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freak-accident419 · 10 months ago

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we might be dead by tomorrow

Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

Summary: Because everyone seemed to fail him, Derek Danforth decided to call you up to kill Mr. Clay. You are an assassin that had an intimate, yet complicated relationship with Derek in the past, sharing a bittersweet history together. You realize that you’re going against a Beekeeper, and felt obligated to spend one last night with your old lover, as this mission doesn’t guarantee your survival. But you’d do anything for him—even if it meant dying for him.

WC: 4.4k

Content: 18+ smut, MDNI, gender neutral reader, unspecified genitals for reader (vague penetration), more plot than porn tbh, cursing, smoking, drinking, mentions of death, slight spoilers for The Beekeeper but nothing too drastic

(A/n: Thank you guys for showing me so much support lately. I hope you guys enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it :) love you all !!)

You raised your glass to your lips, letting the rich, smooth liquid of scotch graze your tongue and go down your throat seamlessly after your brief sip.

You look at the man behind the office desk in front of you. It wasn’t like you haven’t seen him in a ridiculously long time, probably just for a couple of months to a year, more or less. But you never got tired of looking at him when you could. He was an incorrigible asshole, but his beautiful, hazel eyes would convey otherwise. He was an immoral, selfish dick, but the way his lips formed into a smile could convince anybody with basic cognition that he was an angel.

The silence was awkward, indubitably because of the complicated past you shared, but the eye contact really wasn’t—if anything, it was subtly bittersweet. And instead of being at his office inside Danforth Enterprises, you were at his office inside his mansion, which already revealed the secrecy and urgency of his request: he wanted you to kill for him again.

“Nobody has a name for this guy, no leads, no info, no nothing, he is off the fucking grid,” he explained to you sternly. “I was gonna make fuckin’… Wallace fix shit up, but his incompetent fucking men keep failing me, so—”

“You’re taking manners into your own hands and your last resort was hiring me? After, like, months of radio silence from me?”

He perked up at your words, then nodded, taking a lazy sip of his drink. “Precisely.”

“Okay,” you nodded accordingly. It was second nature, instantly agreeing to something this morbid, but you were an assassin after all, and Derek had hired you quite frequently in the past to take care of things. It was actually how you two initially met and eventually became intimate through—for a while, at least. “What’re you offering?” You ask, taking a cigarette out from one small box in your pocket.

“One million,” he answered briefly. However, you scoffed in disbelief, which almost immediately gained a perplexed reaction from him. “What?”

“Let’s go over the facts,” you begin, leisurely crossing your legs by resting your ankle onto your other knee. “This guy burned down your thirty million dollar call center. He could’ve definitely been related to the goddamn gas station explosion, killed all the guys you sent, and you were the last to hear from Garnett before he died at the hands of this man.” You took out your lighter and placed the cigarette in your mouth. “This guy is fucking intense. He is out for blood, your blood, Derek. It looks like he’s going to kill anyone who gets in his way, and if that’s gonna be me, I expect a higher fucking payment.” Your voice was slightly raised at the end of your sentence as you lit your cigarette, taking a long drag.

Derek sighed as he realized that you had a point. You always did, actually, in fact, he nearly always obeyed you. It was like you were the only person who could control that firecracker of a man. “Fuck… Fucking fine. Three million.”

You give a smug smile, blowing out the smoke from your drag and letting your cigarette rest between your fingers once you moved it out of your mouth. “See how easy that was?” You tease cheekily, seeing his brows knit in impatience and exasperation. You pursed your lips before asking, “What’s this guy’s deal anyway? Like, what do you know about him so far?”

Derek huffed with agitation. “Fuck, I don’t know, he… He just fucks around with all my shit, apparently he’s a-a fuckin’ beekeeper, and—”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes widen, heart practically racing as you heard those words come out of his mouth. Was it purely coincidental, or…

“What?” He asked as he noticed how exceedingly pale your face went. You never had this expression on your face, at least not in front of him. You were always seen by him as perpetually unafraid, but in this very moment, you seemed to be unusually apprehensive. “Fuck, Y/n, what is it?”

“Did you say he was a beekeeper?” You inquired silently, fidgeting with your fingers.

“Yeah, that’s the only fucking thing we know about him. Why?” Derek seemed to appear gruff and utterly pissed on the outside, but internally and authentically, he was fundamentally solicitous, especially for you. Why were you, if anything, afraid?

“Yeah, that can’t be a fucking coincidence,” you mumble thoughtfully to yourself as you take an anxious drag from your cigarette. “The Beekeepers is some kind of secret organization, completely off the goddamn grid that consists of professionally trained assassins. And let me tell you, Danforth, these guys are hard-fucking-core. You thought I was terrible? These guys are fucking worse,” you stress, waving your cigarette around as the trail of smoke followed your hand gestures. “If this guy is a part of them, then holy shit, the both of us are dead.”

Derek processes your words, however only growing antsy and disgruntled. “So what? You can handle another fucking cocksucker. I know you, your skills are off the charts.”

“Hey, I know myself more than anybody does, including you. And I know that I have a very advanced skillset, but maybe not as advanced as fucking Beekeepers. Look, Danforth, I will definitely put up a fight, but this man could definitely—”

“Y/n, you’re the best fucking assassin I fucking know, just—just do the fucking job,” he demanded relentlessly, displeased with your insistent, yet assertively spoken doubt.

You glared at him with agitation for a few seconds, before speaking again.

“Five million,” you state bluntly.

“What?”

“Five fucking million, Danforth. If you want me to kill this man, let alone a fucking beekeeper, I expect higher pay,” you argue tactfully.

You sense a sort of irked frustration in him, his face contorted, teeth gritting behind his closed lips, and dark eyes, in which you’ve seen on several previous occasions.

“Goddamnit, Y/n, he’s just another fucking guy! Just, fuck, snipe him if you have to, or whatever,” he insisted tiredly. “You’re the best killer I know. This guy doesn’t have shit on you, just—”

“Danforth, I’m not a hundred percent sure that I’ll come back from this mission alive, so five million or no deal!” You exclaimed, trying to emphasize how dangerous this job would be.

“Jesus! Fuck! Fine!” he conceded aggressively, leaning back in his chair. “Five million it is,” he grumbled.

You feel your eyes soften and your eyebrows relax pleasantly the moment you heard those words. You grinned mischievously, taking another drag from your cigarette. “Pleasure doing business with you.” Derek rolled his eyes in response, displeased by the amount of money he was going to give you just to kill one guy.

“Sure, whatever,” he replies lazily. “I trust you, so whoever—”

You scoffed amusedly, interrupting him. “You shouldn’t,” you say.

“What?” He was extremely baffled as he heard your response.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” you repeat.

“Umm, okay, and why-why the fuck not?” Derek was frustratingly oblivious, too ignorant to comprehend the contentious situation between you two that resulted in a long period of desolated avoidance.

“You are aware that I have tried to kill you, yes?”

A piercing silence.

It was true, unfortunately. Back when you were constantly doing jobs for Derek, an anonymous hire suddenly offered more than $80 million for you to assassinate him. Back then, you were marginally involved with Derek in an intimate setting. You worked for him as his executioner, and soon enough, your charm led to you sleeping together on several occasions and exchanging some sweet kisses and words, alongside the establishment of affectionate pet names. What hurt the most about it was that it was all authentic, his feelings and yours. However, you were weak and selfish and overall blinded with greed. Eighty million was drastically more than any amount you were ever hired with. So you took up the offer to assassinate President Jessica Danforth’s young, foolish son.

You were going to pull the trigger once your eyes locked on the target, but the second you did, you missed, causing severe lockdowns and the anticipated presence of the secret service. And when it all died down, Derek caught you with his own eyes as you attempted to escape, yet shockingly, he let you go. And you barely kept in contact ever again—until now.

“It—It doesn’t matter, Y/n, okay, I don’t see you pointing a gun at my head anymore, so it’s all in the past, alright?” He raised his glass to his lips, drinking the remaining bourbon (he preferred it more than scotch).

“Wh—? Okay, why the fuck are you so calm about it? I tried to kill you, don’t you understand that?” You stressed, continuing to frustratingly watch his nonchalant reaction to you.

He set his glass back down on the table, not even bothering to put it on the actual coaster, which was literally just about an inch away. “It’s because I know you, Y/n. I know that you’re the best fucking assassin I’ve ever hired and you never miss a shot. You’re, like, completely flawless at what you do. And because you’re that perfect at it, it amuses me that you missed when you had such a clear shot at me.” You glared at him as he spoke, plainly vexed.

“You were fucking afraid,” he continued, making you huff in disbelief. “You didn’t wanna kill me. Sure, eighty million seemed promising, but it didn’t live up to the sex and passionate admiration we had for each other. I trust you because I know now that if you were offered all the diamonds and golds in the entire fucking world, you still wouldn’t kill me for any of it.”

You hated how much this was true. You couldn’t kill him if you had the chance. Which was what mainly pissed you off, because he had to be the most annoying, arrogant, egotistical bastard you knew. And yet, you had a soft spot for him. And he had a soft spot for you. You were way too fond of him.

You sigh afterwards, knowing that he was completely right, whether you’d like it or not. “Well… Okay, do you trust me when I say that there is no guarantee that I’m coming back alive—”

“Goddamnit, Y/n, enough about this!” Derek interjected. “I trust that you’ll get the job done—”

“Danforth, I—”

“You know my name,” he snarled. “Use it.”

You groan impatiently, unabashed. “Okay, Derek, well as I said, The Beekeepers is a very elite organization. There is a reason why this guy was able to take down all your men at UDG—”

“It’s because they were fucking incompetent! You, howev—”

“Holy shit, Derek, just shut up for once!” You blurt. “If I don’t make it out alive, then what are you gonna do? Hm?”

“You’re… Y/n, you are going to make it out alive,” he grumbled, tired of your claims.

“Derek, I swear to fucking god—”

“If he fucking kills you, I’ll make sure to rain fucking hell on that bastard and the whole fucking Beekeeper organization itself. Okay?”

And it was clear that he was still so very fond of you.

You gave a slight chuckle, putting out your cigarette on a nearby ashtray. Your hands clasped together in front of you on the surface of the wooden desk, which was also presented in front of him. And so suddenly, Derek placed his hands over yours, lightly grazing the back of your hands and fingers with his fingertips and palms. It was comforting, to say the least, as well as nostalgic.

“I missed you,” you muttered softly, watching the two of your hands fidget with each other, soft, warm skin moving against coarse, cold skin.

“I’ve missed you too,” he mumbled, watching your hands on the table until he moved his eyes up to yours.

“You can deny it all you want, Derek, but I’m not going to get out of this alive or untouched,” you say in the silence of the room.

“I don’t want to believe that,” he simply replied, not wanting to accept the clear reality.

“Well, when you see my obituary in the papers, you’re gonna have to,” you articulate softly as his thumb rubs against yours.

He scoffs in disbelief. “As I said, you’re the best assassin I know. You can easily take out this stupid fucking asshole.” You nod modestly. “I’m serious!”

“Derek, are you trying to flatter me?” You raise an eyebrow with a light chuckle, watching his face gradually turn rosy.

“No, I’m—I’m just pointing out the fuckin’ facts,” he claimed.

“Well… Just in case this is going to be our last night together—”

“It’s not.”

“Well, hypothetically, if—”

“It’s not.”

“Derek!” You exclaim, laughing afterwards. “Just… All I want is for us to spend one night together, as if it’s our last. C’mon, Derek… Let me take care of you.”

It took a short while for him to process your proposal, until he gently held onto your hands to bring them to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Okay. Fine,” he answered indifferently. However, you knew that he had a soft spot for you.

***

His gentle, soft lips moved with yours as his rough hands gripped your sides tenderly. It’s been months since you’ve been like this with him, extremely vulnerable with each other physically, ever since your attempt to assassinate him caused mere estrangement. Your back was against the cushiony mattress, your hands cupping his face as your tongue began to clash with his, nearly gracefully as the familiarity of his taste burdened your mouth. The nostalgia creeped behind your mind until it penetrated your brain, making you remember all the ways he used to touch you and pleasure you. But in this very moment, he and you were taking your time with each other. To feel the warm, soft skin against fingertips and fingernails that one another missed.

“You should’ve stopped this when I told you to,” you nearly whispered after you pulled away from his lips, while your eyes explored his hazel irises once again.

He seemed to have no care, or at least no reaction, tucking his head down to nip at your sensitive neck, leaving soft kisses along your throat. “My mom probably wouldn’t have won the presidential election without it,” he remarked, lips trailing up from your collarbone to your jaw.

You scoff silently, moving your hands behind his head to tangle his bleached curls in your fingers. “I’m sure she had it all under control. She’s a remarkable woman,” you reply, feeling his lips against yours again, feeling him tug on your bottom lip right before pulling away again.

“Sure, yes, but… you’ve seen the shitty stats… Without the money we earned, she probably wouldn’t be sitting cozy in the damn White House.” Derek was very persistent about his role and reasons for the continuous phishing scam.

“Well… It doesn’t even matter,” you sigh dismally. “You didn’t stop when I warned you, and now look, you’ve got a whole fucking Beekeeper after you.” Your voice was heavy in disappointment and shame. You couldn’t believe that your old lover would possibly meet his demise if you aren’t proficient enough in your mission.

“Y/n. C’mon. We’ve got it all under control,” he affirmed, pressing some reassuring kisses all over your face. “You just have to kill this one dickhead, and things will go back to the way they were.”

Your eyes meet again, feeling your heart race for a split second as you felt utterly captivated by his beauty and concealed love for you. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” you lamented under your breath.

The way his eyes gazed into yours had communicated something you never thought he would ever have: regret. “I know,” he mumbles as you kiss again, a more passionate and accelerated movement that you sensed was becoming intense.

He took off his blazer, throwing it somewhere down on the floor as you discard your jacket. The two of you could barely separate from each other for too long, so you would desperately kiss each time a new article of clothing is removed. You lift off your shirt and Derek goes down on you again to kiss at your neck once more, leaving hickeys on your collarbone and tracing his lips down to your chest. He looks up at you with affection, kissing your lips once again until he would remove his own shirt.

He cradled your face, crashing his lips onto your passionately, instantly moving his tongue with yours through parted lips. “Everything that we had…” you began in a small whisper between ardent kisses. “Was it all real? Or was it just a way for us to…. to blow off steam? To feel something?”

“No, no, no,” he breathed as you could feel his hand sensibly caress your bare sides. “You’re fucking everything to me.”

Essentially, you were terrified. You knew that eventually, you two were going to lose each other. That’s why you were taking time with this, making sure to not take even a millisecond for granted. And deep down, Derek knew that you were right and that there was no certain guarantee that you could kill the Beekeeper. So he cherished this moment with you. Because in the end, he really loves you.

It was never said out loud, but the two of you loved each other immensely. After years of knowing each other, working together, the ‘one-night-stands’ with ‘no strings attached,’ you two fell for each other faster than the bodies that you shot for him. You were practically the only person he could be stable and decent around. It was always seen through abruptly softened eyes at even the smallest mention of your name.

Once you two were completely naked, your bare bodies attached to each other throughout each deep kiss. His hands graciously moved up and down the skin of your waist as your fingers lost itself in his soft hair, bodies radiating warmth against the other.

His eyes locked with yours, and there was some kind of poignant, desperation in them, looking at you as if you were going to disappear the moment he looked away. “Promise me you’ll come back from this mission alive,” he commanded softly in the cold silence of the room.

“I’ve told you already, Derek,” you sigh wistfully. “He’s a few more steps ahead of me.”

There was something almost so pathetic and contradictory about his distraught mannerisms. “Then I give you full permission to abort,” he proposed, “when things get too risky. If you seriously think you’re going to get killed, then forget about the entire fucking mission, forget about me, okay?”

“You know I can’t do that.” You stroke his hair tenderly between your fingertips, pushing his curls away from disorder. “It’s either go with the mission or not at all. There’s no point in getting myself into deep shit just to abort.”

The man sighed as he knew you were right, again. But also… “I don’t care,” he blurts. “I don’t fucking care. You can go as far as you’d like with him, but when shit hits the fan, I need you to at least beg for mercy, get on your fucking knees if you have to. I need you to get out of the situation immediately, Y/n, okay? I can’t lose you. Shit, I can’t fucking lose you, okay, not again.”

Your heart sank.

He really did care for you.

“Do you love me?” You ask quietly.

The hesitation in his response would give the impression that he had to think about your question, but the truth was that he always knew—he always knew the answer. He loved you, indisputably.

“Yes,” he answered silently. Then, with more confidence, “I love you. I love you so much that I cannot afford to lose you. I can’t fucking lose you. I just got you back, you can’t leave me again.”

A small smile appeared at the corner of your lips. “I’m still here, my marmalade,” he shivered pleasantly at your use of your old, affectionate nickname for him. “And I love you too. All of me is here for you. That’s the point of all this.”

After a shared, enamored look, his lips attached to yours, and the two of you couldn’t help but whimper as you felt the aching head of his cock begin to enter you, already stretching you with his size. It wasn’t until his length was pushed fully inside you, making your breath hitch as the warm, complete feeling had sparked bittersweet memories of the two of you doing this together in the past. Most of the times they were faster-paced and rougher. But this? It was all foreignly vanilla to you; this was straight-up making love at its fibrous roots.

Your face was flushed, feeling tingly as he slowly began to move in and out, his hands hooked under your shoulders in a grip as you held his forearms, locking his legs down with your own. He kissed your lips softly, then down to your neck as his thrusts slowly increased, putting all his weight on you as your chests were pressed against each other.

The two of you let out soft moans once every overlapping feeling intensified, breath quickening every snap of Derek’s hips. You moved your hand to the back of his head, tangling his hair in your fingers again as you deepened the kiss, the two of you only parting to breathe.

“Fuck,” he rasped, sinking into you deeper. Your bodies were so close together, nearly merging as you felt each passionate thrust filling you up. “You feel as good as I remembered.” You let his head be buried into your neck as you felt him gently nip the skin, your fingers still wrapped in his curls and you let your eyes rest, completely indulging in the pleasure he offered. “You were right,” Derek breathed softly. “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”

You raise an eyebrow at his remark. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because I don’t even want you to do this job anymore. If I’m gonna die because I’ll end up not hiring you, then so be it,” Derek husked, continuing to move inside you, making your fleshy walls flutter in exhilaration. “At this point, I’d rather have me die than you.”

You stutter out a quiet moan as you feel his movements quicken. “Damn. The sex is that good?” You joked, letting out a breathy chuckle.

He rolled his eyes playfully and snickered lowly. “Yes, the sex is that good,” he reciprocated, mumbling in your lips as he thrusted artfully.

It was like he was no longer selfish with it anymore. Sure, the sex you had in the past with him had equally distributed pleasure, but you would find him focusing on his own release sometimes. However, in this very moment, you could tell that he moved generously and patiently, fucking you carefully—‘fucking,’ however, seemed like a more aggressive approach to describe what was happening, which was plainly the opposite of everything entirely; this was pure lovemaking.

You felt yourself tighten around him as he increases his pace, lips no longer focused on kissing you, but driving the two of you to your release. His cock pushed faster and deeper, in and out, his throat withdrawing stuttered, low grunts and loud, quick breaths. You felt a knot in your stomach, your gut stirring in anticipation. “F-fuck,” he murmured as you felt his hot breath on the side of your face. “Y/n, I’m close.”

Your desperate panting became louder as your legs locked down on his even tighter, threatening to bend further. He lifts his head back up to make eye contact with you, seeing the other’s heated faces and loving gaze. “M-me too, baby.”

He kissed your lips deeply once again, thrusting into you at a rhythm that began to falter, quickening with every soft moan you crooned, repeatedly muttering his name with yearn.

Your cries had crescendoed, hearing desperate, higher-pitched grunts escaping Derek’s pretty mouth, as your bodies stayed warm against each other, building sweat from the intensity’s heat. The sound of skin slapping against skin amplified, wet, squelching noises emitting from each fast action of slipping in and out. You felt an overwhelming feeling of pleasure, feeling yourself come closer to your orgasm as your thighs begin to twitch and body begin to ache. It’s almost like you can’t breathe, the way his length fills you up perfectly and caresses your walls sensually.

“D-Derek, I—” Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head, but you shut them once you feel your lips attached to his. “I’m—fuck—I’m cumming!” You announce, feeling the entirety of your body tense up, already feeling the sensitivity you would feel post-orgasm.

“Hold on, baby, just wait a little longer for me, that’s good, that’s it, fuck,” he breathed frantically, nearly praising your patience and obedience. Derek’s moans becomes louder, practically in unison with yours, and he moaned out your name passionately once the two of you finally came together. Your voice cracks as you call him, hips jolting as you release, feeling yourself become fragile once you clench around him more intensely, back nearly arching in ecstasy. With one last slam of his hips, he came deeply inside you, spilling his warm cum through enraptured and euphoric spurts, making yourself feel entirely filled as his hips remained against yours, cock still utterly inside of you.

The two of you caught your breaths, just to kiss each other again, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck. Because once all the euphoria slowly died down, you remembered the reality of everything: you or him were going to die at the hands of a compulsive vigilante, and not everything you had together was going to last forever.

His head was buried in your neck, placing lazy pecks on it as the two of you held each other comfortably and safely.

“I just got you back,” he muttered. You were the only person that Derek was the most vulnerable around. “I don’t want to lose you again. Please be careful.”

“You know me,” you reassure softly, disregarding everything you had warned him about. You knew you couldn’t stand a chance against this man. But you’d do it anyway, for Derek. “I’ve killed over fifty men throughout my entire job. I’ve got this.”

Suddenly, he remembered everything you said about the Beekeeper, and how you even doubted yourself and your abilities. “But, you said—”

“Forget what I said,” you interrupt. “I’ve got a real drive to kill him, okay, and that’s you. As long as I have you in my head, he doesn’t stand a chance.” You hated lying to him. But at this point, it wasn’t even about the five million dollars or him hiring you at that; it was about protecting him.

“Are you sure? Because you were very persistent—”

You shut him up with a sweet, deep kiss. “Don’t you worry about it, my marmalade. I’ll take care of it.” You lied straight through your tender, flushed lips that he kissed back.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

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hoe4hotchner · 4 days ago

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Chapter 8 - Under pressure

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 10.3k

Warnings: Emotional struggle, self-doubt and anxiety, a lot of forensics in the beginning, emotional support, bar scene, alcohol mentioned.

A/N: I promised I would relay this info from Y/N about their only interaction in this chapter: "Hotch is a little bitch"

Masterlist

The locker room was mostly quiet, a silence only broken by the low murmur from the forensic team, each member meticulously working their way through the crime scene. Gloved hands carefully collected evidence, cameras clicked softly, and the occasional hushed exchange passed between team members, their voices barely above a whisper. Every movement was precise and deliberate, ensuring the scene's integrity remained undisturbed to the best of their abilities. The dim lights cast an almost sterile glow across the room, highlighting the dust motes suspended in the air.

Hotch stood by the doorframe, arms crossed, his sharp gaze tracking every action. His imposing figure served as a barrier, ensuring no one else would enter and disrupt the investigation. As he observed, the weight of his responsibility was evident in his intense expression, his attention fully devoted to the scene before him.

A forensic technician crouched near a faint stain on the tiled floor, signaling to a colleague with a subtle wave. “We’ve got what appears to be trace blood spatter here,” she said, her voice was low. Her gloved fingers traced the edges of the stain without making contact, her eyes scanning the pattern with attention, trying to put the pieces together to form a theory of what had gone down. "The distribution looks inconsistent. The angle suggests some kind of lateral force — maybe a blunt object brought down from above.” She suggested, lifting her hand up in a fist as if holding the murder weapon. She moved her hand down again in a smooth strike, trying to act out the scene.

Her colleague crouched next to her, adjusting his gloves as he pulled out a small magnifying lens to study the details. He leaned closer, observing the discoloration and faint smears. “Could indicate that she tried to defend herself,” he murmured, his tone speculative. “Or possibly just post-mortem bruising... though we’ll need lab confirmation to be sure.” His gaze shifted thoughtfully as he took in the body next to him. He raised an eyebrow, as if considering something further. "Did we retrieve samples from her hands? Any fibers or skin under the nails?”

"Already bagged and sealed,” another technician responded, holding up a small evidence bag. Inside, beneath a clear strip of tape, were faint traces of what looked like skin fragments. The delicate specks of tissue clung to the tape, almost imperceptible against the plastic, but they could hold significant answers to getting closer to slowing this whole mess. “Looks like fragments of epithelial tissue. And they found it under her nails?” he asked, his voice quiet as he focused on not disturbing the rest of the forensics team.

He gave the bag a light shake, causing the tissue to shift slightly within. “We’ll send it over for DNA analysis. It should tell us whether the traces are her own or possibly from an assailant.” His tone carried the weight of years of experience; he knew how much hinged on this small but critical piece of evidence.

Hotch’s brow furrowed as he listened, absorbing every detail from the exchange. His gaze sharpened, and with a slight tilt of his head, he caught the attention of the lead forensic analyst nearby. “Do we have any indication of the time of death?” he asked, his tone was low but, though it cut through the quiet of the room.

The analyst looked up from her meticulously detailed notes, her expression neutral. “Based on initial observations of lividity and rigor mortis, along with body temperature readings,” she began, glancing momentarily toward the body before looking back at her notes, “we’re estimating the time of death to fall between midnight and 3 a.m.” She paused, her eyes shifting past him catching a glimpse at the ice lurking just behind Hotch's figure. “The environmental conditions here — specifically the colder temperature — may have impacted these markers slightly, but it’s a preliminary estimate for now. The autopsy should give us a tighter window.”

Her explanation was clinical and precise, yet held a hint of caution, acknowledging the limits of field estimates. Hotch nodded, absorbing the timeline, his mind already beginning to map out the next steps for the investigation.

Hotch nodded. “What about fingerprints?” he asked.

One of the forensic team members held up a clear strip of tape with faint, smeared fingerprints barely visible along its surface. “We’ve found a few partials,” she explained, angling the tape so the faint ridges caught the light. “Some of them are likely hers, based on the positioning and the smudging pattern. But we’ll process every print we find.” Her gaze shifted to the lockers, her expression darkening slightly. “The locker handles were clean, though. Could indicate they were wiped down, or that the unsub wore gloves.”

A subtle tension flickered across Hotch’s face, his jaw tightening as he processed this added complication. The unsub was way too good at what he was doing. “Make sure we document every single print, even if they’re smudged,” he instructed, his voice firm. “Cross-reference them with any recent visitors and staff on-site if possible. If the unsub left anything behind, I want to know about it.”

“Yes, sir.” She gave a quick nod, her focus already shifting back to her work, determined to extract every detail from the fragmented prints. Her gloved hands moved swiftly, preparing the evidence for lab analysis, while Hotch remained positioned in the doorframe, the team meticulously gathered every possible clue they could.

In the corner a photographer worked methodically, the rapid clicks of the camera punctuated the silence as he documented each aspect of the room. He moved from corner to corner, crouching low or stretching upward to capture every angle, pausing now and then to reframe his shots. Each image was a careful study of the crime scene, ensuring nothing went unnoticed, from the faint blood stains on the tile to the scattered belongings and the way the girl's hair lay curled around her head on the floor.

The forensics team operated with an almost mechanical coordination.

Hotch observed them in silence, his gaze sweeping across the room one more time. He absorbed every detail — the overturned bench and the streaked stains on the floor. His sharp, assessing eyes missed nothing, cataloging each point of interest as he mentally reconstructed the events the way they must have unfolded in the dark of the night.

As forensics concluded their initial examination of the scene, one of the technicians approached Hotch quietly. “We’re ready to move the body, Agent Hotchner,” he said.

Hotch gave a solemn nod, his gaze settling on the still shape lying on the tiled floor. Her face held a sense of tranquility that was disturbing, yet almost looked peaceful as she rested in her final slumber.

With careful movements, two technicians knelt beside her, unfolding the heavy-duty, dark body bag — which they'd done many times before. They moved gently, each gesture as respectful as possible, as mindful as possible, trying to preserve whatever dignity remained for her in death. The bag’s fabric unfurled with a soft rustle, and, together, they began the process of transferring her. Hotch’s jaw tightened as he watched, he hated when kids were involved, and even as his mind continued piecing together the puzzle of her final moments, he couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness underneath his gruff exterior.

As they lifted her, carefully sliding her lifeless form into the body bag, Hotch stood by ready to move or help if needed. He too had been here before — many times in fact — bearing witness to scenes of unimaginable loss countless times. But despite the familiarity, despite knowing what to do, it never got easier — especially not when it was someone so young, someone who had barely begun to explore her path.

The technicians zipped the bag shut. The metallic sound sliced through the silence, reverberating through the room like a cold punctuation mark. The air grew heavier, marked by the collective awareness of the body about to be rolled out of the room. They all looked up from what they were doing. The team moved seamlessly, lifting the bag onto the waiting stretcher. They secured the straps, their faces set in concentration.

Hotch walked slowly behind the stretcher, his footsteps echoing in the silence that had fallen over the locker room and that followed them into the arena. As the forensic team guided her toward the exit, other team members paused their work, their heads instinctively bowing as the stretcher passed — a momentary gesture of respect, acknowledging the life now gone.

Near the doorway, a young forensic intern hesitated, her face was pale, and eyes wide as she watched the body being taken away. She looked up at Hotch, clearly shaken as reality settled heavily upon her.

“First time?” Hotch asked quietly in a low murmur meant only for her to hear, it carried a softness that seemed to calm her a little — or at least enough to gain control of her mind.

The intern nodded, swallowing hard, she was unable to shift her gaze from the stretcher. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, her voice ready to break. “It’s…harder than I expected.”

Hotch offered a small, understanding nod, the slightest flicker of empathy breaking through his normally stoic expression. “It always is,” he replied, his tone was gentle — he was always gentle with the new kids on the team. With a subtle reassurance in his gaze, he gestured for her to continue, and together they followed as the stretcher disappeared down the corridor, before being loaded into a van to be taken to the morgue and examined.

Under the bright clinical lights of the morgue, the air was heavy with the pungent scent of formaldehyde. The room was silent only broken by the hum of refrigeration units in the room over, the ticking clock, and the occasional soft echo of footsteps against the floor as the examiner moved around. Hotch and Reid stood on opposite sides of the steel examination table, latex gloves snug on their hands, their expressions furrowed as they took in the white piece of cloth covering the young skater's body.

Across from them, the examiner prepared for the autopsy, his movements slow and methodical as he organized the array of instruments laid out on a sterile tray, each one carefully placed in a specific pattern — one where he knew where all the instruments were without looking. From an outside perspective, he would seem way too calm based on what his job entailed, but he was used to the grim work. He glanced up briefly, acknowledging Hotch and Reid with a quick, silent nod before returning his focus to the tools he would soon wield. A scalpel, forceps, probes — each piece a necessary instrument in the search for the truth.

“Agent Hotchner, Dr. Reid,” he finally greeted. “Thank you for coming down so quickly.”

Hotch acknowledged him with a returning nod, his gaze fixed on the cloth. “I appreciate you starting on this quickly. Time is of the essence.”

With a careful pull, the examiner peeled back the sheet covering the victim, exposing bruises marring her slender arms and faint, reddish discolorations circling her wrists. The ligature marks were evident, indicating that she had been bound at some point. There were signs of what potentially was her final struggle. Hotch’s face remained composed, every line of his expression hardened as he took in the sight before him. For a moment, his gaze softened as he remembered just how young she had been, but he steeled himself, pushing the thoughts aside.

Reid, standing just beside him, held a clipboard with one hand, pen poised as he looked over the notes and findings up until now. His own face was tense, eyes darting from the bruises and ligature marks and back to the notes, adding and cataloging more evidence as he noticed it. But even as his pen moved, Reid’s jaw tightened slightly — he too dwelled on the fact that the girl had passed way too soon.

The examiner reached for a light, adjusting its angle to illuminate the area near the girl’s collarbone, wanting to take a better look while the agents were present. Pausing, he noticed an unusual discoloration — the faintest mark, almost hidden against the pallor of her skin. With careful movements of his hand, he picked up a small magnifying glass on the tray beside him, leaning in to study it more closely. The discoloration suggested a pattern, though the exact cause was unclear. He frowned, examining the delicate skin with increased interest as if it held the key to understanding one more piece of the puzzle.

“I think I’ve found something interesting here.” The examiner’s gloved finger traced a faint, stray strand on her skin, its color and texture distinct against the muted backdrop of her skin. “It’s a fiber. Unusual color and texture, definitely not something standard to the clothing she was wearing when she came in.”

Reid leaned in, tilting his head to get a closer look at the small, off-color thread. Its faint sheen caught the light. “That doesn’t look like any typical textile fiber,” he murmured, his tone thoughtful. “It’s thicker. Possibly synthetic, maybe a blend — something designed to withstand stress or friction. It could indicate that the unsub works in a more labour-heavy setting.” He looked to Hotch as if waiting for a sign of approval. Hotch only nodded, not wanting to interrupt the trail of thoughts and the interaction between Spencer and the examiner.

The examiner too nodded, reaching for a pair of tweezers from his tray, his movements were cautious. “This fiber could tell you a lot, I hope,” he said, gently gripping the strand between the tweezers. “I’ll bag it up as evidence. It’s embedded just slightly in the epidermis here, so there’s a good chance it was transferred from contact not long before her death.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed, watching the careful extraction. “Could this indicate she struggled more than just in her bonds?” he asked, now realizing that the unsub most likely had captured her sometime before killing her — why no one had reported her missing yet was a mystery to him.

“It’s possible,” the examiner replied, sealing the fiber in a clear evidence bag and labeling it. “If this thread belongs to another person’s clothing or equipment, it could lead you to the unsub — or at least tell you more about what happened.”

Reid took a note, writing down the specifics of the fiber’s texture and placement, his mind already racing through the implications. He handed it to Hotch, knowing that he would hand it over to the forensics lab at the academy.

“I’ll have forensics take a closer look once we’re back,” Hotch said.

“The synthetic quality could mean it’s from carpeting, furniture…possibly even a vehicle.” Reid continued his trail of thoughts.

“Or it could have been from someone’s clothing,” Hotch added, brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities. “The fact that it was found near the ligature marks could suggest it was transferred during her restraint.”

The examiner, meanwhile, continued his external examination. “Based on the bruising and the angle of the contusions on her wrists and arms she likely tried to pull away — hence the deep abrasions here,” he said, gesturing to the raw edges of skin around her wrists. “This fiber is probably from whoever or whatever held her down — my best guess is either from hemp rope or possibly heavy-duty work gloves.”

Hotch nodded as he stepped closer, his posture was calm but vigilant. "Anything else you’ve found so far?"

The examiner paused, his gaze shifting to the girl’s head as he gently tilted it, exposing a faint, dried smear near her hairline. His brow furrowed slightly as he focused on the subtle mark. “There’s something here,” he murmured, using a cotton swab to carefully lift a trace of dark, dried blood just above her temple.

Hotch’s attention zeroed in on the spot, eyes narrowing as he absorbed the new detail. “A head wound?”

“Possibly,” the examiner replied, his tone thoughtful. “It’s minor — likely not a fatal blow — but there’s a small, shallow laceration here. Could be from striking a hard surface or perhaps from a mild blow. It’s hard to say definitively just yet, but at most it would've given her a concussion.”

Reid leaned in too, studying the location and nature of the injury. “Since it isn't the primary cause of death. It might have been incidental, meant to disorient her rather than to inflict serious harm.”

The examiner nodded, bagging the swap. “The blood pattern is faint and slightly smeared, suggesting there was some movement afterward — either on her part or by someone else’s hand. If someone else made contact here, there could be trace elements of DNA left behind in the blood.”

Hotch’s expression remained focused. “Let’s be thorough though. Get more samples for DNA and trace analysis on this. If it isn’t her own blood, or if there’s any foreign material, it could lead us to our unsub if there's a match in our databases.”

“Understood,” the examiner replied, giving a confirming nod. “I’ll expedite the sample for lab analysis to ensure I can give you a result as soon as possible.”

Hotch acknowledged him with a quick nod, his gaze lingering on the wound for a moment longer, as though searching for answers. “Good. The smallest details might be what breaks this case open.”

The medical examiner double-checked each detail as Reid handed him back the clipboard, scanning for any remaining traces before closing his laying the board aside and pulling the sheet back over the victim’s body. “Please keep me posted if the lab picks up anything significant on this,” he said, curious about the potential findings. He’d seen far too many cases end here in the morgue, but he never let himself forget the weight of each one.

“We appreciate your cooperation,” he said, his tone neutral but with a hint of respect that wasn’t lost on the examiner. He turned, glancing briefly at Reid, with their work here complete, the two agents made their way to the morgue’s exit, the silence following them like a shadow.

As they stepped into the hallway, their minds were already racing through the next steps. Hotch’s thoughts sifted through the evidence — every cataloged detail, the fiber, blood smear, and head wound — as he considered how it might all connect. Reid, equally focused, was already piecing together possible timelines and scenarios, mentally processing the clues they would present to the team back at Quantico.

Hotch stepped into the sterile atmosphere of the academy’s forensic lab, the evidence bag containing the fiber sample cradled carefully in his hand. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the subtle undertone of other lab chemicals that he couldn't quite recognize. The hum of the equipment provided a low, steady buzz to the air. Across the room, the chief forensic analyst was already preparing for the evidence, her workstation was arranged meticulously with an array of microscopes, testing agents, and delicate tools — each with their own specific use. She turned as Hotch approached, nodding in greeting.

“Agent Hotchner,” she acknowledged, slipping on a fresh pair of latex gloves with a swift, practiced motion — she knew what she was doing. “Let’s take a look at what we’re dealing with.”

Hotch handed over the evidence bag. “This fiber might be our only tangible lead in the case right now,” he said. “We need a full comparative analysis against textile databases — origin, composition, and any trace chemicals — if that is possible. Anything that might narrow down a source or point us in a specific direction.”

The chief's eyes sharpened as she handled the evidence, carefully transferring the fiber to a glass slide beneath the microscope. “Understood. I’ll also run a dye analysis as well. Certain textiles have unique dye markers that can sometimes trace back to a manufacturer if they're trademarked, or even a specific production batch if we’re lucky.”

Hotch crossed his arms, watching as she began the delicate work. “The smallest detail could matter here, I'll take anything I can get” he added. “Even if it’s something as minor as a manufacturing flaw or residue. We have to assume our suspect left this trace unintentionally.”

She nodded, already adjusting the microscope settings to bring the fiber into focus. “If there’s anything out of the ordinary, I'll find it — There's a reason why I'm the chief,” she assured him with a wink, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll flag any anomalies right away.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze locked onto the microscope as if he saw the magnified fiber as well. The step might've seemed minute, but he knew that solving cases with an unsub this meticulous, this organized often hung on such tiny fragments — one thread could lead to a name, a place, or even the dismantling of an alibi.

He watched closely, the weight of the investigation resting heavily on his shoulders — he couldn't help but think about you and your competition. “Would a spectrograph reveal any pollutants?” he asked, his brow furrowed with thought. “If the fiber originated from an industrial source, we might find trace chemical signatures that could narrow it down.”

The analyst glanced up at him, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Look at you being all scientific,” she teased, her eyes bright with amusement. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Aaron.”

He allowed himself a brief smile. “I dabbled a bit with science back in college. Mostly the parts that sounded impressive.” The subtle warmth in his voice added a slight levity to the otherwise grim circumstances of their meeting.

“Well, your instincts are spot-on,” she replied, preparing the sample under a high-powered microscope. “A spectrographic analysis will absolutely tell us if there’s anything unusual, down to certain chemical markers. But we’ll have to account for any contamination from trace elements or DNA that might have come from the locker room.”

Hotch nodded his focus back on the fiber.

The analyst’s gaze sharpened as she brought the fiber into view, her hands moving quickly. “I’ll start with the dye signature, then run it through spectrographic imaging to see if the fiber picked up any industrial pollutants or specific residue.” She adjusted the settings on her microscope.

As she initiated the spectrographic analysis, Hotch held his breath, watching as the machine began scanning the fiber for any unique chemical compositions. The wait was agonizing; they were so close to potentially finding a lead, but with every second, uncertainty loomed larger.

Finally, a series of lines and peaks appeared on the monitor, and the chief leaned in, her eyes scanning the data. After a few moments, she exhaled softly and turned to Hotch. “Here’s the initial breakdown. The fibers are cotton-based but treated with a blend of chemicals typically found in weather-resistant clothing — mostly silicon compounds. There’s also an unidentified polymer, likely synthetic.” As Reid suggested, Hotch thought as the chief spoke.

Hotch’s brow furrowed, leaning in to examine the data on the screen. “Weather-resistant… that could suggest outdoor clothing. Can we pinpoint anything more specific?”

The analyst tapped her pen against the screen, her gaze locked on the data. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. The trace polymer we’re seeing isn’t exclusive. It could be used in a variety of jackets or even upholstery fabrics or gloves. The compounds are common enough in the industry that they don’t carry any unique markers. No region-specific elements or manufacturer identifiers.”

Hotch let out a quiet sigh, disappointment settling into his expression. “So, we’re looking at something mass-produced, nothing that singles out a specific item or brand.” If he had been alone he would've groaned in frustration. It couldn't be right that the unsub was this good at hiding his steps.

She nodded. “Yes. The chemical makeup is generic — common to a lot of brands of clothing, even some household items. The polymer itself is low-grade, suggesting that it isn't high-end manufacturing.”

“Then we’re back to square one on the fiber — and the rest of the case. What about cross-contamination?" Hotch straightened, taking a steadying breath. "Could these fibers have transferred from something in the rink itself?”

“It’s a possibility,” she confirmed. “Without a stronger match, we can’t rule out incidental transfer. The results are too generalized to tie back to the crime scene directly.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “For now. But I’ll keep running a few more tests. Sometimes, even the smallest variable can reveal more than we expect. I'll call if I find anything”

“Thank you,” Hotch said finally, forcing himself to maintain his composure. “I appreciate your help.”

As Hotch left the lab, the weight of disappointment settled heavily on his shoulders. The investigation had hit another wall, and frustration churned within him, though he refused to let it slow him down. There had to be something they were missing, some angle or piece of evidence that could be uncovered. He made his way back to his office, his footsteps echoing through the halls.

The familiar scent of paper files and polished wood greeted him as he entered. He closed the door with a soft click locking it behind him. With a deep sigh, he sank into his chair, its worn leather shaped by years of use. He leaned back in it, pinching the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to ease the tension pounding in his head.

Images from the crime scene replayed in his mind — the young girl, then they shifted to the sight of Branson at your place, then to Leah and the way you'd been shocked out of your mind. His protective instincts instantly roared to life, as always, but this time, they went beyond just the need to catch the unsub. He thought of you, your bright spirit and dedication to skating, your commitment to make it through your competitions as you chased your Olympic dreams.

You were so focused, so passionate, your every move on the ice fueled by ambition and hard work. But now, with you becoming the focal point of the unsub more and more, a dark, gnawing fear had taken root in him — a fear that the unsub might reach you too — sooner than he would like to think about.

He clenched his fists. You had come so far and still had so much to achieve. The thought of any harm coming your way made him all the more determined to solve the case. Hotch knew he couldn’t afford to let his worry show, not to you, not to anyone. But in the privacy of his office, he allowed himself a brief moment to feel the weight of it.

Then, steeling himself, he reached for the files on his desk, flipping through them. The hunt wasn’t over — not by a long shot — even if he had to move back to square one. He would find a lead, no matter how deeply it was buried, and ensure that no more dreams were shattered by this unsub.

The thought of forbidding you from competing in sectionals churned relentlessly in his mind, a constant tug-of-war between his professional duty and personal feelings. He knew it would be wrong — he knew that. You had worked too hard and sacrificed too much for this opportunity to let fear dictate your choices now. “It could ruin her career,” he whispered under his breath. The thought struck him like a cold punch to the gut. He could almost hear your voice in his mind — your tone sharp, frustrated, defiant — if he even dared suggest such a thing to you.

Yet the risks were undeniable. You were vulnerable, and he could not ignore that. The idea of you stepping onto the ice now felt like a potential battleground. There were so many ways the unsub could get to you without even touching you — even under the competition. The thought sent a shiver crawling down his spine, tightening the knot in his chest. "It’s my mess to take care of," he thought bitterly, gripping the edge of his desk as if it might anchor him to something stable.

Hotch leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers digging into the wood as he fought his internal battle. He could picture you clearly in his mind — poised and ready to compete, the determination in your eyes — he admired that strength. Then bang and you were injured — maybe even dead — he couldn't let that happen.

“What if something happens?” The thought refused to leave him. His mind cycled through every worst-case scenario he could think of, each one worse than the last — poison, stabbed, shot — everything he had seen in previous cases resurfaced in his mind. What if you were caught off guard, what if the unsub found a way to exploit your vulnerability, what if he couldn’t protect you in time?

But he couldn’t stop you. He couldn’t ask you to stop. You had worked too hard, and the truth was, he didn’t want to see you give up on what you loved, what you were meant to do. The decision wasn’t just about your safety; it was about respecting the very thing that made you who you were. And so, Hotch wrestled with that truth, torn between wanting to protect you and knowing that your fight was your own to face. As he sat there, the silence of his office pressing in on him, he knew there was no easy answer. No matter what, he would be caught in the middle — between keeping you safe and letting you live your life.

Finally, an idea began to form — a temporary solution, at least. “I could put her under surveillance,” Hotch mused aloud, the thought offering a small, yet comforting flicker of reassurance. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a way to keep you safe without completely stripping you of your passion. He could allow you to focus on sectionals, and stay in the game, while keeping a close eye on you, just in case. “Just until after sectionals. After that, I can reevaluate,” he decided, more to himself than anyone else.

But as the plan settled into his mind, a new wave of dread washed over him. The thought of confronting you with this idea felt almost unbearable. He could already see the fallout in his mind — the arguments, the anger, the disappointment. He could hear your voice, it was sharp and accusatory: “You’re treating me like a child, Hotch!” The imagined words cut through him. He knew you would feel betrayed and suffocated by his overprotectiveness.

He didn’t want to do that to you. He didn’t want to take away your autonomy, your ability to make your own decisions. But the reality was, he couldn’t stand the thought of you being in harm’s way, not with everything that had happened. The idea of surveillance seemed like a compromise, something temporary to bridge the gap between your safety and your dreams, but it was a fine line to walk. He or another agent would be hovering in the background, trying to protect you without making you feel like you were being controlled.

But it was a necessary risk. He had to do something — he couldn’t sit back and hope for the best. He couldn’t let you go into the rink, into the unknown, without some kind of safeguard.

With a deep sigh, Hotch leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace before having to confront you. He could only hope that when the time came to explain himself, you would understand. He was doing this for you, to protect you.

Hotch took a deep breath, bracing himself for the conversation. He had anticipated this moment all day and knew it would be difficult, but now that it was here, the weight of it pressed down on him harder than he’d expected. The silence in his office felt suffocating, as though the walls themselves were closing in. He glanced at the clock — time was slipping away, and he could no longer put off the inevitable. The longer he waited, the harder it would be.

With a reluctant sigh, he reached for the phone on his desk, his fingers feeling heavier than usual as he dialed your number. His heart was thudding in his chest, the pulse loud in his ears as the rings echoed through the line.

“Hotch?” she answered, he could hear the curiosity in her voice.

His grip tightened on the phone, trying to steady himself. “Can you come to my office?” he replied, keeping his tone as neutral as possible, though it still carried a weight that he hadn’t intended. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

He could feel the shift in the air as your breath caught slightly on the other end. You didn’t respond immediately, and in that silence, he knew you were already picking up on his tension. Your voice, when it came, was a little more cautious. “Is it about the case?” you asked, a slight sense of anxiety creeping into your tone.

“Yes,” he confirmed. He closed his eyes for a moment before speaking again. “Just come to my office.”

He could hear you hesitate for a second, and he braced for the inevitable questions you would ask once you arrived. He didn’t have all the answers yet, and he wasn’t sure how to explain everything without making it worse. "I’ll be waiting," he added quietly, hanging up before you could say anything more, before you could protest.

As the silence settled in the room, Hotch couldn’t shake the feeling that this conversation was going to be just the beginning of something far more difficult.

An hour later, there was a soft knock at the door, and Hotch gestured for you to enter. You stepped inside. He could see the weariness in your eyes, the toll of the recent events, and the weight of your training settling in your features. You were trying to hide it, but he knew the stress was wearing you thin.

"Sit down," he instructed, motioning to the chair opposite his desk. You did so without protest, dumping your skating bag beside the chair and folding your arms tightly across your chest as if to shield yourself from what was coming. The way your posture stiffened told him that you sensed the gravity of the conversation already.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice shifting to a more defensive tone as if bracing for impact.

Hotch took a deep breath, leaning forward, his hands clasped tightly together. “I’ve been thinking about your safety,” he started slowly, his voice steady but laced with the concern he had been holding in. “About the upcoming sectionals. Given what happened… with Leah and the others, I’ve decided to put you under 24/7 surveillance until after the competition. An agent will be with you at all times”

Your eyes widened in disbelief, and you immediately shook your head. “What? Hotch, you can’t be serious. You’re going to treat me like I’m a child? I can take care of myself!” The frustration in your voice was unmistakable, the words barely containing the anger that was building inside you.

“This isn’t about treating you like a child,” Hotch countered, trying to keep his tone calm — raising his voice at you wouldn't help his case, you'd just get more frustrated. He leaned forward slightly as if hoping the distance between you could be bridged by his sincerity. “You’re in a vulnerable position right now. I can’t risk losing you too.”

“Risk losing me?” you shot back, your voice rising. “I’m not going to let fear control my life! I have sectionals in just a few days. I need to train!” The frustration boiled over, your fists clenching in your lap as you fought to keep your composure. “I can’t just stop everything because of some… some threat that may not even be about me!”

Hotch’s jaw tightened as he met your gaze. He could see the defiance in your eyes. “I understand how important sectionals are to you, but this isn’t just a threat — someone was murdered — several people were murdered, and it’s your world and community that’s been disrupted.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but Hotch pressed on, his voice more commanding now. “I’m sending Agent Anderson with you to the rink to ensure your safety while you train. You can’t be alone right now.”

“Agent Anderson?” you exclaimed, disbelief written all over your face. “You’re sending a babysitter? This is ridiculous! I’m not some damsel in distress, Hotch!” Your voice cracked slightly, frustration and embarrassment flooding through you. How could he even think you needed someone else to look after you? You had worked too hard, fought too long to be treated like this.

“Stop! Just stop!” he snapped, his calm demeanor finally breaking as his frustration seeped through. The sharpness in his voice took you off guard, but it also made something inside you tighten. “I’m trying to protect you. I can’t let you lose anyone else or yourself, and I refuse to sit back and do nothing. You may not like it, but this is the best option we have right now.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but the words felt like they were stuck. Instead, you turned your head, looking anywhere but at him. The heat of anger was still there, but now there was a dull ache in your chest — a mix of hurt and confusion. He wasn’t supposed to treat you like this. You had always been able to handle things on your own, but now he was making you feel small.

The silence stretched on until you finally spoke, your voice quieter but still carrying your disapproval of the situation. “You don’t trust me,” you whispered, the accusation hanging in the air between you two. “You think I can’t handle this on my own.”

Hotch’s features softened slightly, his jaw unclenching a little as if he were trying to find the right words. “That’s not it,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I trust you more than anyone, but right now, I have to prioritize your safety above all else. Please try to understand.”

You took a deep breath, your shoulders slumping as if the weight of the conversation had drained the fight out of you. “Fine. But this doesn’t mean I agree with it,” you said, your voice low, but firm. “I’ll still train, and I’ll still do my best at sectionals. You can’t take that away from me.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but there was no way you were going to let this be the thing that stopped you.

Hotch’s face softened almost in a grin, but there was an edge of tension still present. “Of course,” he said, his voice carrying a note of relief. “Just know that this isn’t forever. It’s temporary until we figure something else out.”

You nodded. “I just hope you know what you’re doing,” you muttered, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you give in completely. With that, you stood up, turning toward the door, the space between you now thick with tension.

As you stepped out, you could feel Hotch’s gaze on your back. It lingered like an echo, reminding you that the conflict wasn’t resolved — even if it hadn't been much of a conflict — it was just postponed for now. You didn’t know what he thought, but the way he’d tried to control everything, to keep you safe in a way that felt suffocating, made you question everything between you two.

As you walked away, you couldn't shake the feeling that this decision — however well-meaning — might only push you further into the isolation the unsub so desperately wanted.

As you stepped onto the ice, the familiar chill wrapped around you, though it was a comforting feeling today it felt sharper, cutting through to your core. The vivid colors of your outfit and the music that filled the arena felt muted. Each time your skates carved into the ice, the sound seemed louder, the harsh scrape was a reminder of everything that had changed lately.

You took a steadying breath, letting the air settle in your lungs, and began your warm-up routine. Starting with long, smooth glides, you pushed off the boards, your skates cutting steady lines into the newly resurfaced ice. The rhythmic sound of your blades gliding over the surface brought back a semblance of peace to your mind. Leaning into each movement, you transitioned into a series of spirals, stretching one leg behind you in a graceful arc, the wind catching your hair as you moved. For a moment, you felt a whisper of that old freedom — the joy in every graceful turn.

Building confidence with each lap, you shifted into more complex elements. First came a simple jump, the toe pick of your skate pressing firmly into the ice as you gathered momentum, launching yourself into the air. The split second of weightlessness was a welcome escape, the rush of adrenaline momentarily lifting you out of your grief. Tucking in tight, you spun, your muscles were tense but controlled, before landing cleanly, your other skate gliding effortlessly across the ice. For a moment, you felt normal again, almost powerful.

But as you completed the jump, that feeling faded, and a wave of sadness crashed back over you. Leah’s face filled your mind, her laugh, her smile, her quiet strength. She had been by your side through so much, always pushing you to be better, to reach higher. You could almost feel her presence. You blinked back the sting of tears, shaking off the encroaching sorrow, and continued, determined to reclaim this space for yourself, for her memory.

With each subsequent jump — an axel, a lutz, then a loop — you pushed yourself harder, landing each one. Your focus narrowed, muscles tightening with every leap as you worked to perfect the technique, to perfect your routine. The burn in your legs somehow fueled you, pushing you to keep going, to drive past the exhaustion. As you soared through a series of triple salchows, the rush of adrenaline surged as you rotated in the air.

But in the midst of your routine, a nagging sensation prickled at the edge of your attention, distracting you. You glanced quickly toward the bleachers, where Agent Anderson sat, his expression stone-faced, his eyes trained on you as if analyzing your every movement. A small notebook rested on his lap, and he was scribbling something, like he was documenting your performance — or worse, assessing your vulnerabilities while on the ice, or perhaps he was simply just working on a case file. The sight of him made your stomach twist.

His presence felt intrusive, as though you were under suspicion rather than simply preparing for the biggest competition of the year thus far. The thought lingered, you knew he was there for your safety, but the constant watch felt more like you were an animal in a zoo, caged in and made to be looked at all day.

You gritted your teeth, forcing the irritation aside. This was your space — your life. Taking a steadying breath, you centered yourself, tightening your core as you began a flawless spin, willing yourself to shut out Anderson.

You moved into your footwork sequence, letting each step flow seamlessly into the next. Your arms lifted gracefully above your head, your fingers reaching out as though drawing shapes in the air, feeling every nuance of the music.

Each movement was deliberate, transitions crisp as you executed twizzles and turns, your skates cutting patterns into the ice. You spun into a series of twirls, your body bending and stretching, almost like you were telling a story of your resilience, of elegance. But as you moved into a complicated turn, the ache surged, a reminding you of what — and who — you’d lost. The pain broke your focus for a moment, and you stumbled, your blade catching awkwardly, the balance slipping. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Anderson rise to his feet.

A flash of frustration rose, but you took a steadying breath. “Focus,” you murmured under your breath, forcing the emotion aside as you squared your shoulders, your determination flaring stronger. You weren’t just here to skate; you were here to win.

You transitioned smoothly into a series of spins, starting with a sit spin, your body lowering gracefully toward the ice, your extended leg forming a perfect line as you balanced precariously close to the cold surface.

As you twirled, snow forming on the ice beneath you, reality clawed its way back. A shiver ran through you, a cold that had nothing to do with the rink.

But you refused to let it hold you back. Pouring every ounce of your energy and frustration into your routine, you launched into a series of edge jumps, each leap a desperate attempt to shake the memories clinging to you. Yet, even at the height of each jump, you couldn’t fully escape the void left in Leah’s absence, the hollow space where her encouragement and guidance had once been.

As you landed one final, breathtaking jump, your skates hit the ice with grace, but the effort had taken its toll. The familiar satisfaction of a well-executed move was overshadowed by an exhaustion that settled deep into your bones. You slowed to a stop, catching your breath.

Your gaze drifted back to the edge of the rink where Agent Anderson was once again sat down, watching intently. "I don’t need a babysitter", you mumbled to yourself, your fists clenching at your sides.

With a sharp exhale, you forced yourself to unclench your fists, shaking your hands in an attempt to get the frustration out while also trying to channel the frustration and turn it into determination. You were stronger than this, stronger than the unsub.

As much as you resented being watched, a small part of you understood why it was necessary. But understanding didn’t mean you had to like it. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself of sectionals just days away.

Pushing yourself away from the boards and gliding across the ice, your movements started to lose their rhythm, slipping beneath the weight of your swirling thoughts. The cold stung your cheeks. Each slice of your blade seemed to echo with the whispers that had taken root in your mind since Leah’s death.

You missed the familiar faces of fellow skaters who’d once been your companions on the ice.

The absence of the camaraderie you'd been used to felt like a wall being built between you and everyone else. Where there had been smiles and encouragement, there was now distance. You couldn’t shake the feeling that they saw you differently now, that they might resent you for being allowed at the Pavilion.

The thought gnawed at you. “What if I can’t do this?” The words grew louder with each second in your head, intensifying the pressure that had already settled on your shoulders. You had trained relentlessly for this moment, dedicating countless hours to perfecting your routine. But now, after everything, the stakes felt impossibly high.

“What if I freeze out there? What if I can’t remember the routine?” The questions spiraled out of control, your heartbeat thundering in response. You could almost hear the judges’ cold, detached evaluations in your mind, the faint, disapproving murmurs that you imagined would follow each imperfection, and the unbelievably low score. "You’re not good enough. You’ll never make it to the Olympics. You’re a failure.” The wave of self-doubt coiled around your thoughts like a serpent, its grip tightening until each breath felt labored and heavy.

Your legs felt as though they were weighed down, every movement lacking grace. As you practiced your transitions, the fluidity you were known for seemed lost, each step feeling clumsy, awkward — like you were a mere shadow of the skater you’d once been, a puppet with tangled strings.

The rink felt big — too big. But even as doubt loomed, a stubborn part of you refused to give up, whispering that Leah wouldn’t want your downfall. That voice — her voice — faint but persistent, was all you had to cling to.

Pushing through the anxiety, you attempted a series of jumps, each leap feeling more strained than the last. “What if I fall?” The thought replayed, like a mantra of failure, taunting you as you launched into the air. You twisted and landed, but the moment was overshadowed by the wobble on your feet. You could almost hear Leah’s voice, telling you to believe in yourself, to not let everything that had happened affect you.

You glided to the edge of the rink, each breath escaping in shaky gasps as you leaned against the boards, desperate for a rescue from the storm brewing within you.

Your gaze drifted across the empty seats of the pavilion, rows of silence witnesses to countless practices, moments of triumph, and hours spent. A creeping thought tightened your chest: would the judges see you as the skater you were, or would they see only the girl who’d lost her coach just days before? Would they pity you? Or worse, dismiss you and tell you to check your dreams for another 4 years?

The thought wrapped around you, squeezing until you could barely breathe. For a moment, the idea of giving up flickered in your mind, tempting you with the promise of relief. But as quickly as that thought emerged, it also disappeared. It wouldn't be right — you couldn't let everyone gone down. They had believed in you — the little girl had even looked up to you — it wouldn't be fair.

You took a breath, clutching onto the boards. “I need to do this,” you murmured softly. Leah had taught you to be strong, to fight through the pain. You straightened up. This wasn’t just for you. It was for her — for them. And for the part of you that still believed you could rise above.

With renewed resolve, you pushed away from the boards, breathing in the sharp chill of the rink. The air filled your lungs, fueling the embers within you. Just as you prepared yourself for another round on the ice, the familiar rhythm of your skates was interrupted by the sound of a commotion near the rink’s entrance. Curious, you turned around and glanced over — and your heart skipped a beat.

There, bursting through the door, were Emily, JJ, and Garcia, the girls who had quickly become your friends away from the ice. Their arrival felt like a burst of color, piercing through the melancholic atmosphere.

“Hey, superstar!” Garcia’s voice rang out, full of enthusiasm, her words echoing across the empty seats. Her smile warmed you from across the ice, and in that moment, the weight you’d been carrying felt just a bit lighter. She waved with her signature flair, wrapped in layers of sequins that sparkled under the lights. Emily and JJ followed closely behind, grinning widely as they shrugged off their jackets, each of them exuding their own unique sense of support. JJ’s warm smile and Emily’s confident nod made your heart swell with gratitude; they were here to back you up, even in a world as foreign to them as figure skating.

Agent Anderson, relieved of his duties as your guard, stepped aside, a faint, amused smile playing on his face as he watched the trio claim their place by the rink. "I'll just be over here," he said with a nod.

“Show us what you’ve got!” Emily’s voice boomed with encouragement. “We’re here to watch you shine!”

You felt your lips curve into a smile, a real, genuine smile, as their support radiated through you. The rink felt brighter, as if a spotlight had turned on just for you, illuminating not only the ice but also the path that lay ahead.

Drawing a deep breath, you embraced the sense of purpose they had reignited within you. You pushed off, lapping once around the rink before settling into your routine.

As you launched into a sequence of jumps — an axel followed by a lutz —their cheers filled the air, urging you onward. Every leap felt lighter, every rotation more effortless. “Yes! That’s it! Beautiful!” JJ shouted, her voice resonating with genuine admiration, her pride reaching across the ice and pulling you higher.

The harmony of their voices intertwined with the soft sound of your blades, created a symphony of support and motivation. With each graceful movement, you felt yourself shedding the weight of self-doubt, the warmth of friendship allowing you to reach further, leap higher, and embrace the freedom you had been missing.

You glanced over at them, catching Garcia’s enthusiastic dance as she tried to mimic your moves, her playful antics making you chuckle mid-performance.

With each pass, you became more attuned to your body, your confidence growing as you executed your routine with precision. You attempted a particularly difficult combination, your heart racing as you soared into the air, the cold whipping around you as you twisted and spun, landing cleanly on the ice with a flourish.

“Stunning!” Emily exclaimed, her eyes wide with admiration. “You’re going to blow everyone away at sectionals!”

You rounded the rink one last time, the rhythm of your skates guiding you into the final stretch of your routine. The anticipation built in your chest as you prepared for the last element, the triple axel — a jump that always felt like a leap into the unknown, both thrilling and terrifying. It was so easy to mess up. You'd aced it a few times while training with Branson, but he had always been on the ice with you, ready to catch you before you'd injure yourself. Now you were all alone.

You focused, blocking out everything around you, channeling the energy and support from your friends.

With a deep breath, you launched yourself into the air, your body soaring upwards in a fluid arc. The world below you seemed to blur, the only sound was the rush of wind against your cheeks. Time stretched — almost in slow motion — in those precious moments as you spun, feeling the freedom of flight before you landed, your blades gripping the ice perfectly. The impact resonated through your body, and as you completed the jump, you transitioned seamlessly into the final glide of your routine.

You'd done it.

You came to a graceful stop in front the girls, a triumphant smile spreading across your face as their cheers erupted like confetti around you. “That was incredible!” JJ shouted, her voice full of excitement as she clapped enthusiastically.

“Seriously, you nailed whatever that jump thing was! I can’t believe how perfect it was!” Emily added, her eyes shining.

Garcia was practically bouncing on her feet, a grin plastered across her face as she whistled loudly, her admiration filling the air. Her boundless enthusiasm spurred you on, a rush of joy surging through you with every cheer. As you skated toward the boards, exhaustion tugged at your limbs, your muscles aching from the day's session — but it was overshadowed by the accomplishment and satisfaction that now flowed through you.

“Come here!” you called out, reaching over the boards, unable to contain the grin spreading across your face. They immediately leaned in to meet you, laughter bubbling up as they pulled you into a warm, tight embrace. The moment you crossed that threshold, you felt their arms wrap around you, their combined warmth and excitement creating a cocoon around you. You melted into the hug, the weight of the past weeks lifting as you basked in the simple joy of their presence.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this!” Garcia’s voice was muffled, but her excitement was unmistakable as she hugged you even tighter. “You’re going to absolutely crush it at sectionals!”

“Thanks, you guys,” you managed, stepping back just slightly to catch your breath, a laugh escaping as you took in their encouraging faces. “I really needed this today. I was honestly starting to worry I wouldn’t be able to do it without Coach. But you all…” You paused, swallowing down the emotions that threatened to surface. “You all reminded me why I started in the first place.”

Emily’s hand found your shoulder, giving it a firm but gentle squeeze. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said, her voice steady and sincere. “Branson would be so proud of you.”

The words settled over you, filling the spaces left by grief in your heart “Let’s do this,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.

“Of course!” JJ said, her smile soft. “But enough about ice skating for now. Tonight, we want you to wind down and just relax!”

“Wait, what?” you asked, eyebrows raising as curiosity sparked. You glanced around at their mischievous expressions, trying to piece together their plan.

“It was all Garcia’s idea,” Emily said, throwing her hands up in defense before nudging Garcia with a playful smirk. Garcia responded with an exaggerated look of innocence, placing a hand over her heart in mock sincerity.

“What? I just thought you deserved a little fun to shake off the nerves before sectionals! You’ve been working so hard, and we’ve seen the toll it’s taken.” She grinned, unable to hold back her excitement. “So, we’re taking you out! Girls’ night, no skating, no stress — just good vibes to celebrate how amazing you are.”

You felt your heart swell with a mixture of gratitude and surprise. “You guys really don’t have to do that. I should probably be focused on practice…”

“Nope, no arguments,” JJ cut in with her mom voice, her expression firm but light. “We’re going out, and you’re coming with us. You’ve earned a break, and a little downtime will do wonders for your headspace!”

A small, delighted sigh escaped you as you finally gave in, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Okay, okay. I guess I can spare a night for some fun.”

“Perfect! I’ll grab the music, and we’re hitting the town!” Garcia clapped her hands, running as fast as she could to the electrical cabinet where your phone lay connected to the speakers.

The rest of you gathered your things. You quickly wiped your blades before you slipped the guards and soakers on them. Together, you headed out into the night, anticipation filling the air.

The lively atmosphere of the bar enveloped you the moment you stepped inside. Laughter mingled with the upbeat music. Dim lights cast a warm glow over the wooden tables, and the scent of pub food wafted through the air, making your stomach rumble. You had decided to forgo alcohol for the evening, opting instead for water. After all, with sectionals just around the corner, the last thing you needed was to jeopardize your focus.

As the four of you settled into a booth, the girls wasted no time in ordering drinks — JJ on the fruity cocktail, Emily opted for a beer, and Garcia excitedly picked a colorful drink that looked more like a dessert than a beverage. You watched them with a smile, feeling a sense of ease wash over you. It felt good to be surrounded by supportive females who genuinely wanted to hang out with you, not out of duty or competition.

“Okay, let’s make a toast!” Emily declared, raising her glass, her voice rising above the music. “To our girl, who just nailed that triple axel thing!”

“To Y/N!” JJ echoed, her eyes sparkling as she clinked her glass against Emily’s and Garcia’s. You felt a warm flush creep across your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. It was refreshing to hear such genuine cheers, compared to the competitive banter you often faced in the skating community.

Garcia leaned across the table, her energy radiating as she leaned in to ask, “So, tell us about your routine! What are you most excited about for sectionals?”

You took a sip of your soda, gathering your thoughts. “Honestly, I’m excited to show everyone what I can do. I’ve worked so hard this season, but it’s also nerve-wracking. I’ve been worried about performing without Branson… it just feels different.”

“Of course, it does,” JJ said, her voice softening. “But remember, you have all of us and the boys behind you. You’re not alone in this.”

“I know, it really helps to have you guys here,” you admitted. “Most of the friends I have in skating are also my competitors, so it can be… complicated. It’s nice to finally relax around girls who aren’t competing with me for once.”

Emily nodded, a knowing smile on her face. “It’s easy to feel isolated, especially when everyone is focused on their own goals. But this — this is what real friendship looks like.” She grinned, making big arm movements.

You chuckled, feeling lighter as you realized how true that was. “Yeah, it’s refreshing. I didn’t realize how much I needed a night like this until now.”

Garcia reached across the table, squeezing your hand in hers. “We’re here for the laughs, the late-night talks, and everything in between. No competition here, just support.”

The night continued with playful banter, stories of past competitions, and laughter that echoed through the bar. You found yourself sharing more than you ever anticipated, recounting the challenges you faced, the triumphs you celebrated, and the absurd moments that made you laugh out loud.

As the evening wore on, you all decided to hit the dance floor. The pulsating music drew you in, and before you knew it, you were twirling around with Garcia, while Emily and JJ joined in with playful dance moves. The laughter was infectious, filling the air with a sense of freedom that made the weight of your worries seem miles away.

You may not have been drinking, but in that moment, surrounded by friends who genuinely cared, you felt like you were celebrating life itself. The joy of being part of something bigger, of finding a sense of belonging, lifted you higher than any jump or spin ever could. You danced until your feet ached, savoring every moment, knowing that the bonds you were building tonight would carry you through the challenges that lay ahead.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @reidluv3 @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi

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rikisniffles · 2 months ago

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chapter fifteen[西村力] my first love was a boy ✧ NISHIMURA RIKI (NI-KI) X M!READER

SYNOPSIS — l/n y/n is a member of boynextdoor under hybe/koz. being an idol has always been y/n's dream, and ever since it became true he has been more than happy. despite being an idol, he doesn't know many other idols outside his group. when he runs into his seniors, a seemingly never-ending spiral of embarrassing moments occurs.

disclaimer !! : every idol in my stories is a character and does not always reflect the actual person (i do my best but for entertainment purposes, it may be off)

— fic masterlist / info

chapter fifteen - personal melatonin

warning: written part (1.1K), kinda angsty but not too much ni-ki just tired

You stand outside of Ni-ki's shared dorm, a plastic bag in your hand as you fidget with the other one. You have half the mind to knock politely, but you didn't want to wake up the rest of the apartment. You could text Ni-ki, but you already told him to leave the door unlocked. You internally punch yourself for overthinking.

After some internal hyping up, you turn the door handle quietly. It was unlocked. You hold your breath as you take a peek inside.

Most of the lights were off, save for the dim hallway light. Anxiety fills you as you realize you've never been in Ni-ki's room. All the doors were closed... and you had no idea which one was his. You stand cluelessly in the hallway. Your grip on the bag tightens.

A door opens from the hallway slowly. You expect it to be Ni-ki, but it's someone shorter.

Jay stumbles out of his room, running his fingers through his messy hair. His face contorts in confusion, standing up straight as he looks at you. He crosses his arms and leans against the door frame.

"You okay, Y/n?" He asked, looking down at the plastic bag in your hand.

You nod, "Where's Ni-ki's room?"

"Uh..." He blinks, pointing down the hall, "Right there. I think he's asleep—"

"I was just talking to him." You shrug, "Thank you." You bow, heading towards his room.

"Hey," Jay stops you. You turn around to listen better. "Not too late, okay? We got a full schedule tomorrow."

You nod politely, taking his words into account. He could've kicked you out, scolded you for being here so late, or got mad for waking him up. But he didn't. He knows Ni-ki is old enough to make his own decisions.

You open the bedroom door slowly, peeking your head in. You enter fully when you make eye contact with Ni-ki, who sits upright in his bed. He paused scrolling on his phone to smile at you.

"I brought food." You hold up the plastic bag, and his face drops.

"You didn't have to."

"I'd feel rude if I showed up with only something for myself." You step into the room, closing the door. "Eat it or don't, save it for later." You place the bag on the small table in the middle of the room. Ni-ki stands up, rubbing his eyes and taking a seat on his small couch.

You take the spot next to him, your legs brushing against each other. Ni-ki tells you about his day, telling you about practice and the rest of his full schedule. You reply back with your more lenient but still stressful schedule. With the whole comeback happening, you could really use a break like this. You loved your members, but being around the same six people every day could get tiring.

Ni-ki eats about half of his food before putting his utensils down and leaning back on the couch. "You okay?" You question, mirroring his actions.

"Tired." He rubs his eyes again.

You chuckle, reaching out to move the hair from his face. "I didn't have to come over, y'know?"

"I didn't want to waste my free time." He leans into your touch, opening his eyes to look at you. You crumble completely under his gaze. He notices this as you take your hand away. He leans his head further into the couch and pouts, "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?" You respond. He sighs, his body sinking into the couch and closing his eyes. He ignored you.

"This couch is only comfortable when you're sitting..." He complains, stretching his back out as it cracks.

“That’s because you’re a giant with a small couch.” You roll your eyes with a chuckle.

“Don’t be mean.” He groans. His body falls against yours, leaning his weight on you. He bends to reach his head on your shoulder. It’s clear he’s not that comfortable. Despite that, he wants to be near you.

The muffled “I missed you.” confirms this. Ni-ki thought this went unheard, not bothering to repeat himself out of embarrassment. You heard it though, looking away as heat rises to your cheeks.

You clear your throat, “You should get some sleep.”

“No, no—” He sits up in a panic, “I’m awake, I can turn on the playstation, or we can just sit and talk—”

“Relax!” His shoulders fall as you place a comforting but stern hand on them. He sighs again as you talk, “You just need rest, Ki. You look exhausted.”

“I—” He pauses, “Yeah, I am.” He admits, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands. He rubs his temples with his fingers.

He freezes when you place a hand on his back, circling it with your palm.

“I’m tired too.” You sympathize, “I can’t get any sleep at home... Woonhak snores.” You half-joke. He does… loud. You can usually ignore it.

Ni-ki laughs, relaxing once again under your touch, “I don’t snore... You could always stay here.”

You remove your hand, caught off guard by the idea of a sleepover. Not just any sleepover, a sleepover proposed to you by your guy friend and hardcore crush.

And Ni-ki lied, he does snore.

Ni-ki was out almost instantly, like you were his personal melatonin. Like he had waited his whole life for you to just lay down next to him.

Despite your anxiety telling you to run far away from this situation, you decided to stay. Laying atop your friend's bed as stiff as a board, while he had squeezed himself closer to the wall to allow you more room. Only, it’s not easy sharing a bed made for one person with someone as tall as him. And someone who moves as much as him...

Even though you were facing the other way, you could feel him shift behind you. His snoring you could deal with; it wasn’t as loud as Woonhaks... and you didn’t want to admit you found it kind of endearing coming from him.

As you started drifting, a weight was placed against your waist. Your eyes shoot open in a panic as the soft weight turned to pressure around your body. You piece together your situation as your thoughts become less jumbled.

Ni-ki wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your back closer to his chest. He buries his head into your neck, inhaling sharply and then sighing against your skin. The sensation of his breath against your skin creates goosebumps as you shiver. Soon he lifts a leg over your body, completely trapping you in his grasp.

Your heart races, feeling a bit nauseous over the situation. You had a feeling this would happen. You heard he used to cuddle people in his sleep from his hyungs, who used that fact to embarrass him. However, he claimed he no longer did that. Guess he lied about that too.

Your heart rate slows down after a few minutes of anxiety. Exhaustion overtakes any other emotion you have. You fall into sleep, completely overtaken by Ni-ki's warmth and comfort.

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— koki's note ★ ; will be posting more consistent soon, i havent wrote anything in a while so i need yall to be paitent with me... anyways enjoy this sweet little chapter. also tags still not really working i apologize ive tried everything i think im just dumb as hell

edit. also just added a tag to these that u can follow to make it easier since my tags don't wanna work. won't work as well but you'll be able to see the recent stuff in 'latest' #myfirstlovewasaboy-rikisniffles

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lostintransist · 13 days ago

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Liaison | Part 5 | Big Austrian Bastard

Check out part 1 here. Check out the rest of the story on AO3, up to chapter 33 over there.

After you won the bet with Ghost you became something of a tourist attraction. Every man who moved through the office would stop by your desk. Often you were on a phone but many would wait for a chance to ask how you won the bet with Ghost or if you had any dating advice. When Roach finally appeared back in the office after a month you asked him about it.

“Why does it feel like my desk is the hottest place to be in the office? Don’t these guys have paperwork to be doing?”

Roach replies, the clack of his keys not even faded before the message hits your screen.

>No one deals with Ghost like you do. Word has gotten around that you two fight and he loses more often than he wins.

“I can’t say that I think he has won once.”

>Exactly, plus everyone wants to witness another showdown. Anyone who wasn’t at the bar when you took that hot redhead home has heard the story about a dozen times from someone who has. Plus all the bets on what crazy nonsense you two will fight about next. And I know at least some of the guys want to know how you got such a bombshell to go home with you.

It takes three reads over the message before you are semi-confident that you understood everything.

“How much money is in these betting pools?” You rub a single finger against the headache forming behind your forehead.

>Would say a several thousand at this point.

“And what exactly was the defining moment that everyone decided to start taking bets?” You have a sneaking suspicion you know what it was.

>The lap dancer.

“Yeah,” you suck your teeth, “I thought that might have been it. Now for the record Roach and you tell this to anyone who will listen; I didn’t know he had already booked her. It’s not my fault she chose my pretty face over his ugly mask. And if he could string two sentences together to a woman that didn’t leave her wanting to slap him he wouldn’t have to pay for company in or out of his bed.”

>Behind you.

“Thanks, Roach,” you deadpan, “What a great job saving the day.”

Spinning around you see Ghost standing at the edge of your desk.

“You know I think you would pay for male company as well, I’m not really one to judge.”

Without a word, he drops several files on your desk and turns on his heel leaving you and Roach with more questions than before. Not picking a fight over your words felt outside of Ghost’s character. You tuck the information away for later. No one had died recently and there were no issues with any other companies or governments. No obvious reasons surfaced as to his dour mood.

Your phone buzzes with a text message from an unknown number.

>Can you make gingersnaps?

<Yes. Fresh ginger okay?

>👍

<Should have a dozen ready by 3.

Shoving your phone in your pocket you unplug your computer. You’ve figured out how to read emails while creaming butter by hand. Emails consumed you as grated ginger and sifted flour into your wet ingredients. Once the dough had started chilling you got a call. It took twenty minutes to look up the temperature conversion to turn on the oven since the other party had some extremely specific requests and questions that had you searching skills and cross-referencing times when certain guys would be free.

“Okay, for the final time, the timeline you need this job completed on will not allow for me to get Price and Reb on the same job. I have a different sniper who can complete the task or I can have a different lead but they are not available at the same time,” You wave at Harold as he leads a beast of a man down the hall. “At this point, you can trust me to schedule a team who can handle the task or I can send you the contact info for my counterpart at KorTac.”

You rattled off the number for KorTac as the cookies came out of the oven. Disconnecting the call you stretched your arms high and set about moving the cookies to the rack to cool down. In the five minutes they take to cool you reply to seven emails. God, you needed to talk to Kate about an assistant. The number of emails was becoming untenable. Storing the cookies in a dish you hide in your cabinet you take a quick picture of the completed request.

Cleaning up from baking had become its own soothing ritual. Once you have everything set out to dry you head back down the hall. You forget to send the text message since an email reply comes into a proposal you had just sent off.

“If those motherfuckers want to change up the date again…“ you mumble to yourself.

You kick something as you approach your desk. The beast of a man Harold had walked back to the desks is reclined in your chair and snoring. You can’t tell past the sniper’s hood draped across his head if he is asleep. Looking around you find the bay of computers empty. With a sigh, you set your computer awkwardly on the desk and remember your message about the cookies.

Sending the message a phone ding sounds before you. The man rouses, pulls a phone from his pocket, checks the message, and startles when he sees you standing at his feet.

“You the one who wanted the gingersnaps?” You ask carefully. One man in a mask you know could almost be considered a friend, the other firmly a foe.

“Ja.” He stands, towering over your frame.

Blowing a breath out your nose you make a decision. Better to have fewer foes if possible.

“Follow me, I’ll show you where I put your cookies.”

The only sound following you is the rare swish of fabric. Stepping into the kitchen you open the cabinet that held your cookies. Pulling them down you place them in his waiting hands. More men covering up like the devil would worm his way in through any flash of flesh. This man wore gloves too.

“Ah! Liaison you found the big Austrian bastard! We’ve been all over the office looking for him.”

If you hadn’t been standing so close to him you would have missed the flinch in the big man. Something about someone so strong-looking taking pain from words wormed into your heart.

“Tactic I swear to god if you don’t think before you speak.” You snap at him. “Obviously this man is on loan to the 141 and you know what we don’t do to people who are here to help us? We don’t insult them. It makes my job to fucking hard when you can’t keep your jackass statements inside.”

Tactic’s mouth shut with a click.

“Anything else clever to say?” you push.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry to me, say sorry to my friend here.”

“Sorry König.”

Spence, who had been standing behind Tactic, fled the moment your tone turned angry.

“Now unless you have a hard leave time I am going to sit down and enjoy some cookies with Konig and will deliver him to a conference room when we are done. Got a problem with that?” You aggressively lifted a brow at Tactic.

He backed out of the kitchen slowly.

“Whatever you say Liaison, sorry again König.”

With a huff, you turned back around and smiled up at the big man.

“Do you want to sit down and enjoy your cookies? I appreciate any feedback you can give.”

He looked you over, neither his expression nor his body language giving away his thoughts. König sits at one table, pushing out another chair with the toe of his boot. Settling in you wait to see what he does next. You fold your arms and rest them on the table.

“We friends?”

You find him watching you with guarded eyes.

“Do you want to be friends?”

“Ja. Name is König, not Konig.”

You repeat his name a few times to solidify the pronunciation in your brain.

“Okay, well you’re my first friend here so I will now text you random updates on my life. Feel free to do the same.”

Sitting in silence you tap out random beats on your fingers as König lifts his cowl to eat his treat.

“Da cookies are good.”

You send him a bright smile. “I’m glad you like them. Whenever you are ready I can deliver you to the conference room.”

He nods once before closing the container of cookies. He stands and slides the whole box into a side pocket on his pants. There isn’t even a bulge against the fabric. You can’t prevent a sneer at the now offensive pants.

The tension rises in König, you can feel it wafting off him in waves.

“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the patriarchy that doesn’t give me pockets I can hide cookies in without getting caught,” you fold your arms and puff air into your cheeks.

The booming laughter from König brings a smile to your face. It sounded rusty as if he didn’t get a chance to use it often.

Part 4

Masterlist @nicroyal02

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #price x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #john price x reader #konig x reader #konig cod #gary roach sanderson #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod

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blackhairandbangs · 11 months ago

Text

So You Admit It

Kim Seungmin x Reader

info/masterlist

genre: Angst, but pure cat and mouse flirting

summary: college!seungmin has been getting under your skin since day one, but you soon find out it's for a good reason

warnings: seungmin is actually a dick, arguing, lots of flirting!! he is a FLIRT in this, little makeout at the end, suggestive words, little bit of cursing

word count: 2.1K

You and your good friend, Jeongin were talking in the back corner of your lecture hall right before class began. He had the class right before, so it became a tradition for him to wait for you and catch up during the in-between of your two classes. The two of you exchanged a laugh as Jeongin showed you a funny picture he had taken on his phone earlier in the day. Right as your professor walked in, Jeongin began to stand up from his seat, allowing you to focus on the beginning of class.

"Hey, I'll see you later, okay? Have a good class!" he waved, walking out the back door, exchanging a glance with the boy entering at the same time, taking the seat next to you he was once sitting in.

Kim Seungmin now occupies the seat once held by your friend, slowly becoming a part of your daily routine. Jeongin gets up before class begins, and Seungmin walks in just about a minute late to take the empty seat.

"Didn't I tell you to stop talking to that guy?" he scoffs, not yet making eye contact as he takes out his laptop to start his notes.

You cross your arms, eyeing him down slightly, "and why should I be listening to you?"

Seungmin smirks, his gaze flickering to your arms before meeting your eyes, "Because I can make your life a living hell if I really wanted to…" he trails off, allowing you to look away and ignore his comment, trying to focus on whatever today's lecture was about. You don't feel his gaze leave your face, so you look back up, waiting for him to say something.

"Besides, don't you enjoy my company more?" he asks, a grin sneaking up on his lips.

"No, I'm not quite sure I do," You turn away from him once more to face the front of the lecture hall, "So can you please stop bothering me so I don't waste my tuition here?"

Seungmin smirked, leaning close to your ear to make sure you could hear him.

"I'm sure we could could make a deal here. How about you focus on your studies today, and maybe later I could even help you out…when we're alone…" he allows his sentence to linger, his hot breath just behind your ear.

"I don't need any tutoring, thank you," you reply to him coldly, knowing tutoring could not have been what he was referring to.

"You're right," he huffed, leaning back in his chair, "Good thing I meant something else entirely." A flush falls on your cheeks. This guy has been bothering you for weeks, but not once has he made a comment like this.

You let out a huff of air, "Maybe if you stop acting like a dick all the time, we could talk about it." You continue looking at the lesson, twirling your pen in between your fingers as a distraction from the boy next to you.

Seungmin gives a small laugh to your comment.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm not always a dick, you know?" He flashed a disarming smile at you. The kind that would make other girls fall to their knees for him, "I promise I can be quite charming when I want to be."

You allow yourself to look at him after his last comment, a small laugh escaping your lips.

"Now I'm sure this may work on other girls, but I know who you are, Kim Seungmin." Your words spat at him with disgust.

"Oh, really? And who am I, according to you? You seem to know quite a bit about me," He spoke, eyebrows raising in amusement. He had the feeling he had finally got to you.

"Hmm, let's see," you hum, using your hand to create a list, "One, you're self-centered. Two, you're mean. Three, you go through girls like it's a game to you…Should I keep going?" His face goes dark hearing the words that just left your mouth. As the class finally draws a close, you pack up your books and pens. You get up from your seat as the professor begins to make his exit and you head for the back door, leaving a glare at the boy still sitting in the seat next to where you just were.

The next evening, you found yourself sitting in your favorite corner of the library, books spread out on the table in front of you and headphones over your head. The whole library was pretty empty due to it being late on a Friday night. You tended to use this time for studying as the library didn't feel as crowded as normal with students rifling through the shelves, struggling to finish their term papers on time. Your mind was so focused on the work you were completing you didn't even hear the voice approaching behind you.

Ah, the perfect study spot, right?" Seungmin asked, making you jump slightly. He walks around to the other side of the table, pulling out the chair to have a seat across from you.

"Sure, why don't you come join me," you groan sarcastically, gesturing to the already occupied seat.

The boy leaned back in his chair, "Oh come on now, I know you would love for me to join you." His gaze flickered between the books he had brought with him and you. A playful grin yet to leave his lips.

You slam your textbook shut in frustration. This was supposed to be your quiet time. An escape from the disruptions and loud volume the rest of campus tended to carry.

"Now when have I ever possibly given you that idea?" You huffed, not looking up from the table.

God, you just wished he would leave you alone. His intentions were never clear. You had a hard time reading Seungmin all semester. Was he looking for another victim of his one-night stands? Did he want you to fall in love with him and write his essays?

"You didn't have to say anything," Seungmin smirked, "I could tell from the way your heart skipped a beat when I walked in." He laughed lightly, enjoying the little game of back-and-forth you two were having.

You roll your eyes at his comment, unable to really look him in the face.

"Or, that could've been the fear of you sneaking up behind me in an empty library!" you say, still not giving him the attention he desired. Seungmin sat up in his chair, resting his elbows on the table to lean closer to you.

"Oh come on," he started, giving you a smile. "You know you love it when I'm around! I mean all you do is talk to me." His voice was soft but carried an underlying tone of need. You look up at him for the first time in minutes, eyeing his lips. A flush falls slightly over your cheeks as his words tear into you.

"Sure, I'll let you believe that," you speak, looking away slightly as to not show him the effect his words were starting to have on you. Seungmin gets up to walk over to your seat on the other side of the table.

"Fine," he huffed allowing himself to lean down behind you, his mouth lingering close to your ear. "I'll just have to find a way to prove it to you." His hot breath sent a chill down your spine. You drop the pencil you were holding as you feel yourself get slightly flustered. "What are you-"

"There!" Seungmin said with a smirk as he straightened himself back up. "You couldn't even handle me being that close to you, could you?" He let out a small laugh, seeing how his teasing was starting to eat at your mind.

"What I can't handle is you interrupting my study time!" You say, feeling yourself become a flustered mess. What was he doing to you? You allow yourself to recompose, going back to the notes you had been attempting to take.

He laughed, still standing behind your chair. You tried to ignore him the best you could. "Study time?" he asked raising an eyebrow. "Just admit I make you flustered," he teases. "I can see what I do to you, ya know?"

You stand up from your chair, finally deciding you have had enough of his games for today. "Why the hell would I ever admit something that stupid?"

"Oh I don't know," he replies, shrugging nonchalantly. "Maybe because it's true?" He uses this time to inch closer to you, still leaving a bit of space in between where the two of you stood. "Or maybe you're just too shy to tell me," he coos, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks are hot, a shiver running down your arm feeling his sudden touch.

You push his hand off of you, not knowing what would happen if you let him continue. "Or maybe, you're just too much of an asshole to see not every girl is on their knees begging for a chance with you." You scoff at him, turning your body away slightly.

He lets out a breathy laugh. "It's alright. I know deep down you really, really want me." His words cut straight through you, and you felt yourself filling up with anger. A need to prove yourself. You suck your teeth, debating on the right thing to say.

"Fine," You begin. "If I want you that bad, why don't you come and kiss me! And when I have no reaction, will you finally just leave me alone?"

Seungmin's eyes widened at what he was hearing. You knew this was a dangerous game to be playing. You didn't want to admit it, but everything that let you up to this moment just proved how much you really did need to feel his body against yours. He knew what you were doing.

"Alright," He spoke, raising his hands almost to surrender to the offer. "Go for it." He spoke through gritted teeth, just wanting to have his way. He stepped closer, allowing his lips to hover near yours. His heart raced with anticipation and fear. The moment felt stretched out as the tension teetered on the edge of cruelty and desire. You close the gap, leaving a quick kiss on his lips, knowing anything longer would leave you wanting more.

"See?" you started to speak and Seungmin's eyes widened in surprise before narrowing into slits. "Absolutely no reaction-"

Before letting you finish, he grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you back to him. His lips crashed against yours in a rough desperate kiss. His tongue forcing his way into your mouth. His lips demanded more.

You allow yourself to finally give in to the second kiss, praying that he wasn't trying to just play with your emotions. The kiss was rough, but still felt sincere, letting you loosen up a bit against him. You wrap your arms around his neck, finally admitting to yourself you wanted more. More than the back-and-forth you have played all semester.

"Mmph," Seungmin moaned into your lips, his hand snaking down to slip under the hem of your shirt, tracing shapes on your back. He pulled away from the kiss slowly, his breathing heavy.

"So you admit it." It wasn't a question, but rather a smug statement. You catch your breath, forehead leaning against his. "Don't let it get to your head."

"Oh, I already have, love" he chuckles darkly, leaning down to leave small kisses along your jawline. "But that doesn't mean I'll stop." You let out a small moan before pushing him off of you, snapping back into your reality.

"Not here…" you trail off, remembering you are still in the library. It was empty, but that still wasn't a chance you were willing to take. "Fine," Seungmin pouted, walking back to throw his bag over his shoulder. "But this isn't over."

He began to walk out of the library, leaving you standing against the back wall, your hair looking a bit tousled. His eyes held a strong mix of need and sincerity as he gave you one last glance. "You're mine now, doll. I'll see you tomorrow."

a/n: I hope you guys enjoyed my first SKZ fic! My inbox is open for requests if anyone would like to submit anything. I want to try and get back into writing more.

#skz fanfic #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin #stray kids #skz #stray kids x reader #seungmin #seungmin x you #bangchan x reader #lee know x reader #hyunjin x reader #changbin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #jeongin x reader

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ciarasahin · 3 months ago

Text

𝙃𝙖𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙

ׂ╰┈➤ 𝙍𝙔𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝙎𝙐𝙆𝙐𝙉𝘼

Summary… when you find yourself in the king of curses castle trapped so you try to find out how you ended up in his castle.

Info… ryomen sukuna x fem!reader, p in v clit sucking and lots of blood mentioned masterbation (f) spanking spitting

You wake up in a strange room where am I you thought “oh she’s awake” you heard some one say. You walked to the door seeing a short person with white red-ish hair “I’ll go inform Lord sukuna.” They walked out of them room you began to follow them “e-excuse me how did I end up here?” You questioned “I don’t think that’s my place to answer but you was in danger and Lord sukuna saved you.” ‘Danger? What from’ you thought

“Danger? What do you mean?” They sighed “you got injured by someone hence the blood on your thighs and neck Lord sukuna killed the person and took you in his home.” They explained. ‘Who would wanna injure me? I don’t recall me having a problem with anyone.’ You looked up and saw a tall man with four arms crossed “Lord sukuna” the person next to you bowed and you did the same thing”I see that she’s awake” his cold hands touched your neck wiping the dry blood off it

“Your shaking are you cold? Uraume get her some new clothes and run her bath to wash off that mess” Lord sukuna said his voice was so deep and intimidating it you looked up and make eye contact with him he was smirking at you, he finally let go of your chin and walked away to wherever

“Come I’ll take you to the guest room” uraume said following them, once you entered the guest room it was small you turned around to notice that Uraume had left. You began to undesss yourself and saw your bath was already full “that was quick” you placed your foot in the hot water your eyes wondered your body there dried up blood on your thigh and neck

You tried to recall what had happened but your mind was full of Lord sukuna “fuck he was so intimidating” your hand went down to touch your clit the other to your breast pinching your nipple “f-fuck” you moaned out your fingers going in and out you bite your lip trying to be quiet as your orgasim approached your body shaking “fuck it’s been awhile”

An hour later, you was dressed in a kimono that was soft to your skin walking out of the guest room you began to walk down the long hallway it was painted dark red you stopped to look at the painting and your heard a deep voice behind you “you like it? It’s one of my favourite paintings” you turned around and it was Lord sukuna “o-oh Lord sukuna” you bowed you heard him chuckle

“I see your cleaned up” you smiled “thank you! For the kimono” he didn’t say anything after that and looked back at the painting “I heard you in the guest bathroom touching yourself, tell me what was you thinking about when you touched yourself?” He whispered in your ear it made your heart start beating fast “I umm touched myself to you my lord” you explained “oh is that so? I’ll be expecting you in my room in a hour make sure to be there” his hand squeezed your waist and walked away which gave your chills to your body

‘How did he find out are the walls thin or something?’ You wondered. You began to walk to the kitchen seeing so much food and your eyes hungry for food “excuse me is it alright if I could eat?” You asked the old woman “oh! Of course you can! Your the woman Lord sukuna saved!” She replied giving a plate for you to eat.

All you did was nodded and started to eat which didn’t take long, “umm.. could I ask a question where’s Lord sukuna room?” The woman stops in her tracks “you walk down this hallway and turn right may I ask why you ask such question?” The older woman questions “he wants my presence in his room” you chuckle and you see that your should start going to his room now.

You bowed to the older woman and made your way to his room, once you found it you knocked on the door waiting a couple of seconds before hearing “you may come in!” You entered the room and bowed “Lord sukuna you said you wanted me in your room?” He looked at you smirking “yes I did cmere” his arms stretched out for your waist

“I want you to strip for me” he said your eyes wide open you slowly started to undress from your kimono your body was cold his hands wandered your body “turn around for me and bend over on the bed” you did as he said. His hands squeezing your ass before smacking harsly making you squirm

He dug his nails into you drawing blood, he lowered his hand rubbing your clit fast “o-oh Lord sukuna!” You whimperd “fuck your already wet and I’ve barely done anything yet” he chuckled he placed his face in between your legs hsi tongue playing with your folds before sucking your clit

“F-fuck Lord sukuna! Hmm!” You moaned out loud your hands in his hair pushing his face deeper into your pussy his tongue entered your wet cunt his arm went your tit squeezing it “Lord sukuna I’m gonna cum!” Oh he didn’t stop he was breathing heavily “fuck you taste so fuckin sweet” he exclaimed he spreads your legs wider and spanking your cunt “your so wet making so much noise for me” he placed his fingers inside thrusting it fasting “f-fuck! My lord I’m gonna cum wait!” You cried out but he didn’t listen.

You squirted on his abdomen, your legs shaking “made a fuckin mess on me slut” he pushed you legs agasint your chest his lower arms giving support “your gonna take my cock yeah?”

“Go slowly please” you begged “I don’t do slow but fine” he placed his cock at your entrance thrusting in slowly “o-oh god” you cried out “that’s not the only thing your gonna start crying out” he words only made you wetter “fuck this I’m gonna go faster yeah?” Sweat dripping from his forehead “wait! Oh fuck!” His hands went to your neck choking you slightly

He groaned his rough hands squeezing your hips which was gonna bruise “my lord I can’t take it anymore! Your so deep!” You begged “fucking take it slut!”he groaned you felt your self gonna cum. Your hands gripping the sheets “your gonna cum aren’t you? Cum on my fucking cock” he spat out

“I’m cumming! F-fuck my lord!” His thrust began to slow down as your juices mixed together. His chest going up and down “cmere” you went to him he kept you in his lap rubbing on the bruise he did on your neck and placed a soft kiss.

You both stayed like that for hours I think Lord sukuna just found his new concubine.

#jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #guys send ideas!!#jjk #jjk smut

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thatwritterbeach · 2 months ago

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So about that alley .9

Jason Todd x ofc Alex

Dc masterlist

Summary: Alex finds out her bf is red hood, after she spills some not so great secrets to the masked man while stitching him up.

Warnings: vaginismus, mentions of puke, angst duh, eating disorder, self harm, Jason 'forces' her to quit her job so he can better help her

A/N: I do not own dc boohoo. none edited this story is running away and i dont kniw what to do with it please send a dog catcher

"Baby, sweets," came his groggy voice from the bed before he registered what she was doing and he was behind her grabbing her hair.

The shame that overtook her when she woke up was enough to have her rushing to the bathroom to empty her stomach. Not only was she a freak for using the blade he'd given her, she was the freak who couldn't get off without her boyfriend putting on a mask. (never mind that she'd never had an hour of stimulation and over twenty minutes of a vibrator on her but in this state she couldn't think)

"Sorry, so not sexy," she said into the bowl. He laughed and handed her a washcloth for her mouth then used the hair tie from the sink to put her hair into the worst bun he'd ever seen. She brushed her teeth and pitched her toothbrush into the trash and turned to him with a light smile. He returned it lifting her up on the sink to wrap his arms around her.

"Feeling better?"

"Much."

"You getting sick or..."

"Would you be mad if I said it was nerves?"

"Nothing you do or say could make me mad. What's got you nervous?" His little head tilt cute enough to kill brain cells.

"You...I feel-I'm sorry, my head's not awake yet. Just awake enough for a panic induced pukey session," she mumbled rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands.

"Pukey?"

"I don't like the word *vomit*," she explained on a whisper. He nodded like it made all the sense in the world and filed that info away for later.

"Well do you want to go home and take a bathey?"

She snorted at his word choice and thunked her head into his chest, his arms coming up to wrap around her tighter.

"Yes I would love a bathey," she said into his bare chest. He gently eased her head up so he could spin around and offer her a piggy back ride.

"I'm too heavy-"

"Bullshit," he growled spinning faster than she could blink and caging her in," you're the most beautiful fucking thing on this planet and I won't let you think anything less if it's the last thing I do," he stated using a touch too much force to hold her jaw and force eye contact. He could feel her jaw tick like she was about to give him an ear full for the man handling but she surprised him by melting into the touch and closing her eyes.

"That was hot," she laughed at herself. His grip slackened and slid to her throat but she shook her head. "Not into that, big boy, sorry." His hand jerked back like she'd burned him and he held her waist instead.

"Sorry-"

"Dude, chill, this is how we learn, by talking. If I do something you don't like, tell me. I'm cool with the jaw, just no throat. Really I meant you getting all fired up about my self-esteem, that was hot."

It didn't take long to pack up and head out, making it back to her apartment. Jason ran her a bath with bubbles and candles and set up a small single step stool for himself to sit on. She eased into the hot water with a one piece swim suit on and he sat on his little stool and opening a book.

(good heavens where should this thing go??)

"You still need to show me your blade," he said with forced ease.

"Jason."

"Yes, love?"

"If I tell you something you have to promise not to beat yourself up over it."

"I promise." With his fingers crossed behind his back

"I've been using the knife you gave me. Not intentionally, it's just such a good knife, and-"

"The pocket knife with the replaceable razor blades?"

"Yes, but I'm careful-"

"Alex, what the fuck! Those are sharp as hell, you could, fucking shit, you could hit bone without much force. Shit babe." The first sentence was nearly yelled but the rest was a forced average tone and she sank into the water on instinct when he stood up and towered over her.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered closing her eyes. He tossed his book aside and scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair multiple times muttering fuck fuck fuck again and again.

"One slip up and-fuck you could..." Her eyes were watering but she wasn't going to let herself cry.

"Jay, I'm sorry, I'll give it back-"

"You're on 24 hour watch. You're quitting your job and we are going to Bludhaven to stay with Dick. He can watch you when I'm out and we'll switch."

"Jason-"

"No, this is not up for debate. I let you go hoping you would come to me, and I know addiction is shit and is hard and I didn't want you to feel forced but dammit I won't fucking lose you over this. When is the lease up on this place?"

"Umm, next month," she whispered.

"Good, don't re-sign. I'll find us a place when you're better. Quit your job, no two weeks, I'll get you a better one."

"Jason Peter Todd, if you think for one damn second-"

"It's my job to take care of you. You are not going to be freeloading, you don't need to make money, I have more than enough and you damn well know it. I won't tell the feminists club." He sat back down and reached to grab both her hands in his.

"You haven't even asked Dick. How will he and Kory feel-"

"They aren't together right now, he'll be stoked to have you, scouts honor," he said using one of his hands to make the star trek 3 finger sign.

"You stole tires? How is that very scouty?"

"I never said boy scouts, baby I was in Gotham scouts, street addition."

"You're lucky I love you cuz your jokes are crap." He was about to say something when is phone rang and 'dickhead' lit up the screen.

"Yello," he said into the phone.

"Jay, any chance Red can stop and help a guy out, got this huge bust?"

"What a coinkydink, I was just about to call you. I'll be right back, babe," he said to her and left the room. She couldn't hear him so the bastard must have gone out to the hallway.

"What's up," Dick asked.

"Alex isn't doing too well. I know you're still pissed about the alley-"

"Dude, so last season, old news."

"Didn't realize I was talking to a chick, could you put my brother back on the phone?"

"So Alex..."

"Anyway, I can't watch her close enough, and she's not being careful when she hurts herself-"

"What the fuck man, you're still letting her do that. Why does she even have anything sharp?"

"I didn't want her to feel forced into anything, she's an adult she would just go buy more. I was hoping the show of trust would help bring her out of her shell and at least tell me after she does it. She's using the knife I gave her, those interchangeable razor blade ones-"

"Shit, the one you cut that guy down to the bone with?"

"Yeah, obviously I gave it to her way before I knew what she was doing."

"So what do you need from me?"

"A spare bedroom, I don't know how long, but I'll help with your bust and-"

"As long as she needs."

"Dick?"

"Yeah, Jaybird?"

"I love you, you're a good big brother, even though you missed my funeral," he added so the words didn't feel as heavy on his tongue.

"Dude, I didn't even know-wait a damn minute what did you just say?"

"Clean your ears old man I ain't sayin' in again."

"Love you too, little bird. Tell Alex I said thanks for teaching you nice words." Jason rolled his eyes and hung up to go check on Alex. She was out of the tub and in one of his t-shirts sitting on the edge of the bed picking at her cuticles.

"Hi."

"Hi, I uh, I figured you'd wanna ya know check my...wounds, so I didn't bother with clothes," she said to the floor.

"I told Dick I loved him and he was a good brother."

"You did," she said with pride, her eyes snapping to his.

"Yeah, he said thanks for teaching me nice words." she nodded with a soft smile but it didn't last long as she laid back on the bed and bunched the shirt up to just under her breasts. No makeup no bandages and her ribs were shredded.

"Oh, baby," he said crossing the room in a few long strides. He put one knee on the bed to lean over her and run his finger over the cuts.

"These almost needed stitches."

"I know," she responded, jaw ticking.

"I love you, love you, love you," he repeated kissing each mark.

9-17-24

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mutable-manifestation · 2 years ago

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Family at the Core

So I decided to continue the rogues-as-family-with-Danny once they realize he's a baby & flee to the DC universe/Gotham fic.

Parts 1 & 2

Info: AU where you gotta fight ecto with ecto - it’s the only thing that has any effect on them, and it’s part of the reason why the ghosts love Amity so much - aside from the whole “thinking danny was old ghost pretending at being human and openly challenging pretty much everyone by claiming a Living Realm haunt and then opening a stable portal in it” (from their perspective pre-’holy shit he’s baby’ realization) - Danny? Sam & Tucker with ecto weapons? Humans who can and will put up a challenge but won’t try to seriously harm them ala bastards like Pariah & the Guys In White? It’s practically the ideal ghostly vacation spot.

The Fenton fam are the first to discover how to fight ghosts in their dimension, but DC didn’t have blood blossoms and made the deal w/Pariah before they figured out the ecto v ecto option

This is pre-ID reveals among the JL because it’s funnier.

Disclaimer: idk how the police work I’m just rolling with what sounds probably like it’d be right.

***

Kitty and Johnny disappear before they can discuss a time for the police sweep, but Kitty <i>had</i> asked for Bruce’s number earlier in the conversation - “To set up that playdate once we’re more settled in” - after Bruce had mentioned the benefits of peer contact for children.

(The complete and utter disconnect from information about humans certainly lent credence to their claim of being ghosts - or at least not humans)

She’d promised to give him a call once they got their phones set up. Hopefully that would be soon - they really needed to talk about the Lazarus Pit in the building before the kid fell in and died - assuming they truly weren’t aware of it prior to selecting the location.

Perhaps Bruce could convince them to block it off? If they truly weren’t after the pit, he could ask about setting them up with a better place; make up some excuse about wanting the building for the company.

He makes contact with them and is left with more questions than answers; at least they know where they are now, despite the in-costume team's inability to track them as they left.

Constantine and Deadman arrive together <i>less</i> than an hour later, managing to arrive at the Batcave at the same time as Bruce’s group.

Constantine twirls an unlit cigarette between his fingers as the footage of the Joker incident plays.

It stops twirling when the lunch lady appears on the screen.

His lips form a grim line as he watches.

“Anyone ever told you you’re the unluckiest bastard this side ‘a the pond?” Constantine asks, turning to Batman once the first video concludes.

“No.” Is Batman’s humorless reply.

“Don’t leave us in suspense here, Conny,” Nightwing slides closer to lightly elbow him in the side. “Is Damian Wayne’s doppelganger the most haunted kid in America or what?”

Robin, for his part, crossed his arms and continued sulking - as he had been since Batman had read them in on the existence of JL Dark and verified that ghosts were indeed real.

“Most haunted kid this damn dimension, Bird boy,” Constantine answered, stowing his cigarette. “Those-” he gestures to the now-blank screen “-are Infinite Realms Ghosts. They aren’t like Deadman here, they’re about a million times worse.”

“Hey!” Deadman protests.

“They come from a place they call ‘The Infinite Realms’ - big shock there. Their kind haven’t been seen in this dimension for tens of thousands of years now; most people just think they’re myths by this point. I only even know about it because my thrice-damned house wouldn’t stop throwing a book on the subject at me until I read it a few years back.”

He puts the cigarette away in favor of crossing his arms.

“The Realms are said to be connected to every dimension there is, and legend has it that way back when we got a lot of visitors from their side. Had a lot of names - the era of chaos, the age of disaster, whatever you wanna call it. They treated this dimension like a plaything, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop them.

Nothing worked - salt, holy symbols, the magics of the time, etc. Supposedly, someone even tried summoning a demon and watched the thing get hunted. Realms ghosts were leagues more powerful than any of the other known beings at the time and no one could find a way to fight them. The only reason they left was because some group made a deal with their king - no details on what the deal involved other than getting them to get lost.”

“So we are simply supposed to hope that their king isn’t too busy dealing with the infinitely many other dimensions they are apparently hooked up to to come get a few strays out of ours?” Robin questions icily.

“It means you’re simply supposed to give me a chance to do some more research - I only skimmed the one book to get the house off my back. What I read wasn’t promising, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t more useful information buried somewhere.” Constantine replies with an eyeroll. “For now, if they want to play house with some poor bastard? Wayne’s got enough kids to know how to give good enough advice they don’t accidentally kill him in the meantime. Infiltrate their playdates if you’re that worried. And look on the bright side! They took care of your clown problem. Now, you said you had two videos?”

“Yes,” Batman answers tightly, bringing up said second video. “We managed to get footage of their meeting with the Waynes.”

The second watching was far less eventful.

Until the very end, when Kitty and Bruce shake hands and Constantine lets loose a stream of curses.

“What? What’s wrong?” Red Robin demands.

“What’s wrong is that Brucie Wayne is dumber than a sack of damn bricks.”

The batclan members make various coughing/strangled noises at this, save for Batman, who remains stoic.

“Who the fuck meets a self-declared non-human entity and shakes on a deal.” Constantine drags an exasperated hand down his face. “Make sure Wayne knows his ass needs to buy them that building asap or Ghost Girl gets to make him dance to whatever tune she wants; break a deal with a dealmaker and they get controlling shares in your soul.”

“I see,” Batman says, “We’ll get in touch with him again after this; we need to discuss the police sweep of the Yuyan building anyway. If direct observation will help, he should be willing to bring you along as a civilian friend.”

Constantine looked at him like he had three heads.

“Not a chance in hell, Bats.”

He backs away from the table toward the cave’s Zeta tube.

“Oh! Oh, me! Pick me! I wanna meet the new ghosts!” Deadman shook his arms wildly, doing loops in the air.

“The visibility spell won’t last that long and we don’t know if their kind of ghost can see you without it. Also, we were in the middle of something. We already detoured. Let’s finish the job and then we can come back and play ghost party 2: yet another pain in my ass edition, yeah?”

“Awwwwww,” Deadman slouched sadly before zipping into the tube with him.

“Great. Have fun, try to get along with the new neighbors, don’t shake any hands, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, yadda yadda, aaaaaand bye.”

And with that, they were gone.

“Well that’s not ideal,” Nightwing mutters.

The meeting had at least answered one question.

Now for the other two dozen.

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

Kitty wants to get this cop sweep over with as soon as possible.

The others are hesitant at first - or territorial, in Walker’s case - but a little fast-talking has him all for the idea.

The chronic rule-follower had only taken to making his own rules because of the zone’s inherent chaos and lack of real, broader government. In Gotham there are rules pre-made to follow, to enforce. He eats it up.

He’ll be obsessed with being law-abiding once he’s done studying up, but Kitty had been headed towards a future in law before her own death. She was well aware that it would take him - even with the aid of an eidetic memory - a minimum of months to read enough to actually start enforcing anything.

And until he’d read it all? Kitty was free to make him paranoid about missing a later subsection to create her own Walker-loopholes.

Once he’s on-side, he practically carries the argument for her. She only pipes up again to mention how “the baby would probably be a lot more comfortable with a stable, uncontested home.”

Walker does his own sweep of the building, opening cabinets and hidden passages and drawing attention to weapons and other hints of crimes-past and Kitty hovers over Technus’ shoulder as they hash out the details of how best to lure in the police.

The Box Ghost leads the others - except Ember, who ‘s on baby-watch at the pool - in packaging up everything they want to keep to be phased into the ground under the building.

Arguing took most of the time and it’s only the work of another two hours to have the entire building ready for the cops to peruse.

In the end, they decide setting off a small bomb by the entrance is the easiest way to draw police attention - they’ll come investigate, when no one responds they’ll have to check it out, they’ll find the weapons and cult-like documents and murder records Walker had located sitting out in the open, et voila: wanted owners and building up for grabs.

They, of course, will be invisibly watching the whole thing.

Danny hasn’t left the pool since their arrival and they don’t want him to, so he stays there with Johnny on watch to make them both invisible if and when anyone enters that room.

It goes off without a hitch, and by 11 o’clock Kitty is flying to a nearby roof to call Bruce and remind him of his end of the bargain.

***

@yjfk @fisticuffsatapplebees @little-pondhead @avery-isastupid-name @queenofdiscord @samgirl98 @inkyunicorn @mimilikey @aconitewolfsbane @miraculousandmore @someonebored0100 @wildbacon-blog @fleshybeing @vala-dreams @ironicvixen @blurblurbblurrrr @ectoplasmic-knife

#dpxdc #finding family with the rogues that fought you #dp recovery vacation in Gotham #Bruce slowly loosing his mind #Constantine calls Bruce a dumbass to his face (unaware)#ex-pre-law Kitty #Danny in the background #*is traumatized*#Constantine hates everything that is happening in Gotham #Constantine *hopes the King will show up to get them b4 he has to deal with this bullshit #*#King Baby: *Floating in an ecto-pool under the Yuyan Building & being Part Of John's Headache*

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glitchedrabbit · 8 months ago

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Puppet Boy -

(Glitchtrapped Tony AU)

Part 1:

With almost everything happening around Tony’s life, he never fully expected one of these situations to be on his agenda. That afternoon he decided he would go with Greg to the pizzaplex “to cheer him up.” Greg told him, but he has not felt any better since that day.

Tony rubs the bridge of his nose, he felt his eyes sting when he opened them, it was the string of light that decided to shine right in his face through his curtains that made him confused on what day it even was, his sleep has been decreasing drastically, nightmares and insomnia have been keeping him up, and when he finally gets some sleep, he's disturbing the morning light.

“Tony Becker, get up!” His mom scolded as she rushed through the door in a hurry, she had a hair tie held in her mouth as she hurriedly tied her hair up as neatly as her pace could allow her, Tony, a bit confused, grabbed his phone from the night stand, 7:50AM, Friday. Tony blinked, he overslept? He's never overslept once in his life for school, he's always made sure he got the right amount of sleep and made it to school on time, this isn't like him. Despite being overly concerned for his own health he sprints out of his bed and rushed himself to get dressed.

The class were all in their groups by the time he arrived, no one really noticed he made it in the class of how loud they were, Tony handed his tardy slip to the teacher, she glanced a look,

“Tony Becker? late to school?” She teased, He scratched his neck, he told himself that same thing as well. He was confused about how he even managed to sleep through his alarms. “Are you sure you're alright Tony? If you need to go to the counselor I can send you the—”

“no no I'm okay! I just had a rough night last...night.” He hesitated with his own words, but it seems she understood, because Ms. Green just nodded and continued to type her email on her laptop. Tony stood still, not knowing where to go.

“Go find a group that has two, if I'm not mistaken, your friends are the only ones.” She responded to his silence, He smiled at her and she gave a small smile back.

Tony slid through the tables making it to his two friends, Ellis and…and Greg. He sat next to Ellis maintaining his eye contact away from Greg's view, Ellis noticed this and looked suspiciously at the two,

“alright, what is it this time?” He spoke, crossing his arms as he threw glances at the other

two boys, who were both noticeably distant from one another, “who said what and why?” Ellis continued glaring at the two. They both sat silently, they both knew what happened and who said what, and why they did. Tony glances up at Greg, there’s worry in his eyes, and he too looks exhausted, he frowned slightly before looking back down at the assignment in front of him. Ellis rolled his eyes, a sigh escaping through his nose, he sat back up straight and joined in with the assignment.

“Anyway, It's just asking about the process of photosynthesis..er, I think…” he said unsure of himself , Tony rolled his eyes, he read through the assignment and reached over for Ellis’s pencil. The rest of the few minutes of class, the three of them worked together to complete the assignment, but only Ellis was really talking to Greg and passing down his info to Tony.

This situation was common for the three of them, Tony would at times shut down with one of his own friends and Ellis or Greg, whoever it would be that day, would have to pass down info to him. But he wasn't shut down today, he was perfectly fine to be exact. He just didn't want to remember that night, Greg never told him what was up with him and why he woke up that afternoon in the Pizzaplex with Greg in some rabbit suit,

“Yo, earth to Tony are you alive?” Ellis snapped his finger in front of his face, pulling him out of his thoughts, he turned his head towards Ellis, he held Tony’s backpack in one arm and adjusted his own backpack to his back. Greg was already gone,

“You have been extremely out of it lately dude, are you sure you're alright?” Ellis questioned him, genuinely concerned for his best friends well-being, Tony just stared off at the wall behind Ellis before making a slight nod and standing up to grab his backpack,

“yeah..” Tony said, sounding almost monotone, “I'm alright, just..really tired.” he insisted, Ellis's brows furrowed as he twisted his lips, he shook his head with a small sigh and patted his best friend’s back.

“As long as you’re not some dead zombie mindlessly walking around taking a disguise as my best friend, then alright.” he joked, Tony made a soft chuckle,

“Har har, very funny Ellis.” Tony said sarcastically, starting to walk out of the classroom, Ellis bumps his shoulder into Tony’s,

”So, you’re still not gonna tell me what’s up with you and Greg? or are you gonna just keep avoiding the question?” Tony tensed up when he heard Ellis ask again, He felt some discomfort from it, because even if he wanted to tell Ellis, he wouldn’t be able to even tell him what happened, because he doesn’t know.

”Maybe…” he trailed off, opening the cafeteria doors, he noticed Greg was already sitting down at the cafeteria table where they usually sit, both Ellis and Tony sat down. The moment Tony settled down on his seat, a shiver was sent down his spine, feeling a slight shock through his head. He rested his head down on the table assuming it was just another one of his small headache spikes that began to come and go for a while now, but his brain felt as if it was being pierced with needles, and it all just came to him in such a rush it made him a bit nauseous. So maybe it wasn’t just another one of those, the atmosphere around him made it worse.

Suddenly there was ringing in his ear and the noises felt louder than normal, he lifted his head off the table glancing around sporadically, his head felt light and his vision felt fuzzy. Ellis and Greg both took note of the fact Tony was not acting like his usual self, they kept closer eyes on him than they usually do. And when they noticed him acting the way he was, Greg stood up and dragged him to the bathroom.

Everything felt surreal to Tony at the moment, everytime his vision moved, there was motion blur, he kept his eyes shut knowing that was probably the only way for now to not not vomit right then and there, all he could really feel was a small hand tug on his wrist and him standing up while mindlessly being dragged to somewhere. Greg glanced around the stalls and the entrance to the bathroom before opening the last stall and dragging them both in, he shut the stall door behind and locked it, Tony then began to slide down to the floor, Greg caught him before he could even collapse.

“Greg…what is happening to me right now.” Tony’s words slurred, Greg’s face scrunched up as he looked at his best friend, it seemed he felt a wave of guilt rush into him. Despite the fact Tony was probably dying (he was being way over dramatic) he was still always noting the few things of his friend, and somehow, he felt that Greg was hiding something from him. Something from that night.

”relax Tony, i-it’s just one of the side effects.” Greg finally spoke, side effects..? Tony looked at him, He felt his heart sink, he has no idea what’s happening, and that is the response his friend gives him?

”What do you mean by side effects..?” He asked, Greg hesitated, he stopped looking at Tony and grew silent, Tony, still being nauseous and dizzy, grabbed Greg’s arm. “Greg, what do you mean by side effects?” He pressed. Greg took a deep breath, he turned his head back to face Tony, his face said it all, it wasn’t good.

”I’ll tell you after school. I can’t tell you here, but you need to calm down right now, your stress is only gonna make it worse.” Tony felt the corners of his mouth twitch, that’s it? it’s been almost a whole week, and he has no idea what is even happening and the only person he was last with before these side effects started coming in is just telling him to wait?

Tony stands up grabbing Greg’s shoulders tightly, his breath hitches as he looks at Tony with the same expression he’s been having since the morning, guilt.

“What are you so guilty about from that afternoon Greg.” Tony asked, Greg smiled nervously.

”W-what do you mean?” he hesitated with an awkward laugh, Tony slightly shook him.

”You know what I'm talking about Greg, don’t play dumb!” Tony yelled out, Greg’s face looked apprehended. He sighed through his nose beginning to relax his body and glance down at the ground beneath them.

”Alright, fine...” Greg said defeated, he bit his lip and looked up at Tony, “you win.”

Tony sat back down on the disgusting, tiled bathroom floor, he almost forgot about how light he felt until he sat back down, Greg sat across from him, his back leaning against the stall. He began to fidget with his hands, he took another deep breath,

“That afternoon at the pizzaplex, something happened.” Greg started, “I…I have something that you also now have Tony, and it’s not something good, it’s evil. Horrible even.” Tony felt his heart sink from his chest, and suddenly, he felt a lot more nauseous than before,

“Evil? What do you mean by evil? Greg you have to be more specific than that..” Tony expressed, Greg only became more overwhelmed by having to explain more, Tony could tell by the way his leg began to bounce, he didn’t want it to be like this, as much as he is itching to find out what is wrong with him, and that afternoon. He can’t bear to see his friend in this state.

After a few minutes of silence, Tony’s headaches and nausea seemed to have gone down, and Greg had also finally calmed down, he glanced up at Tony with concern, he opened his mouth but closed it immediately when Tony glanced at him as well with a look that seemed like it was telling him to stop. He swallowed his words and stood up reaching his hand out to Tony,

”Do you feel any better?” Greg asked, Tony reached out for his hand and pulled himself up, for a moment he felt the nausea creep back up, but it faded away almost instantly, he looked at Greg, his eyes. Greg’s eyes had a hint of purple at the bottom of his dark brown eyes, it wasn’t really noticeable from a distance, but with the both of them being close and face to face, he could really see it now.

Tony opened his mouth to ask but immediately turned it away, “yeah, I feel a lot better, thanks Greg.” he smiled, Greg nodded and smiled back, but he frowned almost immediately when his eyes focused onto Tony’s. Tony stared confused, “is, everything alright-“

”The bell’s going to ring in a bit, we should probably head back to Ellis to get our stuff.” Greg interrupted as he dragged him out the stall, a few boys were in the bathroom and they threw glances at the two with either disgust or suspicion, isn’t that just great.

Greg and Tony both finally made it to the lunch table where Ellis sat silently eating his lunch with no care in the world, he looked up to see the two of them and immediately looked at Greg for an answer,

”oh uh, he was just having a bad stomach ache… something bad he ate..” Greg responded with an awkward laugh, it sounded very much forced, Tony was almost surprised that Ellis believed it, because he turned to him with a joking smirk,

“aww poor wittle Tony can’t handle school wunch!” he teased in a baby voice, Tony rolled his eyes accepting his fate, it was better off than explaining that he has some stupid virus, though he did wish Greg would’ve chosen something different to free himself from all the embarrassment he’s going through right now.

”Yeah yeah, whatever Ellis, this school lunch you eat is probably not even real food.” he replied back, throwing a crumpled up napkin at Ellis who swiftly caught it in a flick of a wrist, ‘curse him and his reflexes’ Tony thought.

”True, but hey, food is food.” Ellis shrugged as he dug into his pizza, probably the only good food in the cafeteria line.

The bell rang and kids began to stand up from the cafeteria tables and throw away that god awful food the school calls lunch. The trio all then also stood up and grabbed their backpacks and began to walk to the cafeteria doors.

A small sting dug through Tony’s head, he glanced at Ellis, he looked worried when noticed Tony’s eye twitch a bit, he knows he’s acting strange, they’ve known each other long enough to know how they both act, and it makes him mad knowing he has to hide this from his best friend.

The sting in Tony’s head seems to then turn into a low hum in his brain, he felt his body vibrate and feel light, he couldn’t tell if it felt good or bad for him but it was there, then there was a slight whisper, then that freaked him out. He kept staring at Ellis, he could see that his mouth was open, he was about to tell Tony something but he was pulled from the eye contact when Greg tugged him back, and the moment he did the small whispers stopped.

”Earth to Tony!” Greg yelled, “where are you going? our class is this way.” he let go of his wrist, Tony shrugged turning his head toward where Ellis was, he waved bye and headed to his own class, “we see him next period dumb dumb.” Greg elbowed him on his side. Tony rubbed his head, the fuzzy feeling was gone, he twisted his lips in concern as he walked to his desk and sat down keeping his gaze out the window next to him.

The late bell rang and the teacher walked in silencing the group of kids and making them go to their seats, the moment the teacher began to speak into the new lesson his eyes grew heavy, he yawned feeling his eyes begin to tear up, he rested his head down on the desk, can’t be so bad to nap for just a bit…

——————————————

“Tony…” a voice echoed, “Tony are you okay?” The voice began to sound more and more clearer, soon enough it took Tony a while to realize it was Greg.

“Tony, come on, answer me!” Greg spoke shakily, Tony realized right then and there that he was on the floor of what seemed to be the back area of somewhere, how did he get here?

“Greg?” Tony answered confused, in front of him was the voice of his friend, but also someone in some weird bunny suit? ”Greg, is that you?” he asked, “what happened?” He looked around the room, it was too dark to completely know where he was but bright enough to see the area where he and Greg stood.

“Let’s not worry about that right now..” Greg said calmly, raising his hands to reassure him, Tony looked at the kid in the rabbit suit, confused, scared? he wasn’t even sure how he’s here.

“Hold on.” Greg said, moving his hands up to his rabbit head and pulling it off. His face looked red and his chocolate brown hair was a complete mess. Tony stared at Greg as he gave him a small smile,

”Greg,” Tony said looking at him, studying his face and catching every single feature to see if it really is him. And it was, his pale skin, his chocolate brown hair, and his eyes, his eyes were the same, but there was something a bit different. His eyes had a hint of purple faded in with his dark brown eyes, he saw them back when they were in the bathroom when he was having his horrible headache and nausea. But he’s seeing them even clearer than before, was it the lighting? or was it something else?

”Hey Tony.” Greg replied back, Tony was a bit relieved to know that it was his best friend, but also a bit concerned, why did it not matter about what happened, and why does he feel like he remembers this happening before,

“why are you—what are you—“ Tony fumbled over his words, that same sting he felt before began again, rushing through Tony’s head, he hisses softly moving his hand up to his head applying pressure, hoping it could soothe out the pain,

“Why does my head hurt so much?” Tony said, Greg looked at him worriedly, but changed his expression almost immediately with a small smile,

”You hit your head pretty hard back there.” Greg responded, Tony glanced over at him, back there? back where? What even happened? Tony opened his mouth to ask, but nothing came out.

————————————

Tony felt a hand touch his shoulder from behind him, he jumped up from his desk and turned around frantically to find Greg looking at him almost a bit stunned. Tony looked around the room, he was back at school, in his classroom? Was he having a dream?

“Yo, Tony? you alright there?” Greg asked as he grabbed his backpack from his chair and threw it on his back, Tony looked over at Greg, extremely confused on what he was dreaming about, and how he managed to sleep through the whole class.

Tony stood silent for a moment, staring down at his desk before looking back at Greg with an uncertain smile, “no, yeah, i'm alright sorry” he rubbed the back of his neck. “You just scared me a bit there.” Tony said, Greg laughed patting his back as they walked to the door out into the hall,

”My bad, you were just reallyyy knocked out back there, almost thought you were dead or something” Greg joked, Tony rolled his eyes, as used at his friends imagination, but it did leave him a bit concerned on his sleep schedule, he might have to tell his mom about starting to giving him some melatonin probably.

”Yeah, or something.” Tony replied back doubtfully.

PHew okay, thats done before school comes back to drag me down to the depths of the not so fun place called hell, hopefully you guys will enjoy this mini series I made, I surprisingly have an idea of how this will go so I am PRAYING this will be finished or at least be long enough :,))

I will def post what ideas i have from this AU and my designs for Glitchtrapped Tony and…maybe mini comics when I have the energy to

OKAY THATS ENOUGH.

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf ggy #fnaf au #ggy #tony becker #Glitchtrapped Tony AU #tales from the pizzaplex #fnaf tftpp #ggy trio #ellis fnaf #fnaf gregory #writing

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finniestoncrane · 1 year ago

Note

hello finnie i am very kindly asking for kissing as a distraction with btas edward thank you

Take A Break

BTAS!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 650 i am being so brave right now because this is the first thing i've properly written for this absolute sweetheart SO I HOPE IT'S OK!! 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: really just fluff, and some kissing, and a tiny bit of teasing

Eddie removed his deep green bowler hat and tossed it to the side, letting his gloved fingers run through his soft, red hair. Leaning back on the chair he let out a deep exhale, staring, unblinking, at the screen in front of him. The screeds of code, line upon line, made your head hurt to look at, and you could tell he was getting the same way. As he dragged his hands down his face, he settled one on his chin, scratching at it as he looked at the monitors.

Coming from behind him, you draped your arms around his shoulders, laying your palms flat on his chest and feeling him lean further back into you. He tilted his head up and offered you a weak smile.

“Please, my dear. No distractions. If I’m to finish this project on time, then I need to reserve all of my focus for it.”

Not one to take no for an answer, you sighed dramatically as you circled him, perching on the desk between him and the screens. Avoiding any eye contact, you brushed at the lapels of his suit jacket, straightening them out and smoothing them down as you used the pretence to make lingering physical contact with him. He watched you intensely, savouring each soft brush of your fingers against him, biting the inside of his cheek in a bid to keep himself from losing focus on what was important.

But he could feel himself coming undone regardless as he watched your fingertips take hold of the end of his tie, untucking it from his buttoned jacket and playing with it as you leaned closer. You ran the toe of your shoe up the front of his leg, a slight movement, almost imperceptible but outrageously flirtatious nonetheless. That kind of understated, almost innocent kind of teasing drove him wild, and you could tell it was working now. His cheeks flushed a soft pink and his eyes lingered on your hands.

Just as quickly as you had him under your spell, however, he shook himself out of it, placing his hands over yours and pushing them away gently. He cupped them for a moment longer, smiling warmly, if not exasperated.

“My sweet, I appreciate the sentiments, but I really must get this finished.”

Shuffling past you, he tucked himself back under the desk, continuing to type out the code for his videogame, furrowing his brow and closing his eyes tight each time a wave of pain from the developing headache crossed him.

“You’re a stubborn man, Mister Nygma.”

He chuckled softly, neither confirming nor denying it. You stood up from the desk and let your hand find his face, caressing it softly as you walked behind him again. Leaning into his ear, you spoke quieter.

“And you’re very lucky that you’re so adorable.”

A soft kiss was placed on his cheek, before you moved to the other side of his head.

“Otherwise, I might not put up with you.”

Another kiss on this cheek now, lingering longer as you let your hands fall down his front once more, slowly toying with the buttons on his shirt before loosening one completely. At your insistence, Eddie finally got up from his seat, turning to you, grabbing your elbows and pulling you into an embrace as his lips found yours.

He held you to him, warm and firm, as he let a soft sigh out against your mouth, his hand reaching to the back of your head to keep you still, not wanting you to pull away before he was satisfied. As soon as he eased off you moved back, taking in a deep breath and watching a smile curl up on the corners of his mouth.

“Perhaps a distraction was necessary.”

“Hm… has it cured your headache?”

“Not completely, but I think I know what would.”

A mischievous grin brought out your own smile as he took your hand and led you out of the room.

#finnie writes #riddler #the riddler #riddler imagine #the riddler imagine #the riddler fanfic #riddler fanfic #riddler x reader #riddler x you #btas riddler #btas!riddler #batman the animated series

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77gigabytes · 2 years ago

Text

Welcome Home {Kuroo x Reader}

Secret Agent! Kuroo x Dispatcher! Reader

So, this, uh, somehow, uh, like, quintupled in length from my original note, I don’t know how, but I guess my fingers slipped? Oops?

|| Masterlist ||

Kuroo, Bokuto and Iwaizumi are Team 1

You, Akaashi and Oikawa are their dispatchers, respectively

The six of you share a communication channel, but you have a separate one with Kuroo similar to how Akaashi and Bokuto have one, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi have one

Kuroo always teases you through your comms even when the others are listening. You never fail to say something snarky back to him or completely ignore him altogether—

“If I return successfully on this mission, will you give me a welcome back kiss as a reward, Y/N-chan?”

“Tch, as if.”

“Argh, get a room, you two lovebirds, you have a separate channel you know.” Cue Oikawa fake gagging.

– but he always somehow gets sweeter and more sensual when talking on your private channel:

It's super late into the night. Akaashi and Oikawa have gone to sleep and you're borderline dozing off. Your chair is fully reclined and your feet are propped up on the desk.

“Y/N? You still there, sweet?”

You jerk up, your chair almost folding you in half with how fast you tried to straighten it.

Hands flying to the keyboard, looking at each screen you have of their info, vitals, location, supplies, etc., “Yeah? Yeah, what do you need? Are you guys okay?” you make sure everything is still green

“Yeah, we’re good, I just wanted to hear your voice, Kitten.”

Kuroo was always a little more straightforward when it was late at night.

You hum and the heat travels to your cheeks as you recline

You can see him through the CCTV cameras Akaashi got into.

“Talk to me, Y/N-chan… So I don’t fall asleep on these snoring fools.” He chuckles and you see him crossing his hand across his chest.

His voice was much softer than his usual strong and commanding one, but it was nice in your ears, so you closed your eyes and took a breath

“Hmm,” You lean back into your chair, “Did I ever tell you how much I hated you—”

“—I think you say that every day. In fact, sweetheart, at this point, I think you mean I love you.”

You sputter out a disbelieving laugh, “I was going to say how much I hated you for always somehow being higher in rank than me!” You try to defend, “Always beating me by a few points even though I gave my 110 per cent!” your voice slowly rose as you finished the sentence.

Akaashi turns in his temporary futon on the floor between yours and Oikawa’s

Your hand whips to your mouth, but luckily, he’s still fast asleep and Oikawa’s sleeping like a log, sheets ruffled and tangled all sorts of ways around his legs.

“Well, it’s what I like about you.”

You frown, “What? That I can never surpass you?”

You hear his deep but soft rumble of a laugh, “No, sweetheart, the fact that you always give it your all. It’s why I put my full trust in you as my partner behind the scenes. Speaking of which, why did you apply as a dispatcher, anyway? You definitely had the points and the commendations to be out here with me, Kitten.”

“Please, we’d be at each other’s throats if I was out there with you.” You reply without thought, but then mumble into your hand, “Who else was going to watch your back.”

“What was—” static cuts him off

Then a sharp ring in your ear has you whipping the earpieces out of your ears and bouncing on the desk where they eventually roll off to the floor

Even though he teases you so much, you can’t help but worry when you suddenly lose contact with him

“Kuroo? Hey! Do you read me?” All the text on your screen starts turning orange, red and flashing, “Kuroo!”

You shake Akaashi awake and throw a stress ball at Oikawa’s head but eventually have to kick him awake, “Hey, hey, wake up, we’ve lost them, get Ki-chan, Kenma and Kunimi-kun.”

Oikawa’s up and almost sliding the door off of its hinges to get them

Kiyoko-chan, Kenma and Kunimi-kun are assigned to the Intelligence team

they start working on why you’ve lost contact with them, hair all messy from just waking up and eyes half-lidded with sleep

It’s been a full five days since you lost contact. They weren’t even meant to be out there for longer than two days.

Before they left, you optimised their supplies so they wouldn’t be slowed down by the weight.

You know for sure that they’ve probably burned through it by now.

You were just about ready to barge up to the big bosses’ room, pretty much ready to gear up and go out there yourself. More than qualified to do so, too.

Akaashi was holding you back mumbling all sorts of arguments trying to convince you to stay put.

“Y/N! Where’s Y/N?!” Kenma’s voice echoes through the hallways, “Comms are back on! We’ve got contact!”

You’re rushing to your dispatcher’s room in no time and stuffing the earpiece in, “Kuroo!”

It’s not Kuroo’s voice that goes through, it’s Iwaizumi's.

“L/N-chan, we’re still looking for him, we got separated.”

“What? What do you mean ‘You’re still looking’? You mean he’s been gone for… how long?”

“A couple of hours after we lost contact, we got split up. We have his earpiece, it’s how I’m talking to you, mine was smashed to pieces.”

“Find him, find him, you need to find him!” you plead.

You jump when you feel a hand on your shoulder and meet Oikawa’s eyes, “L/N-chi, they’re doing the best their can, let’s do our best here too, okay? Breathe, Chibi-chan.”

You suck a deep breath, close your eyes, and then exhale, “Yeah, yeah.” You say and press the button to speak with Iwaizumi, “Sorry, Iwa-kun… Oikawa and I can check all the cameras and check the data in all of your black boxes. In the meantime, update Akaashi on your supplies, find water, and…stay safe… Find him...please.” Your voice breaks as you plead to him.

“Bokuto-san and I will do everything we can, L/N-chan.”

For the next couple of hours, you’re all cooped up in the dispatch room, tracing their movement, hypothesising where Kuroo might have gone, you map out the area knowing that he’d have gone to find water at some point.

It was a few hours later that you hear Bokuto yelling into the microphone, “We found him! Kuroo! Over here.”

You couldn’t even let out a breath before he’s saying something that makes your stomach drop to the floor

“Oh my God, Kuroo! Iwa-chan, we need your med kit! Quick! Kuroo, hey, stay with me.”

“Bo, Iwa-kun, what’s going on?” you plead.

“L/N-chan, I’m giving the headset to Kuroo, keep talking to him, keep him awake.”

You hear some shuffling and then a spluttering cough, “Keep the pressure, Bokuto! Here…gauze, bandage!”

You blink, stuttering out your breaths, he’s bleeding somewhere, you deduce, if he’s coughing up blood, chest wound? Internal bleeding?

“Ki—urgh—Kitten?” He heaves.

“Yeah, yeah,” You fix the small devices in your ear, “I’m here, I’m here. You need to stay awake, Kuroo.”

He only hums in response.

“Kuroo, you—you idiot! What were you thinking, what happened? I… I hate you, you know..”

He lets out a chuckle but then winces

“Y/N-chan, I’ve got visual!” Oikawa shouts and pushes the screen to you. You can hear Akaashi dispatching Team 2 (Daichi, Ushijima and Atsumu – weirdest combo you’ve seen, but somehow, they work well)

You see Bokuto and Iwaizumi hunched over Kuroo, they’ve got gauze, bandages and even Bokuto’s shirt pressed onto his right side and chest.

It’s soaked red.

Keep talking to him, keep him awake. Iwaizumi’s words bounce around in your head.

What do I talk about? What do I say? Usually, he’s the one talking, I… I only ever give instructions, Kuroo, Kuroo, what do I do to keep you awake?

“I…Kuroo, I… What’s, uh, your favourite colour?”

You hear him breathing heavily into the headset and faintly hear Bokuto and Iwaizumi working in the background. Your eyes are set on his figure on the screen, his chest is barely moving, and his eyes are half-lidded.

“Pink. Red. Or something.”

Your brows furrow, “Pink?”

“Yeah,” he coughs again, and you see blood splutter from his lips.

Red. Bright red. Even on his black uniform.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever colour you blush –urk—is my favourite colour.”

You collapse on your knees to the floor. “I…I really do hate you.” You shake your head. Even as he’s in a situation like this, he’s teasing you. Even in a situation like this, he’s thinking about you.

“I love you, too, Kitten.” You see him close his eyes and smile.

You don’t even recognise what he said, too on edge, especially when you see he’s paling quickly.

“Oi! Kuroo!” You stand up, pulling the screen closer to you, “Open your eyes! Please!”

“I’m not going anywhere, Kitten. Not until I get that welcome back kiss from you.” He breathes out a chuckle

Team 2’s entering the camera’s view and Daichi pulls out another med kit, water bottle and IV bag. Expertly, he’s fixing the bandages and inserting a cannula into the crook of Kuroo’s elbow. He attaches the tubing to the bag and hands it to Bokuto who holds it up.

Ushijima and Iwaizumi have unfolded a stretcher turning Kuroo one way and then the other to slide it under him without having to lift him

Soon after, they’re making their way out and your fingers are flying on the keyboard trying to follow their movement through the CCTV cameras.

“L/N-chan…L/N? Hey…”

You don’t stop even though you hear Oikawa calling for you.

Not until Oikawa swivels your chair to face him, “Hey…L/N-chan, it’s okay. I can take over from here.”

“No, no, He—”

“—He’s safe, Chibi-chan.” Oikawa reassures.

Akaashi comes up to you and places a tentative hand on your head, “You need to rest; you’ve been awake all day and all night.”

Oikawa nods, “Mmm, we can take over from here.”

“But I—"

“You trust us, don’t you? I promise you; I’ll make sure he comes back home to you, L/N-san.”

You nod and Akaashi leads you to your futon on the floor and tucks you in.

Before he stands up to get back to his chair, you take hold of his wrist, “Promise me, you’ll wake me when he gets here.”

When you wake up, there’s no one else in the room. Your head is heavy and pounding, but you sit up, with a hand at your temples

As you do, the door slides open.

You look up and see Akaashi with a food tray, “Oh, perfect, you’re awake, L/N-san.”

You blink up at him. Akaashi…

Kuroo!

“Kuroo-san’s recovering if you’re wondering.” He sets the tray down on the floor next to you, “He’s in the infirmary. Stable, but still sleeping.”

You flick the covers from your body and move to get up, but you’re stopped by Akaashi.

“L/N-san, it’s okay. Eat first.”

“I need to go see him.”

“Eat first, he’s not going anywhere, he’s safe. You need to take care of yourself, too, L/N-san. For Kuroo’s sake, as well.”

You clench your hands and as if seeing your inner turmoil, he sighs and picks up the tray and walks to the door.

Your brows are pinched as he stops in the threshold to look at you, “You coming? You can eat in Kuroo-san’s room in the infirmary.”

When you get to his room, you see him you see him in a seated position on the hospital bed

If you hadn’t known what happened, you would’ve thought he was simply asleep.

“I’ll set your food here, L/N-san.”

You turn to Akaashi as he exits, “Thank you, Akaashi-kun. Really.”

He offers the smallest of smiles and nods before closing the door behind him.

You turn back to Kuroo, taking a few steps forwards to take one of his hands in both of yours.

There are small cuts on his hand that you run your thumbs over.

“Kuroo.” You whimper and your vision is blurring over with tears, “Kuroo, Kuroo, Kuroo.”

As if hearing you call, Kuroo’s eyes flutter open

You don’t see through the tears, but you feel him squeeze your fingers.

“Hey there, sweet.” He rasps.

Your head whips up to his face, “Kuroo! Kuroo…” you pull his hand up so that his fingers are touching your forehead.

He says something that you can’t hear

“Huh?”

“Come here.” He says a little louder. You shuffle closer to him, and he releases his hand to cup your cheek

“What do you need?” you ask him.

“Can I…”

“Hmm?”

“Can I have my welcome home kiss, now?”

You pull away and you see him with a small smile, “Idiot! How can you joke in a time like this?” You slap his shoulder, and he winces.

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” You cover the area with your hand, “I…” then you grab his hand again, holding back your tears, “I almost lost you, Kuroo. Hahhhh,” You look up at the ceiling to stop the tears from flowing, “I hate you. I hate how much you affect me.”

When you look at him again, he’s already looking at you with the softest of smiles. You quirk your lips and then lean in to press your lips to his.

“Welcome home, baka. Don’t do that again.”

As you go to pull away, you feel his hand at the back of your neck, pulling you back to him, “I’m home.” He says and then pecks your lips once more.

I had a lot of fun writing this. I really didn't intend for it to be this long hahaha, but I hope you liked it :3.

As the title says, If you guys want and if I'm feeling it, I might turn it into a full one-shot (Or even a mini-series with how long it ended up)

Anyways, have a good day!

|| Masterlist ||

This is Seven, signing off :)

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