulling the de-odorizer from your weak grip and setting it on the countertop behind himself and effectively out of your reach.

“Wha're you doing 'ere?” You question in a rasp, shaky hand grabbing ahold of his wrist as if trying to prove to yourself that he's real and not some fever-induced hallucination.

“You weren't pickin' up my calls,” He tells you softly, thumb beginning to move across the heated skin of your cheek again, “I knew you were plannin' on staying in to get some cleaning done. When you didn't answer my mind kinda ran wild. Thought you might've slipped and fallen and cracked your head off the kitchen counter or somethin'. I dunno, I just.. I got worried, sweetheart. Came to check in for my own peace of mind,” His gaze trails the length of your body, taking in your wrinkled tshirt, your bare feet, your clammy skin, the puffiness around your eyes, “I'm glad I did.”

“‘'m sorry I didn't pick up the phone,” You apologize quietly, your gaze drifting to the toilet for a moment before slowly meeting his again, “Was busy puking my guts out.”

The way your lip pulls up at the corner from your own dry humor has Steve cracking a smile, his voice fond when it sounds again.

“I see that,” He says with a sigh, “How long you been sick?”

You try to shrug but your shoulders barely move, your body too weak to manage more than a small twitch of your muscles, “Started feeling shitty last night before bed. Slept a lot. Got sick when I woke up this afternoon.” As if suddenly realizing the lack of brightness coming in through the bathroom window, your raspy voice comes again, “Time s'it?”

“Five-ish,” Steve tells you with a frown, pretty brown eyes flicking over your face, “You haven't eaten anything?”

You give him a small shake of your head, his large hand supporting most of the weight of your skull as you do so, “M'sick.”

He sighs, “You still gotta eat, honey. Have to get something in your stomach if you're gonna get your strength back.”

You shake your head again, sad eyes meeting his, “I'll just throw it up. Don't want to get sick again.”

Steve smiles at you pityingly, a sad thing, “We'll try something real small to start, how's that?”

“How small?” You ask nervously.

“Some soup?”

You shake your head.

“Just broth and some crackers?” He bargains.

Your stomach rolls at the mere thought and it must show on your face because he sighs heavily.

“Dry toast?” He tries.

Your eyebrows pull together, but the thought doesn't immediately make you queasy, so you give him an indecisive shrug.

“Let’s try some toast, yeah, honey?” Steve says softly.

His fingers gently brush your hair back from your face and your mind whirls in realization.

“Oh god,” You bemoan weakly, “'s there puke in my hair?”

“No,” He says a little to quickly, “No, baby, there's nothing in your hair.”

You give him a look to say that you don't believe him for a single second, but he's looking at you so fondly that your expression melts away into something soft almost immediately.

“You want me to tie your hair back?” Steve asks, already turning around to peek at the bathroom countertop where there's a mess of hair ties and clips littering the surface.

“The big one.” You tell him, nodding vaguely in the direction of your favorite scrunchie.

He turns back around with the puffy material pinched between his fingers, already combing your hair back and collecting it in a bundle with gentle hands. The sensation of air meeting the clammy nape of your neck feels so good that you let out a small noise of relief, leaning forward to give him more room while he tries to smooth out the lumps in your hair with his fingers.

Once he's managed a messy ponytail, his wide palms rest on the sides of your neck, thumbs ghosting along your jawline as he frowns at the feverish sweat on your brow.

“You taken your temperature at all?” He questions in concern, his fingers meeting your forehead and somehow managing to feel blessedly cool against your overheated skin, “You feel like you're burnin' up, sweetheart.”

“Hundred or so.” You tell him, eyes falling shut as you lean into the feeling of his hand against your sweaty skin.

Steve hums, an unhappy sound, “That's not too bad. Not good by any means, but it's nothin' to be too worried about, huh?” He sounds like he's trying to reassure himself more than you, so you merely nod against his hand. He sighs after a moment, “Right. C'mon. Up we go.” He urges softly, arm curling around your back with one hand gripping at your hip as he pulls you to your feet.

You're not sure how he manages it so effortlessly, the only hint of his strain is the soft grunt he lets out when you collapse against his chest and knock a little bit of the wind from him. You bury your nose into the dip of his clavicle, the strip of skin and scarce chest hair poking out from beneath the collar of his stretched shirt is soft to the touch and masculine smelling and overall a little dizzying — although, the way you sway against him has you wondering if maybe that's just the fever.

“Toast.” Steve reminds you softly, hand slipping beneath your baggy sleep shirt — one that had been his shirt, once upon a time — to run his thumb over the soft, overheated skin at your hip.

You grumble something that's not quite disapproval or approval, a weak sounding thing to protest the thought of moving from your current position, but with an endeared sigh and a soft press of his lips to your sweaty temple, Steve's manhandling you into a better position. Your feet end up over the tops of his, your arms curled up underneath his own to grip weakly onto the backs of his shoulders. He holds you steady with one hand at the center of your spine and the other spread over your backside in likely the least sexual touch he's ever graced to that area of your body.

You manage a weak murmur about him copping a feel and he laughs. It falls over your ear in a breathy little chuckle as Steve carefully waddles the two of you down the hall. His arms continue to hold you tight to his chest while walks you back around the corner leading into your small kitchen, flicking the overhead light on as he goes.

“Hows'it you're mouthy even when you're on your deathbed?” He asks, a small grin on his face as he gently gets you settled up onto one of the kitchen stools where you can rest while he makes you food.

You collapse onto your elbows against the countertop as soon as he releases you, cheek resting heavy in your palm as you peer up at him.

“Dunno..” You tell him quietly, eyes flicking over Steve's face slow in a way that you didn't quite manage in the dim light of the bathroom.

His hair looks a little fluffier than normal, soft and messy in a way that makes you want to run your hands through it, tug soft on the strand that dips down over his forehead and curls toward his eye in that effortlessly beautiful kind of way. Caramel swirls prettily with the darker shades of brown and gold in his eyes, pink lips pulled into a barely-there grin when he turns back toward you after grabbing a half eaten loaf of bread from the cupboard.

You're watching him with a dazed sort of admiration, “How s'it you look so pretty even when I'm on my deathbed?” You counter dreamily, arms crossing against the cool countertop so that you can rest your temple over the tops of them when your head suddenly starts to feel a little too heavy, vision swaying.

Steve laughs softly as he gets two slices of bread into the toaster, “I'm not sure there's a correlation between my good-looks and your health,” The sound of his amusement fades out when he looks back at you and finds your new position, “Oh, Honey..” He says simply, the words pitying.

“'m dizzy.” You tell him with closed eyes. The darkness behind your eyelids doing nothing to slow the spinning in your brain.

“Well I'm sure that not eating all day is at least partially to blame for that,” Steve says softly, “Your body can't fight the virus if you don't give it any fuel.”

You pout petulantly, knowing he's probably right, “You're annoying when you're smart.”

The swirling blackness behind your closed eyes slows, your breathing following suit as you relax against the counter.

“C'mon, sit up, sweetheart.”

The sound of his voice startles you and the quiet clink of a ceramic plate being set down on the counter beside your head has you deducing that you might have fallen asleep for a few moments. You make a small noise of surprise as your gaze moves to the food on the plate, plain dry toast. Steve has sliced it into cute, neat little triangles for you and your heart melts a little at the gesture.

Hands on your arms guide you gently into an upright position as Steve crowds up against your side, letting you rest your weight into the wall of his chest when your head swims a little from the movement. You grab a slice of lightly toasted bread from the plate in front of you and bring it to your lips, nibbling slow at the corner with your eyes closed, trying to focus on the way you rise and fall with Steve's breaths where you're resting against him — the expansion of his lungs beneath his ribs rocking you in a slow, steady movement while you attempt to force down comically tiny bites.

Steve drags his palm along the length of your spine, drawing a smooth path up and down as you eat.

“Doin' good, babe,” He praises softly, his free hand falling to rest lightly on your stomach where he begins to trace tiny circles over your shirt, “You don't have to eat it all. Just need to get a little something in your stomach.”

You hum around your sliver of toast, crumbs raining down on both of your chests and clinging to the fabric of your shirts as you chew. It takes a stupidly long time, but you manage to finish a single triangle of bread, and Steve continues with his soothing touches all the while.

He feels you grip the hem of his shirt in your fist, your sweaty face turning into his chest with an unintelligible murmur, and he brings his hand on your back up to rest between your shoulder blades.

“You done for now?” Steve asks gently, fingers rubbing softly into the tense muscles beneath your neck as you nod, “Probably haven't had anything to drink either, huh?”

You shake your head and a frown pulls at your lips when he takes a small step away from you, “Wha'-?”

“Gonna grab you a glass of water, alright? Then we can take a bath. Get you all clean and relaxed.”

He's already stepping away before you can protest, though the phantom sensation of the water that had re-emerged from your mouth an hour or so earlier has you frowning anxiously.

Unaware of your silent distress, Steve grabs a glass and turns on the tap, the loud rush of the water hitting the sink basin filling the room while he sticks his hand under the flow. He stands like that for a few moments, fiddling with the temperature a couple of times before he fills the cup. He returns to you only moments later, settling the glass into your palms with more gentleness than you think you've ever experienced.

As both of your trembling hands lift the water to your lips, you take a small sip, frowning and lowering the glass only a moment later.

“It's warm.” You complain weakly, face scrunching up in disgust as you meet his eyes.

Steve nods and his hand urges your own to bring the glass back to your lips, “Cold water will shock your stomach,” He tells you softly, “Gotta be warm if you don't wanna get sick. My strong girl just ate half a piece of toast, you don't want to immediately throw it back up, do ya?”

“No.” You murmur around the lip of the glass, taking another careful sip.

“No,” Steve agrees, wide palm coming up to brush a few loose wisps of hair back from your forehead, “Doing good, honey, real good. Just a few more sips and we'll get you in the bath.”

You frown at the reminder, clutching your cup to your chest with both hands, “Oh god,” You whisper in horror, “I smell.. I smell really bad, don't I?”

“You don't smell,” Steve promises with a soft smile, though it's not entirely convincing, “A bath'll help your head, though. You said you were dizzy, yeah?”

“Yeah,” You agree quietly, “Feels, like, swollen. Like my head's gonna explode.. But also 's spinny.”

“The steam will help,” He promises, “And you'll feel better when you're fresh and clean, y'know?”

You sigh around another sip of the warm water, a reluctant nod against the hand resting over your forehead. He urges you to drink a little more before he's dragging you back toward your bathroom.

You're forced to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, watching with tired eyes as Steve flits in and out of the room — adjusting the flow of the water in the bathtub and digging through your basket of bath salts and filling a bowl from the sink tap for reasons you can't imagine but don't bother to question aloud.

Instead, you wait. The loud rush of water filling the tub lulls you into a sort of trance until your eyes are slipping shut, head swaying heavily on your shoulders. The steam filling the room smells nice, lavender salts and oils having been added to the bath at some point, and the smell has you beginning to relax.

“Not fallin' asleep on me already, are you?”

You blink slow, heavy eyelids fluttering as you open your eyes to find Steve standing in front of you, already stripped down to his boxers. He steps between your legs to pull your shirt up over your head and you're down to only your underwear with just that one quick move. When he pulls you up, gentle hands cupping your elbows in case you sway on your feet, you lean into his bare chest with a contented sigh.

“This is nice.” You murmur, rubbing your cheek against the soft hairs littering his chest.

“This isn't even the relaxing part, honey,” Steve chuckles softly, his hands falling to your hips to rid you of your final article of clothing, “Come on. In you go.”

He helps you step over the lip of the tub, one hand in yours and the other on your waist to steady you. The water is hot and silky against your skin, a gasp on your lips when it first licks at your calves. It sends blissful shivers down your spine as you settle down into it, your eyes falling shut with a contented groan as you curl your arms around your knees and bow your head to rest over them.

You're only alone for a moment before Steve is settling in behind you, his long legs caging you in as they stretch the length of the tub. The water flowing from the tap cuts off and the room is thrust into startling silence, the thundering sound of the bathtub filling being replaced with the quiet sloshing of the water as Steve adjusts himself beside you.

You gasp in surprise when a warm stream of water falls over your shoulder and you crack your eyes open to watch as Steve cups his hands again, bringing the water to the back of your neck and releasing it in a warm rush down your spine. You hum in approval and he repeats the action a few times, dropping handfuls of water over your back as the steam works to lessen the pressure in your head.

A few minutes pass before Steve's maneuvering you around with big hands at your ribs, your thighs splaying wide over either side of his knees as he settles back against the end of the tub. Water sloshes around you with all the movement, licking high on your skin until you rest chest to chest, your face tucking into the damp curve of his neck.

“You alright like this?” Steve checks, his voice unbearably soft as the words fan out over cheek, “You comfortable?”

You hum happily, eyes closed, “So comfy, Stevie.”

He brings a big, bath-warmed palm up to rest on your shoulder, wet fingers trailing along your skin and leaving tiny oil-sheened drops of water behind that bead down the length of your arm and back as they fall.

Just as your mind starts to slip into that space between wakefulness and sleep, a startlingly cold cloth is pressed to your forehead. The chill has you reeling back slightly, a betrayed sort of frown on your face as you peer at your boyfriend who's holding a damp washcloth in his hand.

“To help bring down your fever,” Steve supplies in response to your silent question, “Sorry. I should've warned you.”

You settle back against his chest with a small huff, hand curling around his wrist as a way of telling him it was okay to try again. The cold doesn't shock you nearly as much the second time around, taking only a moment to warm into a comfortable coolness against your skin.

A deep breath fills your lungs with the sweet smell of lavender combined with the lingering musk of Steve's cologne. Your fingers trail over damp skin until you can settle your palm against his pec, blunt nails tracing slow patterns on his skin through the short damp hairs.

“Thank you,” You whisper over his chest, your breath causing his nipple to pebble up against the steam-thickened air, “So good to me, Steve. 'm so glad I have you.”

The wet cloth against your forehead disappears only to return a moment later, cool again from having been dipped back into the bowl of cold water Steve had placed beside the tub. Your breath stutters a bit at the chill, body tensing and relaxing back against him only a second later.

“How many times have you been the one taking care of me, huh?” Steve asks, fingers dragging up and down along the skin at the outside of your thigh in a soothing touch, “And I'd say you're in much better condition now than I was at least a few of those times.”

“'s different,” You argue quietly, “You were hurt. You're always getting hurt.”

“And you're always there to take care of me,” Steve agrees, “So I'm gonna take care of you. 'cause we got each other's backs, don't we, honey?”

His voice is smooth like silk to your ears, his big hand still trailing softly along your skin. His fingers find their way to your shoulder, the gentle drag of his knuckles skating along your jaw, the apple of your cheek, the length your brow bone, tiny streaks of moisture left behind in his wake.

“Yeah,” You murmur against his skin, tipping your head to place a small kiss to the corner of your boyfriend's jaw, “We do.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington sickfic #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #stranger things

[lilac-5ky]

The one where he carries you home after a fight (Toji xFem!Reader)

A/N: My 7AM sleepless demons wrote this, not me.

warning: mentions of alcohol

Series Masterlist

“Thanks for coming, Toji. She wanted us to hit Roppongi next.”

“No problem.” Toji mutters as he lifts your limp body over his shoulders—arms thrown over his neck and knees buckled around his torso.

He nearly winces at the overwhelming stench of tequila emanating from your breath, praying that the wetness seeping through his shirt is drool and not vomit, though that’s more like wishful thinking. You are wasted. Completely and utterly drunk out of your mind to the point where you can’t differentiate the setting or those around him.

“Mistah, drop me off at the next station,” you slur with your eyes closed, pointing somewhere on the horizon before nodding off again. This was the third time you repeated that motion.

“How much did ya make her drink?” Toji doesn’t ask so much as accuse the two women, who are quick to shut him down with the dirtiest of looks. Nothing new. Your friends never liked him, and the feeling’s mutual.

“Make her?” Utahime huffs, rolling her sleeves over her elbows. “She’s the one who dragged us out on a Tuesday night. If anything, you’re the one to blame—you pushed her to it!”

“Senpai, calm down already.” Shoko lowers her friend’s fists. Out of the two, she’s the better one at acting like she tolerates him. “What did you fight over, anyway?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

With the way you stormed out the door in your finest high-heel shoe, black party dress, and red lipstick combo, he’d expect your lovers quarrel to make headlines by midnight.

However, they both shake their heads negatively.

“Who knows?” Toji flashes an oblivious smile before he gets you going. You were so angry at him earlier, and in all honesty, he did cross a line or two, but it doesn’t feel all that important now. Come tomorrow, this will become just another entry in your record of petty arguments to look back on and laugh at.

You’ve made it halfway up the slope that leads to your crappy apartment building when he catches you flailing around on his back like a fish fresh out of water. He slots his hands into the crevices beneath your thighs, applying enough pressure so that you won’t fall.

“Rise and shine, sleepy-head.”

Your slow blinks turn rapid the second you realize your feet aren’t touching the ground and you’re piggybacking on a stranger. “W-Who are you?”

“Ya don’t remember?” Toji rolls his eyes with a loud tsk. “What was it again? Mister Taxi? Mister Killjoy? Or Mister Buzzkill?” He goes through the different names you bestowed on him in your sleep.

“Mister… Buzzkill?” Your jaw drops slack on his shoulder, only for your palms to clap at his chest in excitement a minute later. “Mister Buzzkill, I remember! You kidapped me from my friends and spoiled our fun!”

“More like your friends got sick of your ass and called me to pick up the pieces.” He argues. “Hold on tight if ya don’t wanna fall. Climb’s steep from now on.”

Strength returns to your arms as they cage his neck. “Where are you taking me, Mister Buzzkill? Are we going to party?”

“Don’tcha think you’ve had enough partying for one night, princess?” He grunts. “We’re goin’ home.”

“Home? Whose home?”

Toji’s starting to miss the you that nags him about not soaking his dirty dishes. Alcohol always chips away at your mental capacity, and while he wants to be understanding, he can’t understand that which he’s never experienced for himself. “Our home, dummy.”

The epithet doesn’t faze you in the slightest. “Are you going to exploit me?”

“Prospect makes you happy?” You hum in return. “Fine. You can pay for the ride once we make it home.”

“But…” And you sound so sad that he cocks his head to peer at your face, glassy, puppy eyes welling up with fat tears that make him wonder whether he said something hurtful again. “I don’t have any money. My husband said we’re out of money ‘cause he—he gambled it away.”

The cogs in his brain are put in reverse, reminding him of the cash he snatched from your open wallet with the intention of waging it on a guaranteed victory and the little white lie you took at face value. You didn��t even give him the chance to explain that the bills were still in his pocket because the race was called off, and he let you run off to your friends without offering a single apology.

“I’m sure we’ll work something out.” Toji squeezes your thighs reassuringly. “Ya can pay me back in kind, too.”

“But my husband—”

“Your husband is a shithead.” He spits out, hoping that his remorse registers without leaving behind any actual trace of his words.

“You are so kind, Mister Buzzkill. Unlike him—my Toji.” The fingers of your one hand pull on your wedding band until it comes off. “Wanna marry me again, Mister…Toji?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Toji catches the wedding band right before it slips from your fingers to the street. Part of him wants to scold you for being a scatterbrained nuisance, but the part of him that finds even your plastered form endearing comes out on top.

He slides the ring around the ring finger of his ring-less hand and pieces your hands together, holding onto them until you finally reach the front door and you’re sober enough to call him by his name.

“A’right, we’re here.” Toji declares once the key’s inside the hole.

He calls out your name and shakes you softly, but there’s no answer coming from you other than a single embarrassingly loud snore. He lets go of your legs and slowly puts your feet on the floor before hoisting them up in the air again, shifting to carrying you into bridal position. Your hands reach around his neck on their own volition, and he swears your lips curl into the softest smile when your nose pressed against his shirt.

He sighs, parting the hair that’s fallen inside your agape mouth.

“What am I gonna do with you?”

#toji x reader #jjk x reader #toji headcanons #toji drabbles #toji fluff #toji x yn #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro

[bedsyandco]

Soon you’ll get better

❥ — ꒰ pairing ꒱ lani x quinn hughes

❥ — ꒰ synopsis ꒱ the aftermath of the accident

❥ — ꒰ content ꒱ talks of an accident, medical injuries, death, miscarriage. incorrect medical talk and diagnosis…obviously i’m not a doctor and this is fiction!! unedited. will be edited later!!

❥ — ꒰ note ꒱ title bc I listened to the song while writing!!

Eight and a half hours later when the Hughes family arrived in Vancouver and at the hospital, Quinn was still in the same position he had been the entire night. Sat on the floor, his arms rested on his bent legs, his head rested against the wall. When he saw his family arriving he mustered the little energy he had left after not sleeping last night, to push himself up and meet them halfway across the waiting room.

“Oh Quinn,” is all his mom said as she wrapped her arms tightly around him and held him for a few minutes. Afterwards he gave his dad a long hug, no word being exchanged there because what could he say?

“Have you heard anything?” Violet asks as Quinn hugs her.

“Not really. The doctor comes out every few hours to tell me that she’s still stable and that they’re doing everything they can but… it’s been hours and…” Quinn says, tearing up again and he wipes his face frustratedly.

“You should get some sleep,” Jack suggests softly and Quinn just glares at him.

“I’m not sleeping until I know she’s okay,” Quinn responds

“Quinn we’ll wake you-”

“I’m not sleeping until I know she’s okay,” Quinn repeats and Jack nods.

Jack understood. So did Luke. He spent the 8 hour flight over there thinking about what he would do if God forbid something ever happened to Violet. He determined that Violet was gonna live way longer than him and that he’d never have to live that horrible life without her, nothing was ever allowed to happen to her. Luke wraps his arms tightly around her again, kissing her neck where he could feel her pulse and the pressure in his chest lessens a bit but it returns when he goes back to observing his older brother.

“Do you know how it happened yet?” Jim asks and Quinn nods

“She was on her way to the restaurant, a truck lost control on the road and Lani swerved to miss it, her car rolled off the road and crashed straight into a pole. Apparently she’s lucky she swerved otherwise she would have died on impact with the truck. Doesn’t feel very fucking lucky though, does it?” Quinn asks angrily and everyone flinches a little when he curses but all of them remain silent. Not quite sure what to say.

“God, if I had just…gone home and picked her up. Or cancelled the damn dinner. You know I can’t even really remember what my life was like before the past year, before her. And I can’t even imagine what it would look like without her,” Quinn says, his voice cracking at the end.

“You don’t have to imagine it. Lani’s gonna be okay Quinn. She’s gonna pull through,”Jack says, pulling his brother into a tight hug.

“I’m gonna go get us some coffee,” Blue says to Violet softly and she leaves just as the doctor appears.

“Mr. Hughes?” the doctor asks from a distance away and Quinn walks closer, so only he would hear what the doctor was saying, scanning the doctor’s face for any clues as to what he should prepare for, but the doctor’s face doesn’t give anything away.

“Is she okay?” Quinn asks desperately

“Ms. Reed is out of surgery and will be moved to recovery now. She had extensive injuries. She had multiple fractured bones in her arm, and shoulder. She also took a major blow to the head and there was some internal bleeding that we were able to stop luckily. One of her lungs was punctured-” the doctor’s words get caught off by Quinn turning towards the garbage can to vomit.

“I’m good, you can continue” Quinn rasps out as the doctor sends him a concerned look.

“The list of injuries is long Mr. Hughes but the most important thing is that she’s okay and she’ll make a full recovery. Physically at least. Unfortunately Ms. Reed suffered a miscarriage because of the physical trauma and shock her body went through because of the accident and there was nothing we could do,” the doctor says softly and Quinn stops breathing for a second.

“Miscarriage?” Quinn asks, not quite comprehending the fact that Lani was…

“Ms. Reed was pregnant prior to the accident. She wasn’t very far along…7-8 weeks potentially. It was likely that she didn’t even know yet. There was no permanent damage done and she should have no problem getting pregnant again in the future. I can be the one to tell her if you don’t feel-”

“No, I’ll do it,” Quinn immediately responds, knowing it would be better if it came from him.

“Someone will be out shortly to take you to her room. I’m very sorry for your loss,” the doctor says sympathetically before walking away again and Quinn has to lean against the wall for a second to process what he just heard. The doctor obviously assumed correctly that the baby was his since he told them him and Lani were engaged despite their very obvious missing rings.

Lani is pregnant. Was pregnant. Was.

Quinn walks back towards his family, a little dazed. His lack of sleep and shock of what happened in the past 24 hours finally caught up to him.

“She’s gonna be okay,” is all Quinn says because Lani should be the first person he tells about the baby, and maybe she doesn’t want other people to know and Quinn wanted to make sure he respected those wishes.

Everyone practically deflates with relief and his parents take a seat on the chairs, his mom letting out a few tears.

“Luke and I are gonna stop by your apartment. Get you some clothes and other things. I’ll pack Lani a bag too,” Violet says and Quinn hands her the keys to his car and his apartment. The guys had driven to the hospital with his car and ordered a ride home so Quinn still had his vehicle.

“You know where my stuff is. Lani’s things are all in the same places, just on the left. Same with the bathroom, all her stuff is in the left vanity,” Quinn says and Violet nods giving him a tight hug.

“We love you,” she says and Quinn squeezes her tight.

“Thanks for being here,” he responds

“Of course,”

They leave and when Blue comes back a few minutes later with 2 hands filled with multiple cups of coffee, Quinn feels his chest contract again. Lani loves coffee.

“We’re gonna go get everyone some food. We’ll be back but if you go see her before we return, tell Lani we love her yeah?” Jack says taking Blue’s hand in his own and Quinn nods as they make their way to the exit.

About thirty minutes later a nurse shows up and leads him to Lani’s room, and this is all Quinn’s been waiting for…a moment to lay his eyes on Lani and be sure that she’s okay. That he didn’t lose her. That they were gonna be okay.

But as he stood in the entrance of the room, he was unable to move, or speak, or breathe at the sight in front of him.

There she was. His Lani. Except she didn’t look like his Lani at all. Because his Lani was full of light, and so filled with joy she practically glowed with it. And now she was pale, battered, bruised and blue.

Quinn simply stands there for a moment observing her before he walks closer, taking the seat closest to her bedside and gently as ever, grabbing her hand and holding it against his cheek, pressing multiple kisses on her palm.

He fell asleep like that, clutching her hand tightly and resting his head against her.

A few hours later he awoke to the feeling of fingers gently running through his hair and his eyes instantly shot open.

He lifted his head to meet her gaze and he instantly teared up again.

“Lani,” he whispers, standing up and leaning over to kiss her on the temple

“We should call the nurse,” Quinn says hastily but Lani halts him with a hand on his arm.

“The nurse was already in here, just a few moments ago. She explained what happened and gave me some pain meds,” Lani says

“How long have you been awake?” Quinn asks

“For thirty minutes or so,”

“You should’ve woken me up,” Quinn says

“The nurse said you didn’t sleep at all last night, I wanted to let you rest a little longer,” Lani explains and Quinn sighs

“Come sit,” Lani says patting the spot next to her and Quinn immediately shakes his head

“No I don’t wanna hurt you,” he argues, choosing to sit at the bottom of the bed instead.

They talk for a little bit but half an hour later the troubled look on Quinn’s face still hasn’t disappeared.

“I’m okay Quinn,”

“You almost weren’t though,” he argues, his voice cracking

“But I am. And that’s all that matters. I'm here. I'm okay.” she says softly and Quinn just stares at her for a few minutes

“I should probably go give my parents an update,” Quinn says but doesn’t move.

“Your parents are here?” Lani asks surprised

“yeah, came as soon as they heard what happened. So did my brothers and Vi and Blue,” Quinn says

“oh. they didn’t need to fly all the way out here for me,”

“you almost died lani,” quinn says incredulously. finding it ridiculous that she’s even having the thought that her almost dying is an inconvenience to others.

“They can visit tomorrow if you’re up for it,” Quinn determines, seeing how tired she looks. She didn’t have to see them today. Or tomorrow. Or at all if she didn’t want to.

Him and Lani spend the next hour or so just talking, reassuring one another that she was okay and everything was gonna be fine. And then Quinn remembered that there was still something he needed to tell her. He really didn’t want to, not wanting to hurt her even more than she was already hurt.

“Lani. I need to tell you something,” Quinn starts but hesitates

“What is it?” she asks concerned, taking both his hands in hers.

“Before the accident, you were- you were pregnant. But the baby didn’t make it,” Quinn says softly and it feels like someone stabbed him right in the heart when she gasps and tears up, retracting her hands and putting them on her stomach.

“No,” she whispers, and Quinn wipes her tears, nodding sadly.

“No,” she repeats again, her body shaking with her sobs and Quinn just wraps his arms around her, holding her tight.

Her sobs eventually die down, but the tears never stop, all ending up on Quinn’s shirt.

“I’m so sorry Quinn,” she apologises softly, pressing a kiss to his neck, knowing he must be hurting too.

“Don’t apologise. You have nothing to apologise for. None of this is your fault, you hear me?” he asks and she nods against his shoulder.

Rationally Lani knew it wasn’t the right time to have a baby. Her and Quinn are only dating for about a year now, she was still in school, he was only now really settling in with the responsibility of being captain. But she also can’t help but be sad at the possibility of what could have been. Of what they could have had.

“We’re gonna be okay angel. The only thing that matters right now is that you’re okay. We’ll get through the rest together okay?” he asks and she nods, tears still falling as he cups her face and presses kisses all over. Kissing every tear away.

“I love you so much. More than I can even try to explain,” Quinn says, kissing her gently, and that just makes the tears fall even more.

“I love you the most,” she replies, snuggling into him more as he holds her. They would spend the rest of the day like that. And the next few days. And a lot of days after that. But they were gonna be okay, as long as they had each other.

#❥ — ꒰ lani + quinn ꒱

[satoruhour]

THE JUST JANUS-FACED

a/n: please PLEASE read the warnings this is darker than what i usually write. this spiralled from me thinking about geto having a blood kink and then me being on my period and then me word vomiting into whatever this is / tagging only @getousex and @papersirens bc i feel like they will maybe like something like this? not sure if my other moots like dark content like this aahh

wc: 2.3k

warnings: DARK CONTENT, DUB-CON, descriptive piece, cult leader!geto, slight coercion, manipulation, stockholm syndrome, idolising, reader is mute for a bit, reader has a fucked up perception of love, christian religious references / parallels, corruption but reader is NOT a virgin, pet names, mentions of murder, clit stimulation, fingering, oral / cunnilingus, blood kink (?), power play, cum eating, size kink, period sex and oral, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

cult leader!geto who unfortunately has had to kill fellow sorcerers before just for opposing his cause, so he knows what sorcerers’ blood smell like. it doesn’t make sense anatomically: how there’s less of a copper smell, sweet and more tangy, not that he’s tasted it before. but the memory of satoru’s dried blood had been seared into his brain, a crystal clear vision of him carrying riko’s body; one of the drives that leads him to change the world of jujutsu.

so why can’t geto get his mind off you and your terrified state, bleeding from your torso after you’ve been ripped from your village? he acts like he hadn’t just ordered his followers to rip the place to shreds, to banish any and every trace of non-sorcerers. he crouches down to look at your pathetic state, swiping a thumb over your bleeding lip, putting it into his mouth.

that’s the first time he recoils at the taste of non-sorcerer blood — after all, it’s your beauty that entrances him.

geto’s not too sure why he kept you, either, locked up in shackles so tight they make dents on your wrists, wound left to be tended only bit by bit every time suguru finishes his sermon for the day and comes back to his office.

the second time is after a terribly stressful day. his contacts were falling behind on collecting money, there were followers stepping out of line, nanako and mimiko unfortunately bothering him at the wrong timings. he loved his girls, but sometimes he needed time alone.

what better way than to spend it with his pet?

the gag around your mouth is growing increasingly saggy, weighing down from the saliva and geto bestows some mercy on you, removing the cloth and throwing it somewhere in the room. at least your senses were still there, hearing the loud plop! of the fabric on tatami mats, but you could only whimper when geto asks you a question.

god, you looked so dumb and stupid, geto could’ve just killed you easily, but he still hasn’t found out why you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. he would send you to hell after that, but for now he’d keep you until he knows.

geto coos at the whimper.

“what is it, sweetheart? spit it out.”

your brows furrow as you uncover the hand cupping your core. it was fairly red, a strong iron smell filling the place. it wasn’t from your terribly treated wound, no — you were so concerned with this you hadn’t realised it’s fully healed, “magically” — but rather, coming from your vagina.

you were menstruating. geto sighs, flicking his sleeves before heading out, and you think that’s the end of it. he was going to leave you bleeding out on the floor while your womb contracted and expanded uncomfortably? your thoughts are quelled a minute later when he returns and tosses you a sanitary product.

“go.”

but before you can run to the bathroom in the big temple he seizes your hand, licking a stripe up your palm. there’s obvious shock on your face, from the clear line on your palm made by his tongue and the way your blood smears on his lips. geto hums, and lets you go.

it’s not too bad.

the third is when you’re sleeping soundly on the floor, still in shackles that are visibly loosened. this is the next month where blood is being shed again, made less harrowing by the products geto swears he hates getting you, “reluctantly” refilling for you after nanako asked him not to take from her stash.

by now, you’ve mellowed, but you still rather have a tough time talking and articulating speech. he knew — it wasn’t hidden that your village was built on strong men, which also led to lesser people being oppressed, silenced. only speak when you spoken to, only leave when given permission. you weren’t a stranger to the harsh slaps that landed on your face.

it was only lucky that geto had already got such an obedient little plaything. you knew your place, having learned your place before, and you think maybe he might be your saviour, because the way he spoke was nothing like the men in your village. it was done with a lilt of the voice, a lyrical, melodic quality to it. his touches are gentle but firm, never rough and abrupt.

geto-sama knew how to treat lesser people like you.

that’s why when you’re whimpering again, geto knows just the right thing to get you to shut up (although, your cute sounds are maybe just what he might be looking for. should he kill you after he gets his keep? should he slit your throat? should he—)

he brings you to your feet a little forcefully, dispelling a curse to unlock your shackles and he pushes you onto the bed. you’re the centre of attention, suddenly, not used to being in such a big space: laid out on the silk sheets of the tatami bed. you felt dirty, tainted. you didn’t deserve to be on white, didn’t deserve to have your feet planted onto ivory, to have been cleaned time and time again by his workers. you didn’t even feel like you deserved to be kept in such a sacred place as geto-sama’s temple.

and yet, when you watch your saviour’s approaching, looming form, you can’t help think of how he’s taken care of you. the love he showed you was the closest thing you’ve ever gotten, maybe a little morbid by normal standards, but who are you to question your saviour? paired with that melodic, smooth voice and the cast of his hair down his back, maybe you were even attracted to your saviour.

that was a possibility, right? you can’t tell right from wrong any more but it doesn’t matter when geto slams his lips onto yours, kissing him back clumsily that he chuckles at your inexperience. even when you’re bleeding, you can feel your cunt throb and the feeling in your stomach increase — it was oh, so delicious, the same thing felt whenever he entered a room with that sick smile.

geto nudges you to remove your clothing, touches leaving blazing fires along your skin. he sighs when your breasts are on display, taking a nipple and swirling a tongue around it. so foreign, so good that you grab his other hand and he stops. ah, yes, you were still a monkey after all, no speaking when not spoken to — that translates to actions as well.

the lord resumes his ministrations, other hand reaching for your tits to massage the other, moaning into your chest before he kisses down your body. you panic, because aren’t you dirty? aren’t you bloody?

“let me relieve you, doll,” geto-sama was well deserving of being geto-sama. like how a lord should be, he is observant in seeing how your hand clutches your stomach on the first two days of your menstruation. what qualities of a lover— lord that is.

he coaxes you into removing your bottoms (“but geto-sama, my blood—”, “nonsense, leave it.”), peeling your underwear off you and the smell hits him almost immediately. the smell he’s friends with, that metallic tinge that hits his nose so disgustingly when he sees yet another act of unjust done by the weak, and yet when geto sees you spreading his legs for him, this hit of odour is nothing like the terrible scenes he’s caused.

no, he thinks that this is right and just, this is in the fates, this was the moment of justifiable pleasure received by a weak, lesser monkey only he could satisfy. he was your saviour after all.

but when geto’s tongue makes first contact with your cunt, he thinks maybe he was on the other side of the picture — him, as weak as a non-sorcerer, sentenced to the giving of pleasure to you.

geto moans when he first tastes blood, and then your slick, the combination more angelic than holy communion. he sucks on your clit and your grip could draw blood from how tight you clutched onto the sheets but you make sure your nails don’t dig in and bleed. geto-sama wouldn’t want that.

he flicks his tongue on your nub, large hands spreading your thighs apart with ease as the abuse on your clit is merciless. geto hums into your cunt, the lewd sounds of your blood mixed in with arousal just staining the room with a pungent smell of copper and sex.

geto gives no warning as he shoves a finger into you, your blood giving him easy access and in an instant the uncomfortable cramp in your stomach starts to subside. he was a god, you know, he’s your god, you think, but you aren’t sure if you’re stingy and self-centred enough to cage him for yourself.

a loud moan leaves you when he starts to thrust, not stopping the stubborn movements of his tongue.

“oh, what pretty noises,” geto drawls, mumbling into your cunt, “your little pussy is being real loud as well, huh?”

you whimper at the lewd language, always being brutally and cruelly targeted towards you in your village, and yet when they’re spoken so filthily and intently to you — you can’t help but nod.

“need you to tell me how bad you want it, pet.” geto teases, knowing you hardly speak, but it’s an invitation, right?

your saviour adds a second finger and a mewl escapes your mouth, incoherent babbles that sounded like gibberish. oh, you really were too cute.

“that feel good, ain’t it?” he whispers, licking his lips and spreading the taste of your blood around his mouth. he smiles at your second nod.

“then tell me. what. you. want.” the command is straight, now, and if it weren’t for geto going back to suckle on your clit alongside his two fingers pumping in and out of you, you’d cower.

“want—” you moan, the squelching noises of your pussy increase in volume and the sound of his palm making contact with his chin is sinful, dirty, exactly what you were.

geto loved dirty.

“want your cock in me, geto-sama.” so, you did know the words, heart pounding so loud it resonates in your head; you wonder how you manage to even say it so clearly, so confidently. where did those words come from?

“want you to fuck me, and use me, please, geto-sama.”

your god’s smile widens into a grin and he wastes no time removing his gojo-gesa, his robes, fishing his cock out from his underwear with one hand while the other continues to lazily move in and out of you. you stare like a dumb little dog, excitement obvious by how you clench around his fingers and bite your lip.

all monkeys were so fucking predictable. your village, your parents, yo—

geto is proven wrong again when he first slips in, blood spilling from your cunt that he doesn’t exactly care if it’s because of your menstruation or your tight little pussy being stretched so far to accommodate his fat, heavy cock, but the warmness of your cunt is just so goddamn divine, he has to take a deep breath to brace himself.

“feel better already?” he fawns over you, over the bulge showing in your stomach. it showed how deep he was in you, in your womb, and you clench again at the feeling of being filled up. geto’s hips start to set a pace, rocking into you with groans of his own.

“s-so much better, geto-sama,” the smile you give him is drunk, horridly in love with your saviour who did nothing but manipulate, but you could hardly care for the morals of this world when his pre-cum filled cock hits your spots so well. his pubes and hips that meet yours are coated with blood, the scent of it increasing the longer he uses your body like a fucktoy, a reverberating pap! pap! pap! of his balls slamming into your ass.

“pussy so fucking good—” geto cums first with a loud groan, filling your womb with his seed that’s viscous and hot, and the heat of your cunt doesn’t stop him from moving, flipping the two of you over and you’re screaming in the process, body jolting from the sudden orgasm. geto grunts as he feels you spasm around his dick, switching to a violent ram up into your pussy — you’re atop him now and you suffer the pussy drunk thrusts he gives you, one after the other into your dripping hole.

it’s so messy, so dirty and so fucking revolting, your bleeding cunt mixed with his cum forming strings that connect your pelvis to his, the soiled sheets of red and translucent below you — your god’s hips falter and still, cumming for a second time so quickly geto has to make sure he’s still the right person after this.

your eyes are way back in your skull, head tipped backwards onto his shoulder and outstretched for all gods to see, and yet, geto suguru was your one and only definition of divinity. a man of wisdom, charm. you’re jerking and gasping when you feel his cum spill out of you and you’re reaching that intoxicating high all over again, geto-sama, geto-sama, geto-sama, like a chant on your lips.

it was like worship in the common room, and yet this was different, entirely, because you were getting purified and corrupted all in one sitting, by geto-sama’s cock.

geto grins and smothers himself in your cunt once you’re climaxing and eats the blood and cum out of your pussy, oozing out right onto his tongue and the mixture of it is like a sick little concoction of sin and virtue — exactly what the two of you were.

good and evil, blessing and curse, god and devil. except, geto suguru wasn’t sure what title he fell under, any more.

oh, no, not when he had you.

pls, pls tell me if i missed any warnings! ty for reading ♡

#what the fuck was this...... #wrote this half asleep on the way home my fingers never typed so fast #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen geto #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk drabbles #jjk thirsts #geto smut #getou suguru x you #suguru geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru #suguru geto x reader #geto x you #jjk scenarios #jjk geto x reader

[bloodisonurtongue]

BABY / MATTY HEALY X READER

a/n: these photos make a giggle I won’t lie, anyways this was cute to write even tho it’s rlly shit. I love stories where they find out they’re having a baby I think they’re so cute. I’d like to do a part where they tell the guys as well

this was slightly proofread but I got lazy at the end as well 😔 ALSO FIRST (posted) STORY WOO

c/w: vomiting, pregnancy, pregnancy tests, brief mentions of sex??

Y/N hadn't felt quite right all day, for the last week actually. She chalked it up to eating too much food, pushing her limits and not getting enough rest or hydration as well. But when she woke up in the middle of the night, she knew it was something more than indigestion. She rushed herself to the bathroom and barely made it before she was down on her hands and knees, heaving uncontrollably into the toilet.

When she was finished, she felt thoroughly exhausted. She sat back against the bathroom wall and closed her eyes. she heard the soft rustle of her bed sheets and sighed knowing she had woken Matty up.

she heard the whisper of his voice as he walked towards their shared bathroom “darling are you okay?” she could hear the concern and tiredness as he spoke, she felt bad for waking him up, knowing he needed the sleep considering this was one of the very few days he had off tour.

y/n looked at the door as he walked in, way to exhausted from throwing up to answer him at the moment, she just looked at him and groaned

Matty walked over to her and sat next to her on the cold bathroom tiles as he wrapped her in his arms, y/n dug her face into his chest and let out a soft cry. Matty had asked her how she felt, after she explained her symptoms to him, he began to suspect the same thing she had been afraid to think of. he gently grabbed her chin, making her look at him before he asked softly “do you think you could be pregnant darlin” she looked as if she was about to cry, what if she was pregnant? would he happy? she knows she would be even if it was unplanned. would the guys be happy? what if they all felt like she’d be interrupting their tour by having a baby?

matty could practically hear her overthinking in her head, so trying to knock her out of her thoughts he spoke again “darling, it’s okay” he gently rubbed her back before asking “Do you want me to get a pregnancy test?”

Y/N, too tired to speak, simply nodded. Matty gave her a squeeze and kissed her on the crown of her head “do you wanna go lay in bed for a bit or do you wanna sit here?” y/n slowly shook her head before saying she wanted to be back in bed

matty slowly helped her up and got her back into bed, covering her with the blankets and making sure she was comfortable before giving her a soft kiss on the lips and again on the crown of her head before telling her he’d be back in 10 minutes.

not even 10 minutes later, y/n heard the front door open and gently shut before hearing footsteps coming up the stairs, she was tired but was far too scared to take the pregnancy test she knew matty was about to give her to fall asleep in the few minutes he was gone.

the bedroom door opened and closed again quickly, her eyes were still shut as she felt mattys hand on her side, rubbing softly “are you awake darling?” he said, adoration dripping from his voice as he looked at y/n who looked all too peaceful laying comfortably on their bed, he knew she was scared of taking the test, but they needed to know the answer to what they were thinking.

slowly opening her eyes y/n looked up at matty, eyes still half closed, she watched as his smile grew even bigger as her eyes opened “do you wanna take it now baby? we can wait a bit if you’d like” matty softly whispered, reaching up slightly to tuck the loose hair hanging in her face behind her ears.

y/n sighed “I think it’s better we do it now so we know” she spoke softly as she closed her eyes again before opening them again. Matty gently took her hand to help her get out of bed before they headed to their bathroom.

Matty took the box out of the bag he had in his hand, opening the box and taking out the test and the instructions before sliding them onto the counter in-front of y/n. he gently placed a hand on her back before rubbing it gently as she quickly read all the instructions “do you want me to go outside while you do it darling?” he softly questioned her, not wanting to make her feel like she had to have him in the room with her as she did the test.

she looked at him, he could practically see the nerves in her eyes “yeah just while I pee on it, you can come in right after” she said, voice wavering as she spoke. Matty nodded and smiled softly at her before giving her a kiss on the head “I’ll be just outside” she nodded back at him and watched slightly as he walked out, closing the door softly.

she used the test, and placed it back onto the counter, face down, so her and matty couldn’t see when the results were shown, she thought that he wanted to share the moment together. she opened the door for matty to come in before looking at herself in the mirror, feeling her eyes sting slightly as tears began to form on her lower lash line.

Matty gently wrapped his arms around her waist before settling his head on her shoulder, and whispering softly into her ear that everything would be okay.

she sniffled a few times before she spoke “what if I am pregnant matty, what are we gonna do?” she looked down at the tiled floor as tears started to fall gently, a few of them falling onto mattys arms around her waist.

matty kissed her head gently “if you are pregnant, it’s gunna be okay darling, I’m going to be here for every step of the way no matter what and so will the guys. we’ll do whatever you want to do. if you wanna keep it we’ll keep it and if you don’t you dont need to feel like you have too okay baby?” He softly whispered to her, leaning his chin on her shoulder again and leaving a few kisses there.

y/n slowly turned around in mattys hold, looking up at him making eye contact, a few tears continue to slowly go down her cheeks as she speaks “if I am pregnant, even if now isn’t a good time to have a baby, I want to keep it” her voice breaking a bit as she brings her hands up to cup mattys face gently.

she swears she’s never seen matty smile bigger then he is now as he leans down to catch her lips in a loving but intimate kiss before matty slowly moved his hands down and picked her up before placing her on the bathroom counter, continuing with the kiss until they eventually ran out of breath and had to pull away from each other

once their breathing got back to normal they both smiled brightly at each other before remembering the test next to them, and that they should check it now.

“you know the test is probably done by now” y/n chuckled at him as she placed a quick kiss to his lips again “let’s look then shall we?” he said smiling even wider at her as she quickly got down off of the counter and stood infront of where the pregnancy test lied. Matty placed his hand on the back of hers so they could pick up the test together as he stood behind her, giving her a peck on the shoulder before asking her if she was ready to look at it.

y/n nodded slowly, the nerves from before coming back again, she was about to find out if she was pregnant, she was terrified but elated to find out. She looked back at matty for confirmation to pick up the test, he nodded immediately and she could see the tears slightly welling up in his eyes, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before he slightly wrapped his hand around hers, her fingers began to shakily pick up the test turning it around

two red lines.

she was pregnant.

y/n felt a happy sob about to come out of her mouth. feeling mattys tears continuously fall and lightly land on her shoulder, a few rolling down and going down her shirt. She quickly turned around and looked at his face as tears began to flow out of her eyes too “matty baby we’re gunna be having a baby” she laughs lightly as she puts the test down again before reaching up and running her fingers through his hair as he leaned forward to place his head on her chest.

He muttered into her skin, she could barely hear what he was saying but somehow made it out “we’re having a baby, a fucking baby can you believe that?” He quickly picked his head off of her chest, looking at her with wide eyes “there’s a baby in you, a mini me or you, in you.” his mouth dropped in shock “I put a baby in you, oh my god” y/n let out a laugh at his antics “yes you did darling”

later that night as y/n slowly drifted to sleep, she could feel matty rubbing her stomach softly, and speaking to it as if the small baby growing inside her could hear him yet “I’m gunna spoil you so much, more then I already spoil your mommy. I already love you so much, you’re gunna have so much fun with all your aunts and uncles, and we’re gunna be one big happy family.”

In that moment, Y/N knew that she was truly happy. Matty made her feel safe, secure, and loved - and she was exactly where she belonged.

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