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rosedom · 2 months

Note

hi there! I'm here because I wanted to share with you an idea I had in mind.

wanderer x guitarist boyfriend reader where he finds the reader's hands attractive and started to masturbate in his room imagining the reader's fingers inside him and reader catches him masturbating in his room once he got back to his place after a band performance.

I hope this is okay with you, I'm sorry if it's not though. I love your works btw! also can I be 🥯 anon?

"in an open match, 【 🥯 】 has invited WANDERER to play . . . a well-strummed man

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!male!reader, sub!ftm!wanderer, hand kink, fantasizing turned to masturbating, getting caught (by you), vaginal fingering, lots of love & praise .

A/N : i've been thinking about this scenario these past weeks, oh my goodness . . . (⁠♡⁠ω⁠♡⁠ ⁠)⁠ ⁠~⁠♪

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

Kunikuzushi is a dead, dead man.

Listen. It's not like it’s his fault you’re a guitarist, much-less the lead of a band; and it most certainly does not fall to his blame that he’s been lonely, alright?

You’ve been out all weekend, and it’s already Sunday night. He—he won't admit he misses you, but it’s a close thing.

“I’ll be back Monday, baby,” you’d said, last Friday. You’d held him in your broad arms, your large palms a searing brand to his hips as he grunted at you for spinning him.

He had shoo’d you away, said, “Okay, okay!” and pushed you out the door with your guitar and damning crooked grin.

You had pouted, too, standing in the doorway like some kicked kitten, and Kuni couldn’t deny such pitiful look on your handsome face. “C’mere,” he’d grumbled, reeled you in and kissed you soundly on your lips. “Goodluck, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You’d kept your faces together for a few moments, breathing in him, before you ultimately straightened up. “I love you.”

With a scoff, another shove and a soft, “Goodbye—,” one you gave him back, your own adoring farewell—he had murmured, “I love you, too.”

(He hasn't seen the smile on your face for you turned the other way. It made your heart skip a beat, made you hold tighter to the purple straps of your guitar as you went to the curb your bandmates had been waiting for you on.

Kuni had seen, however, the grip of your fingers across the leather; he had seen it well. So well.)

Kuni groans. Your hands. He can't get your hands off his mind: your hands tightening around your guitar strap, your hands holding tight to his waist, your hands covering the expanse of his pale skin, your hands dipping down, your hands stroking his cock and nudging into his cunt and and—

he’s a goner. Not only dead, but gone: utterly, entirely, wholly for you.

Your hands are just so—enticing. That's it, that's all. They're nice to look at.

. . . and nice to imagine knuckle-deep in his cunt. Of course, they’re nice to feel actively thrusting in him, rubbing across his chubby cock and smearing the mess of slick and lube across his hole; but you're not here right now, and he's left with only a whisper of you in his imagination, and a video of you playing live.

He couldn't attend your show, thanks to a paper he had to submit by Saturday night. But tonight's Sunday, and the paper's squared away and submitted and done, and he's lonely, right now, replaying your recording, eyes watching the both steady and jerking movements in turn of your fingers across the guitar strings.

His cock throbs. “Shit.”

With another groan—albeit far weaker, without any gusto behind it—, Kunikuzushi lets his phone fall to the side and sinks full-bodied into the bed. The plush blankets wrap around him, swaddling him in a semblance of you, you, you. They carry your subtle scent in them, a mixture of your soap and his own embedded into the fabric in a heady mix that Kuni greedily drinks in, pressing a corner of it to his mouth and nose as his other hand teases down his body.

A tweak—gentle, mimicking your own soft touch—to his nipples through the thin fabric of his shirt makes him lowly gasp. It’s not as satisfying, with his own touch, but the sensation still makes small zaps of pleasure zing up and down his spine, ending with a heavy pulse at his cock and sending his cunt dribbling.

Pulling off his briefs is an easy thing, if not made a bit messy by the string of slick that connects to and snaps from the seat of the fabric. It’d be embarrassing if you were here to see it, feel it, taste it; but you're not here right now.

He's sorely reminded, again and again: he's alone, for now.

(He misses the embarrassment under you, already, misses the way your touch is always so gentle against him, teasing him and bringing him to release again and again with those damning hands.)

He plays across his opening, now bare, with his fingers, just like you'd do. The wetness clings to his fingertips, and he mourns the loss of the calluses on your hands; his own are soft n’ smooth, providing little friction against the parts that need it most.

“Please,” he whispers to himself, to the air, to absolutely no-one.

He wants you here, so, so bad; but the next best thing is the slide of two fingers, right off the bat, right into the third knuckle. It’s slow going, but it's smooth, and he sharply exhales at the barely-there stretch.

It’s quiet save for the squelch of his fingers, the in-n’-out thrust

When his mind starts playing your voice, the devilish thing, he's a goner twice-over. “Takin’ my fingers so well, baby,” you’d say, he imagines you saying. He mewls at the thought, bending his fingers sharply in the way he knows you would. Though they don’t come into contact with his g-spot how yours would, not at first, the press against his sensitive walls makes him bite his lip still.

Sometimes, Kuni wonders if you know his body better than he does. (You do.)

He thinks, then, of the other things you'd say to him, pressed up close and deep in him. Maybe you would tell him, “So needy,” with a lilt to your voice that reveals you're really not mad at all. “All wet n’ dripping for me, aren't'cha? Aren’t I so lucky to have such a pretty boy under me?”

Maybe you'd lean down and lick at his cock while you spread him open. The thought makes him whine all loud-like, working a third finger in beside the other two, whimpering quietly after the shame of his initial whine.

“Turn over for me, babe,” the you in his head sweetly commands. He swears he can feel your phantom touch on his hips, murmuring, “There you go,” guiding him to roll onto his belly. The shirt he’s kept on bunches up, allowing a whisper of the cold bedroom air to brush his nipples. “My obedient, good boy.”

He feels safer like this, pumping his fingers into his cunt the best he can with the new position. The angle no longer allows his fingers to curl into his g-spot, but it mimics how you handle him: a worthy trade-off, he thinks. He imagines you on his back, stretching him on your fingers as you drape yourself across him, licking n’ kissing at his neck and blushing ears.

“Opening up so good f'r me,” you'd say; Kuni whimpers, biting the pillow—your pillow, saturated in the subtle scent of your shampoo—to muffle himself. He’s safe, like this.

This is as close as he can get to having you, right now—

until it's not.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Kuni, sweetheart.”

Fuck. Fuck.

“You—I—” Kuni wrings himself upright, coming right up to your face, inches away from his own. He growls at you, but it falls short—how could it, when he’s red-faced and pushes at your chest with his slickened hand? “When did you get home?”

“Just now,” you murmur, grabbing his hand and bringing it up to your lips for a kiss, for a taste of him. Then, “Have you cum?”

He rips his hand back. “You can't just—”

“So you haven't,” you say, grinning. Silently, he sputters, but then you're leaning in and kissing him soundly and pressing him down into your bed and—

“Gonna let me make you feel good, baby?” you ask. Your grin turns devilish when you dip your fingertips into him, just so, the callouses on your two fingers already resting so perfectly against his opening.

Your roughed-up thumb presses into his jutting cock, right as he whines, “Yes,” his whole attitude turned on a dime. Sweet, sweet Kunikuzushi.

“You're so wet,” you murmur, entirely awed at the slick glide of your fingers, able to slide a third in oh-so easily. While he had three of his own stuffed up to his third knuckle, your fingers are broader, wider—the knobs of each knuckle is prominent still, nudging each sweet spot in his cunt easy as anything. “God, pretty boy, what were you thinkin’ about to make you this messy?”

Kuni whines again, the sound airy and high, pleading n’ begging.

“Heard you keep saying my name,” you continue, curling your fingers and forcing the bumps at your fingertips against his g-spot in a way his own hands failed to. Asking, “What about me, hm?” makes him tremble, and you think his brain is too pleasure-mushed to process it.

But then he’s reaching for the hand you've got snug on his hip, and he murmurs, “Your hands.”

“My hands?” He nods, closing his eyes tight. You kiss the flutter of eyelashes. “What about them?”

“They're so—” a moan cuts up his words, your thumb working tight against him.

“They're so...?”

He groans. “They're so—so big, ‘nd they're always so warm, so hot in me, s-stretch me so—so good.”

“Yeah?” You pull apart your fingers at his words—only slightly, enough to feel the slight resistance of his cunt. “Like it when I open you up all nice n’ pretty for me?”

“Yes, yes, I l-love it.” Kuni’s so unabashed, now, so close to his orgasm. The clench of his cunt is uncontrolled, pulsing against your fingers and urging you to rub his chubby cock faster, harder, stretching him out and making his mind melt from his pretty, perfect lil’ pussy.

As his back unconsciously arches, his thighs jerking with the spasms of his muscle, he begins to plead you to let him cum. Soft begs fall from his lips as he clutches right at your free hand, both of his smaller ones holding yours tight when you lean down and kiss him, soft n’ sound right against his swollen lips.

You can't even finish your sentence, a gentle, “Cum for me, sweetheart,” before Kuni’s creaming around your fingers, the thick cum left dribbling in your palm and being smeared into his twitching cock.

By the time he’s dropped your hand to grab at your other wrist, he's left a whimperin’, whinin’ mess. You lie next to him and roll his body on top of yours, holding him close around his middle and letting him nuzzle into your throat.

His breathing eventually steadies, matching the gentle rhythm of your chest against his. “Thank you,” he mutters.

“For what?”

He sighs. “Makin’ me cum.” The tone of his voice makes you chuckle, and he raises an eyebrow at you. “What?”

“Nuthin',” you say, laughing. You kiss his forehead in apology, and you continue with, “I should be thanking you, anyway, for surprising me with something like that.”

“Shut up, you perv.”

You’re appalled! “Says the guy fingering himself on our—”

Kuni growls, jumping up and covering your mouth with his hands. “Shut up!” But those pretty indigo eyes soften, crinkling at the edges, and he leans down to kiss your forehead in turn.

“Missed you,” he says, a whisper against your skin—one you return to his sternum, pressing a kiss and your love so close to his heart.

Maybe, if this is death, like this, Kuni wouldn't quite mind being a dead man.

kuni's so real for this: hands r UNREASONABLY attractive. i hope this somewhat like u imagined, sweet anon 🦭🦭

6 MAR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 ASKS 】#【 🥯 】#technically this is modern au . . .#otherwise i wouldn't consider that he'd have a heartbeat or need to breathe 😵‍💫😵‍💫#sub scaramouche #sub wanderer #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #he has double the tags bc of all his dmn names #sub genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #dom reader #top reader #male reader #ftm smut

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dixons-sunshine · 19 days

Text

I Never Lived For The Applause | Daryl Dixon x Former!Celebrity!Fem!Reader

Summary: Before the world quite literally ended, you were a famously known singer. However, your celebrity status didn't do you much good in the apocalypse, despite most people in your group giving you privileges that you didn't want. Thankfully, a certain redneck archer treated you like a normal person, unwillingly becoming the guy who caught your attention.

Genre: Angst, fluff.

Era: The quarry; the farm; the prison.

Warnings: Swearing, usual TWD warnings, suggestive themes.

Word count: 3.9k.

A/n: Okay but the former!celebrity!reader x Daryl was such a unique idea that an anon requested! I never would've thought about that on my own. I thought that this idea would be great combined with a few other requests, and this was born. There's a few time jumps and this is honestly not the best. I scrapped over 1500 words and this is all over the place, and it was supposed to be smut, and I don't really like this, but I hope you like it nonetheless.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Before the apocalypse came to be, you were a famous singer and songwriter. You had multiple hit singles that made the charts and your concerts always sold out. It seemed like wherever you would turn, there would be someone there who would want an autograph or a picture. It seemed like you could never escape the spotlight.

Not even now, when the dead started rising and the world came to an end.

“Amy, I told you, I'm fine. I don't want your food. You need it more than I do.”

Amy shook her head defiantly, practically shoving the paper plate into your hands. “I insist. You're my idol, and I'll be damned if I let my idol go hungry when I have food I can give her.”

You sighed and reluctantly accepted the plate. “This is unnecessary. I already had my share, sweetheart. You don't have to give me yours when you also have to eat.”

“I'm fine. Rather me than you.”

Before you could protest, Andrea called Amy's name. Amy gave you an apologetic smile and bid you farewell, walking over to her sister and leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sighed and turned around, heading over to the tent you shared with your daughter. You opened the flap and stepped inside, seeing your twelve year old daughter, Nicolette, busy sketching in her sketchbook.

She looked up when she heard you step inside, sending you a smile. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Nic,” you greeted her, sitting down on your cot opposite hers. “Why aren't you outside with the other kids?”

Nicolette shook her head, closing her sketchbook and sitting up in her cot. “Most of them treat me funny. They keep asking me if I can sing or if I can write songs, and if I got free stuff because you were famous. Only Carl and Sophia treat me like I'm a normal kid, but they're with their mom's right now.”

You sighed, guilt gnawing at you from the inside. Never once did you regret having your daughter, but sometimes you regretted having to raise her while you were in the spotlight. The paparazzi were relentless, and your daughter more often than not had to pay the price for that. It was unfair, and you wished that you could've just faded from the spotlight to raise your daughter in peace.

“I'm sorry, baby. If I knew back then what my fame could do to you, I never would have signed on with that record label. I wish I could take it back.”

Nicolette shook her head. She got up from her cot and sat down next to you, leaning her head on your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around her, placing a tender kiss on her head.

“It's not your fault, Mom. I don't blame you. You shouldn't, either.”

You shook your head. “That's easier said than done,” you replied, before adopting a more lighthearted tone. “But let's not talk about that. I've got some more food for you if you're hungry.”

Nicolette smiled at you and nodded eagerly. “I'm starving. Thanks, Mom.”

You smiled at her. However, before you could respond, a ruckus could be heard outside your tent. Both yours and your daughter's heads snapped in the direction of the two voices, instantly going quiet to hear what was happening.

“M'tellin ya, man. S'a fuckin' waste of time. We should jus' cut our losses here and scram. Take a few guns and food fer the road.”

“Merle, fer the last fuckin' time, we can't leave righ' now. It's too dangerous. We should wait 'til the heat dies down 'fore we go.”

“Wha' m'hearin' s'tha' yer a pussy. Wha's the matter, Darylina? Scared the geeks will get ya? 'Cause yer too incompetent to handle 'em?”

“Fuck off, Merle! It ain't like tha'. I jus' dun' wanna risk our lives if we dun' need to.”

“Whatever, man. M'goin' back to the tent.”

The man who's name you had learnt to be Merle left, his retreating footsteps growing fainter until you couldn't hear them anymore. However, you could clearly see the silhouette of the other man still outside your tent. You could hear him quietly muttering to himself.

Turning to Nicolette, you gently placed the plate with the food—cooked squirrel with some beans—onto her lap and stood up. You turned to her and leaned down to place a sweet kiss to her forehead.

“Eat up and get ready for bed. I'll be right back and then we'll continue reading that book.”

Nicolette nodded, and with that, you exited your tent. The man stood with his back to you, but a simple slight twitch of his head in your direction showed that he had heard you. His body stiffened visibly, and you frowned at that.

“Hey. You're Daryl, right?” you asked him, prompting the man to turn around.

However, he didn't meet your gaze, finding great interest in the ground below. He simply grunted his acknowledgement, a slight upwards nudge of his nose confirming your question.

“I'm Y/n. It's nice to officially meet you,” you introduced yourself, extending your hand to his for a handshake. Daryl made no move to shake it, however, making you awkwardly retract your hand. “I, uh, just wanted to say that you were right.”

“Wha'?” Daryl asked in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing. He hadn't meant for the question to slip from his lips, trying to just remain quiet until you got the message that he was in no mood to socialise, but he failed.

“That argument you had with your brother. You were right. It's way too dangerous to wander off on your own right now. Personally I feel like you shouldn't be wanting to go at all because it's safer with a group, but that's not my call to make. Just thought I'd let you know that your instincts are right. Don't listen to your brother.”

Daryl was confused by your niceness. He was even more confused by the fact that you agreed with him. He was so used to women taking Merle's side instead of his all the time, so this was something entirely new for him.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” he replied awkwardly, nervously chewing on his lower lip.

You smiled at him before nodding. “Okay, well, just wanted to tell you that. Oh, and to ask you not to argue in front of my tent again. I have a twelve year old in there who doesn't need to hear all of that.”

Daryl ducked his head, an embarrassed blush flushing over his face. “Sorry.”

“I guess I can let it slide this time,” you said with a smile. “And thanks for the squirrel. Thanks to you, my daughter doesn't have to go to bed hungry tonight. Never thought we'd have to resort to eating squirrel, but it's not that bad. It's actually kinda delicious. It's way better than—” Realising that you were busy rambling, you shook your head and gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Just, thank you.”

Daryl didn't know why, but he felt an unexplainable pull to you. Maybe it was the way you showed him kindness without even knowing him, or maybe it was the fact that you were the only one who seemed to actually appreciate the food he brought back from his hunts, even if it was squirrels. Despite their hunger, everyone else mostly refused to eat anything he brought back if it wasn't deer. Yet there you were, thanking him for bringing back something as mediocre as squirrel.

And it certainly didn't help that he found you absolutely radiant.

“S'nothin',” he finally responded. “M'jus' glad yer lil' girl can eat tonigh'.”

“You're the one who brought back the squirrels?”

At the sound of a small voice, both you and Daryl turned around to face your daughter. Nicolette walked up to your side and beamed brightly up at Daryl, catching him off guard. The other kids in the camp were terrified of him and wouldn't even glance in his direction, yet this kid was not only looking at him, but willingly talking to him.

“Yes, he is,” you confirmed, smiling fondly down at your daughter.

Nicolette looked up at Daryl, realisation dawning on her. “You're the man with the crossbow! And the vest with the angel wings! You're so cool, sir. Do you think I could maybe shoot your crossbow one time? It's okay if you say no, but can I maybe see how you shoot it so that when I get my own crossbow one day, I know how to use it? Or—”

Daryl's lips subconsciously twitched up into a smile. Her rambling was so similar to yours. Like mother, like daughter, he thought to himself as he looked between the two of you. There were over a dozen similarities between you and Nicolette. She looked just like you.

You placed a hand on Nicolette's shoulder, halting her rambling. You turned to Daryl, giving him a smile. “We should probably get ready for bed. Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Night, Daryl!” Nicolette greeted him enthusiastically, following you into the tent.

“Night,” he whispered.

“Oh, and by the way, don't be a stranger. I'd love to see more of you.”

Daryl blushed and ducked his head. He hummed, not trusting his voice at that moment in time.

You smiled and finally entered the tent, zipping the tent closed behind you. He stood there for a couple of moments before turning and walking back to his own shared tent with Merle.

Daryl couldn't explain it, but for some reason, in that short conversation, he felt drawn to you. It was unnerving, but felt nice at the same time. And your daughter was downright an angel, your exact copy.

“Wha' were ya doin', sniffin' 'round tha' popstar?” Merle asked when Daryl entered the tent, catching him off guard. Daryl had assumed that Merle would've been passed out by now, high off of whatever drug he was using that night.

“Popstar? Wha' the hell are ya talkin' 'bout?” Daryl questioned, plopping himself down on his cot.

“Tha' woman ya were talkin' to, she was a singer 'fore all this. Real famous, too. Used to see her on TV and in magazine's all the time.”

Daryl's mind swarmed with questions. You were a famous singer? How the hell did you end up there, with a bunch of nobodies? And why had you thanked him for bringing back something as simple as a squirrel? If you were famous, you had probably eaten banquets of the richest, most delicious food out there, yet you enjoyed squirrel? And to top it off, why would you willingly want to hang out with him of all people?

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Daryl, oh my god.”

At the sound of your panicked voice, Daryl slowly sat upright in the bed in the guest bedroom. He looked up and locked eyes with you, seeing the worry written all over your face. You hurriedly sat down on the edge of the bed next to him and gingerly reached out to touch the bandage around his side, careful not to add too much pressure and hurt him.

“M'fine, sunshine. Dun' have to worry 'bout me,” he replied, waving off your concern and gently grabbing your hand to push it away from the bandage.

You scoffed in disbelief and shook your head. “You're my friend, Daryl. Of course I'm going to worry about you. I care about you, and you expect me to not worry?” you asked, bringing your hand up to gently caress his cheek.

Friend. That word reminded Daryl of how you viewed him. It had been two months since your first interaction at the quarry and his affection and attraction to you had only grown stronger. However, it seemed to him like his feelings weren't reciprocated, so he settled on being your friend.

Little did he know that you felt the exact same way. You just didn't know it yet.

“Heard ya punched Andrea fer shootin' me. Any truth to those rumours?” Daryl asked, diverting the attention away from his now pounding heart as your fingers gently pushed his hair back.

You smiled sheepishly. “My hand slipped?” you tried, shrugging your shoulders.

Daryl smirked slightly and shook his head. “Sure. Whatever ya say, sunshine.”

You let out a sigh, reluctantly drawing your hand back from his hair. “She had it coming. We told her not to shoot and she didn't listen, trying to boost her own ego instead. She almost killed you, Daryl. That's not something she should be allowed to get away with, but Rick and Shane aren't gonna do anything, so I took matters into my own hands.”

Daryl smiled softly. “Not bad fer a popstar.”

You giggled. “Hey, I got into a couple of fights before my career took off. I know my stuff. I know how to shoot a gun, too, but that's a discussion for another day.”

Daryl chuckled and nodded. He shifted back against the headboard and gazed at you, simply admiring your beauty for a moment. It amazed him that a beautiful, kind, caring, smart woman like you would ever wanna be associated with the likes of him. You were perfect and he was, well, him. It didn't make sense, but he dared not to question it.

“Can I ask ya somethin' personal?” he blurted out before he could think about it.

You nodded at him. “Sure.”

“When ya talk 'bout yer career, it sounds like ya hated it. Why'd ya become a singer if ya hated it so much?”

You remained silent for a minute. Daryl feared that he had asked the wrong thing and was about to apologise, but you spoke up.

“I was nineteen when I signed with my first record label. I didn't want to be in the spotlight because singing was more of a hobby to me, but my parents forced me to. Growing up, there wasn't ever really any money around and my parents made it out like it was my fault. They made me feel like I owed them for everything they did for me, and they forced me to sign with that record label. My parents were my managers and all the money I earned for the songs I wrote and sang basically went to them. That went on for a couple of years until I met Nic's father. He was a bass player in a band I was collaborating with. I fell in love way too quickly, jumped into bed with him when he made an advancement and ended up pregnant. The guy didn't want kids and bolted, leaving me a single mom. My parents hated that and basically disowned me.”

“M'sorry to hear tha',” Daryl replied sympathetically. He didn't really know how to respond; he never knew that about you. You chose to keep your life before you had Nicolette private, and he respected that. He had his own demons he preferred to keep quiet.

“It's okay,” you reassured him, shaking your head. “He was an asshole. And I was better off without my parents. I managed to sign with a decent enough record label and the rest was history. I got a ton of backlash from haters for being a single mom. There were even rumours that I had cheated and that's why the guy left me, but that wasn't true. But none of that matters anymore. My reputation doesn't matter anymore. All that matters now is keeping my daughter safe and keeping the people I care about alive. People like you.”

“Ya shouldn't care 'bout me. S'a bad idea.”

“Well, bad idea or not, I care about you. And so does Nic.”

As if being summoned, Nicolette knocked on the door and hesitantly stepped inside. Daryl adjusted the covers over his body and sent her a tight-lipped smile. Nicolette gave him a small smile back but he could clearly tell it was strained. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying.

“Are you okay?” Nicolette asked, crossing her arms over her chest as if to make herself appear smaller.

“M'fine, kiddo. Dun' worry 'bout me,” he reassured her. “Hershel fixed me righ' up. I'll be outta here in no time.”

Nicolette looked to you for confirmation, and you nodded. “He's right. He'll be fine. Some antibiotics and he'll be up and at it in three days. You'll see.”

“Okay,” she nodded, her eyes flickering between you and Daryl. “I'm glad you're not dead, Daryl.”

Daryl chuckled at the girls forwardness. “M'glad m'not dead, too.”

You smiled at the small interaction between Daryl and Nicolette, your heart swelling with fondness. You stood up from the bed and motioned for Nicolette to follow you.

“C'mon, baby. Let's leave Daryl to get some rest, okay?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could maybe stay?” she asked timidly, nervously fiddling with her hands. “It's just... I wanna stay.”

You looked at Daryl, and he shrugged nonchalantly. Despite his nonchalance, Daryl's heart swelled with fondness. This little girl, who owed him nothing, wanted to stay with him. He couldn't believe it.

“Okay, you can stay for a while. I'll be back later, okay?” you relented.

She nodded and sat down on the chair. You gave Daryl's hand one last squeeze before heading out, sparing one last look at the two. Nicolette was starting to retell some of the events of what her and Carl had gotten up to that day, and Daryl hummed in acknowledgement before looking up and locking eyes with you.

With one last parting smile, you headed out and made your way back to the tents. On your way there, a startling realisation hit you like a ton of bricks, one that would change the way you saw Daryl forever. Despite the fact that he could be snappy at times, and that he was known for being grumpy, he treated you with respect. He didn't care about who you were before the end of the world. He didn't care about your mistakes, about if you were famous or not. That didn't matter to him. He only saw you, the person behind the old tabloids, and he had become close with your daughter. He even took the time out of his day to teach her how to use his crossbow, even if she was a slow learner. And in that moment, you realised something:

You had feelings for him.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Y'know, m'glad Nic didn't have to meet her father. She's better off.”

You turned your head to Daryl, a look of confusion spreading across your features. “I agree with you, but why do you say that? You didn't know the man.”

Daryl shrugged, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke away from you. “Ya said back at Hershel's tha' he never wanted kids. If he had stuck 'round, god knows wha' he would've done to her.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, turning your attention back to the darkness ahead of you. “She is better off.”

The night was relatively quiet, save for the distant sound of walkers groaning outside the prison's fences. Daryl was on watch that night in the guard tower, and you had taken the initiative to join the archer that night. Everyone else had retreated into the prison for the night, leaving only you and Daryl awake.

“So are we gon' tell Nic 'bout us or not?” Daryl broke the silence, taking the last drag from his cigarette before putting it out next to him. “S'been over a month now. She deserves to know.”

Unbidden, flashes of that night a month ago arose in your mind. The feeling of his lips on yours, his hands exploring your body and the way he felt pressed against you. The feeling of your bodies becoming one was one that you wouldn't forget anytime soon, but the one memory you'd hold with you forever was the confession from the man next to you. After the heated, pleasurable moment you'd spent together, feelings were revealed, and you and the archer had unofficially started your relationship. You had both agreed to keep it a secret, but Nicolette was starting to get suspicious about the two of you.

“I'm okay with telling her tomorrow. She deserves to finally have confirmation on her suspicions,” you told him, leaning your head against his shoulder. “She already sees you as her dad, anyways.”

Daryl couldn't argue with that. Flashes of his own arose in his mind. A couple of days ago, he had returned from a run, battered and bruised. He could barely walk and both you and Nicolette were distraught. However, after he was patched up and resting in his cell and you were up in the guard tower for your shift, Nicolette had come to him in tears. He had hugged her tightly to his chest, acutely aware that she was transported back to that day on the farm when he had been shot. That night was the night Nicolette had confirmed that she saw Daryl as a father figure.

“Please don't leave. My mom needs you. I need you. We both need you in our lives. Please, Daryl.”

In that moment, even though she didn't know yet that you and Daryl were together, he knew that he wouldn't be able to live without either of you. You both were his entire world. Nicolette was his little girl. You were his partner, and there was no way he was letting either of you go.

“Dun' worry, Nic. I ain't goin' nowhere. I promise ya tha'.”

Shaken from his thoughts by your lips on his exposed shoulder, he turned his head to you, coming face to face with a mischievous smirk. He instantly knew what that smirk meant, and he helped you climb onto his lap.

“But,” you began, pulling his attention back to your previous discussion. “Let's worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, it's just me and you.”

Daryl smirked and attached his lips to yours. You may have been a popstar before the apocalypse, a celebrity living in a mansion, but in that moment, you were simply you. The woman Daryl cared for deeply, the woman Daryl was never gonna let go of.

Because in that moment, you were nothing but his.

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unseededtoast · 6 months

Text

I’ve Got My Eye On You | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: A piece of Spencer Reid died the day Tobias Hankle kidnapped and tortured him. Seeing your friend in desperate need of help, you take it upon yourself to keep an eye on him and help him every step of the way, no matter how hard those steps may be. Inspired by “Say Yes To Heaven” by Lana Del Rey.

Content warnings: mention/discussion of addictions, narcotics references, withdrawal description.

wc: 9.3k

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

a/n: thank you to all who take time to read my stories. I appreciate each and everyone of you, and you all deserve the softest forehead kisses.

- - - - -

"Spencer I know what Tobias did to you, and I want you to know that I'm here for you. You're one of my closest friends and I don't want you to feel like you have to handle this on your own. It's not your fault, and what he did to you was wrong, please don't blame yourself. And please let me help you, I know you'd do the same for me. I can't lose you to this, you mean too much to me and you deserve to be free of this torment." Your throat constricts with emotion and you can't help the single tear that rolls down your cheek.

"I've tried to stop but I can't." Spencer's voice cracks through his tears, beckoning you to lift your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are tear-filled and his grip on your hands tightens. Sniffling, you nod your head, prepared to take on this challenge with him.

- - - -

A part of Spencer Reid died the day he was kidnapped by Tobias Hankle. You noticed it like day turned to night. After he had been rescued, there was a hollowness in his eyes you had never seen before. The rest of the team seemed quick to move on and it's like they almost disregarded the horrors and trauma Spencer endured.

But you were not as quick to forget, nor did you brush it under the rug. You had taken note of the needle tracks left in his arms when he was rescued, and you were keenly aware that narcotics addiction is one hell of a beast to slay. And so you took it upon yourself to keep an eye on him; you were not about to lose one of your closest friends, and it became obvious that nobody else was going to be there to support him.

As you look across the bullpen to the man who occupies your thoughts you reminisce about the Spencer you knew before the tragedy. He was bright-eyed and innocent, socially awkward but charming in his own way. And while many of those things are still true, he's changed.

You've noticed how he's taken on a much more serious tone on cases, how he's becoming more skeptical of people. And you don't miss how his fingers find their way into his pockets during stressful conversations or how he's developing a short temper. Alarm bells sound off in your head and you wonder how the others could be missing this. But you know if nobody else is going to intervene and help him, then you will.

Spencer turns around with papers in his hands and you avert your gaze quickly, not wanting to be caught staring at him. The clock lets you know it's time to go home and the other team members head out the door with farewells. You politely say your goodbyes to them but hang back intentionally.

The bullpen is occupied only by you and Spencer now. It's not unusual for either of you to work over, but this time you're not staying for the paperwork. While Spencer wraps up his work you feign busyness, you don't want him to become skeptical of you. This plan had been mulling over in your mind for a week now, and you've just now been able to find the courage to act on it.

Twenty minutes pass before you see Spencer start wrapping up his final report, and so you casually begin packing up as well. What a coincidence that you two finished at the same time. You stand from your chair and shrug your coat on, preparing for the crisp air that awaits you outside.

"Hey, if you want I can give you a ride home. The buses stopped an hour ago and it's pretty cold out." You softly break the silence between the two of you. Spencer stops in his tracks and you see the conflict on his face. You hope he takes you up on your offer, your entire plan kind of hinges on it. After a few fleeting moments of contemplation, he nods his head.

"Sure, that would be nice. Thank you." He gives you a small smile and you let out a breath you were unaware of holding. The two of you walk side by side out of the building and into the cold air, where your breath turns to white clouds.

"How'd your reports go?" You ask, trying to keep a conversation flowing. Your stomach turns in nervousness and you remind yourself of what's at stake so as to not back out of your plan for fear of rejection or failure.

"They went okay." His answer is too short for your liking. As you buckle your seatbelt you notice how his hand finds it way into his coat pocket. Your heart drops, but you remain casual as you start driving towards his apartment.

"So do you actually think we're going to get a full weekend off?" So far your plan is going almost as well as you had hoped, and you count down the minutes before you'll arrive at Spencer's building. He sighs in the seat next to you,

"Maybe. I think I heard JJ and Hotch talk about a no-contact weekend unless it's an absolute emergency." He turns his head to look out of the window and you swallow your nerves. You only hope that he's not trying to read your body language.

"So any fun plans this weekend then?" You come to a stop at a light and look over to Spencer. From the soft glow of the street lamp you see how tired he looks, and your heart aches for your friend.

"No. You?" His answer is simpler than the ones he usually gives you; conciseness is also a new development it seems.

"Nothing particularly fun." You honestly answer before pulling up to the curb next to his apartment. Pushing back all doubts that float in your mind, you know the time has come and only hope that things turn out well.

Spencer goes to reach for the door handle, uttering a thank you, but you reach out and grab his bicep to keep him in the car for just a few more moments. Your heart thumps in your chest as he settles back into the seat and looks at you with curiosity. Taking a deep breath, you decide to just rip the bandaid off and be straightforward with him.

"Spencer. There's something I want to talk to you about." Your eyes meet his, faces only illuminated faintly from the street.

"What is it?" There's no trace of skepticism in his voice and it gives you a boost of hopefulness. So far his short temper hasn't effected your relationship with him, but you know full well that this conversation could change that.

You and Spencer had developed a good friendship over the years. The two of you were hired around the same time and so it was easy to bond over being the newbies on the team. And after a few years the two of you had been able to build a strong bond based on trust and respect; he was one of the few people you know you can count on. You trust him with your life and now you hope he trusts you with his.

Keeping a gentle hand on his arm, you want him to know that what you're about to say is coming from a place of love.

"You know I care about you, right?" You start off your rehearsed lines, careful to pick your wording just right so that he doesn't feel attacked or judged. His head nods almost instantly.

"Of course." He says, and you see the authenticity clearly in his eyes. But they're not the eyes you've come to know, you see within them the anguish he's going through.

Though you had practiced these words several times over the week, saying them out loud makes this situation all too real for you. The reality hits you like a brick wall that if Spencer doesn't get some help, his life may be on the line.

Spencer's jaw sets tightly and you see his eyes follow the tear down your cheek. Your lower lip quivers as you try to keep your composure, but once you see his jaw waver, your façade cracks. Soon enough, you and Spencer are crying together, both of you gripping onto each other's hands like a lifeline.

His hands shake as they grab onto yours, enveloping them completely. You know the tremors aren't from nerves, and it causes you to cry harder. All you want is for him to be free of this addiction.

"You don't have to do it alone. I'm right here with you, every step of the way." You rest your hand on his cheek, letting him know that your words are true. And though you have a long road ahead of you, you know you'd walk across fiery coals every second of your life for him.

- - - - -

The road to recovery is one full of bumps, twists, and turns. You knew that this would be difficult, but you had severely underestimated just how challenging it was going to get.

As soon as Spencer had accepted your offer of help, you had done everything you could to educate yourself about narcotics addiction and how to support someone who is seeking recovery. An interesting fact you had come across was that the withdrawal symptoms for Dilaudid addiction typically cease quicker than other drug withdrawals, but they're more intense. And this had never been clearer than it is right now.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Your hand brushes hair out of Spencer's eyes as he lays on the couch, drenched in sweat with shaking hands.

He had been running a fever for a few hours now, and developed nausea and anxiety recently; all normal and expected symptoms but that didn't mean they were easy to handle.

"Some space." He snaps back quickly, and you try hard not to take it personally. Irritability is also an unfortunate side effect of withdrawal.

With a sigh, you back away from him and walk over to the window, which has frosted over with fresh snow. Due to the holiday season, Hotch gave everyone two weeks off to celebrate Christmas and also New Year. Spencer had asked you to stay with him during these two weeks so that he could quit, and of course you said yes.

It's not like you had family plans anyway, the team is more of your family than blood relatives at this point. And before you arrived at Spencer's you had delivered gifts to the rest of the team, peddling a story of how you're going on a vacation during the break, so that they don't contact you. And how you wished you were on a tropical island sipping a fruity drink somewhere instead of watching your best friend writhe in pain.

Turning your head slightly to look over at him, you see his trembling hands ball themselves into fists over and over again, a likely coping mechanism for the torment he's experiencing. From the research you've done, you know the worst is yet to come.

- - - - -

Hours later, in the middle of the night, you hear Spencer make his way to the bathroom. Seconds later you hear him get sick and you check the watch on your wrist. According to your estimates, he's likely hitting the peak of withdrawal symptoms.

Sighing and rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you cautiously enter his room and see the bathroom light on. Spencer's hunched over the toilet, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat that's dripping down his temple. Upon hearing your arrival, he looks over to you in the doorway and you've never seen a more pleading look.

Instead of just standing and staring, you move to run cold water over a cloth and place it on the back of his neck. Another wave of sickness comes over him, and you kneel beside him, rubbing circles on his back to try and bring some sort of comfort to him.

After the nausea has ceased, he collapses back against the wall. You take the cloth from around his neck and gingerly wipe away the sweat and clean up around his mouth.

"It's okay Spence, you're doing great. I'm proud of you." You whisper and place a kiss to his forehead, and you mean every single word.

You sit beside him and his clammy hand finds yours, and he holds it tight. Your eyes travel up his arm, seeing the faint marks from previous needle injection and you hope that they fade quickly, he doesn't need a constant reminder.

"Did you get rid of it?" He asks suddenly, startling you out of you focus. His head is tipped back against the wall and his eyes are closed.

"I got rid of it all. Nothing is left here." You confirm to him with a gentle squeeze of his hand.

Earlier when you arrived the first step was for you to destroy the vial of Dilaudid and all the needles he had so that when this stage of withdrawal came around he wouldn't be able to give into the intense cravings.

"I need it." He says, eyes opening and staring into yours. Spencer's eyes are glazed over and watery. You shake your head, encouraging him to keep going.

"No, you don't need it. This is the peak of the withdrawal Spence. A few more hours and things will get easier." You recite the information you remember from your research.

As if he's suddenly disgusted with you, he drops your hand and looks away, pushing his own hair out of his face. His jaw tenses and his foot starts tapping against the floor.

"Get out of here." His tone is harsh, and your heart drops, but you listen to him.

Without a word, you leave his bedroom and close the door behind you. You know that the withdrawal is wreaking havoc on his mind and body, but it's hard to watch and hear your best friend behave so differently.

You go to take a seat in his couch, and reminisce on the good times the two of you shared here. There were weekend nights spent completing puzzles and making cookies together, and other times you just lounged around while he read. The connection you two shared was an easy going one, there were never any expectations and you two were just content with each other's company.

You can't wait to have those nights back, and you know they may not happen for a while. And that's okay, as long as Spencer was getting better that's more than you can ask for.

- - - - -

One week had passed and thankfully Spencer's condition improved greatly. His hands no longer tremble, he doesn't break out into cold sweats anymore, and his personality is beginning to shine through again. Sure, there are still some bouts of anxiety and irritability, but overall you couldn't be happier with his progress.

While you wait for him to get up for the day, you make him some pancakes and bacon. His appetite had also made a reappearance. The maple smell wafts throughout his apartment and makes your tummy grumble.

The sound of Spencer's bedroom door opening cues you to turn on the coffee pot, so that he can have some fresh coffee with his breakfast. You place his favorite mug beside the pot and flip the bacon, estimating another two minutes before everything is ready.

"Good morning." Spencer's raspy morning voice says from behind you. He walks around you, mindlessly placing a hand on your waist as he squeezes past you to get to the coffee pot.

The warmth of his fingers on your waist in the cool air of the apartment sends a wave of heat through you before taking residence in your cheeks. Spencer had touched you a hundred times before, but his touch had never elicited a response from your body like this before.

"Good morning, how'd you sleep?" You ask, trying to distract yourself from whatever it was your body was doing.

After pouring steaming hot coffee into his mug and dumping a small ton of sugar into it, he leans back against the counter. Unable to help yourself, you glance over at him and see his unruly hair and take note that he's decided to wear his glasses today. Another wave of warmth radiates through you.

"Good, I didn't wake up once throughout the night." He says with a small smile, sipping his coffee. You match his smile, happy to hear that he's made another improvement.

You turn the burners off on the stove and motion for him to help himself. He sets his mug down on the counter and you turn to get yourself ready for the day. Not that you're going anywhere, you just prefer to feel a little put together. Plus, this gives you a reason to get away from Spencer's observant eyes. What if he noticed something was weird with you this morning?

Mind occupied with dissecting your own feelings, you manage to toss on a sweater and some comfortable sweats, not even bothering to see if they match or not. No, your brain is too wrapped up in decoding why your body had reacted the way it did to Spencer's touch.

In all the years you two had been friends, he had touched you like that before to get past you, he had held your hand after particularly hard cases so you could fall asleep on the jet, and yet none of those times made you feel like he just had in the kitchen. So what exactly had changed?

The question plays itself over and over in your mind as you rejoin him at the dining table for breakfast. Only the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional scrape of a fork across a plate can be heard. It's typical for the two of you to share your mornings relatively peacefully, letting each other wake up for the day. It's a calm routine, one you know you'll miss after this is all over.

"Are you ready to get back to work next week?" Spencer breaks the silence, finishing off his bacon.

"Yes and no. I'll miss the free time, but it'll feel good to get back out there. What about you?" You admit that you're not completely ready to get back into the swing of things, you've found that you quite enjoy spending your days with Spencer.

"I'm just ready to be back to myself." He says, a soft smile on his face. You nod knowingly,

"You will be, Spence." You fight the urge to reach across the table for his hand, afraid of how your body may betray you again, so instead, you offer him your most genuine gaze. But it hardly conveys the sincerity you want it to.

"I still crave it, and I know that once I'm back out there I'll want it even more." He tells you with a sigh. Unfortunately, craving the drug of choice is a lasting side effect, especially for those experiencing stress.

"That may be true but you've worked so hard to get here. And I'll be there for you, never forget that. If it ever feels like it's too much, come to me and we'll work through it. I promise." Spencer's eyes look slightly enlarged from his glasses, and it only allows you to see their beauty enhanced; it's like you could spend hours swimming in them.

"I know, thank you." His voice drops to a whisper, and you know he means it. Spencer has never been very good at expressing his feelings or emotions, but you know him well enough to understand the depth of his sentiment.

The two of you spend the rest of the day together tangled in blankets to keep warm. Spencer chooses to read while you only pretend to read, your focus is stuck on Spencer for some odd reason. Your back is up against the couch's armrest which gives you a clear view of Spencer overtop the book you're "reading".

You can't help but to admire the delicate crease in between his eyes as he scans the words on the page, or appreciate the soft curl of his hair that falls to his shoulders. Of course these are all things you had noticed before, but it's like you're seeing them in a new light, like it's all new. An unfamiliar feeling blooms within you but you're unable to put a finger on it.

You're sure it's nothing more than caring for you friend. Right?

- - - - -

The first day back to the office comes sooner than you would've liked. Last night you spent the night alone in your own apartment, just like any other night, except it felt oddly empty and cold. And this morning when you woke, you had almost expected to see Spencer sitting at your dining room table with a cup of hot coffee in his hands. But instead you were met with a barren table, the sweet smell of coffee nowhere to be found.

When you reach the office building you're thankful for the distraction it offers. Everyone is in good spirits from the extended break, and even you find yourself excited to get on another case. The team congregates in the briefing room, and Spencer strolls in at the last second and takes a seat next to you like always.

You turn to greet him and notice the dark circles underneath his eyes and your heart drops to your stomach. It's only been one night alone, surely he didn't give into temptation. But to your relief, he gives you a sly head shake and a thumbs up, as if he could read your mind. Perhaps he also didn't sleep well last night.

JJ presents the case as usual, and Hotch tells the team to be wheels up in thirty. You know you'll have to review the case file on the jet, your mind was anywhere except the case and you hope that you're able to get your head in the game before the team lands and starts working the case.

- - - - -

It seems your wishes for a clear head go unanswered. The team had successfully caught the unsub, but you felt guilty because you know you were distracted the entire time. Sure, you helped out where you could and still did your job, but you know that your analyses were not as thorough as usual.

Instead of being fully dedicated to the case, you kept glancing over to Spencer every few minutes and found your thoughts seemingly to revolve around him. Sometimes he would see you looking and other times not. But when he did catch your eye, a bundle of nerves within your stomach would ignite themselves, leading you further into your mystery.

There's just no good reason for you to be reacting like that to something as simple as his gaze. It's perplexing you, a puzzle you can't quite seem to put together. Nothing had changed between you two, there's no clear reason why you would begin having these feelings.

"Meeting for drinks tonight?" Garcia walks into the bullpen as the team arrives back, in a chipper mood as always.

You wait to see how others answer, not particularly in the mood to go. You would much rather go back home in silent contemplation or maybe see if Spencer wanted company. Seeing as how bars weren't really your scene, it was common for you and Spencer to find something else to do together. Usually you two would end up agreeing to a movie or going for dinner somewhere.

"Sure." Morgan answers first, slinging his jacket over his shoulders. Emily and JJ agree as well and you watch as Penelope waltzes over to Spencer.

"How about you my favorite resident genius?" She nudges him with her shoulder. As if on instinct, he looks over to you. You know his mind is going down the same path yours is, deciding whether or not to go. To answer his silent request, you simply shrug your shoulders.

"Uh, yeah sure." He eventually answers, loosening the tie around his neck. A part of you is grateful he said yes, you know this will give you plenty of opportunities to distract your mind.

The team enters a familiar bar, providing some comfort though the environment is anything but tranquil. Everyone takes a seat around a table, chattering about the case and everything else that comes to mind.

"What's up with you tonight?" Morgan asks, nudging your arm. With a sigh, you shake your head and look at the drink swirling in your glass.

"I don't know. I guess I just feel a little off." You admit, but fall short of the whole truth. You should've known, working with profilers, that one of them was bound to pick up on your unusual behavior. Giving you a knowing nod, Morgan brings you in for a side hug,

"Happens to the best of us sometimes." He says, and you nod, knowing he's right. During your time on the team you've seen everyone experience a lull of some sort. Maybe that's what this all is, just some weird mental lull.

The rest of the night goes off without much excitement. That is, until everyone is about ready to leave. As you grab your jacket off the back of the chair you notice Morgan lean in to whisper something in Spencer's ear. You watch as their eyes flit across the bar to a woman who's staring right back at Spencer.

A nauseous feeling rises within you, but you force yourself to be quiet and watch as Spencer smiles to Morgan before crossing the bar to talk to her. In all your years of knowing Spencer, this was out of pattern behavior if you've ever seen it.

"Come on pretty girl, I think our boy is finally catching on." Morgan wraps his arms around your shoulder and guides you out of the bar. The last thing you see is the woman wrap her arms around Spencer's neck.

The walk home is so much colder and lonelier than it usually is.

- - - - -

Months later, you realize that the feelings Spencer gives you aren't going away. In fact, you think they've only become more prevalent with each brush of his fingertips and each smile he gives you. But, you've done a good job suppressing them so far for the sake of the friendship. After all, you and Spencer work closely together during cases and still keep up your routine friendship activities.

Or at least, you did up until three weeks ago.

Something happened around three weeks ago that you haven't been able to put your finger on. Spencer's been distancing himself from you little by little, but it's glaringly obvious to you. At first it was skipping a planned movie night and then it was taking a rain check for dinner at his favorite Thai place. And then during cases you'd noticed how he doesn't joke with you as much and that he almost avoids your gaze.

Sitting at your desk, you look across the bullpen and try to zone in on the conversation Spencer is having with Morgan. It seems Morgan has become Spencer's confidante of choice these days. And while you want to respect Spencer's choice, you can't help but wonder why he doesn't come to you anymore. A piece of you feels hollow without Spencer around as much as he used to be.

You considered that maybe you had simply become too attached to his presence during his detox, and that you're overthinking everything. Maybe this is all just in your head. You try to convince yourself of any other explanation, but a nagging voice in the back of your head tells you that it's something wrong with you, that he just doesn't want to share a close relationship anymore.

Later in the day, you find Morgan in the break room and decide to get some answers. As casually as you can, you join Derek in finding a snack.

"Can I ask you something?" You keep your voice quiet, and give Derek a look to let him know that this isn't one of your jokes. Standing straighter, he nods.

"Of course pretty girl." You pick at the skin around your nails before you can force yourself to say the words.

"Is Spencer okay?" You tread lightly, unsure of how much Derek is willing to give you.

"Yeah, he's fine. Why?" Derek's eyebrow quirks and you sigh, knowing you have to come clean to him or he won't let it go.

"It's just that he doesn't hang out with me much anymore and he hasn't been talking to me. We used to go out at least once a week and we always talked. I don't know if I did, or said, something." You meet Derek's eyes reluctantly but see no traces of judgment in his expression. He reaches out and puts a hand on your shoulder.

"I don't know if I'm supposed to keep this under wraps or not, but I think you deserve to know. He's been, um, putting himself out there lately." Your eyebrows scrunch together, not following what Derek is trying to say.

"Putting himself out there?" You ask for clarification but a pit of dread begins forming in your stomach. Derek licks his lips and offers you a sad smile, the pit of despair grows.

"It seems that he's becoming quite popular with the ladies." Is all Derek has to say before it sinks in. Your mouth goes dry and you suddenly lost your appetite for your snack. Pushing yourself off the countertop, you give Derek a rushed thank you before retreating back to your desk.

Spencer's sitting at his own, filling out paperwork and you can't help but to look at him in a different light. If you concentrate hard enough, you think you can see traces of bruises on his neck. They're faint enough that you wouldn't really be able to tell they're there unless you were looking for them.

Your heart hurts with the realization, you miss your friend dearly. After helping him detox you were sure that there was nothing getting between your friendship, but you guess other women seem to have won his favor.

Images of Spencer's lips on other women makes your skin crawl. This behavior just isn't like him. It's almost as if he's traded one addiction for another.

Your blood runs cold as the thought crosses your mind. In your studies of addiction during detox, you had read about addiction transference and how people who are prone to addictions can sometimes trade off. In Spencer's case it seems like he's traded the needle for sexual gratification.

While his dependence on Dilaudid was easy to pinpoint and treat, sex addiction is another beast entirely. This kind of addiction gets brushed under the rug by a lot of people, and commonly isn't seen as an issue. And truthfully, if it was anyone but Spencer, you may not have even noticed or cared. But as images of his hands on other women's bodies, his lips attached to their neck, their hands traveling his body flood your mind, you realize that you care a lot.

The realization dawns on you that you're actually feeling jealous of these faceless and nameless women.

- - - - -

Your patience is tested two weeks later, when the team is out celebrating another victory. And instead of Spencer sitting beside you or Morgan like usual, he's across the bar talking to a beautiful woman.

Through your jealousy you try to figure out when Spencer became such a social person, it's unlike the man you became friends with. Never would you have ever imagined that Spencer regularly seeks out women to spend his nights with. But here you sit, watching as he leans in and whispers something in her ear.

Your face runs hot and you tip back your glass, desperate to go numb. You had known Spencer was partaking in this lifestyle, but it's something entirely different when you're face to face with it and be forced to actually acknowledge what's happening.

"Woah that's your fourth already. You good?" Garcia asks from beside you, nursing her second drink. Ripping your gaze away from Spencer, you give Garcia a wide smile.

"Never been better." The sarcasm drips from your voice. You slip from your seat and go to the bar, your steps only slightly wobbly.

Purposely, you take a spot beside the woman Spencer's talking to, partially to eavesdrop and partially to get the bartender's attention. The woman beside you giggles insufferably at something Spencer said, causing you to tap your fingers against the bar top impatiently waiting for the bartender.

After you finally get another drink in your hand and turn to go back to the team, your eye catches Spencer's. His gemstone eyes meeting yours is enough to cause your heart to stop beating. Your lips fall apart, suddenly overwhelmed with sadness. You miss Spencer so much.

But unfortunately he doesn't keep your gaze for long, as the woman beside him runs her hands up his chest. Fighting the urge to get violent, or get sick, you give him a half-hearted smile before returning to your spot.

Perhaps you should've cherished your time with him more. Maybe you shouldn't have taken for granted your movie nights, shared dinners, or days spent underneath the same blankets. You certainly should've been more appreciative for his friendship. And now that all of that is gone you feel lost.

Drowning your sorrows with tequila, you understand that it's not just jealousy that fills you. You had actually fallen in love with your best friend. And now you're destined to watch him love other women.

You only wish it could be you.

- - - - -

"Rough night pretty boy?" Derek teases Spencer across his desk. Your eyes look over just in time to watch Spencer adjust his sweater and rub his eyes.

"Something like that." He answers, a faint blush creeping up to his cheeks. The wave of emotion that washes over you is the perfect storm of sadness, grief, and anger.

Unable to handle hearing their conversation, you abruptly get up from your desk and carry your paperwork back to Garcia's office. You know her office is like a safe haven, and truthfully, you're hoping she can brighten your dreary mood.

Knocking on her door lightly, you hear her invite you in. Like a child coming to their parents' room, you peek in before entering all the way. Screens are lit up across her desks and it looks like she's completing ten tasks at once.

"Are you busy? If this is a bad time I don't have to-"

"Nonsense, come here." She interrupts you and clears off a space for you to put your things. At least you can still count on Garcia.

You sit next to her and open the folder, half of your report already written. As you go to put pen to paper again, Penelope speaks up.

"Are you gonna tell me why you're here?" She has a knowing tone. Your pen taps against the desk a few times as you decide on what to tell her.

"I just needed a change of scenery" Your voice isn't very convincing, and you know she doesn't buy it from the look on her face.

"Okay and now the truth?" She asks, voice light yet firm. Relenting, you decide that it's not fair to yourself to keep your emotions bottled up, where they'll inevitably erupt.

"I guess it's just that, it's silly really, but I think I just miss Spencer." You attempt to downplay the severity of your feelings. But Penelope, in her typical fashion, presses you for more because she knows there's more to the story than you care to let on.

"He's right out there." She points out and you shake your head.

"Yeah but he's not him, if that makes any sense. We never hang out anymore and we rarely even talk to each other. And we used to be so close. But maybe he just outgrew me." You think out loud, fingers playing with the pen in your hand to try and distract your mind from all the racing thoughts.

"Outgrew you? Not a chance, he adores you." She says like it's a fact, but you have trouble believing it.

"Maybe he did some time ago, but he's adoring other women now. Lots of them." You can't hide the disdain in your voice. Every time you think about someone else with Spencer, it makes your blood boil. The selfish part of you wants him all to yourself, you want more shared mornings together and you crave more afternoons spent next to one another.

"Well, that may be true, but, I know him well enough to know that he still cares about you. I see the way he looks at you from across the room. Have you tried talking to him about it?" Of course Garcia would offer a logical and mature way to handle the situation. And you're thankful for her level head, because the way you want to deal with the situation involves dragging a woman by her hair out of his apartment.

"I don't even know what I would say that wouldn't make me sound like a kid who saw their friend playing with someone else at recess." You drop your pen on the desk, frustrated with your feelings. Penelope puts a hand on your shoulder, and you look up to meet her eyes.

"You've been friends for years now, I think he probably misses you too." She tells you, a soft look in her eye that lets you know she's being genuine.

"Maybe." You shrug.

"Finish your report and before you leave for the weekend talk to him." She spins around in her chair and gets back to work, allowing you to finish your report in peace.

Her words play over and over in your mind, and you realize that she has a good point. There's no way that after being friends for so long, and going through a detox together, that he just doesn't miss you either. You know Spencer well enough to know that he's a creature of habit, he likes routine; and lately he hasn't had much of one.

Feeling more like a bad friend for not checking in on him, you talk yourself into seeking him out at the end of the day. He's not responsible for your feelings, and you shouldn't have taken his actions so personally. Spencer is your friend first, and you've been neglecting your end of the friendship. Though, a voice in the back of your mind reminds you that he has as well.

Soon enough, the end of the day rolls around and you turn your report into Hotch. Thankfully Spencer is still here, collecting his things before heading out. It seems everyone else has left for the most part. With a deep breath, you swallow your pride and walk over to him.

"Hey." Your voice is meek and much weaker than you had hoped for. Startled by your presence, Spencer turns around. Your eyes meet his but trail down his neck, where there are sure signs of bruises. But this isn't about you, you try to remind yourself. This is about making sure your friend is okay.

"Hey." He greets you back, shrugging his coat over his sweater. There's an obvious tension between you two, and so you just decide to rip the bandaid off.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, making yourself keep your eyes on his face. Spencer's eyebrows crease together,

"Everything is fine, why?" He acts as if your question is coming out of left field. Finding it difficult to come out and say what you really mean, you shift your weight from foot to foot.

"It's just that we haven't really talked much lately and I just want to make sure that you're okay." You tell him truthfully.

"I'm fine." He tells you and glances down at his watch.

"Any fun weekend plans?" You ask, knowing full well that his answer could ruin your mood for the rest of the night.

"Um, yeah. I'm supposed to meet a friend tonight. But, you could come over tomorrow if you wanted to? Or we could go somewhere?" He offers, and a smile finds its way to your face.

"I'll be there tomorrow, I'll send you a text when I'm on my way." You tell him, satisfied with your plans. He gives you a quick nod before leaving the office to go meet whoever it is that he has plans with. You doubt that he even knows her name.

But you take some comfort in knowing that you'll be able to spend time with him tomorrow. And maybe, just maybe, it'll be exactly what the two of you need to smooth things out and go back to how things used to be.

- - - - -

You awake with an unusual happiness, excited to see Spencer. It's been months since the two of you actually spent any time together and you're eager to get over to his apartment to see him. Last night you had told yourself that no matter what he may be doing, that he's still one of your closest friends and that you still need to be there for him.

After picking out a nice outfit and ensuring your hair looks nice, you send him a quick text that you'll be there shortly. And of course, you never go empty handed, and so you pick up the plate of cookies you had made last night for him.

The trip over to his apartment seems to take less time than you remember, and you make your way up the stairs until you find yourself outside of his door. You knock on his door and wait for him to answer, but a minute passes and you hear no movement on the other side. Thinking that maybe he was in the bathroom or something, you wait another minute and then knock again. This time you hear movement.

The door swings open and you smile, but it quickly drops once you see who has answered the door. Her makeup is smudged on her face and she's still in the dress she probably wore last night. Feeling sickness rise in your throat, you wordlessly turn to leave.

"Hey what are you doing? Who is it?" You hear Spencer come to the door, but you don't bother to look back. You don't want him to see the tears in your eyes. You blink the blurry tears from your vision so you don't trip and make an even bigger fool of yourself, and you get halfway down the hall before Spencer is calling your name. But you act like you don't hear him.

Just before you reach the stairwell, you feel a hand on your shoulder. You stop in your tracks and a breath catches in your throat. Looking back, you see Spencer with disheveled hair and beyond him, his friend he met with last night. The sight of her in his doorway makes you shrug his hand off of you, disgusted to think about where those hands may have been just moments before you knocked on the door.

"Where are you going?" Spencer's voice is quiet, but you can hear the hurt and curiosity in his words. With a sniffle, you look from the woman back to him.

"I'm going back home, I didn't mean to interrupt your plans or whatever." You say, words cold and curt. Turning back around, you're determined to go back home, but Spencer stops you again.

"Please don't go. Come in, please." He practically begs. And as if she just got the hint, the woman leaves down the opposite end of the hall, heels in hand. You glare at her retreating figure before turning your attention back to Spencer.

"Fine." You agree and follow him back inside his apartment.

His floor is littered with the outfit he wore to work yesterday. Tie slung across the back of the couch and shirt tossed in front of the bedroom door. Nausea washes over you and you try your best to keep your facial expression neutral. The plate of cookies finds its place on his countertop and you stand with your hands in your pockets, feeling oddly out of place in an apartment that used to feel like your second home.

"I'm sorry about that, I um, I didn't see your text." Spencer closes the door behind him and walks over to you. Trying your best to appear calm and collected, you shrug.

"It's okay." You say, feeling like it's anything but.

A silence settles between the two of you and you almost regret your decision to come over. You watch as Spencer tries to quickly tidy up the place, throwing dirty clothes into his bedroom and tossing trash away. As he makes his way through his apartment you realize that you two hadn't made any real plans, just that you would come over. And while that used to mean movies and relaxing, you know that it just wouldn't feel right tonight.

"Listen, if now is a bad time we can always reschedule." You offer and go to move towards the door.

"No! No it's okay, I want you to stay." He says, throwing the last piece of garbage away. You sigh, realizing that you're probably not leaving here without some sort of confrontation.

"So how have you been? We haven't really talked in a while." You ease into conversation, hoping to coax Spencer into opening up. He rubs the back of his neck and his eyes dart around, looking anywhere but at you.

"I've been okay. And you?" The conversation feels like one between two acquaintances, not friends.

"Yeah I've been okay. Just worried about you." You somehow find the courage to tell him your true thoughts. After all, you figure you can either tell him or simmer in your own feelings.

"Worried about me? Why?" His eyebrows scrunch together. Feeling like his gaze is too intense, you look over at the counter and let your fingers trace the lines of granite.

"I know what you've been doing Spence. And it's none of my business but, don't you kind of think it might just be a trade off?" Sure, this might be out of line and too bold, but your concerns are real.

"A trade off?" He asks, taking a step closer to you. Standing firm, you nod your head.

"Spence you put down the needle and started picking up women. Just take a second and think about it Spencer." Your eyes find their way back to his. The image of the woman opening his door gives you newfound confidence.

You watch as he closes his mouth and thinks, instead of retorting right away. It's almost as if you can see the gears of his mind turning and churning the information and analyzing his actions over the past few months. After about five minutes, he looks back up at you with his mouth slightly agape.

"It's just addiction transference." He confirms what your suspicions had been for weeks now. And Spencer isn't stupid, he knows he needs to hold himself accountable, and you're thankful he is, or this conversation could've take a far more drastic turn.

You watch as his face falls and he buries his head in his hands. Your angry resolve begins to crumble, and the love you have for him reblossoms within you, washing away any other feeling. Walking over to him, you place an unsure hand on his back to try and bring him some comfort.

"It's okay." You whisper, rubbing circles on his back. With a sigh, he looks back up to you. His soft, caring eyes look into yours and you finally recognize him. This is your Spencer.

"How could I not have seen this? It's plain as day and I let myself fall into another addiction. I was doing so good while you were here and then-" He cuts himself off abruptly, as if he said something he hadn't wanted to.

"And then what Spencer?" You push him for an answer, desperately needing to know what he was going to say.

"And then you left and I felt so alone." He admits and you can almost feel your heart stop beating in your chest.

He stands back to his full height, towering over you. Your blood runs hot in your veins as you stare into Spencer's eyes, searching for an answer.

"I know I've been a really bad friend lately but, do you think we could go back to how we were?" His voice is tender and vulnerable. Your mind was already made up the second the question left his lips.

"Of course, that's what friends are for." You say, despising having to describe yourselves as friends.

But at least you have your Spencer back.

- - - - -

"Come in!" Spencer's voice carries through the door and you let yourself into his apartment.

The past two weeks have been good, albeit a little rocky between the two of you. Spencer had stopped picking up women after a few failed attempts at stopping, but you can tell that his mind is itching for another fixation.

You step into his apartment and close the door behind you, seeing Spencer already on the couch, movie ready to play. He had let you pick out the movie this time, which is a rare occurrence but you didn't question it.

Sitting beside him, you relish in the familiar smell of the blankets. One of your demands is that he wash all of them before tonight, and he happily agreed. With a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of you, you snuggle underneath your blanket and watch the movie, but you can almost guarantee that you'll fall asleep before the end.

The movie is about halfway over when Spencer spills his drink on his blanket. He balled it up and threw it in the washer to deal with later, and as he resumed his spot on the couch, you offered half of your blanket.

Scooting closer, you gave him a generous share of your blanket, and you don't miss the way his hand rests on your knee. Suddenly your attention is no longer on the movie.

He keeps his hand on your knee, until he slides it up your thigh. Breath catches in your throat and you glance at him from the corner of your eye. He's still watching the movie, he probably doesn't even realize what he's done.

Spencer's thumb lazily draws shapes on your skin, causing you to shiver. He must've noticed, because you can swear a grin spreads across his face. His hand dares to go a little higher, and this time you're able to find your voice.

"What are you doing?" You keep your voice soft. Spencer doesn't miss a beat, and he licks his lips before answering.

"I'm just watching the movie." He answers with faux innocence. Not buying his explanation, you cock an eyebrow.

"Spencer." You say, urging him to tell the truth. A part of you is worried that he's unable to help himself and is just trying to satiate his need for satisfaction.

"I'm not allowed to love on my friend?" His voice is raspy, eyes dark in the dim light.

"You can, I just, you never do this to me." You stumble over your words, the feeling of his warm hand on your skin making your brain short circuit.

Without another word, he pulls you closer to him. Your shoulders are touching, faces inches apart. With this proximity, you're sure he can hear your heartbeat.

"It's nice having you here. It doesn't feel right when you leave, it feels empty." He whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips graze your neck and you shudder.

"I miss being here all the time with you." You admit, feeling particularly vulnerable. The way he looks at you is almost enough to make you melt.

"Then stay." He says, hand coming up your arm and resting on your cheek.

"What are you doing?" You ask again, brain foggy from his touch.

"You want to know something?" He keeps his voice deep, and you nod silently.

"All of those women had one thing in common." He says and almost causes you to retract from his hold. But he follows up quickly, sensing your aversion to the topic.

"They all looked like you. But, none of them could ever begin to compare. I was searching for you in each one of them but came up short each time." You're breathless with his confession, and you allow your hands to reach up and rest on his shoulders, begging him to stay close.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You ask, keenly aware that your noses are almost touching. Spencer's eyes flick from your eyes to your lips,

"Because I didn't want to lose you. I couldn't live without you in my life, and if you didn't feel the same way then our friendship would've been in disrepair." He says and it's ridiculous to you, the thought that you didn't feel the same.

"I watched you with those other women and wished it was me. I wished you would've said yes to me, not them." You come clean, one hand trailing up to the side of Spencer's neck. This time it's his turn to shiver.

"Having you would be like having a piece of heaven." He says, and before you know it, his lips are on yours.

The two of you are warm from the blanket and from burning desire. His hand keeps you close and you grab onto the front of his shirt. Spencer kisses you with a hot need, his lips desperate to know yours intimately.

One of your hands releases his shirt and tangles in his curly hair. The brown curls still as soft as you remember.

Spencer's lips leave yours and start placing wet kisses on your cheek, to your jaw, before landing on your neck. You gasp with pleasure, eyes fluttering shut.

"Just like heaven." He mutters against your skin before finding your lips again.

When he pulls away, you can feel your swollen, wet lips and your warm cheeks. Spencer looks equally as flustered, but it's the most alluring thing you've ever seen.

Resting his forehead against yours, he takes your hands into his own. This time they're free of tremors, they're warm and inviting.

"This is me saying yes to you, if you'll have me. I've realized that nothing, and nobody, will ever be able to satisfy my heart the way you do." He states, pulling back to watch your reaction.

Squeezing his hands, you nod,

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for you. I've had my eye on you since day one." You admit, leaning in for another kiss.

Spencer wraps his arms around your waist, keeping you pressed flush against him. Your fingers find their way into his curly, and now disheveled hair, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

The feeling of his lips on your skin is indescribable, each kiss lights your love on fire.

- - - - -

Morning rolls around, sunshine breaking through the curtain in Spencer's bedroom. You roll over to face him, eyes heavy with sleep and love.

Your eyes are met with his, and as you take in his beauty you think you can see the hollowness in his eyes begin to fade. A small smile finds its way to your face as you reach out and run your thumb over his cheekbone.

"What are you smiling about?" He asks with a grin on his own face.

"Nothing, I'm just proud of how far you've come." You say, gingerly caressing his face. He hums with contentment, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

"I'd be nowhere without you." You can feel the authenticity in his words, and you know he never had to thank you for anything. You bury you head into Spencer's chest and take in his warmth, appreciating the moment with him.

Being held in his arms, you know that you would do everything over again and again if it meant that Spencer found a piece of himself again, that he's been able to heal from the damage Tobias inflicted upon him. You told him you'd be there for him every step of the way, and those words have never been more true.

You're glad you kept your eye on Spencer Reid.

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daisynik7 · 7 months

Note

Hey Nikki, congrats on your milestone!! Hopefully I’m not too late to your party 😭…. This isn’t really y2k, but what about Love Never Felt So Good by Michael Jackson ft Justin Timberlake???

If I may suggest… Nanami getting tipsy so it makes him feel too relaxed and confident that he just turns the volume up and dances with reader!?!?

I’ll let your creative mind finish this off.

Tysm, take care, and again congrats, your work deserves all the love!!!

Love Never Felt So Good

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~1.0k

cw: fluff, established relationship, alcohol consumption

Summary: You pick up your very drunk husband from the bar. Halfway home, he asks you for a silly request.

Author’s Note: This is such a cute request, thank you @mira-miraaa! I love this song for the y2k karaoke party. Enjoy! Divider credit to @/saradika.

Nanami is out for drinks tonight with his colleagues after successfully completing a mission. It’s been a difficult week for them as you recall your husband’s nightly recaps to you on the phone. You wouldn’t blame any of them one bite if they let loose more than usual tonight. You stay up until half past midnight, hoping to catch him before you sleep. When you don’t hear any updates from him, you finally head to bed, certain you’ll see him in the morning, hungover and hopefully less stressed.

At 1:48 AM, your phone rings, Gojo’s name illuminating your screen. Concerned, you pick it up, whispering a croaky, “Hello?”

Gojo cheerfully says your name. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

You yawn, rubbing the sleep away from your bleary eyes. “No, I’m fine. Is everything okay?”

He chuckles. “Well, yes, everything is okay. It’s just that your dear husband here will not budge unless you come here to pick him up.”

Fully awake now, you ask, “What?”

“He won’t get into my car. He’s not leaving unless his quote gorgeous, wonderful wife comes and rescues him. He hasn’t moved for twenty minutes now and I don’t think there’s any other way to convince him,” he explains.

You smile to yourself, shrugging the blanket off to quickly change with the phone pinched between your ear and shoulder. “Don’t worry. Give me fifteen. I’ll be there.”

Thankfully, the streets are nearly empty, so you arrive promptly to the bar, where you spot Gojo, Ijichi, and Ieiri standing at the curb, carrying your slumped over husband on their shoulders. You park in front of them, smiles of relief on their faces as you exit the car. “Thank you for taking care of him. I’m sorry you had to deal with this.”

Gojo waves it off with his free hand, a big grin on his face. “We’re sorry you had to come all the way here just to pick him up. He can be so stubborn sometimes.”

Giggling, you step towards Nanami. “This is what I signed up for when I married him, right?” You tip his chin up to meet his face. His glasses are skewed, eyes half-lidded with intoxication. It takes a second for him to finally realize it’s you, and when he does, his expression brightens instantly. “Honey?” he utters, throat raspy from the liquor.

You nod. “Hi sweetie. I’ve come here to rescue you.”

He smiles, removing himself from his friends to wrap his arms around you, nuzzling his nose to the top of your head. “You’re here. You’re actually here.” From your peripheral, you catch Ieiri and Ijichi grinning at each other.

Gojo laughs. “Alright, he’s in great hands now. Let’s all finally go home!”

You say your farewells to them with Nanami still latched to you, breathing you in deeply. The smell of whiskey is potent from his mouth and clothes as you do your best to lead him into the passenger seat, his long limbs difficult to maneuver while he makes absolutely no effort to do it himself. With his seatbelt securely buckled, you rush to the other side to get behind the wheel. Before you drive, you crack open a new water bottle and shove it towards him. “Here, drink some water.”

He removes his glasses, tucking them neatly into his breast pocket, staring at the bottle, confused. “That’s not whiskey.”

“I know it’s not; it’s water!” you laugh, urging him. “Now drink.”

He gives you a sloppy salute. “Yes ma’am.” He throws it back into his mouth, chugging a third of the bottle, some of it spilling from the sides of his lips, hiccupping once when he’s done. Satisfied, you start the car, music playing, ready to head home. Nanami nods his head along to the songs, holding your hand in his, fingers entwined. You adore how lovey-dovey he gets when he’s had too much to drink. It doesn’t matter that you had to sacrifice sleep to do this; you’d do it again and again if he’d ask you to, no question.

Halfway through, the intro to one of his favorite songs starts. He gasps softly, turning the volume up, beaming. When the verse begins, he sings along. “Baby, love never felt so good…” He sways his shoulders, his entire torso jiving with the melody now, waving your hand with his to the beat. You bite your lip, suppressing your laughter with one hand on the wheel. He faces you, shaking your arm. “Let’s dance, honey.”

“I’m driving!”

“Pull over then! We’ll dance on the sidewalk. Hurry, the chorus is coming!” he whines, persistent.

Too amused to resist, you check your surroundings, pulling over to the side of the street. He turns the dial even louder, car reverberating with the bass, clicking his seatbelt off and exiting the vehicle. You do the same, rushing over to him with his arms reaching for you, belting out the lyrics. “Baby! Every time I love you, in and out my life, in out baby!” He dances with you under the streetlight, gazing into your eyes with the biggest smile on his face, swinging your arms with his. At the end of the chorus, he twirls you gracefully, serenading, “So baby, love never felt so good…” scattering sweet kisses on your cheek.

You continue this the entire song, giggling uncontrollably as you practice all your cheesy dance moves on each other, including him shimmying his chest towards you and rolling his hips seductively. Near the end, the only other car to drive down the street honks at the two of you, flashing you a thumbs up from the window.

The next song that plays is a slow one, so you turn on your heel to get back into driver’s seat, thinking he’s ready to go home. Nanami tugs you back, pulling you in for a snug embrace, squeezing you lovingly. “Not yet. Just one more song.” His grip is tight on you, reluctant to let go.

You nestle into his chest, smiling as he sways you to the smooth cadence of the music, cradled in his arms. “Alright. One more song.”

#nanami fluff #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x you #kento nanami fluff #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #y2k karaoke party #milestone event

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custardcrazy · 11 months

Note

Hello! Could I request a Peter b Parker x wife! reader headcanons who’s also in the spider society?

Peter B. Parker with a Spider-Wife

he definitely tries to show off if you're on a mission together

like imagine hearing "honey, look over here!!" before he horrifically screws up (or maybe actually succeeds)

he's not protective or anything, because he knows you can handle yourself, but like you can't blame him for being at least a little over-worried if you get hit

"oh my god!! are you okay?? i should've taken that hit!!"

so. much. banter omg. like you're aware it's a Spider-Person thing to be adept at witty banter but when you're with your husband it just gets kicked up to an eleven

at this point miguel has given up on being annoyed and has just accepted that peter's just a gooey, mushy husband

after you first got married peter def bragged about it to everyone who would listen

"guys, did you know i'm married? look! there's my beautiful wife! (sigh) i love her so much."

literally everyone in the Society will be aware of your marriage

SO. MANY. PETNAMES

his favorites to use are basic ones tho. like "sweetheart" (or sweetie) "honey" or even "babe" if he's in a fun mood

he always likes being close to you regardless of location so whenever you're just hanging round Spider HQ he's still got a hand on your back and whatnot

or an arm around your shoulders if you're just standing somewhere

if he's feeling cheeky he'll be like holding your hand and swinging it while you walk

expect the spiderteens to be face-palming because Peter HAS to kiss you when you enter the room

it's like a requirement!!!

miles is embarrassed. gwen is amused. pav understands. hobie pretends he doesn't see it

getting introduced to everyone is a bit awkward at first since they've already heard so much about you

as stated above, Peter is a gushy sort

still can't believe he bagged you ngl

before you leave home in your own universe, he insists on a "farewell kiss"

"Peter, we're leaving together."

"But it's the thought that counts, honey!"

#peter b parker x reader #peter b parker x you #peter b parker imagine #peter parker x reader #spiderverse x reader

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m1d-45 · 1 year

Note

Okay last little idea and I'll leave you be for a bit

Xiao actually responding to the names the creator gives him. Little Friend, Pretty Bird, ect. No matter how far away you are, if you call those names, he has to stop himself from turning into a bird and flying away at that very moment. Those pet names are as much his name as any other he's kept.

-sibling anon

me when xiao

in his time with you in his adeptal form, xiao has never told you his name.

and yet, he still hears you.

if he’s in the area and the wind brings him the softest call of “you here, little friend?” he morphs in an instant, instinct taking over as he flies to your summons. he ducks through the trees, landing gracefully in your outstretched hand, meeting your wide smile with a chirp.

“there you are,” you mumble, and he ruffles his wings in an approximation of standing straighter. he is here. for you.

he’s commonly perched on your index finger, or your thumb if he’s eating from your palm. you only feed him simple almonds, yet it tastes of a delightful meal, energy coursing through his body. he’s careful not to nick your skin in his eagerness, but nobody could blame his enthusiasm if they knew what he felt.

by sitting in your hand, he is rested. by staying at your side, he is healed. he still upkeeps his duties, ever vigilant, but he’s quicker now, spurred on by something—someone—to return to. his place is at your side, and he hates keeping you waiting.

even when he has to.

xiao crossed his arms over his chest, staring off at liyue’s plains while he waited for the traveller to finish talking with… whoever. he honestly wasn’t paying attention. all he was there for was the lost adeptal artifact that the commissioner had promised he had, and then he would be on his way.

the man said something with a tilt to his tone. the traveller laughed. xiao grit his teeth.

“friend? little buddy? where are you?”

the call pulled at his soul as every other name he held, and he itched to answer.

paimon made a comment, an ooh! tossed somewhere in the middle, and xiao snapped.

“can we wrap it up? this is not a proper use of an adeptus’ time.”

the man swiftly apologized, handing over the totem, and xiao all but snatched it from his hand. a ‘farewell’ may or may not have slipped from him in time for the traveller to hear, he wasn’t sure. all he knew was that one moment he was dropping the totem off at his room at the inn, and the next he was leaping off the balcony, shifting mid-air to fly towards you.

he let out a loud cry when he spotted you, tucking in his wings to dive. you saw him and held out your hand, a motion so familiar that the actions to land were muscle memory.

he flared his wings, slowing his fall, flapping once, twice, before settling on your index finger. your thumb reached up, as it always did, and he leaned into it, repressing a coo at the feeling of it smoothing over his back.

“there you are, my pretty bird. where were you?”

a shiver rolls down his small body at your words, and he hides behind your thumb. you had many names for him—little friend, blue bird, simply blue—but pretty bird?

your pretty bird?

he’s hot in a way he can’t identify, a melting mix of emotions filling his chest. pride, admiration, adoration, even, all blurring into a messy film that covered his mind.

you turned towards your camp, keeping the hand with him perched close to you. “doesn’t matter. you’re here now, pretty bird. i missed you, you know.”

and you missed him?

xiao’s known for a while that the one on the throne wasn’t truly his god, but now he’s wondering if you were. the swell of confusing feelings was proof enough; were you anybody else, mortal or immortal, god or adepti, he’d have surely struck you down for your behavior long ago. cooing over him as if he were a mere household pet, feeding him scraps of crushed fruit, calling him such names as ‘pretty bird’- he’d have morphed back the second he was strong enough, held his blade to your throat and called you insolent and ungrateful. he’d leave you with a scar, and yet here he was, apologizing for the one he did leave in any way he could.

you carefully poured some almonds pieces in your palm, and he shifted to your thumb as you sat. were you anybody else, you would be dead. but your eyes are still open, carefully watching him, and your heart still beats blood. he can feel your pulse through his claws, sometimes, and often finds his own slowing down to match it.

you had an adeptus eating from the palm of your hand, and yet you were none the wiser. you simply propped your head in your free hand, a gentle smile on your face.

“my pretty bird,” you said quietly, and xiao’s eyes closed of their own volition.

yours.

#m1d : [chats]#m1d : [secrets]#sibling anon #bird!xiao shenanigans #< sorry for high jacking your post for this king #to stew anon: i saw your ask regarding bird xiao but the topic makes me uncomfortable. while i agree with your last point everything prior #is off the table. not your fault btw i never gave anything to suggest otherwise #anyway here’s another 800 words abt bird xiao in hopefully ‘good enough’ compensation #hey FUCK tumblr for continuing to delete the last paragraph of my fics #wholeheartedly #GOD fuck this fuck everything lesson learned NEVER DO JACK SHIT IN THE DRAFTS #tumblr is hell and i’m not good enough at navigating to get our #i’m fuckin sobbing- on my hands and knees disoriented and confused

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coldwayhome · 7 days

Text

IS IT CASUAL NOW? piper mclean.

synopsis: in which you're "casual" with piper mclean.

tags: 16+ ONLY!!!! suggestive content ahead. mentions of hookups & drinking, both parties are over 21. no graphic nsfw written. some angst & fighting. no set gender, but relationship is implied to be wlw.

notes: soo self indulgent i hope you enjoy <33

✧˚ · .

10:36. she's late.

you paced around the lawn, waiting for her to pull into your driveway. she said 10:30, but she's always running late. you can't blame her for it, she's busy. that's what she tells you at least.

headlights flared, and piper's white jeep speedily pulled up to you.

she asks if you're ready to go, and you feel yourself smile at the sound of her voice. she has you wrapped around her finger (whether she knows it or not).

driving to her apartment is a quick 10 minutes, but feels like ages with her hand tracing your thigh. getting inside her door is better, you think. at least she looks at you.

laying in bed with piper at night was nice. she's sweet to you, kissing the dark purple bruises and wrapping her arms around you when you need it.

but it always made you question things. question things like: what are we? what do you think of me? do you think we'll grow old together?

and when do you know if it's stopped being casual— when you've moved in? it's not like you could ask her, because she just smiles and changes the subject. everyone thinks you're dating and you don't have the heart to correct them. it's nice to think about.

✧˚ · .

you're staring at your disheveled self in the mirror and think: sometimes, you wish you never met her.

what would life be like without piper? this situation with her has been going on for half a year, and she's still shown you no semblance of an official answer.

it doesn't help that you argued in the car. it was about something insignificant to both of you, but you knew there was something beneath the surface she was actually mad about. you chose to not bring it up, and say nothing but a short farewell when you were dropped back off at your house.

✧˚ · .

she says she hates you.

but it's just that she knows your coffee order by heart. and it's just that the passenger seat is adjusted to your liking. and it's just that you've met her parents.

but it's just that that you can see a future with her, and you know she can too.

so you call her. she doesn't pick up at first, but she calls back a few minutes later.

she's guarded; you don't usually call her.

you ask how she is, she says she's fine. you know she's not.

you just want to talk; doesn’t end well.

what, to check on her? she’s fine, don’t call her again.

✧˚ · .

2:12. a text from piper. two words, if you can even call it that.

you up?

no response from you.

three minutes later:

baby please

m sorry

miss u

she’s drunk, for sure. she only gets drunk when she’s trying to drown her feelings. aka, when she knows she fucked up. gods.

you grab your phone to text her: where are you?

no response.

you don’t really have to ask though. if she’s this drunk, she’s at home. hopping in your car with no time for bluetooth, the radio blares whatever station you left it on last. there were no thoughts circling you head other than her.

pushing the door open, you march into piper’s fancy apartment. there she is, sniffling on the floor with her emptied cup of coke & rum that was most likely refilled a couple times.

seeing your face, she attempts to get up off the carpet where she was sitting, but ends up falling over. rushing to her side, you pull her into an embrace and rest on the floor with her.

“i love you.” she slurs.

“stop.” you say, silencing her but not pushing her off.

✧˚ · .

you say won’t live in delusion. you say you hate her. you say piper mclean does not love you.

you, of all people, know that’s not true.

but you have no interest in talking to her about it.

ITS HARD BEING CASUAL WHEN MY FAVORITE BRA IS IN YOUR DRESSER 📢📢🗣️🗣️‼️‼️

where are the piper stans…

#starrie night #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson x reader #piper mclean #piper mclean x reader

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feyhunter78 · 1 year

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Trials of a Tribute pt. 5

Description: You have a chat with the Dowager Queen, and Aemond fears you regret marrying a monster such as him, unknowing that you are still unaware the two of you have been married.

Previous part here, Next part here

You sat across from the Dowager Queen Alicent, clutching your teacup for dear life as she inspected you. Her brown eyes filled with sorrow swept over you, as she sipped her own tea.

“I do feel for you, dear girl. Being traded like an object is a cruel fate that we as women often find ourselves suffering.” She said, giving you a sympathetic smile.

You nodded, unsure of what to truly say, Aemond hadn’t been cruel to you, nor had he forced himself upon you. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it could’ve been far, far worse.

“Drink up, lest you fall pregnant within your first moon here.” The Dowager Queen urged; her lips pressed into a tight line.

Your eyes widened as you realized exactly what kind of tea this was. “Your Grace, King Aemond has not bedded me.”

Her entire body relaxed. “Thank the Seven, he is still my son.”

You assumed she feared Aemond had taken on the traits of his father and brother now that he had become king, and couldn’t blame her for it. You yourself still feared he would one day soon act upon the Targaryen need for depravity.

“His Majesty, has been very respectful, a true gentleman.” You don’t tell her of how you woke up today with your body half atop Aemond’s, his fingers splayed on your lower back possessively, the smell of parchment and eucalyptus surrounding you.

Dowager Queen Alicent nodded, a small smile on her face. “My Aemond has always been a man of honor.” Then her eyes go to your hand and her eyebrows furrow. “Did you injure yourself?”

You had worn a gown with extra long sleeves, more of a winter dress than was appropriate for the season, with the intention to hide your injury, but obviously your efforts have failed.

You held your hand close to your chest. “No, Your Grace, it’s from the Valyrian ritual.” At her look of confusion, you continued. “With the septon, and the dagger? King Aemond and I mixed our blood together. He said it was common ritual in House Targaryen.”

The dowager queen was silent for a moment, then she nodded, plastering a smile on her face. “Ah, yes, there are so many rituals, I forget them from time to time.” She glanced at Sir Criston who avoided her frantic eyes. "Sir Cole, escort Lady y/n back to her chambers, then fetch Aemond and tell him I wish to speak to him.”

You stood and took Sir Criston’s arm. “A pleasure to speak with you, Queen Alicent.”

“You as well, dear.” She called as Sir Criston all but strong-armed you from the room.

“Sir Criston, did I do something to upset the dowager queen?” You asked, as he led you down an unfamiliar hallway.

“Why do you ask that?”

“She ended our tea so abruptly, and she simply seemed to be troubled by something.”

He stopped you in front of a door you didn’t recognize. “The queen mother has many things on her mind, but I can assure you her anger sits not with you.”

You followed him into a barren room. “These are your quarters; I’d advise you to stay out of sight. We had many noblemen attempting to bring their daughters as tribute, and they are quite angry at being turned away.”

Dowager Queen Alicent had pulled you away from Aemond, leaving him to accept tributes alone, as she kindly but thoroughly interrogated you on every aspect of your life.

You bid the night a farewell and looked around the room. It wasn’t much to look at, but it had a lovely view of the gardens.

Pushing open the window, you carefully sat on the windowsill, breathing in the fresh air. You gazed down at the meticulously planted flowers, imagining how happy your sisters would be to see such a sight.

You didn’t know how long you sat there before the door slammed open, and you jumped, scooting backward, further into the room, suddenly afraid of the distance between you and the ground.

Two strong arms pulled you from the windowsill, caging you against a hard chest, the silver hair that brushed your shoulders made you relax.

“Aemond? Is everything alright?” You asked, turning your head to look at him.

His shoulders were tense, his eye filled with a frantic fear and rage. “What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” You said, letting out a small noise of surprise when he threw you onto the nearby bed and quickly hovered over you. Caging you in with his arms, his hair falling forward and shielding your faces.

“You were going to jump, because you couldn’t stand to be married to such a monster, but your life is mine, prūmia. No one, not even the Stranger himself, will take you from me. I care not if you call him yourself, or another attempts to, no one will separate us.” He seethed, his eye burning into yours, his voice was low and rolled across your skin like a storm, the hairs on your skin standing upright in response.

“I wasn’t trying to take my own life; I was merely admiring the gardens.” You explained, before your mind fully processed his words. “Wait, married?”

“I’m aware that my mother informed you of the true nature of what occurred last night.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “No, she said nothing. Aemond, are we married? You shouldn’t have—” You were cut off by Aemond’s warm lips brushing down your neck, stopping at your pulse point when you let out a small whimper.

His acknowledging hum vibrated against the sensitive skin. “You’re mine, I told you that. As of last night it was made true, the septon bore witness to our union, so did Sir Criston.”

“But I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have done it if I knew.” You protested lightly, still afraid to upset Aemond.

“Because you don’t wish to be married to a monster, I know.” He snapped, pulling back to glare at you.

You shook your head. “It’s not that at all, I don’t think you’re a monster, nor do I have any personal qualms about marrying you but, it’s not truly up to me.”

“You’re correct, it’s not up to you, it’s up to me, and I wished to marry you.” He spoke his words into your skin before he attached his lips to your sensitive spot, nipping and sucking until a red mark bloomed, its sting soothed by his tongue.

“But you shouldn’t have, I’m from a small house, there are much better options and oh…” Your voice dissolved into nothing as Aemond continued his ministrations, his fingers running through your hair, his lips latched onto every bit of exposed skin they can find.

“I’m king of the Seven Realms, I will marry who I wish.” He said firmly, his eye flickering up to yours as his lips made their way to the swell of your breasts.

Your face burned once more, and you attempted to push him away. “Aemond, please, this is not proper.”

He stopped and sat up, a distant look on his face. “You’re right.”

You sat up as well, smoothing down your hair. “Thank you, now we really must get this marriage business straightened out.”

He frowned. “Do you not wish to be queen?”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t think I have the education to be a good queen.”

This series masterlist here!!!

Tag list: @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhhaa, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon

Strikethrough means I couldn't tag you for some reason!

#aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #king!aemond #dark!aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #meg's writing #tot series #not a lot of aemond in this one tbh #innocent!reader #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd fanfics #aemond one eye #whoever snitched on me and got part 2 of this flagged your mom's a hoe

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jennay · 7 months

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HoneyBee

Master list

You were the only one who could do it. Did you want to? No, of course not. Did you beg Noah to come with you? Yes, but Noah was adamant that if he was there, you wouldn't confess your feelings to Jolly, not that you had the courage to do that with or without him by your side.

You would wait until the next time you saw Jolly; this wasn't a permanent goodbye.

This was just a temporary separation, and you could tell him how you felt when you met again.

Nobody could blame you for being highly emotional; you dropped off one of your closest friends at an airport without knowing when they would return.

You park the car in the airport parking lot and turn off the engine. You look at Jolly in the passenger seat, struggling to hold back your emotions as you say farewell. "I hate this." You tell him. "I hate this so much." You try to blink back the tears; you didn't want to be this emotional. You tried to act like it was just another tour, but this time, you'd have Noah to keep you company.

"Aw, it's going to be okay, kitten." His hand cups your cheek as you let out a small whimper. You feel his thumb wipe away the tear, and instead of feeling comforted, it makes you want to cry more. "Come on," He says, getting out of the car, "Walk with me."

You nod, leave the car, and take a deep breath. You feel the cold air hit your face, making your tear-stained cheeks sting instantly. You walk over to his side of the car, avoiding his gaze. He hoists his bag over his shoulder, and with his free arm, he wraps it around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him as the two of you walk towards the terminal.

"What's got you so upset? You know this isn't forever. It never is." You shake your head, wondering if you should spill the beans now.

"It doesn't make it any easier. We don't know when you'll come back… it's always like this." You stop before the security gate, knowing it's time to part ways with one of your dearest friends.

Jolly gently drops his bag to the floor, enveloping you in a hug, almost lifting your feet. "C'mon honey bee. I'll be back soon enough." He softly kisses your temple and gently sets you down, "Plus, you have Noah." He smiles like he knows something, but he doesn't know anything at all. "Maybe with me out of the picture, the two of you can see where things go, and when I get back, you'll be living happily ever after."

You roll your eyes. "It's not like that with Noah. I've told you that so many times." You remind him.

"Denial." He says, hugging you one last time. You wrap your arms around his waist tightly, not wanting him to leave.

"Stop it." You say, pressing your face closer to his chest. "It's Noah, he's gross… I've known him half my life, and I'm not into him. I don't know how he's ever gotten a girlfriend, honestly." You tease, knowing that you are exaggerating. Noah wasn't gross, but he was like a brother to you.

Joakim pulls away, looking down at you with a smirk, "Alskling…" He trails off, "You'll see."

You sigh, pulling out of his embrace, "You should get going, or I'll keep you here, and we'll both be in trouble." You smile, but you want to cry. "Call me when you get home?" You sadly speak.

He smiles, "You'll be the first to know I'm safe and sound."

Knocking on your front door snaps you from your thoughts. You look up, wondering who it could be. You didn't have any missed calls or text messages.

The knocking persists, growing more impatient by the second. You hear Noah's voice through the door. "Come on, open up! I have something important to tell you!"

You sigh and roll your eyes at Noah's urgency. He always acts like everything is a matter of life and death, which drives you insane.

You get up from the couch, close your laptop, and walk to the door. "Hold on, I'm coming!" You shout while unlocking the door and swinging it open. "What the hell, do you know what time it is?"

You step aside as Noah barges in, looking excited and restless. He walks over to the couch and sits on the armrest, his smile wide and mischievous. He has a secret that he wants to share. You recognize that face from many times before.

He looks like he hasn't slept, wearing the same sweats and sweater as yesterday. His hair is messy and falls over his forehead. His stubble is growing longer and darker. His eyes dart around you, eager for you to join him on the couch.

"Are you okay?" You ask, furrowing your brows. "What's up?"

He grabs an envelope from his pocket and flings it on your lap. "Open it."

You tear into the envelope, grabbing the paper inside. "Is this!?" You squeal reading it. "When did you? How did? How do you have all my info?" You say, reading your name on the ticket that Noah got you. You stand up, wrapping your arms tightly around Noah's shoulders. "You know what? I don't even care. Thank you!"

He laughs, trying to regain his balance. "You're welcome." He pauses as he adjusts himself from falling off the armrest. "It's really for me. I'm getting tired of you moping around."

You shrug, "Sorry, I miss my friend."

"Boyfriend." He laughs. "He's my friend, and you don't see me acting this way." He stands up, walking to the door, "I just wanted to give that to you. Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday for the year." He opens the door and pauses before leaving, looking over his shoulder at you before exiting. "He thinks it's me visiting; figured you'd want it to be a surprise."

You smile while clasping your hands together. "You're amazing, Noah."

Sarcastically, he says, "Until your next mood swing!" and closes the door behind him, exiting before you can say anything back.

"Fuck you!" You scream at him, laughing like a bit of a psychopath.

You walk across the room and snatch your cell phone from the coffee table. You glance at the clock and see that it's midnight. You smile, knowing that Jolly would be awake now in his time zone.

You flop down on your bed, fluffing your pillows and pulling the covers over you. You dial his number and wait eagerly for his voice to fill your ears.

"Hello, Sweet Pea." you hear his voice speak. "What are you doing up still?"

You giggle, "I was working on some new designs, and Noah rudely showed up at my house to brag about how he gets to see you!"

"Ah, yes. Two days till the dummy is here." He teases. "You should hop in his backpack and come with him."

"What will I do with my two favorite people out of the country?" You lightly laugh, wishing you could tell him the truth. You knew he would be happy to see you, but it didn't stop you from overthinking every situation. Would you finally confess your feelings? Would he reciprocate the feelings? Would he still try to convince you it was supposed to be you and Noah? Maybe he would deny having any form of attraction due to him still thinking you secretly had feelings for Noah.

"I'm telling you…get in his suitcase." He laughs, but inside, he somewhat wants you to do just that.

"I wish I could, but you know… work, my life, everything. I wish he would have told me sooner. I could've made the time." You try your best to sound upset. "I really do miss you."

"I miss you too, honey bee." You hear a tinge of sadness in his voice, and the line goes quiet before he adds. "I don't want to cut this short, but I know if I don't, you'll stay up all night. You need to get some sleep, and work unfortunately awaits you."

You lightly frown. "But I work from a computer… it's not that big of a deal."

"In an office." He reminds you, "Where your bosses bother you at any moment they desire."

You turn off your side lamp, making it dark in your room, and you snuggle close to your pillows and try to hide the yawn that escapes your lips. "I guess you're right." You didn't mean to sound upset, but you were tired, and being away from someone who had your heart completely without even knowing it was enough to make you feel miserable. You knew you were able to take the trip. You had so much PTO saved, and honestly, at this point, you were willing to lose the job if it meant taking this trip. It wasn't the most responsible thought, but you knew you were good enough at your job to find another one.

"I'll try to come soon." You quietly say.

"I know. Get some sleep. You can text me when you get to the office. I'm going to a parade this afternoon with my mum. I'll send you pictures." You can hear the smile in his voice. "Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight, Jolly."

You were feeling uneasy being in such a vast airport all by yourself, waiting for someone unaware of your arrival.

As you were heading down the stairs, you caught sight of Jolly walking through the door. You smiled widely as he sat down on one of the chairs.

You received a text from Noah, and your heart skipped a beat as you read it. Jolly had arrived. You smiled like an idiot as you texted, "I see him." You shoved your phone into your pocket and tried to act casual as you quickly walked over to him. He didn't even look up from his phone. It wasn't until you were standing right in front of him that he realized what was going on. He looked stunned as his brown eyes wandered your face, and finally, he smiled, quickly standing up and wrapping you in his arms. "What's this?" He rocked you side to side, squeezing you. "Where's Noah?" He asked, not letting go of you.

"It's just me. Are you disappointed?" You said with a laugh.

"No, never." He gently pulled away from you, looking you in the eyes, pure joy showing through as he smiled. "If I let go, will you still be here?" He pulled you back to his body, nearly knocking your beanie off in the process.

"Yes, unless you squeeze me to death."

He loosens his arms from around you but doesn't completely let go as you make your way to the baggage claim.

"I can't believe you kept this a secret…" He nearly giggles, still amazed you're there with him.

"It was so hard. You have no idea." You walk up to the conveyor belt, grab your bag, and Jolly instantly grabs it from your hands. "Got it." He says, heaving it over his shoulder.

"Such a gentleman." You say, smiling.

You follow Jolly out of the airport, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. He smirks at you and opens the trunk of his car. He tosses your luggage inside and slams it shut. You shiver as the cold air hits you, making you regret not wearing a jacket. You hurry to the passenger side and get in, hoping to warm up soon. "Why is it so fucking cold here?" You ask him as he joins you in the driver's seat. "This is awful."

He laughs and starts the car. He turns on the heater and drives away from the airport. "It will heat up in a moment. I'm happy you're here." He says, looking at you with a big grin.

You smile back and say, "Me too. Sorry, Noah picked such a late flight. I didn't have any say in that. He just handed me the tickets and told me to go."

He reaches for your hand and squeezes it gently. "I bet you're sleepy," he says, still smiling. "I'll get you nice and tucked in on the couch." He chuckles, "It was made pretty carelessly. But I'll find something better for you."

You chat with him as he drives, trying to stay awake. You're curious about his life here, but you also feel tired from the long flight. You wonder how long it will take to get to his place.

After a while, he pulls into the driveway of a small house. You sigh in relief, glad to be finally there. He turns off the car and gets out. He opens the trunk and takes out your bags. He tells you to follow him inside.

You walk through the door and see a cozy living room with a couch, a TV, and some books on a shelf. On the sofa, there is a bed made with pillows and blankets. You smile, appreciating his effort. You look around the rest of the house, noticing how neat it is.

"You can get comfortable." He politely says

You take off your shoes and lie down on the couch. You pull the blanket over yourself and close your eyes. You feel exhausted but also happy to be with him.

He returns from his bedroom after changing and sees you on the couch. He smiles softly, knowing how tired you must be. He kneels next to you. He gently cups your cheek and strokes it with his thumb. You open your eyes slightly and see him looking at you with affection.

"I'm so tired," you whisper.

"I know," he whispers back. "Get some sleep. I wanted to tell you if you needed me for anything, you can come wake me up."

You nod your head and close your eyes again.

"Goodnight, Alskling." He says, using his nickname for you.

"Goodnight, Jolly."

He stands up and walks to his bedroom. He closes the door behind him and lies down on his bed. He thinks about you and smiles, happy and content you're there with him, and he'd wake up to your presence in the morning.

But unfortunately you wake up in the middle of the night, feeling fear in your stomach. You had a nightmare, probably because you were too exhausted. You wish you could fall asleep again, but you keep tossing and turning on the couch.

You cover your head with a pillow, hoping to calm your nerves, but the more you think about your dream, the more anxious you become.

You decide to change into something more comfortable, hoping that would help you relax. You throw off the blankets and reach for your bag. You find your pajamas and put them on, remembering how you fell asleep in your jeans.

You curl up on the couch again, holding your phone. You start watching funny videos, trying to distract yourself from your fear. You feel your eyelids getting heavy, but as soon as you drift off, you jerk awake.

You try again, but the nightmare comes back. "Great." You groan and get up.

You don't want to disturb Jolly, but you are too scared to stay alone in a strange place. You don't know what else to do.

You push away the blankets and put your feet on the cold wooden floor. You stand up and use your phone as a flashlight. You walk down the hall, looking for Jolly's room.

You slowly walk in and stop at his bed, attempting to be quiet.

You see him lying on his side, turned toward you. You gently place your hand on his shoulder, "Jolly…" you quietly say, but he hardly moves. You say his name once again, "Jolly."

His eyes flutter open, and through the light on your phone, you see his tired eyes observe you.

You apologize, telling him that you had a nightmare and you can't sleep.

He nods, understanding, and reaches out to you with his warm hands. "C'mere honeybee." He says softly, opening his arms, inviting you to lay in his cozy bed. You're eyes wander over his bare chest, admiring his tattooed body. His muscles in his arms flex as he holds his arms out to you, and butterflies float in your stomach.

You feel hesitation, knowing that this could be crossing a friendship boundary that you've never crossed before. You wonder what would happen if things didn't play out how you wanted them to. Would you be able to handle the pain of having been in his arms and knowing what it felt like, only to lose it all?

Jolly peeks his eye again, noticing your reluctance, and waves you in with a gentle smile. "It's cold, hurry up." He says in a sleepy voice, making you chuckle.

You decide to take the risk and join him on the bed, sitting down on the side and turning on your side to face him.

He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you loosely, making you feel safe and warm. "Don't be scared. It's just me." He whispers in your ear, snuggling you closer to his chest. "I've got you." He assures you.

And that was the moment you realized you were absolutely fucked by your feelings.

Part Two

#jolly karlsson x you #jolly karlsson one shot #jolly karlsson fanfiction #jolly karlsson x reader #jolly karlsson fic #jolly Karlsson x y/n #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #jolly karlsson

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m1ckeyb3rry · 4 months

Text

Pomegranate Ink: XXXII

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: The final confrontation against Sukuna.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.2k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: man idek at this point…call it sibling bonding or wtvr

“You’re sure you have to do this?” you said, holding onto the end of Gojo’s shirt and walking alongside him, following him to the door. He had already said farewell to the others; you were the only one left, the only one who refused to let go. It was typically like that, though — you were closer to him than the others were by virtue of knowing him throughout your childhood, even before coming to the school.

“The only other option is to allow Sukuna to keep Megumi,” Gojo said. “And to terrorize society at his leisure. We both know that that’s not something we can live with. I do have to do this, whether or not you want me to.”

“Speaking of which, do you think Megumi can still be saved?” you said. “Or is it too late? Must we let go of him already?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I will…I will try my best to bring him back, but in the process of defeating Sukuna, I might have to harm him a bit, so I can’t guarantee it. It’s an impossible position we’re in, since Sukuna and Megumi are one and the same, but we want to save one as much as we want to kill the other.”

“That’s what I’m here for, though,” you said grimly. “You can beat him up as much as you need to. I’ll heal him up and he’ll be back to his normal self with no issues. By this time next week, he’ll be sighing all passive-aggressively all over the place, and it’ll be like he never left.”

“It makes me feel better to know that’s the case,” he said. “Relying on you leaves less of a bitter taste in my mouth than relying on others. And while we’re on the subject, you have what I gave you yesterday, right?”

“Yes, of course, but like you said, I don’t think they’ll come in much handy for me anymore,” you said. He shrugged.

“You never know. Maybe you’ll decide you want them, for some reason,” he said. “Just keep them safe. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how precious they are.”

“I already promised I would! Besides, even if they weren’t like that, I would’ve taken care of them all the same. Anything from you is precious to me,” you said. He mimed gagging.

“That was horribly cheesy, by the way,” he said, ruffling your hair as he often did when his hands were free and his mind was busy but he wanted to show his affection for you in some way. “But I appreciate the sentiment, I guess.”

“I know you feel the same, you dumb egret, so there’s no need for the tough act,” you said.

“Egret? Calling me that is a little far out of the realm of plausibility,” he said. “I don’t look anything like one.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I think it’s perfectly apt as a description,” you said. He considered this before shrugging.

“We can discuss the semantics later. For now, come here,” he said, opening his arms. You embraced him in the way you always did, and it felt the way it always did, too, warm and comfortable and solid despite how cold his extremities were and how lean his body was.

“You never used to hug me so much,” you said, trying to pretend like nothing was wrong or happening, that this was just an ordinary farewell, as if you were only going back home for the weekend or something. “This is a recent development. What gives?”

“Blame it on old age,” he said.

“You aren’t even thirty yet,” you said. “That’s hardly considered ‘old age’ in any sense of the concept.”

“It’s older than you are,” he shot back. “But fine. For luck, then?”

“For luck,” you agreed. “I’ll see you later, Gojo.”

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he said, and then you were alone in the doorway, gazing at the empty space where he had once been and wishing for only the briefest moment that he was not so selfless, that he had instead chosen to abandon the world and everyone to stay with you and be your teacher forever.

Everyone was waiting for you back in the room where Mei Mei had connected her crow vision technique to a bunch of TVs, letting you all watch the confrontation between Gojo and Sukuna in real-time and adjust your responses accordingly. After all, there were so many variables at play that without that, it would be impossible for anyone to know what to do next. It was the whole reason that Gojo had called her in the first place — well, that, and because of her little brother Ui Ui, who was on the whole even more useful than she was.

You made a beeline for the couch where Yuta and Maki were, settling in between them, surprising just about no one. Wrapping your arms around Yuta’s bicep, you lay your cheek against it, knocking your knees against his as you sat, for he would serve as your support now more than ever.

“He’s gone,” you said when it became obvious everyone was waiting for you to speak. “Left for Shinjuku. They should get started soon.”

“I wish he would’ve let us come help him,” Hakari said. “Don’t interrupt me, Y/N! I know that he works better alone, so we would actually drag him down, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad about it.”

“Actually, I was just going to say that it’s a pleasant surprise to see you concerned about someone other than yourself,” you said. “I’m really proud, Hakari. It seems like you’ve grown a lot in the past month.”

“Oh, shut up,” he said. You rolled your eyes but found you were too stressed to actually engage in any meaningful arguments with him. Anyways, it was as you always said: arguing with Hakari only made a person dumber, and now was not the time for that sort of thing.

“There he is,” Maki said, pointing at the screens where Gojo could now be seen, as cocky as ever, made more arrogant by the way he was towering over Sukuna, who was after all in the body of a first year student.

“Wow,” Hakari said. “Fushiguro is such a little shrimp! That boy needs a growth spurt immediately.”

Wordlessly, Yuta handed you a pillow, already knowing what you wanted to do. Accepting it gratefully, you chucked it at Hakari, smiling slightly when it smacked into his stomach, prompting a groan from him but then a blissful silence afterwards. Kirara did briefly glare at you, the closest thing to retaliation you got, but since you didn’t care much about that, it was a positive outcome overall.

“He’s not that short,” Itadori defended, though considering he was shorter than Megumi, there was definitely some bias coloring his words. “Besides, anyone would look tiny next to Gojo, except for maybe Todo.”

“That’s true,” Hakari allowed. “Yeah, I’ll apologize to Fushiguro next time we meet. Plus, all of us are like that in our first years. The rest of his family members that I’ve seen are pretty tall, so I’m sure he’ll be like that once he grows up.”

After that, you all mostly were silent, only occasionally remarking on events as they happened. Sukuna and Gojo moved at a pace almost too fast to comprehend, and it seemed their minds worked at that kind of speed, as well. The things they were doing were unfathomable to sorcerers like the rest of you, every new move drawing gasps from everyone watching, mostly due to the sheer gall they required and the way they were completely redefining sorcery as you knew it. There was no doubt in any of your minds: this was truly a clash of the two strongest sorcerers in all of history, and despite Gojo’s confidence, there was no certain victor. It could happen in any way. The scales could tip in either’s favor at any moment, and it was likely that you wouldn’t even realize until the balance was so unequal that nothing could be done to restore it.

“So that’s Mahoraga,” Kusakabe said at one point. It had definitely come as a surprise that the generally self-interested teacher had decided to stay and fight alongside the others instead of running like Noritoshi and Elakshi had, but for some reason, even though he wasn’t particularly strong, his presence comforted you. Like Ieri and Gojo, he had once been an authority figure in your life, someone who could be counted upon to know the answers to your questions, so now that the scenario was so confusing, having him there made it feel like there was a chance that order could at some point be restored. Furthermore, due to his expertise and experience as a teacher, he was able to explain what was happening to everyone in a way that you could understand, which was invaluable.

According to Kusakabe, Mahoraga was the pinnacle of the Ten Shadows technique that was engraved on Megumi’s body. It was a massive, hulking being that was an amalgamation between man and snake, with its body vaguely humanoid but its head distinctly serpentine. It was inescapably eerie and uncanny, and you shuddered, pressing even closer to Yuta at the sight of it. He did not react, eyes trained on the screens, tracking every slight movement that Gojo and Sukuna made even before they made them.

“He can do it, can’t he?” Itadori said, voice small. “He can defeat Sukuna before Mahoraga adapts, right?”

Nobody responded, because of course none of you knew what the outcome would be. In such a close match, even a breath taken at the wrong time could be fatal for either party, so there was no way of knowing who would come out on top. Especially now that Mahoraga had been added into the mix, with his potential to cut through even the Limitless via adaptation…who could be sure? Who could still say with full confidence that Gojo would win, besides Gojo himself? Because you knew he would, could hear his haughty voice in your mind even now: I will win.

“Has he forgotten about Fushiguro?” Hana said. She was right: you had never seen Megumi’s body in a worse condition, but Gojo seemed to pay it no mind, adding to the cuts and bruises blooming on the boy’s fair skin at will, even taunting him as he went along, though naturally it was not Megumi he was insulting but Sukuna himself, Sukuna and his reliance on Megumi’s technique and the shikigami he could summon. What kind of King of Curses can’t even go against his enemy without the help of a little boy? Come on, give me a break!

“It’s fine,” Kashimo said. “I hope he has — it’s more interesting that way. He should’ve forgotten him from the start!”

“No way!” Itadori said. “You don’t even know him, so you can just be quiet, okay? Seriously! Who even invited you here?”

“Of course, he’s doing his best to save Megumi, but he can’t afford to hold back, not when Sukuna won’t do the same,” you said as Kashimo shrugged, obviously unbothered by Itadori’s words. “We’ll lose both of them if he does that. At this point, he has to rely on instinct, so he can’t give any consideration to Megumi anymore, not until it’s safe enough. Faltering is as good as surrendering, so he just can’t.”

“I don’t know how I feel about that,” Itadori said. “It makes sense, but it feels unfair. Fushiguro didn’t do anything! He doesn’t deserve this. It should be my body out there. It would be alright if I was the one that Gojo had to kill, but why him?”

“Have a little more trust in Gojo,” Yuta said evenly. “He always has a plan. It’ll be alright. Megumi’s important to him, so he wouldn’t leave things up to fate or chance. If he didn’t think that he could save him, then he would’ve said something; conversely, since he’s said he’ll do his best, he honestly will. You know he’s like that.”

As the only remaining special grade sorcerer — alongside Gojo, of course — Yuta’s words carried a certain weight to them, and indeed as soon as he spoke, there was a collective release of the tension gathered in the room. He was as right as always; Gojo wouldn’t just charge into things blindly. He was much too calculated to just disregard something so important in the heat of the moment like that, and especially not when Megumi’s life was up in the air. Megumi, who was probably the only other person he cared for as much as he did you. You were worrying because you could only see the results of the clash, not the thought process behind every move, but when had any of you ever truly been able to follow Gojo’s thought process in the first place?

At one point, when it looked like Gojo might lose, Yuta stood up. Takaba, a comedian-turned-sorcerer that had come with Itadori and allied himself with everyone else for some reason, did the same, and both of them headed towards the door. Nobody else took notice, completely fascinated by the unlikely comeback Gojo was in the process of making, but because you had been all but laying atop Yuta, you were immediately alerted to his departure.

“Where are you going?” you said, following after him, a suspicion growing in you that he was leaving to join the fight against Sukuna. Takaba glanced between the two of you before gulping and then waving, mouthing something at Yuta and then ducking out. You cocked your head at him before deciding that he was a comedian and therefore must be prone to doing such strange things.

“It’s something that I discussed with Gojo,” Yuta said. “Just last night. While everyone is focused on him and Sukuna, I’m going to take on Kenjaku. It’s the perfect moment to strike; no one will see it coming, especially not Kenjaku himself. Everyone thinks I’m the next in line if Gojo should fall, but in truth, I’ll be there, ready to kill that blight.”

“By yourself?” you said, numbness washing over you as your mind worked through what he was saying. He was going to go fight Kenjaku. It was even worse than going to help Gojo against Sukuna, because at least then, he’d have aid. But this — this was an endeavor he was undertaking all alone. He was going somewhere where no one could help him. Not Gojo. Not Maki. Not you. Nobody would be there for him.

“Takaba is going to be with me, so I won’t be alone,” he said, though this didn’t reassure you much. Takaba, a comparatively untrained sorcerer, would likely just serve as a distraction to cloak Yuta’s arrival, so the onus was still on Yuta’s shoulders. He was the one who would have to actually do it, which meant that he essentially was going against Kenjaku on his own.

“You can’t,” you said. “Yuta, you can’t. He beat Yuki Tsukumo, who was a special grade sorcerer! Listen to me this time and leave it. Don’t go. Let someone else take care of it.”

“Who but me could go?” he said. “It’s just as you said. He beat Yuki Tsukumo, which means no one else even stands a chance. I’m the only one left who can capitalize on this moment, the only remaining special grade sorcerer — bar the obviously preoccupied Gojo — and I cannot let this opportunity go. Kenjaku is as big of a thorn in our sides as Sukuna is, and we mustn’t let him live. He’s the reason all of this has happened, Y/N. Do you think I could just sit here and wait while he continues to exist?”

“Hakari can go,” you said desperately. “Or Itadori, or Choso. Anyone else can, but just not you. I don’t want it to be you. I can’t handle it if it’s you.”

“It’ll be okay,” he said. “Takaba and I have a plan, just like Gojo does. Even when things seem like they’re going badly, please remember this: we know what we’re doing. It may look like we’re struggling, but don’t just believe what you see. We have it all figured out.”

He was putting on a brave face for you. He didn’t have things ‘figured out’ any more than Gojo did; both of them were going into things blindly, facing off against opponents shrouded in mystery and unpredictability — they were mere men, battling preternatural, ancient monsters that had never tasted defeat. But for you, Yuta was pretending to have courage. You wondered where that frightened, deer-eyed boy you had met hiding under a desk in that high school had gone? The one who had ducked behind you at every loud noise? When had it become that he was the valiant one and you were the coward?

You couldn’t send him to his own death like this, but you also knew you could not stop him. He would go. You would stay. That was what your fates would be. His place was the battlefield, as yours was the hospital ward. That was why you could not beg him any longer — for you to ask him not to fight was like him asking you not to heal. It was what he was born to do, which meant that even if his subjugation was all but assured, he would still raise his sword, would still hold it with the very pride that a victor would, so that he might die in the same way he lived: as a jujutsu sorcerer.

“What will I do?” you said. “When you are gone, what will I do?”

“Wait for me,” he said. “Until I come back, you will wait for me. That’s what you’ll do.”

Unlike him, you couldn’t be considered strong, not anymore. You couldn’t maintain your composure, so it was with a choked cry that you flew at him, holding onto him as securely as you could, trying to memorize what he felt like, what it meant to embrace him, the way his body fit against yours, the way his heart beat against your chest, the exact smell of the soap he used to shower and wash his clothes.

“How am I supposed to do that?” you said. “How am I supposed to wait for you all alone?”

“You can do it,” he said. “You’re the girl I — you’re my Y/N. You can do it.”

“Please say it, Yuta,” you said. “Before you go, please tell me that you love me.”

Those words which he had never spoken, could never speak into existence. If he was going to challenge Kenjaku, then you wanted to hear them. If he might never come back again, then you wanted him to say them aloud. If there was no more hope for you two, then what did it matter if he cursed you with his love? You would accept such a curse gladly, if that was the only bargain.

“Y/N,” he said, and you knew before he said it what his answer would be.

“Just one time,” you pleaded. “You never have to again, but just once, please tell me.”

He was silent, only clinging to you tighter, too reluctant to let go immediately. But even when he tried to pull away, you refused to let him, knowing that once he left, he likely would not come back. Your dearest Yuta, your most beloved Yuta, your kind, gentle boy…how could he stand against a sorcerer like Kenjaku and win? Why was this pointless death the most he’d ever amount to? What kind of a person was he, that it didn’t even mean anything to him, that he marched forwards in spite of it?

Well, maybe it was because of this: he had, since his youth, been followed by that very death. Rika, the Queen of Curses, her darkness had been wrapped around him since the day she had become a vengeful spirit, and so death was the one thing which had never frightened him, not when the two were so intimately acquainted that it was as if they were old friends.

Maki did not question the fact that you were alone, that Yuta had vanished, that you were obviously weeping as you sat next to her. The others gave you looks containing various degrees of sympathy, but they, too, did not say anything. You were not their main concern at the moment, and neither was Yuta. It was Gojo who you were all thinking about, all focused on, because for the first time in the fight, he had the upper hand. For the first time, one thing was obvious: he was going to win. The scales had been disbalanced in his favor. He had exorcised Mahoraga and whatever other shikigami Sukuna had summoned, so it was down to the two of them, and while Gojo was hale, Sukuna was obviously tired. It wasn’t up in the air anymore — he was really going to do it.

Her reflexes were faster. She detected patterns quicker. She was just more skeptical than the rest of you. You weren’t sure which was truly the explanation, but it remained that Maki saw it happen before anyone else did. Sukuna smirked, if a mere twitch of his lips could be considered as such, and then Maki’s hand was slapping over your eyes and the world was dark and then someone was shouting. Itadori. It was Itadori, but why was he shouting? Hadn’t Gojo won? What reason did he have, then, to shout like that?

“Don’t open your eyes,” Maki instructed you. “Y/N, whatever you do, don’t open them.”

She knew better than you. You should’ve listened, but you did not. As soon as she removed her hand, you blinked your eyes open, trying to regain your bearings, and then you looked at the screen. After that, it was you screaming, not Itadori, trying to shut your eyes and pretend like you hadn’t seen it, pretend like it had just been a bad dream or intrusive thought or something. But even in your worst nightmares, your mind had never conjured up an image like that, which meant that you must’ve seen it, that it must’ve been real. It was real. It was real. It was real.

The scene was burnt into your mind: Gojo, his body cleaved into two, his upper half bloody on the ground but his legs still upright, so fast had it all been. As you had watched, they had collapsed beside his severed torso, and the sight was so gory that you would’ve retched if you had eaten anything earlier. He was dead. He was dead. He was dead.

But you were the girl who had brought someone back to life. This was not like Tullia, who had been beyond the point of saving once Sukuna got to her. You had to snap out of it; there was still a chance, after all. If you could get a hold of yourself, then there was still a chance. Reaching out, you grabbed Maki’s hand, squeezing it, clutching the only thing you surely had left in this world. She squeezed back.

“Someone, bring me his body,” you said, your voice shaky but determined. “As soon as possible. I can bring him back.”

“Hold on,” Hakari said, surprisingly softly given his usually brash attitude. “He’s cut in half, Y/N. You can’t possibly believe you can heal that.”

“It’s fine,” you said. “I can do it. This is why I gave up fighting: so that I can heal. I’ve done it before, so I will do it again. I will bring Gojo back to life.”

Thanks to Mei Mei’s little brother’s teleportation technique, Kirara was able to quickly retrieve Gojo’s body, setting the two halves on a gurney in front of you and then stepping back so that you could get to work, arranging the pieces so that they fit together once more. Sukuna’s technique was so perfect and precise that it appeared as if they had never been split in the first place, no overlaps or gaps between the jagged edges of his flesh.

He looked like he was sleeping. If your hands weren’t sticky with his blood, if you didn’t know that he would never be this still even when asleep, then you would’ve really believed that he was just resting. But your fingers were red and Gojo was incapable of serenity, so taking a deep breath, you reached far within yourself, drawing upon every single hurt you had ever felt, every injury inflicted upon you, every harsh word and lost friend. You reached for all of it and prayed it would be enough.

“Composition,” you said, waiting for the debilitating pain to hit you, the pain of death unto life, the pain you would gladly accept if it meant saving Gojo. But there was nothing. “Composition.” Nothing. “Composition.”

Nothing. There was nothing.

“Composition.”

Nothing.

Why was his heart not beating? Why was it not working? Why could you not save him? Why couldn’t you bring him back? You were capable of it. Why weren’t his skin and bones knitting together? Why did his organs not heave back into function?

“Gojo,” you said. “Gojo. Wake up now. It’s not funny anymore. Composition.”

You weren’t healing anything, but blood was pouring from your nose, your body protesting the constant activation and subsequent cancellation of your Reverse Cursed Technique. The droplets mixed with your tears, but you ignored both, because to acknowledge them meant acknowledging something else.

“Hey,” Maki said, tugging on your hand. “Come on.”

“No,” you said. “No. No. Composition.”

You were sobbing as you continued to initiate the Reverse Cursed Technique, uncaring of the fact that everyone was watching you, uncaring of the fact that your failure was on display for them all to see, uncaring of the fact that you were acting like a small child. Composition. Composition. Composition. That was the only thing on your mind.

“It’s time to give up,” Maki said. “Y/N. You can stop now. He’s really gone. Even you can’t bring him back.”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. All you could do was wail, grasping onto his shirt, his shoulders, whatever you could reach as Maki tried to pull you away, gagging as you bawled, the acrid smell of blood and sweat coating your nostrils and tongue as you threw yourself over his corpse. Your nature was like that, you realized. It was the same reason you had followed him to the door: you were not a girl who knew what it meant to let go.

“Why?” you gasped out as Maki physically lifted you and dragged you off of him, his sleeves tearing off as she yanked you away without care for how obstinately you were holding onto the scraps of him you could reach. “Why? I love him, too, so why can’t I bring him back? Let me go, Maki! I can still save him!”

“Y/N.” It was Ieri who was speaking now, her soft voice as sorrowful as it was severe. “You can’t. Some people are beyond saving.”

You had chosen to heal so that you could save people, but in the end, you had saved no one. Yuta was off fighting against Kenjaku, and who knew if he would survive that? Gojo was dead. Megumi was gone. You had never done anything that mattered. In the end, Composition, just like the L/Ns, had failed you. Some people are beyond saving. But that wasn’t supposed to matter to you. You were supposed to be able to save them, anyways.

“Ui Ui,” you said, the instant Maki put you down and you were standing on your own two feet, though she conspicuously did not remove her hands from your shoulders. Your grief had condensed into a hollow pit in your stomach, one that you shoved aside for the moment, knowing you could not think about it now. Feeling around in your pocket for Gojo’s final gift to you, you straightened your shoulders and felt a sort of calm wash over you when you found it, fingers curling around the cool wood. “I need you to take me to Sukuna.”

“What do you think?” Gojo said, presenting you with a small box containing a set of red needles. You hesitantly accepted them, wondering what use he thought you would have for them. “I harassed the L/Ns into imbuing them with Dissection as they were forged — that’s why they’re red like that — and then, I personally cursed them. Not just in that half-assed way I used to curse your old ones, either. Nope, these needles have more energy than even most Grade 1 sorcerers do! If the higher ups were still around, they would probably dub them special grade cursed tools, though they’re largely impractical to utilize for anyone but you.”

“I won’t ever use them,” you said. “So you shouldn’t have gone to all of that trouble. But thank you for doing that, and for entrusting them to me, anyways.”

“Who knows?” he said. “It just makes me feel better to know you have them. That way, you’ll never be defenseless. There’ll be this small piece of me that’ll always be with you, protecting you even when my entire self can’t be there to do it.”

“You didn’t train with everyone else,” Kusakabe said. “It’s too dangerous. You absolutely cannot go. Anyways, didn’t you give up combat?”

“I thought that healing was how I could save people,” you said. “But it turns out that I can’t save anyone, regardless of what I choose. So I will do what I set out to in the start. I will fight.”

“I’ll go with her,” Maki said, nodding at you firmly. You had thought for a second that she might try to convince you to stay back, but you really shouldn’t have. She wasn’t like Yuta and Gojo, who always tried to protect you. She was the one who had first taught you to fight, after all, the one who taught you what the definition of strength itself was. She would never try to stop you, not for as long as you allowed her to stay by your side — and you would never, ever deny her that, because you could not deny yourself her presence, because there was a time when she had been the only one you could call distinctly and wholly your own.

Shinjuku was nothing more than a mess of rubble and rocks strewn about at this point. Sukuna had shifted into his true form, and if you had had the time, then thinking about what that meant for Megumi would have driven you to tears anew. Yet it was like this: you could no longer think about Megumi. Not now, when he was beyond saving. Not now, when Gojo was dead. Not now, when you and Maki were about to make your own stand against the creature which had stolen so much from everyone you both loved.

“What now?” Maki said. “Do you have a plan?”

“Sort of. You have to stay back,” you said. “I’m pretty sure he still won’t do anything to me, but he doesn’t have the same misgivings about killing you, so only come if it seems like I really am about to die.”

“What if I’m not fast enough?” she said.

“You will be,” you said. “There’s not a soul alive that’s faster than you, but anyways, it won’t come to that, so don’t engage him in battle until I’ve made my move and sufficiently weakened him. Once I’ve done that, you can come help me.”

Sukuna noticed you almost immediately, and then he was batting away Itadori and the others, his entire inhuman body’s hatred concentrated solely on you, as it always was, as it always would be. You thought in the back of your mind that you should’ve felt afraid at that moment, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be anything but resigned. This was an inevitable eventuality. Perhaps you had delayed it by choosing to heal, but in the end, there was no surprise that it was you two. The King of Curses. The girl named after the woman who sealed him. In truth, the ending of this story had been written a long time ago.

“Y/N L/N,” he said, his tone the same as always, seething and loveless and loathing. Maybe this was how your name should always be said. Y/N L/N, the horrible girl who fought when she should’ve healed and healed when she should’ve fought, the one who could not help a single person she cared about. Maybe Sukuna had it right after all.

“Sukuna,” you said. “You killed Gojo.”

He laughed. “Yes, I did.”

“And Tullia,” you added.

“Correct,” he said.

“And — and Megumi,” you said, half-hoping he would refute this. But he dashed your hopes as soon as they blossomed, humming in agreement.

“Indeed, that is the case,” he said. “All of those people are gone. You loved each and every one of them, and now they are all dead at my hand. I killed them, and it brought me the greatest pleasure and most immense joy to do so.”

“Why?” you said. “Why am I still alive when they’re not? Why do you torture me like this? What have I ever done to you?”

“Nothing,” he said. “You have never done anything. But I need you for my own purposes, and I despise you for that reason. I despise you because you, insignificant and irritating as you are, are so important to me.”

“How?” you said. “I don’t understand it. What can I even do for you? I’m not Megumi. I don’t have a technique that will allow you to defeat some great foe, and you don’t need a body from me anymore, not now that you have regained your true form. So why do you want me?”

“You don’t have to understand,” he said. “My reasons are mine alone. I don’t owe an explanation to a bitch of a girl who’s closer to being vermin than anything.

He would never tell you, you realized. You would never get to know what he desired from you, because in his eyes, you would never be his equal. Not like Gojo was. You weren’t powerful like the others, either, so you couldn’t demand he speak; thus, you had to make peace with the uncertainty and continue onwards. Because even though there wasn’t much you could do at this point, not anymore, you no longer despaired. You just used the only thing you had left, something which had been there for you from the start and was now there for you in the end.

It was the same as the first time, all of the way back on that balcony during the party which Gojo had rescued you from. Then, just as now, an inappropriate giddiness had filled you as you finally did what your blood had always sang for. For the last time, you made that figurative leap, knowing that you would invariably crash but cherishing the instant of free-fall that came before the impact, the one which you always had longed for so greatly in your youth.

“Dissection,” you said, the word falling from your lips so easily, so familiarly, hanging in the air for a moment as you activated your cursed technique for the first time since Shibuya.

Sukuna cackled at you. “Foolish girl! Do you really think that that’s enough to face me, when even the infamous Limitless technique of the Gojo clan was not? Use your ridiculous, pointless technique all you want, for it’ll do you no good. After all, how does it matter that you can see my weaknesses when I have none?”

He wasn’t incorrect, in one sense. There were no spots illuminated by Dissection on his body. He truly seemed to be invulnerable, but you knew better. You saw what he could not, because Dissection was your technique. You didn’t have to be the strongest to win this fight. You just had to be strong enough to do what you had to.

“You’re wrong,” you said.

“You presume to say that?” he said. “You are the one who’s wrong, Y/N L/N. There’s not a point on my body that you could strike to kill me.”

“You’re right,” you said, raising one of Gojo’s needles, admiring the peculiar crimson shade of the metal as the setting sun hit them. Sukuna’s eyes widened as he figured out that you had caught on, that you had finally perceived why he would not, could not kill you, and then he was crying out in alarm, extending his four arms towards you, but it was all in vain. He would not reach you in time. No one ever could. “There’s not. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have any faults. Actually, you do have one, and this time, unlike every other, that’s enough.”

“Stop!” he shouted, activating his technique, though he was much too late to do anything but watch you with the horror of a person who was finally, after a thousand years, staring defeat in the face.

“You have taken everything from me,” you said. “So in exchange, I’ll do the same. I will no longer live for you, Sukuna.”

And with that, you drove the needle into the soft white glow centered over his singular weakness: your own heart.

#yuuta x reader #yuuta x y/n #yuuta x you #reader insert #canon au #pomegranate ink #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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