#in that little carrying case in their bag

[cmdrfupa]

Nanami sat at a quiet corner table in a small cafe, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup that had long since cooled. His gaze drifted out the window, taking in the sights of the street but focusing on none of them.

The hum of the cafe, the muted conversations and clinking cups, was soothing. A moment of quiet felt surreal as he waited for you to meet him.

“Excuse me?”

Nanami looked down to see a small girl, maybe six or seven years old, standing by his table. Her eyes were round and curious, and she was staring at the healed web like burn scars on his face and the scars that peeked out from under the cuff of his shirt.

He felt a pang of self-consciousness and was about to glance away, but the girl tilted her head, undeterred.

“What happened to your face?” she asked, her tone as innocent as her question.

Nanami blinked. He wasn’t used to such direct curiosity. Most people (adults) either looked away out of politeness or offered a sympathetic smile that he never quite knew how to respond to. But this child simply waited, eyes bright and expectant.

He took a steadying breath. “I got hurt while I was working,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I’m alright now.”

“Oh,” she replied, digesting this. She looked at his hand, tracing her gaze over the marks on his fingers and wrists. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not anymore.” He found himself softening a bit, his usual reserve giving way to something gentler in the face of her openness.

She nodded, apparently satisfied with this answer, and then broke into a grin. “I think it looks cool. It’s like super hero scars. You must be one!”

Nanami couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Thank you,” he said. “But I’m not a superhero.”

The girl crossed her arms, as if deep in thought. “My dad says superheroes don’t always wear capes. He says sometimes they’re just regular people who help.”

Nanami felt something twist in his chest at that. “Your dad sounds like a smart man.”

“Sometimes,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “But he doesn’t like coffee or chocolate. He says it tastes like dirt.”

Nanami let out a quiet chuckle. “It does, a little bit. But I like it anyway. And chocolate? That sounds criminal.”

The girl laughed with him “That’s what I think! Chocolate is yummy. He’s nuts.” For a moment, it felt like the weight of everything he’d been carrying was a little lighter.

“My name is Emi.”

“I’m Nanami. It’s nice to meet you Emi. Where are your parents?”

“Behind the counter. They own the cafe.” She smiled as she waved at her dad who gave an apologetic look towards Nanami.

“Do you come here a lot?” she asked, swinging her arms a bit as she looked around the cafe.

“Sometimes. Me and my wife like the pastries here. Or I come here to think.”

She seemed to consider this, then pulled a bright red crayon from the front pocket of her Bluey bag and placed it carefully on the table. “Here. In case you need to write something while you think. Or your wife!” she offered earnestly.

Nanami took the crayon, holding it between his fingers as if it were made of glass. “Thank you,” he said, voice soft. “That’s very kind of you.”

The gentle wind from the door opening brought Nanami’s eyes up and to you as you walked over. “Hi darling.”

You bent to kiss his cheek and smiled before looking over at the little girl. “Well hello! Do we have a new friend?”

“I’m Emi! Is Mr. Nanami your husband?”

You nodded sitting down at the table but still keep contact with the girl.” “Uh huh. He is.”

“Thats so cool. You’re married to a super hero! Did you know that?”

You looked up to Nanami, confused as he chuckled and traced his thumb over the crayons paper wrapping. “It’s.. we’ll get to that in a second.”

[diodellet]

try wishing for it: magical girl au (scarabia x gn!reader)

inspired by @ceruleancattail's magical girl au and @yan-lorkai's yandere genie fic. note: i also imagine scarabia's mascot form to look like this. title is ripped from tohma's magical girl eudaemonics. content warnings: -yandere (if you squint, since scarabia's taking the role of kyubey in this fic. references of manipulation and general moral grayness.) -fic uses "magical girl" but means it in a gender-neutral sense (reader is referred to with they/them pronouns) word count: 2.7k words

Being a magical girl means gaining the power to do virtually anything you can dream of.

The first time you defeat a wraith, you stare in awe at your hands, breathing heavily from sheer excitement rather than exertion. With one final roar, the beast falls to the ground, before dissolving into black smoke.

“Woah, you did it! You really took it down!” Kalim barrels into you, gushing praise after praise. “See, Jamil? I told you they were going to be powerful!” 

Jamil is more mindful of you, instead floating over to land on your other shoulder. “Nice job.”

“You’re a natural!” Kalim’s bouncing with joy in your palm, waving his little stubby arms. “You probably won’t even need to use your three wishes!”

Right, there was that. In the case that you were against an overwhelmingly powerful foe, you could draw on your familiars’ magic—a ‘wish,’ they called it.

“Don’t jinx them, Kalim.”

“...What happens if I asked for more wishes?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” The stitches of Jamil’s plush smile don’t change, but there’s a note of something foreboding in his words. “Though, you don’t seem like the type to squander them. Don’t worry about it too much.” Despite their cartoonish appearance, your familiars’ words and warnings carried a grave weight

Your gaze drifts to the slain wraith. All that remains is the tarnished metal collar that hung around its neck, until it too crumbles into dust.

There’s something hauntingly beautiful in that faint shimmer of gold as it gets blown away by the wind.

Being a magical girl means toting around two innocuous round plushies of your familiars to class.

With your new double life, you get two new companions following you around. It means bearing Kalim’s excited chattering as you take notes, dealing with Jamil’s snide teasing as your classmates point out your new bag charms.

What you don’t expect is to see the two of them sitting in your living room the next morning, clad in your school’s uniform.

“Good mor—oof!” Your book bag collides with Kalim’s chest and you use the momentum to drag him and Jamil by the elbow out of your house, ignoring your dad’s concerned calls with a loud “I’m heading out!”

You didn’t get the memo that being able to transform was part of their repertoire as magical familiars, but you should’ve expected this. Between Kalim’s thousand-kilowatt smile and Jamil’s calculating gaze, you very much prefer them as small round plushies.

(It’s strange that your schoolmates and teachers don’t question the two new additions to the class, but you appreciate that your cover wasn’t blown with this curveball. You suspect it might have to do with the red glow in Jamil’s eyes. You decide to question them at the end of the class day.)

“It’d be better if one of you stayed as a plushie.”

“Then that means it would be Jamil since he’s better at keeping attention off of us.”

“By that logic, they’re talking about you, Kalim.” Is it you or is that a hint of a smile on Jamil’s lips?

“Oh.” Kalim’s expression falls into a pout. “But I like attending classes with you!”

He probably wouldn’t like it as much during exams week. “I wouldn’t be able to keep a low profile if people noticed you…guys following me around.”

“Aw, I guess so…Thanks for treating us to ice cream, though!”

You offer to buy them another one, just to make their one and only day at school special. You start heading towards another freezer, there’s a special lottery on these soda popsicles.

Jamil’s attention turns toward the counter. He’d been eyeing the person at the cashier. “Wait, something seems—” 

And that’s all the warning he can give before a group of wraiths crashes through the convenience store wall. Ending up in a sprawled mess of tangled limbs was not ideal. It’s settled, you definitely preferred them in their plushie forms.

Being a magical girl means getting woken up by Kalim in the middle of the night to patrol the city.

As a hand-sized plush ball, he’s already pretty strong. But under the cover of night, he can shed his disguise and drag accompany you around to see you deliver justice to evildoers. 

Your drowsiness fades away as you leap from rooftop to rooftop, dispatching fledgeling wraiths hiding in narrow alleyways, stopping drunken confrontations, watching over lone pedestrians traversing through seedier parts of the city.

“There’s another one, it’s a low-ranking wraith!”

“I’ve got it!” Magic gathers around your weapon, bathing it in golden light as you swing and cleave the monster into two.

It didn’t even get a fighting chance to writhe or fight back. All it can do is dissipate into nothing.

Which is for the best.

“That was so quick!” Kalim bounds over to you as your weapon fades out of view. “You’re getting better and better at fighting!”

“Well, you did say it was a weak one…” You tug at the collar of your outfit. His praise feels like staring into the glare of the sun, straight on. “I’m probably not that much better than those other magical girls before me.”

“Still! It doesn’t make you any less amazing—Are you hurt anywhere?” Kalim starts looking you over for any injuries that he might have missed.

Too close. “Not a scratch. Come on, let’s head home.”

Though you should’ve expected things would go sideways at some point, that the night would bring untold horrors instead of passing peacefully. In a mix of your carelessness and Kalim’s overexcitement, an avian-like wraith appears and catches you both offguard, talons closing around his midsection and carrying him into the sky, each powerful beat of its wings taking him farther and farther away from you.

Adrenaline surges through you and the asphalt of the sidewalk cracks underneath your soles as you leap to the sky in pursuit. “Kalim!” Just before you can close the distance, he screams at you to get back, making you falter. A long shadow whips through the air—a prehensile tail of sorts—preventing you from approaching. 

Switching tactics, you aim for its wings. Better to bring it to the ground.

(Miraculously, Kalim got the cue to turn into his plushie form to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. You manage to catch him before the both of you crash. Though, Kalim’s awed gushing was probably going to give you a sunburn.)

Being a magical girl means Jamil takes your healthcare into his own hands, sometimes.

“It’s the sleep deprivation.”

“No, it’s not.” A coughing fit strikes you at that moment, betraying the extent of your sickness.

“It’s because you’re overexerting yourself with your ‘nightly escapades.’”

“Fine—so what if I am? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? To protect helpless people day and night?”

“Obviously, not at the cost of your own wellbeing!”

You didn’t think you would ever end up in this kind of situation, being yelled at by a floating plush ball while confined to your bed of messy blankets and used tissues.

The angry heat in your face is making your headache worse, makes you see gray for a moment before you could fire back.

“...I’m sorry,” you spit without an ounce of penance.

Jamil sighs. “Well. There’s no use in pressing the matter any further.” Just before he disappears, he tells you to get some rest.

Easier said than done.

The minutes inch by agonizingly slow. Your room is so silent, magnifying the buzz of your own thoughts. Up until this point, your life became a whirlwind of academics, extracurriculars, and fighting evil monsters. But at this moment of standstill, you can’t help but come to the realization that he was right. With your rashness, you basically incapacitated yourself. Sure, your familiars were also capable magic users. Sure, they could hold off wraiths from doing any major damage, but the thought that this entire situation could have been avoided, that this was entirely your fault—

A tear slips down your cheek, then more and more, until you’re quietly sobbing, frustrated, into your palms.

The mattress of your bed dips with the added weight of another person. “Mom—”

Jamil shushes you. “Drink this first.” You hear the rustle of plastic—did he go to the pharmacy?—and feel him press two tablets into your hand. As you swallow them, he hands you a glass of water. His other hand rests against your sweat-covered back, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin. 

(It is a stark contrast to his rough words from earlier.)

“I thought you…” They probably had other magical fighters to watch over, didn’t they?

It’s probably the fever messing with your senses, but there’s an uncharacteristic softness in Jamil’s voice. “Shh. No more of that, now.”

“...then why?” Were you really the only one?

“Just focus on getting better.” 

“But—”

“Your mom’s making soup for dinner, she will come to check on you in an hour. I’ll stay with you until then. Rest.” 

His words are not enough to placate your worries fully, but there’s a soft glow of red in his irises that makes you acquiesce and close your eyes, all while clutching onto Jamil’s wrist.

Being a magical girl means thinking up new ways to explain your many conversations “to yourself.”

Your parents are easy, it’s just the angst of youth. But your siblings are a little more difficult to convince. In addition to your moments of listlessness, they can hear your frantic back and forth pacing and the thump of you throwing your plushies against the paper-thin walls of your room. It can only mean one thing—

“Get out! I’m not having romance issues!” You slam the door behind your sibling’s cackles.

Your familiars remain still, seated on your bed until the sound of footsteps is sufficiently out of earshot.

“Are you really seeing someone?” Kalim pipes up.

“No!” You bury your face into your hands. “I—How would I have the time for that?”

“Besides,” Jamil chimes in, “we’re the only ones who’ve been accompanying them. Unless—”

Your body moves of its own accord, snatching Jamil with both hands and giving him a threatening squeeze, an unspoken ‘don’t you dare finish that sentence’ left hanging in mid-air.

When he stays quiet, your death grip lightens up. Just a little bit. A heavy exhale leaves your frame. “Look, for all that we’ve gone through—”

(A part of you is hesitant to admit it but, having gained them as new companions made your journey as a magical girl feel less daunting. You felt safe knowing that you could rely on them to watch your back, in spite of the close calls you’ve had. 

As for whether or not you’d started looking at them differently, well, you’d need more time to think on it. There. End of conversation.)

“I guess… I’m glad I met you. The both of you,” you finished lamely.

The silence that followed was deafening. For once, you’d wished their plushie forms could emote more instead of giving you that placid smile. 

With a pop! and shower of golden sparks, Kalim’s arms close around you in a tight hug. A bright grin splitting his cheeks. “I’m happy we’re friends too!”

“Stop squeezing me!” Jamil grits out.

Being a magical girl means double checking your word choice, especially for any quips and retorts.

The first time you transformed, you commented offhandedly about your footwear and Jamil made a little adjustment to your attire. 

With a snap of his fingers, a golden bangle clasps around your ankle. Lightweight, no doubt it would look beautiful when the light hits it at the right angle, but—

A frown pulls at your lips.

“Would you like another one? Just for some…symmetry,” Jamil suggests. 

You decide better against responding to that. 

“Think of it as a gift from me and Kalim.”

Was this something they bestowed to every magical fighter they took under their wing? “...Some gift this is.”

“Relax, you still have three wishes left. I won’t trick you into wasting them.”

Well, that diminished most of your initial doubt. “How can I be sure of that?” you question.

Jamil’s head tilts to the side, appraising you with an eerily-observant gaze. “All you have to do is ask. Anything that your heart desires, anything your mind can conceive.” 

You don’t like how his eyes are trained on you, making you feel small. You pick at an imaginary speck of dirt on your top, straighten out the already-impeccable fabric.

A thick silence falls over the both of you.

“...Will you—will you both ask me if I’m sure, before granting my wish?” It’s such a stupid thing to worry about, to fuss over the intricacies of your arrangement as Magical Girl and Familiar.

“Of course.” Jamil gives you a smile. “Shall we head to where Kalim is?”

“Yeah.” Your weapon appears in your hand with a flash of gold. “Let’s destroy that wraith’s nest.”

(More than desires you want fulfilled, there are anxieties you want quelled, fears you want silenced. Miracles to the myriad of unfortunate catastrophes that plagued your home—the flawed world that you lived in. So what if you contained untold power at your fingertips? You were only one person tasked with the protection of hundreds. At the peak of your distress—in the midst of sirens and flashing lights—you call for Jamil and utter your first wish through choked sobs.)

Being a magical girl means not relying on your powers, sometimes.

The trapped kitten gives another pitiful wail, thrashing against your grip as you clamber down the tree. In holding onto it tightly, you earn a set of angry-red scratch marks along the backs of your hands before reaching solid ground. The kitten bounds away with a final hiss.

“Why didn’t you transform?” Kalim asks.

You shrug, running a finger over one of the scratches. “I guess it’s ’cause I didn’t wanna mess up the outfit.”

“What do you mean?”

Bashful, your gaze ducks to your shoes, worn from years of use but sturdily hanging on. “It’s just, lately, the wraiths have been getting more and more powerful. And I…” Feel weak? Pressured? Alright, maybe you were still hung up over leaving a little crater at a major intersection, but it was either that or letting the ursine wraith lay waste to the nearby shopping center. There wasn’t any time to dwell on those shortcomings.

(But your mind liked to circle back to it. Was there any more you could do? Why couldn’t you do more?)

They warned you about this, that at some point, you would end up facing more destructive wraiths. That you would have to choose among innocents.

He takes your injured hands. “You can always make a wish.” Kalim’s healing magic washes over you, cool and gentle, like a stream of water. You watch the scratches slowly close up until they become nothing more than a set of faint white lines. “That’s what me and Jamil are for.”

“That’s true…”

“Anything you want.” Kalim repeats. “I’ll make it happen.”

It’s those simple words— and the sight of him cradling your hands in his palms—that grant you the courage to speak your next words, your second wish.

Being a magical girl means weighing your soul against the lives of people, friends and strangers alike.

“Come on, you have to get up.” Tears are streaming down Kalim’s cheeks, his hands hover by your prone and bloodied form, unsure of which wounds to heal.

Wearily, you gaze cranes upwards as if every bit of movement caused pain throughout your body.

Jamil has witnessed this scenario a thousand times. He keeps a stoic face. “Are you just going to let them destroy everything?”

“...I can’t let them…”

“You’re hurting yourself! Jamil, you have to do something!”

“It’s not my choice to make.”

When in the face of an unstoppable threat—a horde of chimeran wraiths that will lay waste to your home, will you make that final third wish and trust in them?

Jamil knows how you’ll answer. Rather than using them as quick and easy schemes, your first two wishes were—in some way—made for the good of others around you. For someone who won’t even know or care about that small bit of kindness. At the core of every human is a desperate self-preservation instinct that pushes them to make a final wish. And like clockwork, you will follow like the rest of the magical girls that they created. It’s a strategy that has benefited him and Kalim. And he has been fervently waiting for this moment, for a powerful one like you to—

“I’m...not giving up…!”

Or not? 

His lips curl into a smile. “Then give them hell.”

They can wait this out. Compared to their infinite lifespan, your emotional fortitude was only a drop in the ocean.

a/n: aaaa thanks @jessamine-rose for betaing this fic with ur fresh eyes. this au rlly gave me brainworms of the feral variety, i think i liked leaving most of the details ambiguous and free to interpretation, but i might come up with a separate author's note post about worldbuilding bits i couldnt fit in? eh we'll see! i hope yall enjoyed reading this! tagging some jamilnatics: @viperwhispered @twstgo @just-a-little-silly @mama-m1na @crystallizsch @sillystr1ngs (lmk if you wanna join the taglist for jamil writing in the replies)

[loverslodge]

the date

You were nervous to say the least. The date was supposed to start at 10 am but you got here at 9:30 am. You had chosen your favourite cafe because it made things easier. Just in case they did decide to ditch you, at least you could buy yourself your regular and go back home.

You were dressed in your favourite cherry colored plain sundress and white shoes. You carried a small bag with you that carried your wallet, phone, lip balm and water bottle. Your hair was half up and your stray hair had started falling out framing your face.

You sat in your booth and waited. You had brought a book with you but who were you kidding? You weren't going to read anything. You kept on glancing at the door. You've never been this nervous about a date before. But also, this wasn't exactly a real date, was it?

The door opened and two tall large figures walked in with flowers in their hands. They were in a deep argument or was it a discussion? They let their conversation go and looked around. You tentatively got up from the booth which caught their attention and they bounded towards you like happy puppies.

You weren't just starstruck. You were just… nobody could explain. Your breath hitched a little and your heart skipped its beats and your stomach somersaulted. Your cheeks were tinted with pink and it was not just your makeup.

They both held out their hand to give you flowers. You smiled. They were clearly trying to be competitive. You chuckled a little and took both the flowers with both of your hands, deeming the competition null. “Thank you. I love roses, especially pinks and reds. I love these.”

Bucky and Steve were awestruck. You were even prettier in person. Your smile alluring and your chuckle endearing. And your voice? Sounded like the warm sun in spring.

They both had walked from different directions to get to the cafe. They both saw you from the cafe window. You looked so… angelic. They noticed your nervous tick of chewing your lower lip. Your lips looked so kissable. They also saw how you kept on glancing at the door. They did not want to make you wait any longer so they walked to the entrance at the same time.

“Bucky?” “Steve?”

Clearly, none of them had thought that the other would have accepted.

“What are you doing here?” Steve was the first one to break the silence.

“Me? What are you doing here?” Bucky wasn't going to back down easily.

“I'm here to… go… get coffee,” Steve stuttered.

“Weird. I didn't know you could get coffee with flowers in your hand.” Bucky quirked up his eyebrows. They were caught, there was no reason to lie.

“Uh…”

“Give it up, punk. You can't lie to save your own life. You're here to see the girl, aren't you? The email girl?”

“Yeah. you too?” Steve pointed at Bucky’s hand full of flowers.

“Yeah. her idea, whatever you call it, sounded, i don't know, interesting. Wanted to give it a shot.” Bucky shrugged.

“Yeah, it's no string attached, no expectations. It's liberating in a way.” Steve put his thoughts out and Bucky nodded to agree.

They both entered the cafe together, though a little apprehensive about the other being there. When you stood up so they could find you, they had to make sure they weren't dreaming. You weren't just angelic, you were… you looked beautiful. Especially in that floral sundress.

When Steve stepped forward to reach you, Bucky jumped up too. It had become a competition, unknowingly. But when you accepted their flowers at the same time, their heart thrummed in a rhythm. The moment they heard your voice, they were floored. Such a sweet voice, it was like a melody to them. And when they learnt that they picked the perfect flowers for you, they were on cloud nine seeing you smile at the flowers.

You guided them to sit on the opposite booth and Bucky slid in first, making Steve sit in the aisle. You did something unexpected after that. You took a rose from Steve’s side and gave it to Bucky and you took a rose from Bucky’s side and gave it to Steve. They were confused but in awe.

“Well, you both got me flowers and you both seemed… competitive, I thought it would be fair for me to give you each a rose from the other’s side. If I had known we were doing flowers, I would've bought some for you too.” You nestled the roses neatly in your bag so as to not crush them.

“I- no, the flowers just popped in my head and thought it was a gentlemanly thing to do.” Steve initiated the conversation. “And thank you for the rose.” His cheeks were flushed.

“Why would you give us the flowers though?” Bucky got curious about your comment.

“Oh! Well, you should get flowers too. It's not a rule for a woman to not get flowers for a man, is it?” You tilted your head in question.

“No, no it's not.” Bucky smirked. You were fantastic.

“So, umm, before we begin, I do have to say something. I don't mind doing this with both of you. I don't want to choose.” You fiddled with your fingers. “If any of you is uncomfortable with it, you both can pick who should stay. I dont- i wont.”

Bucky and Steve looked at each other. They had never thought about it. Sharing a date. They did share a few common traits they liked in women but sharing never crossed their mind. They turned their heads back to you.

“I don't want to come between two best friends again so if you decide that nobody wants this, it's okay as well. It was an email, not a contractual binding. You still have time to walk away.” you take in a deep breath.

“Again?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. He wanted to know more about that aspect of your story.

“It's- maybe some other time. Not right now.” You shuffled in your seat. “Talk it out, the two of you. I'll wait here.”

Bucky signaled Steve to stand up and they excused themselves. They stood outside the cafe in a way where they could see you. For a few minutes, all they could do was look at you.

There was something else about you, a sort of sadness that popped the moment they walked out of the cafe. You were rubbing your face with your hand as if you were worn out and your downcast eyes made their collective hearts clench.

“What do you say, Steve?” Bucky wanted to know what Steve thought. Surprisingly, it didn't cross Bucky’s mind that he would be jealous. Would he be?

“She's right. We cannot ask her to choose. She did email us individually.” Steve wasn't looking at Bucky. His eyes kept going back to you.

“So, you will be okay if I am on this date as well?” Bucky wasn't going to talk in circles. The time was of the essence.

“What?” Steve turned to Bucky. As well? What did Bucky mean? Did he mean all three of them go out together?

“You know, she did say she wouldn't mind the two of us together with her.” Bucky shrugged, trying to act casual but he was terrified. What is Steve said no? Will this be the last time he sees you? Will he have the heart to give you up? This isn't even about a real date! All this tension over a fake one?!

“Are you sure? I mean, wouldn't you-” But Bucky cut Steve off.

“Listen, this isn't even a real date. Why are we thinking so much? We did say we came here for no strings and no expectations. Why not just tell her that it's the two of us? What could possibly go wrong?”

“You're right. We're overthinking this. Let's tell her it's us and her. A three person couple.” Steve squared up and began his walk to the cafe door.

“It's called a throuple, you doof.” Bucky followed him.

You weren't paying attention. You suddenly had a minor panic attack which you had managed to settle. You shouldn't be doing this. This desperate attempt to make a perfect date. This isn't even your idea of a perfect date but you can't just invite strangers to your place for movies and dinner now, can you?

You were about to break down in a cafe in front of two of your celebrity crushes. But this overthinking, this maddening need to have just one sliver of happiness was taking over your thoughts of running away. Though, without your knowledge, few tears did escape your eyes.

“Are you okay? Why are you crying?” A very concerned voice made your head jolt up to see two pairs of gorgeous blue eyes looking at you in worry. When had they come back and sat down?

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, you are crying.” Bucky reached down to give you a paper napkin.

“Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't realize.” You wiped your face and looked back up with a smile. “So, what was the decision? Is it one, two or none?”

“We just want your consent over this too. We think that it could be the two of us with you. Are you okay with that?” Steve approached you very politely with the question. Bucky would have been more brash about it.

“That's great! Yeah, I wouldn't mind as long as the two of you are okay.” You nodded enthusiastically with a smile. “Oh but what about the money? Would you be splitting it? I will wire transfer you.”

“Angel, we don't need your money. Keep it. Seriously. We make enough money. Wejust want to enjoy today. Does that sound good?” Bucky tilted his head. You did look angelic, even with tear-stained eyes.

You nodded. “Yes. it does. Now, let's go. We're wasting precious time.”

You got up and grabbed your bag. The two men followed you like puppies.

“So, first things first. Here's the list of places I wanted to go to around the city for this date. I printed it out so it'll be easier. Also I do have a few requests but if any of you have any qualms about it, say the word and I will not bring it up again.”

“Lay it on us, Angel.” Steve’s heart fluttered seeing you take a lead like this.

“Ok, so the requests are as follows. But first. Do you guys know acting? Or do you know how to act? Even a tiny bit?”

“Uh, sure? I mean we do go for undercover missions.” Bucky was confused by your question.

“Oh cool. Maybe this could work. Ok, so first, can we pretend that this is not a first date and this is a date people go to when they're in a relationship? The one where there is no awkwardness.” You look at the two of them. “I'm sorry. This is already too much. Let's just finish this. I don't want to make you do something you both don't want to do.”

You start walking in the direction of your next destination. Bucky and Steve follow you and they each hold your hand to stop you.

“It's not too much. Really. Tell us more of your requests.” Steve rubbed his thumb on your thumb, trying to calm the situation. You exhale loudly.

“Ok. Well, that was the first request. The other is… Do you know how the hero looks at the heroine in the movies when he falls in love with her?” Both the men quirked up their eyebrows. “You know, all soft heart eyes and just looking at her as if she's the only thing that matters?”

They quizzingly looked at you. “Oh for the love of… Really? All these back on earth and you guys haven't watched a rom-com? Never mind. I'll educate you on that some other day. But for now,” You pointed at a very loved up couple across the street. “You see them, look at the way he’s looking at her. That's how I want you both to look at me. I promise I'll tell you the reason soon.”

Both men looked at each other and nodded. “Ok, anything else?”

“Oh! This is not a request but this is me consenting the two of you that since we're pretending this is not an awkward first date, you can touch me however you like. Showing affection. If I do feel uncomfortable, I'll tell you, okay?”

“Okay.” “okay.” A verbal agreement was sealed.

Your first stop was the museum. You liked art. You couldn't interpret or understand all of it but you loved looking at them. Steve was excited about it and Bucky kept calling him a dork which made you laugh.

You had to cross the road and your hands automatically seeked theirs. You locked your hands to theirs and crossed the road. It had been a habit of yours since you had gotten in an accident while crossing the road at the age of 10.

The moment you locked your hands with them, a warm sensation reached their hearts. You were in front of them, the way you held their hands was as if you were protecting them. You made sure to cross safely and when crossed, you looked at them making sure they were ok.

“Were all okay? Good. let's go. Here we are! At the museum.”

…………………..

“This is so boring! Can we really not do anything else? You both are dorking over flowers.” Bucky was very bored. He liked art, sure, but he wasn't that into it. He found looking at things for hours very boring.

“These aren't just any flowers, James. These are Monet.” You turn to him and drag him back to you and Steve.

“Bucky. Call me Bucky, Angel. Seriously, I will really like it if you call me Bucky.” His hand reached for yours and intertwined it. He gave you the most adorable puppy dog eyes and you couldn't help but laugh.

“Ok, Bucky, stay still. Just a few more minutes and then we will go for lunch. I'm actually getting very hungry.” You pulled him by the hand closer so his chest was brushing against your back.

“Let's go then. Wouldn't want our Angel to go hungry.” Steve looked at you and smiled. He grabbed your other hand.

“Oh but don't you want to look at the next exhibit? I thought you were excited about that one?” You tried to pull him towards that exhibit.

He pulled you back and your front bumped to his chest. “Nope. you wanted to see Monet and we did. I really enjoyed it. I never thought of seeing Monet the way you did. Now let's get food for us.”

“Oh no no. we're not doing that. A date should be for two people. We’re seeing that exhibit and then we're getting food. Now come on.” You drag both of them to Steve’s most awaited exhibit. Bucky whined in your ear but you giggled and gave him a light jab.

Unknown to you, Steve couldn't keep his eyes off of you. The way you got excited about an art piece or the way you ranted about an exhibit because you knew the history of it. His heart surely skipped a beat when you didn't let go of his hand the rest of the time all three of you were seeing the art.

He was also surprised how he was feeling warm rather than jealous when he saw Bucky flirt with you. He had never felt this way, at least for you. You were just a no strings attachment but Steve seems to have formed some strings and he was willing to pull them to stay in this moment with you.

Once Steve had his fill of the museum, all three of you walked out hand in hand. You asked them if they liked Indian food and they said yes so you dragged them to the nearest location of one of your favourite Indian restaurants.

After you ordered lunch and settled in the seats, Bucky couldn't stop his curiosity and finally asked the question he's been wanting to ask.

“So, I have to ask. Why did you send the email?”

“Oh! Uh…” You were trying to gather your scrambling thoughts. What version do you want to tell them? The desperate one or the short one?

“Bucky, that's rude. You can't just ask her something like this. She said she'll tell us when she's ready.” Steve saw you flush against the seat.

“Oh it's no issue really. I was going to say anyway so might as well. I just thought saving it for the end would make this better but lets get it out of the way.”

Unknowingly, Steve and Bucky shifted to the edge of their seats. You smoothened your sundress on your lap to find the beginning.

“My love life has never been about me. It should've been but it never was. My first boyfriend actually started talking to me because he liked my friend, even though he asked me out because he liked me for the way I was. That relationship lasted exactly six months before I pulled the plug on it because I just never felt that way about him. I thought having a boyfriend would mean I would like him but I didn't. Not romantically.

That's how my series of unfortunate relationships started. One was controlling, one was a flirt, one was angry all the time, one was a stalker and last one was, well, a ghoster.

But all these relationships had one thing in common and that was me trying to mold myself into that. Into a person they wanted me to become. I felt, I don't know, empty inside when I was with them. The people I liked, they never liked me back. They just used my affections for them and when done, dusted me off like I was just dirt.”

You took a large gulp of water from your bottle. Steve and Bucky were listening to you intently. Before you could say anything else, your food arrived and the conversation ended there. Both of them knew there was more but they didn't push it, for now.

The sadness in your eyes was too evident. They had wanted to hug you, hold you and tell you it's okay but it was neither the place nor the time.

Once the lunch was done, you brought out the list and your eyes sparkled. The next stop was a bookstore.

………………………….

“Don't you think that's too much?” Steve looked at the pile that was forming on Bucky’s hand.

“You can never have too much, Steve.” You pass him by to look at the book behind him.

Steve turned around to see your arms empty. “And you, Miss Bad-Influence-on-Bucky. Where is your pile?”

You look at both of them sheepishly. “Well, I don't have a budget to buy new books. I'm just looking.”

“And by looking you mean wistfully sighing at every other book then yes, you're just looking.” Bucky taunted playfully. Then he gave you an exciting smile. “I'll buy books for you. Pick all you like.”

“No! Are you crazy? No no, you don't have to. I-” You were worried this gesture would go straight to your heart.

“No arguments. Come on. Lets pick. I'll hold your books for you. Pick whichever you like. And then, maybe, you'll help Bucky sort through his pile?” Steve gave you the sweetest puppy smile. You swore you floored there and then.

You started picking all the romance books you had your eyes on. You told them that you will sort again later. While Bucky kept on piling onto his arms any book he finds, you were very conscious about making sure you're not troubling Steve. But that didn't stop you from piling up.

Bucky watched you buzz from one shelf to another. You looked so excited! Talked so much about why you were picking the book you picked. The spark in your eyes went straight to Bucky’s heart.

Bucky kept his eyes on you. He gave you full freedom to manage his book pile. While you brutally shortened your own pile, he loved to see a soft ruthlessness in you. You kept on murmuring about why not this book or why not that.

When you were helping him with his pile, he chose to stand close to you. You actually went through an effort to know what his preferences were. You also asked if he would read ‘fairy smut’ and then went to explain what it was to the two of them with a deep blush on your cheeks.

Bucky saw you and Steve together, talking, giggling, sometimes laughing at his expense but he did not mind at all. He loved seeing the two of you together, with him. You always made sure that the other isn't missing out. His heart always tugged at you when you did that.

“Maybe I should read that fairy smut you were talking about.” Bucky announced haughtily. He wanted to know what was making you blush so much.

“Uh, I wouldn't mind recommending but you like old school fantasy. Are you sure you want to try them?” You didn't want to throw him into the deep end.

“Yeah. I wanna know what you are blushing so much about.” Bucky picked up a smut heavy book. “This one, right? I'll take this.”

You snatched the book from his hand and shook your head. That one was the deep end. You look around the shelf and come across the one you thought would be great to subtly guide him in this genre. You handed him the book and he put it on his sorted pile.

His little comment about wanting to know what made you blush made your heartbeat rise. These are the exact reactions you're supposed to get when you're on a date. But then a thudding twinge of sadness poked the bubble. A lump formed in your throat again.

This wasn't real. None of this was. You snapped out before it got too deep. But one look at the men and your heart betrayed you again. You knew you were going to cry yourself to sleep for the next few nights.

Steve pulled you and Bucky out of the bookstore before both you bought the rest of the store. You and Bucky giggled at Steve’s stern face when he put his foot down about not buying more than five books. He stopped Bucky from buying more than six books but he bought you at least eight, which was a lot more than you had actually thought.

Steve carried your book-filled bag in his hand and Bucky held his own, although Bucky wanted to hold your bag too.

You were standing on the sidewalk with them, cruising through the list, trying to narrow down to one more place before dinner and then goodbyes. You chose a park. It was a small park, not too crowded and very close to where you lived. You didn't need to tell them that.

While you were busy, something in Steve and Bucky told them that they needed to talk to each other but before they could, you swooped in with your idea of relaxing in the park.

Their hands involuntarily went for yours, keeping you between them and all three of you started walking to the park, occasionally joking and laughing at each other’s expense.

…………………

“I should've worn jeans. I don't know how to sit on the grass in a dress.”

Just a slight complaint and the two men removed their jackets. Bucky stood behind you and tied his jacket to your waist, covering your back. Steve stood in front of you and tied his jacket to your waist, covering your front. So now you were all jacket skirted and comfortable.

Both Steve and Bucky observed how tiny you looked between them. Sure, your height came up to their upper chests but you still looked very tiny, something worth protecting and staying.

They kept on sharing looks with each other. They both had things to say about you but they also didn't want to leave you alone. Their brain had, by now, completely accepted this to be the real first date.

The park was pleasant and so was the weather. You sat comfortably with the two men who told you stories about their good old days. You laughed, smiled and commented on their stories. But the twinge in your heart kept on reminding you that this isn't real.

There was occasional hand touching, hand holding and kisses on cheeks and foreheads. There was also leaning on each other to get comfortable and there was no issue in minding the proximity.

If there was a third person looking at the scene, they would surely say that the three of you looked very cozy. Too cozy for being in public. Someone’s hand was on someone’s waist, someone’s hand was on someone’s thigh and someone was all cuddled between the other two someones.

The evening passed by and it was finally time for dinner. You, being the smarter of the three, had made a reservation to a nearby restaurant that also overlooked the water and the bridge. You wanted the ending to be scenic.

Ordering what each of you were in the mood for, a silence spread over, again. But this time it was Steve who asked you a question.

“If you don't mind telling us, why just one date email? We never reached that part of our discussion.”

“Oh yeah. I'm sorry it completely slipped my mind.” You gulped down water and looked at them. It made you chuckle how eager they looked to get new information.

“Well, as I told you about my sad and pathetic love life, I started seeking more. Of course I can blame my love for romance books and movies but that's just not it. These unrealistic expectations that people talk about, I have witnessed them, in my own home.

My many cousins, who are married to their lovely partners, I see them. I have seen their love. They dont need to say ‘i love you’ or ‘you are fucking annoying but i will do this for you because i love you’. They show, they act on it. Our family isn't big on PDA but the occasional hand holding, hugging, even annoying on purpose screamed love.

These are the types of things I have read in books as well. So how are these unrealistic? Also, never in any of my past relationships have any of my friends told me that my boyfriend looks at me like I am the only person in the room. I can understand one or two but every single one of them?

I pretended all these years that it didn't matter. But it does. I'm not- I don't know how to say things so I show, say something else instead of what i actually mean and many times it's not that hard to ‘decode’. The last guy I was with said he didn't want a complicated relationship because I asked him to communicate better.”

You took a deep breath. This was turning into a rant. You didn't want that. You never wanted to show your sad and pathetic side to them.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to rant. I didn't even answer your question.”

“Angel, it's okay. You can share anything with us. Go on. We know you have a lot to say.” Bucky put his hand on yours and rubbed your knuckles with his thumb to calm you.

“No- well, at least let me tell you why the email. So, i was tipsy and because i never got to experience the ‘in-love’ part of the couple, i thought maybe a famous person could put up an act for the day and i can get my fill. Then I can cry about my life again but I will still have this memory.” You shrugged and hearing you answering it very nonchalantly, their eyes widened.

“So, you are prepared to get your heart broken at the end of the day?” Steve was intrigued by your ideology.

“Yes. I mean, that is one of the reasons why I sent emails to actors. They can act and at the end of the day, the payment would have made everything settle in place.”

“But we're not actors.” Bucky sounded jealous. A tinge. Somehow he had pictured you, an angel, their angel, with some random man who wasn't even going to treat you right, even for the sake of a fake date. He hated that.

“Yes, well, like I said, I was tipsy. I sent emails to every guy I found hot.”

Before they could get a word out, the food arrived, putting a comma to the discussion. Steve and Bucky were seeing green. They didn't like the thought of you with someone else.

“So we’re just some lucky winners?” Steve wasn't very good at concealing his jealousy.

You flinched a little with Steve’s tone and Bucky put his hand on Steve’s thigh to calm him.

“No. This was not a competition. This was a ridiculous request by a drunken lonely woman who has never experienced love.” Your voice raised a little.

“Sure it wasn't a competition.” Steve’s sarcasm burnt you. “You did say yes to both of us when you had the chance to pick one. But no, you wanted us to fight over you, didnt you? This is the type of love you were looking for? A broken one?”

Steve’s words left scaring marks on your heart. He was right, wasn't he? You don't even know what love is while this man had been in love for a century with the same woman. He knew what love was and you didn't, you were just seeking a way to fulfill your dumb fantasies, which you did. You got to go out with two hottest men.

Tears had blurred your vision when you stood and walked out of the place without even a glance. You knew this would happen. The night was going to end in tears anyway. Why wait for dessert? You stumbled down the restaurant deck and wiped your cheeks forcefully. You were not going to cry in public. You started your ten minute walk home. A safe space.

[hoe4hotchner]

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

[technicolorxsn]

someone should invent a menstrual product that doesn't make cramps hurt worse

[icewindandboringhorror]

If you became super rich and could design your own house, but could only add THREE unnecessary/random/expensive home additions (like how people will have bowling alleys, movie theatres, closets with museums of shoes, car display rooms, spa rooms, wine cellars, etc. in their mansions) - what three would you choose?

[baconcolacan]

Goood morning! Feeling less sick than yesterday, guess my tactic of eating an entire bottle of antibiotics worked 🤟😎 (DO NOT DO THIS)

[stephofromcabin12]

If I am in a hole that means that I am literally having brain rot that won’t stop for months

Sure it’s a good thing also can I have a

🫒

I see😅 - sorry for the brain rot lol

And why yes, yes you can

[share an LC spoiler out of context]

[cuntwrap--supreme]

I keep loads of basic supplies in my car because there are so many homeless people in my city. I'm leaving the gym, and this dude stops and asks for a light. While I'm handing him my lighter, he asks if I have any water. I say I only have Gatorade right now, and move to my trunk and tell him he's welcome to anything he needs back there. He picks up some soap, sniffs it, and says, "This is all garbage. Nobody wants this," and left. And, like, I'm not sure if I need to rethink what I'm stocking my car with or if he was just an asshole.

[whoslaurapalmer]

I think everybody should always carry around a little stuffed animal, but not like, a little little one, a decent sized one, a squishable one, because sometimes you just need a little guy. just a dude. a soft companion

[areyouwho-ithinkyouare]

if i finish the unnamable-50k-words-in-november challenge im gonna use that as an excuse to buy myself a new keyboard. as a reward. as a treat.

[who-is-there]

I just started watching Dimension 20’s Fantasy high, halfway through sophomore year, and I do want a fic where people realise just how used to being part of a group the bad kids are. For example-

-I fully believe every single one of them is used to Riz climbing them so he can see better. It’s usually Gorgug, but it’s happened to all of them at some point. They might hold out their arm for him to jump onto a counter, or so he can pin a clue to his board. Before they all sit at a table, at least one of them makes sure their 4’4 friend can jump onto the table.

-Every single one of them has also caught Adaine after she had a vision. Sometimes she can just shake them off, but the big ones make her falter in what she’s doing, which can be dangerous. It happened once in a fight, and now the people standing closest to her are always ready.

-Fabian doesn’t really recognise he has a blind spot with his eye injury, because the others immediately clocked it. But this also means they walk in between him and the road, in case some idiot mounts the curb. They keep an eye on anything to his right, shifting drinks and pushing chairs if they can tell his depth perception is a little off.

-Fig usually stands in the middle of the group to intimidate people into not messing with them, so it’s sort of become habit to just crowd around her. After the battle, if no one’s seriously hurt or anything, everyone just wanders over to Fig. At this point, Fig is always the first one to yell out after a fight, just so they can regroup.

-Gorgug is the go-to for lap-sits, leaning, anything to do with being physically supported by another persons body. His hoodie is soft, and his headphones are loud enough that you can kind of hear it if you’re leaning on him. His parents weren’t great with nonchalant physical contact, in case he was already upset, so he takes great joy in his friends not being scared to hug him for fun.

-Kristin has left her staff at every single house she could with the bad kids. She leaves her bag in classrooms, the library, the cafeteria. Whenever the group leave somewhere, they do a full scan, because Kristin has probably left something and they grab it for her. No one has any clue who her bag actually belongs to, because all of the bad kids have been seen carrying it around school several times.

The school at large know who the bad kids are, and the town recognise them, but they still don’t know why all of them double check a room before leaving, or collectively carry a small stool around with them. One student with a fantasy iron deficiency faints in class and Kristin catches her before she hits the ground. Once, Fig isn’t in school for a day and all the bad kids have this restless energy about them. It is not uncommon to see them on the field during lunch, curled up in a pile on Gorgug. One guy tries to surprise Fabian from the right and gets body checked by Adaine before it even registers.

It’s sort of uncomfortable for everyone to see any of them without the others, because it means a) the rest of them committed a crime, b) the rest of them are committing a crime, or c) the rest of them are about to run in and start planning to commit a crime. And no one wants to lose their plausible deniability here.

[nevvdrinksteaa]

PLEASE Spencer answering a work call in the middle of sex??? Super smutty

just wanna say that this is my first request and it makes me feel special so thank you !!! hopefully you like this <3

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: 18+ nsfw smut, porn with small plot, afab reader, fingering, p in v sex, post prison spence, riding, doggy style, and missionary (yall were busy), spitting kink !!, spanking (once?), face slapping (i’m not sorry), slight oral (f receiving), lots of pet names (baby, angel, pretty girl), let me know if i missed anything !!

word count: 1.8k (got a little carried away)

also note to everyone- y’all absolutely devoured my spencer post the other day, a little less than 800 notes last i checked, and i just want to say i was very caught off guard and appreciate it so much !!

+ i apologize for the overuse of commas & very limited vocabulary,, i feel like i used the same 10 words smh

+ NOT PROOF READ !!

~~~

“i was able to talk to the brass about getting the week off. the past few weeks have been tough and i think we all need a well deserved break.”

you were all gathered in the round table room for a meeting emily called. in the past two weeks, the team had been assigned three back to back cases; which meant three different unsubs, three different cities, and three different hotel rooms. you hadn’t slept in your own bed in fifteen days, already feeling giddy at the thought of snuggling up in your bed, binge watching mindless reality tv, and fueling yourself with nothing but sweet treats.

matt was the first to speak, already standing up gathering his things from the table, “as much as i love you all i’m going to rush home to the wife and kids, i miss their little faces”

you all followed suit, collecting all of your belongings and saying your goodbyes, all of you raving about your week off plans. you walked to your desk, grabbing your bag and keys. you walked towards the elevator, pressing the down button, watching it slowly fall from floor 10 to floor 9, before tapping your foot, slightly agitated about how long it seemed to be taking.

you heard footsteps heading your way, small taps on sneakers on the slick marble floor, before felt a slight nudge at your side “you know, being mad at it won’t make it work any faster”

you chuckle looking up, making eye contact with spencer before giving him a small grin. “i’m just really ready to get home.”

the elevator doors open, spencer waved his hand up, allowing you to go first, before following you in and pressing the main lobby button. “you in such a rush because you have a hot date to get to?”

you looked up at him and grinned, you felt spencer’s hand move to your back, rubbing the center in small circles with your thumb. you felt your face get hot and you allowed yourself to slightly lean into his touch. the elevator stopped at the lobby, a small chime signaling the doors opening, and you felt spencer’s hand fall back to his side before you both stepped out of the box.

you both made your way to the parking garage, spencer walking you to your car before he headed towards the station to take the subway. you got to your car, unlocking it and throwing your purse inside before looking up at him with a slight smirk “text me when you’re on your way”

he shook his head and laughed as he gave you a small wave goodbye and headed towards the subway.

~~~

it had only been three days since you were given the week off, enjoying the company of spencer in your bed two thirds of those nights. he texted you the same night as the encounter in the parking garage, eager to see you in a private setting.

“look how pretty you look sitting on my cock”

you were straddling him, your head thrown back with both hands on his shoulders as you tried to keep a quick pace. he had his hands pressed deep into your hips, helping you move in a fluid motion. you felt him hit your sweet spot every time you made your way down, letting out tiny whimpers at the feeling.

“i love when you use me like this, getting yourself off like a good girl”

you couldn’t hold in the loud moan you had been holding, feeling your stomach flutter at his words. you felt a slight burning in your thighs and you knew spencer’s shoulders held tiny crescent shapes from how tight your grip had become. you felt one of spencer’s hands move to your clit, rubbing small circles on the bundle of nerves.

he grabbed your chin, making you look him in the eyes. you looked at him and grinned, fucked out and eager before you felt a sudden surge against your cheek before he let his hand rest there, rubbing his thumb to ease the pain.

“you gonna cum for me angel?”

“fuck- yes spence, i’m so- so close” you couldn’t even hear the words coming out of your mouth, your heartbeat beating so loud your hearing going out.

you moved your head down pushing your forehead to spencer’s with your eyes tight.

“cum for me baby, wanna feel you tighten around my cock.”

you felt that tight feeling in your stomach, the mix of his skilled fingers and his thick cock rubbing against your walls caused your breath to stop in your throat, your release making you see stars. you stopped your movement, breathing heavily as you leaned down into spencer. you felt soft kisses on your head and face, peppering you all over.

“did so good for me baby, love watching you use me”

you smiled against his neck, starting to do your own kissing. you felt his breath hitch when you found the sweet spot behind his ear, the small mole behind it always guiding you to the exact spot. you took your time, sucking and biting at the spot, grinding your hips, ready to keep going.

spencer gave your thigh a quick tap, before telling you to bend over. you were quick to roll over, propping yourself up on your hands and knees before slowly wiggling yourself back and forth to him.

you felt a sharp pain on your ass, a slight stinging feeling before you felt a tight grip run through your hair. you felt your body being pulled tightly to his, his chest flushed against your back. he moved one of his hands to your chest, a his fingers glazing your nipple, his other moving to your neck, pushing his thumb and middle finger to just the right spot to apply pressure.

“i let you use me, now it’s my turn to use you angel” spencer had leaned down to your ear, kissing your jaw before pushing you back down onto the bed.

spencer leaned down slightly, gripping your ass with both hands before spreading them. he let a trail of spit fall to your eager hole, before he rubbed it onto your pussy, giving your clit extra attention.

you moaned and pushed back into his touch before you felt him enter you quick and unforgiving, your ass jiggling with every move of his hips.

“fuck- so fucking deep” you arched your back, begging your body to somehow take him deeper. you felt his firm calloused hands rub against your back before settling into a position on your hips, his thumbs pressing small bruises into your skin.

“taking me so fuck-”

spencer’s voice was cut off by his phone ringing, vibrating on the nightstand beside you, and you felt his hips slow down, letting out a soft sigh as he was considering stopping completely.

you felt him hesitate but needed him to keep going, pushing your hips back into his trying to keep both of your focus.

“spence, please don’t stop” your voice still unsteady, “just ignore it”

spencer pulled out of you, and you let out a whine as the loss of contact. you rolled yourself over, making yourself comfortable on the pillows expecting him to walk away to return the call.

instead he leaned back over you and pulled you into a deep kiss, holding your face in both hands. your lips parting slightly when you felt his tongue lick your bottom lip, allowing your tongues to meet.

spencer grabbed his dick, rubbing over your clit before he lined himself up with you, gasping when he pushed himself in.

“you’re so fucking perfect angel”

he pulled away, lifting your legs up to your shoulders and latching his hands to your thighs. he found himself moving slow and deep, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt around him.

you moved your hands to play with your nipples, rolling the hard buds between your finger tips. he bent down, pushing his weight into you, almost like he was folding you. he pooled spit into his mouth before he let it go to your clit, moving his hand to the bundle of nerves.

“want you to cum again for me pretty girl, want one more before i fill you up”

you let out a moan, sighing before you went to speak “gonna fill me-”

you were cut off by the phone ringing again, the buzzing sound making you forget your thoughts. spencer dropped your thighs and leaned over before giving you a quick kiss before he reached over to grab phone.

“spencer do not answer that”

he moved his finger to his lips, making a shushing motion “it’s emily”

you rolled your eyes, ready to kick him out and finish yourself off before heading to bed when you felt him move again. he moved his hand to cover your mouth before answering the phone.

“doctor reid”

you felt yourself get wetter, the sound of your slick filling the room, your moan mumbled behind his hand. spencer’s motion was relentless, his pace quick and brutal, jabbing your sweet spot with every push.

“i thought we were getting the week off”

your leg was lifted up, making the angle even deeper and you felt your eyes roll back, out of pleasure or annoyance you couldn’t tell. there was no way you were getting called in.

“i can get a hold of her for you, i remember her mentioning something about having a date this week”

you grinned, giggling behind his hand before spencer moved the phone to hold it on his shoulder, letting his now free hand to move back down. he never took his eyes off you, holding a shit eating grin as he felt you squeezing him tighter, squirming at how close you were. you furrowed your brows and pinched your eyes shut.

“i’ll be there in an hour”

you heard the phone beep, signaling the call was disconnected. spencer moved his hand away from your mouth down to your neck, cursing as he heard you gasp.

“did so good for me pretty girl”

his hips stopped deep inside you as you felt his cock twitch, filling you up. he groaned as he felt you cumming again, keeping his thumb in place to help your orgasm finish and you let a loud moan out in response. spencer gave you a long kiss, nipping at your bottom lip before he trailed his lips down your neck. he pulled himself out of you, grinning at the soft sigh you let out. he kept his lips on your body, trailing them down your stomach before reaching your thighs and nipping at the sensitive skin.

he moved his tongue and licked a long strip up your pussy, sucking on your clit before pulling up to look at you, shit eating grin on his face. “we’ve got roughly 30 minutes, that’s enough time for me to help you clean up, right angel?”

[lostingrayrain]

hello hello!! i bought homicipher the day it came out and i'm so in love with it.. but there's no content whatsoever and i'm so sad 😭😭 could you write literally anything for any character.. i just need to see more homicipher content!!! 😭😭💗

I GOT YOU ANON I've clocked in like 20 hours since the release on November 1st omg....

I've been cooking up something for my first Homicipher post.....here's some general thoughts on the relationships/dynamics with the main guys.

Characters: Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silver Hair / Mr. Silvair, Mr. Gap, Mr. Hood, Mr. Machete, Mr. Scarletella

Word Count: 1454

Warnings: sfw, some mentions of canon-typical violence

Mr. Crawling

He loves you!! He loves you so, so, so much!!!

Do you love him?

He asks you that. A lot. He loves to be reassured that you adore him. And he's always vocal about how much he adores you.

He follows you everywhere, like a lost puppy. It's honestly so endearing and sweet. He's constantly on the lookout for you.

He also adores physical touch, once he knows it's fine. Other than the little headpats, he likes to touch your legs, especially your calves. In times of rest he's incredibly cuddly and loves to nuzzle into you.

Pet his hair and he'll melt immediately. It's so relaxing to him.

He's usually with you, but when he's not he's often on the lookout for gifts and trophies to bring to you. He just wants to make you happy, in any way possible. The second there's anything you mention liking or being fond of, it's a priority for him to see if he can scrounge it up.

If you'll let him, he'd love to touch your hair. He will play with it and make silly nonsensical braids and giggle quietly to himself all the while.

He's a bit of a chatterbox. He loves to talk to you. Any time he's been away he likes to give you little reports of what he's done or what he's seen. And he wants to hear all about your day or your dreams, too. There's never a time he won't want to hear what you have to say.

Mr. Silver Hair / Mr. Silvair

You are so very interesting to him! He wants to study you.

But not hurt you. Normally, he probably would have already dismembered you to watch how your body pulls together again, but since you're friends with Mr. Chopped, he's put aside that urge.

Instead it's been replaced by something else, though he doesn't really understand what it is. He's never felt it before. Or maybe he has? Maybe he doesn't remember? Could you help him remember?

Whenever you’re feeling ill, he finds that he wants to make you feel better. He’s trying hard to learn how to keep you together just as you are.

He’ll get you to lie down when it seems you’re feeling faint, and carry you to bed when you collapse in the middle of an errand. Before he realises it, he's massaging your hair. Think nothing of it. Your head hurts, right? So it makes sense to pet you.

He likes to watch you sleep. He can’t put a finger on why. He likes to tell himself he’s doing armchair research when he’s really just….zoning out.

He's extremely perceptive and observant. He's always checking your reactions to things and events to figure out what you like or don't like, or to try to understand how you're feeling in the moment.

He's the type to politely ask if it's okay to touch you before doing so.

He would never hurt you unless your urges became unbearable, in which case it's self-defense, right? He'll make sure you'll turn back to normal and he'll be there for you every step of the way.

Mr. Gap

He's probably...one of the strangest denizens of the otherworld. You're still not sure if he has a body. But he has helped you on multiple occasions. You've found yourself growing fond of him.

You often see him peeking at you from various holes and gaps. Sometimes he tries to get your attention, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he just watches.

When you find a bag in the underworld, you begin carrying it around with you.

He's usually inside, but sometimes not. You have no idea where he goes.

He'll often bring back little gifts like weapons or food, like some bizarre cat. When he finds out you like candy, he tends to focus on that.

He always asks for your heart before he gives you anything, and you always say no, and he always grumbles.

But somehow you'll always find those same things coincidentally in your path or somewhere in the room after you wake up, if you've taken a nap.

He likes to scope out newspapers and magazines too, and show them to you, especially if they feature himself. He's so proud of that.

Over time, his requests for your heart grow less and less frequent. Sometimes, you forget he used to ask you for it at all, until he suddenly pipes up with the query again.

Is his wanting your heart the same thing as wanting your love? Things to ponder.

Mr. Hood

He's quiet and reclusive but he's there for you whenever you need him.

You need or want anything? Just ask. He'll give it to you immediately with hardly a question.

No harm will ever come to you whenever you're with him, and he hardly lets you out of his sight. He's incredibly protective of you.

He loves to carry you in his arms or on his shoulder, whether you're small or not. It's no bother to him. He's more than strong enough.

Hand touches are so pleasant to him -- whether you're touching his hands, or he's touching your face. He's secretly touch-starved. As long as you don't shy away, he'll continue to hold onto you.

He enjoys quizzing you on your knowledge of the otherworld language. When things are slow, he’ll randomly ask you if you know the names of certain things.

Whenever you both encounter something new during your travels, he’s quick to ask you if you know what it is or outright tells you what it’s called.

He seems a bit self-conscious of having minimal form. What is under his robe? If you don't ask he'll be grateful. He doesn't know himself.

But if you're not repulsed by his anomalous form, that's just -- incredibly touching.

He claims to not understand love, but he'll never abandon you.

Maybe he doesn't understand. Maybe he's forgotten.

But there's something about you that comforts him, and makes him feel safe. Quite paradoxical -- he's the one doing the protecting, after all. But your presence soothes him.

Mr. Machete

He's just looking for a way to not be bored. And being with you -- somehow, it's fun.

Maybe because he's usually alone, so he doesn't often have anyone else to talk to. It's...fun to banter with you, even if sometimes your words confuse him.

It's unquestionable that he's the brawn, you're the brain of this duo. Maybe the beauty and the beast, too?

He's always, secretly, been a little bit of a coward. The second things don't look like they'll turn out well for him, he ditches and flees.

But, oddly, you give him the courage to stand against things or monsters he would have thought were impossible to defeat.

Sometimes, you die -- whether by accident or because something else got to you before he could. But he always sighs and waits for you to wake up again. If you're mad, it's a little funny. You were just too slow that time.

He likes sparring with you. You have to get faster, right? Your weapon is pretty funny, too. So small and yet somehow you manage to not get overwhelmed by him. He's not holding back. He never would. Right?

He likes to pick you up and sling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Likes to hug you like a teddy bear, too. You're soft and warm. You feel nice against him.

He's not the type to ask, but if you made any indication of not liking anything, he'd stop. He doesn't want to break you.

Mr. Scarletella

You are his queen. He literally worships the ground you walk on.

You are so fascinating to him. He just can't believe he's found someone as perfect as you. Someone who likes to destroy and kill people, just like him? Immaculate.

You haven't and never will give him your name. That's fine. He can live with that, as long as you're with him.

You've likely given him something else to call you. It's not quite your name -- maybe it's not your full name, and he knows it, because he can't quite grasp your essence. But it's enough to be able to give a sound to the person -- thing -- he likes most in this world.

He likes to say that not-quite name, and he says it often, just to get your attention.

He's fascinated by everything about you -- including how small you are in comparison to him. He loves that he can easily dwarf your form and loom over you. It's exhilarating in a completely different way from mindless violence.

Speaking of which, his favourite thing is without a doubt to commit violence with you. There's a new urban legend steadily growing in the human world, of a pair of murderers characterised by their red and white umbrellas. You're the perfect perfectly awful duo, truly.

Even when he's not with you, he's always somehow got an eye on you. Most of the otherworld residents know by now who you belong to, and they'd never lay hand on the one cherished by the red umbrella man.

[slut4jeon]

Company (jjk)

Pairing: brothers bsf!jk x fm!reader

Sypnosis: Your longtime crush who happens to be your older brothers best friends walks into you humping your pillow to the thought of him

Warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected sex, dry/pillow humping, nudity, reader has an IUD, etc…

Note: hey yawl it’s been a while… if anything sounds off jus so yk it’s not proofread :)

You’ve always carried a long crush for your older brothers bestfriend Jeon Jungkook.

Your ages being separate by 2 years, you’ve always remembered the chicks your older brother Taehyung would sneak into his room after a night out meanwhile your parents slept peacefully in their room.

As of now, this carried onto his current college days. Attending frat parties along with his best friend since childhood, Jungkook.

Your heart ached to be seen as nothing but Taehyungs younger sister to jungkook and others known to him. Especially when after those late night outs you’d come to find a chick wrapped around Jungkook’s meaty arms. You wanted jungkook to see you as a woman who harbored deep feeling for him.

And so, your decided to attend the same college as your brother. It not being that far off your home moving onto campus was not required. Unlike jungkook whose family had moved farther off from town your parents gladly took him in. Knowing him since he was a little boy they allowed him to crash in taehyungs spacious room.

This only made your crush on him worse, you were too shy to even start a conversation with him. Despite your shyness he always acknowledged your presence, never making you feel left out or ignored. Your interactions with him were limited, and every convo was initiated by him with little teases and silly remarks. He’s such a kind guy, no wonder your lingering crush only heightened with him staying in your home.

Classes were over for you and generally Taehyung was always the one to drive you home considering he had a car. A sudden message from him vibrates your phone you carry in your palm.

3:52 pm taetae: not on campus so I asked jk to give you a ride home today

great.

pulling into the campus parking in his car was jungkook, “hey, tae asked me to drive you back home for today he’s out so he’ll be back tomorrow” he said with his silver pierced charming grin

“hi, thanks for driving me back home” you said with your typical shy demeanor as you made way into the passenger seat of his car

“don’t worry about it, sweets”

oh.

That was the nickname he’d given you many many years ago cause of the constant snacking of sweets and candys. He payed notice to that then coining you the nickname “sweets”

You turned your head faced to the direction of the window to hide the rosy cheeks he gave you from pet name

Too shy to keep the conversation going jungkook spoke, bringing up school and asking about your classes. All came to an end once he pulled into the driveway of your home.

“Your brother won’t be back today, he’s spending the night with jennie today”, jungkook said while opening the refrigerator to get a class of water.

dammit.

You thought to yourself. You’re parents are out at work and don’t arrive til 9pm. So that means it’s just you and Jungkook for the meanwhile. What a mess, you figured you were gonna stay locked in your room for the remaining time until your parents got home.

“Well, I’m just gonna work on my assignments due tomarrow…”

“Alright, I’m off to the gym. In case anything happens feel free to call me, okay?”, the tattooed man said.

The muscular man did go to the gym everyday though. Usually around 4:30pm for about at least 2 hours.

“Okay” last thing said between you two before grabbing his gym bag and making his way out the door.

“Hey Jungkook?”

“Yea?”

“Thanks for looking out for me”, this time you held onto the eye contact made between both irises. Making sure to illuminate your gratitude to him.

He offered you a grin from his silver pierced lips, “no problem, sweets”

You could not get Jungkook out of your head. It was impossible to focus on your assignments without thinking about the tall raven hair tattooed man with the bunny smile. He lingered your mind, causing stress.

Closing your MacBook and tossing it aside you decided to relieve this aching stress that invaded your mind but also the lingering ache between your legs.

You rid yourself of your clothing only remaining in your cropped tank and underwear.

Positioning your pillow between your legs in which your body hovered over you made onto your pillow searing yourself upon it.

Arching your back and you rocked your hips back and forth onto the wrinkled textured fabric of the pillow. The lacy panties you were currently wearing added to the ecstasy. Following the flow of movement adding friction and pressure to your needy clit.

“mhhpp, fuck” gasping out while you retracted your head back then forward.

The layered front strands of your mid length hair covered your face due the continuous movement of your head. Tucking them back behind your ear once again.

“j-jungkook! s’good, feels so good…” you desperate whined as you chased your high.

Gripping onto the pillow leaving your knuckles white due to the pressure of squeezing while leaning forward.

Your pillowy nipples lacked attention, your fingers latched onto the buds from the outside of your tank. You weren’t wearing a bra so the thin shirt was the only separation between your calloused fingers and hardened buds.

Getting rid of your shirt and panties you were bare entirely. Your only audience being the plushies corner of your bed watching the show you gave them.

Is what you thought, too oblivious and deep into your own world to have heard the sound of the car pulling up into the drive way, to have heard the sound of the front door opening and footsteps. To have noticed the presence of the same man whose name you constantly let slip past your moaning lips watching you reach your high on your pillow at the thought of him.

He watched your ass jiggle at the rapid movement of your hips, along with the movement of your breasts The way your face contorted into an expression of pleasure with your teeth biting onto the plump of your lips. The sight in front of him had his length twitching in the gray sweats he changed into before leaving the gym.

“g’na cum, please let me cum…fuck jungkook need it so bad!” you desperately expressed.

At the final rock of your hips you released, a shivering orgasm causing you to rip a pitched whine.

The movement of your hips lessened as you rode out your orgasm. Tired and worn out after that workout your head began to wander off.

Until.

“Quite the performance you showed off there” your heart dropped

There he was. The same man that you’d been rubbing your pussy against your pillow at the thought of watched you get off.

“Jungkook!” you wanted the ground to swallow you whole at this very moment.

Quickly grabbing into your discarded clothing at an attempt to cover your bare body. Unaware of what to say in explanation to the presence in front of you.

“I-I…”

No words could come out or your mouth as you watched Jungkook walk towards you with a darkened expression.

Removing the piece of clothing from your grip at attempt of concealing yourself. His eyes remained at your bare figure. Tempted at the sight of your hardened nipples, goosebumps covered your skin.

“Fucking hell, look at you. Getting off to the thought of me? You’re so damn cute…”

The eye contact made you aware of the glint in his eyes, a message he was trying to convey.

“Jungkook?” you quietly questioned

“You gonna let me do what I want with you, hm? Is that what you want?”

Your eyes remaining in contact with his glistening ones, you nod your head in response.

That was all it took from jungkook to commect your lips with his. Hungrily capturing your mouth, sloppily stuffing his tongue down your throat causing him to groan and you to whimper at his roughness.

“Open your legs, baby. Show me how wet your pussy is”, you obeyed and showed him your glistening folds lathered in your cum.

Taking his tattooed hand and gathering the substance on his fingers he brought them to his mouth. The taste of your discharge coated his tongue as he cleaned it from his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re as sweet as your nickname. You sure live up to it”, he said as he continue to lick clean his slick coated fingers.

Your fingers inched towards the hem of his sweats, encircling the strands of the waistline.

“What is it you want, sweets?

“You.”

“Take me out, baby” fuck, that practically confirmed to you he was hiding a big package under there.

Lowering his sweats his hardened cock sprung free from the confided layer of fabric.

Taking his length in your palm toward your warm mouth to lubricate it with your saliva. Jerking him off in a up and down motion earning you grunts and groans from him.

“Just like that, fuck…keep doing that n I’ll cum” he gritted out.

Pushing you onto the soft surface of the bed you watched as he removed his clothing. You admired his muscular physique, the gym really did pay off.

“Are you really sure about this?”

“Yes, I’m sure” confirming.

“Condom?”

“It’s okay I’m on an IUD, I’ll take an after pill tomorrow”, reassuring him

He hovered over your body, hiding in the crevice of your neck to leave a few pecks while aligning his length to your heat.

Your chest heaved deeply as you exhaled, the slight burn of his size rubbing toward your tight walls ignited pleasure.

“mhpm! j-jungkook..” wrapped arms on his back as he thrusted in you, increasing the pace as you let out more moans and whimpers.

“I know, baby…ya’ feel so good, so warm n’ tight”, he cooed.

At sudden movement his arms then wrapped around your thighs hoisting you up while the relentless abuse to your cunt never stopped.

“Ahh! f-fuck! Jungkook!”, Now in the standing missionary position, he was in deeper than you’ve ever experienced. The motion of his hips thrusting at an unforgivable pace, all that was heard was the sound of his balls smacking against your sopping pussy filling the entire room.

“shit, m’ gonna cum”

“m-me too..” your climax right on the edge.

With that both of you reached your highs, his thrusts began slowing down to ride out the climax. Both the mixture of your cum riding from his abdomen down his leg.

Laying you down on the soft surface of your bed with his cock still soft in you. Enjoying each other’s company as you laid in his embrace.

“Jungkook, are you gonna tell?” you innocently say with genuine concern written on your face.

“Now why would I do that? I’ve been waiting for this moment for quite a long while now. Why? Do you not want this?”

“No, I do! But when you say you’ve been waiting for this moment for quite a while now, what outcome do you expect to come from this? Taehyung will find out sooner or later and it’ll get messy.” your questioned further anticipated his response.

He let out a sigh, “you see sweets, I’ve envisioned this moment to occur, I’ve gotten off at the thought of you just like you showed off earlier. I want you just as bad….” he admits.

“I don’t see you as just my best friends younger sister, I see you as much more”

“Jungkook?” fuck, he’s worried. What if the feelings are mutual as what he initially believed they were? What if we only meant it to be a quick fuck?

“Hm?” Oh well.

“I see you as much more too”, you don’t know where this sudden burst of confidence came out but this weight you’ve been carrying has been lifted after your confession, you feel more at ease.

Both your gazes locked in with one another. Both leaning into each other as your mouths then mounded into one.

The kiss was deep and passionate, although you both have confessed your mutual feelings for each other, there’s something different about it. Feeling more as acceptance and comfort.

“The things you do to me y/n, you don’t get it”.

“You’re mine, all mine”

Pt 2?