chris alonso oneshots

blind devotion [ ❦ ]

It's late when you hear the tell-tale rev of Chris's truck in the driveway, the crunch of loose gravel under heavy tires making your ears perk up. It's faint from where you're sat, curled up on the sofa under a pile of blankets with a Brooklyn Nine-Nine rerun playing on the TV in front of you, but still the noise is able to soothe all the worries that have been bouncing around your head for the last few hours.

You shuffle upright and try to make yourself presentable. You know that after all the years you've spent together that Chris couldn't give two shits about how you look, but you also know how terrible she feels when she comes home late to see you with eyes ringed red from worry and your phone clutched in your hand waiting on that infamous phone call.

The door opened about the same time as you pushed yourself to your feet. There was a soft thump, no doubt Chris dropping her duffel at the door in the little spot next to the coat rack that had long since been designated as her spot. You were just opening your mouth to speak, to tell her that the leftovers from dinner long forgotten were waiting in the oven when a small body threw themselves at you full force, nearly sending you both flying.

"Chr-." You're cut off when the very woman herself presses her face into your neck, leaving you no option but to let your jaw slip into the dip of her shoulder and be muffled by the collar of her sweatshirt.

Her hands find purchase on your waist, gentle yet strong arms wrapping around your waist. Her fingertips delve under the hem of your shirt and press into the exposed skin. As you regain your balance she carries your weight, holding you tightly against her as you sway gently together.

You stay like that for a moment before you pull back, which Chris doesn't make an easy thing. It's only with a soft tut does she take the hint and let you stand back a little, letting you pull away while still keeping you in her arms.

Even after you stand back, she doesn't meet your eyes. She favours instead to tuck her head under your chin and press faint kisses to the skin of your neck. Under any other circumstances you'd giggle and shove her away, but it's when you feel her stuttering breaths against your skin that you begin to panic.

"Chris, baby." Your voice is thick with sleep but the note of certain cuts through like a knife. "What's the matter?"

No answer.

All your girlfriend does in response is nuzzle into the crux of your neck, in the space where your shoulder meets your neck. Her grip on your waist doesn't lessen - if anything, it tightens at your words.

Tilting your head, you press your lips against the shell of her ear. "Baby, come on. "

There's a stern quality to your voice, not sharp enough to upset her but enough to know that she's worrying you. She raises her head, and your heart just about drops to your feet when you see the glassy look in her eyes.

Usually when Chris is crying, you can tell why. Sadness, anger, joy, exhaustion, injury - but this look is none of those. That scares you.

You cup her cheek in your hand, brushing your thumb over her cheekbone as she leans into your touch. "Talk to me, Chris."

She shakes her head. Your eyes are still taking her in, scouting for signs of surface injuries when her hand takes your own and leans her head in against yours, pressing your foreheads together. Ah.

You're starting to get the feeling that whatever hurt she's in is the kind that a couple Tylenol and some cuddles in bed with a heatpack will fix.

"Bad day."

Her voice is so quiet that you almost miss it. It's got that fragile quality that comes with the demeanor she assumes after especially taxing days, the ones that have her clinging to your side and relying on you to be able to quieten all the noise - the thoughts of things she could've done differently, the things she could've prevented, the lives she cou-

"Just wanted to see you." She leans back, cradling your jaw in her hand. She looks tired, so tired, but there's a little light in her eyes that gives you hope. That goes along with the softening of her tense shoulders under your touch, and the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of her lips.

You can't help but return the smile yourself, and it's not long before you're both leaning in to capture each other's lips. Still smiling into the kiss, you don't miss the sharp intake of breath that happens when your hand brushes over a certain spot on her hip, and the look of pain that taints her expression.

You arch an eyebrow, and she pokes your cheek in response. The sounds of soft laughter fill the room, but you both know that laughs and kisses aren't a cure for whatever is going on underneath the surface here.

"What do you need me to do?" You're pulling away, drifting towards the bathroom in search of the well-worn first aid kit that quickly became a staple in your house. Your mind is already racing with thoughts as you tug her along by the wrist - chamomile tea would be better than green to help her relax, her favourite hoodie is already in the drier, if only you'd thought to pick up another bag of Cheese Puffs the last time you were at the stor-

"Hey, hey", Chris pulls you back gently. She knows what's going through your head, the way your brain immediately kicks into overdrive when you know she's hurting. How all you can focus on is her and her worries, how you can undo all the damage that's been done.

She's knows that she's by no means an easy person to look after, no matter how much you take it in your stride now - and that you've had to learn how to take care of her when she won't, or can't, tell you what she needs. There are times, thought however rare where she does know what she needs. Tonight is one of those nights.

You hum softly under your breath, eyes widening as an urge for her to continue. "What do you wanna do, baby?"

Chris swallows, and lowers her gaze. She's never been good at asking for help, even when it's with someone she knows won't think badly of her for it.

That, she supposes, is what makes it even harder.

"Can you just...", her voice trails off, but with and encouraging squeeze of her hand she continues.

"Can you hold me? Please?"

The smile you give her damn nears trigger the well of tears gathering in her eyes.

"Of course, sweetheart." You tug her hand again, and pull her into the hallway towards your bedroom. As you lead her away, Chris allows a lazy smile to take over her face as her eyes slip shut.

She'd heard it all her life, but she'd never truly understood what it meant to follow someone blindly. She'd never believed in it either. Not until she'd met you.

But as she followed you down the hallway, with only your soft footsteps and grounding grasp on her hand to assure you that you were still there, she knew that if she had ever to follow anyone blindly, she wouldn't have far to look.