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monchaeri3 · 4 months ago

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growing pains (I) | 🦌

synopsis : your father drags you and your brothers along on the trip to nationals, blissfully unaware of the awkward situation between you and one of the team members. the plane goes down, and now, with your father deceased, you must relearn how to navigate your relationships. | ~3k words

pairings : lottie matthews / fem!martinez!reader, travis martinez & fem!martinez!reader, javi martinez & fem!martinez!reader

warnings : probably inaccurate descriptions of injury? typical yellowjackets warnings (blood, violence, etc.), you lose a good portion of your arm lol

notes : this is a rewritten version of an old fanfic i had posted a while back. this is part one; i hope you enjoy !!

previous/next chapters : II , III , IV , V

—

You heave a heavy sigh, standing at the airport; It’s extremely early in the morning. You’re surrounded by your father’s soccer team, him and the other coach, and the addition of you and your brothers. You have to come with your dad on this stupid soccer trip; your father’s sorry excuse for bonding time. You knew there wouldn’t be any time for bonding. He always did this; he would force you to come on trips, then ignore you in favor of work, enjoyment, or anything, really. You had long since given up on the hope that he wanted to spend time with you.

Maybe because Javi was coming, he would actually put in some effort to talk and be around his children. Then again, your dad would likely find a way to ignore you and Travis in favor of hanging out with your younger brother. You glower down at the floor. You really, really didn’t want to be here.

Looking around, you try to find anything that may interest you. All you see are the girls on the team, none of whom you particularly want to talk to. You’d spoken with them all before, of course, often being forced to come to the practices and help set things up. Your father desperately wants you to try out for the team, your athleticism being one of the few things he’s ever complimented you on. In the meantime, he made you a makeshift secondary equipment manager. You helped set things up and take care of the equipment alongside Misty Quigley, of all people.

All of the girls were nice enough. You could tell they all liked you better than Misty; she was an awkward girl with too much excitement flooding her tiny body, after all. You simply were there. Nice enough to smile at in the halls and make casual conversation with at parties, yet not interesting enough to become actual friends with. The only person you had gotten remotely close with had been Lottie, but, like all things in your life, that hadn’t ended well. You grit your teeth at the memory of your last interaction.

With the clench of your fists, you bristle upon noticing she’s been staring at you. Lottie flushes, looking away when your eyes meet hers, and you kind of want to yell at her to knock it off. You haven’t spoken in weeks; she has no right to stare at you like a wounded fawn as if this wasn’t her own fault. You scowl in her direction before walking over to Travis, who’s listening to music on his old Walkman. You yank his headphones off, and he makes a noise of annoyance before turning to you with a glare. He opens his mouth, likely to curse you out, but you speak before he can.

“If we don’t get on that damn plane soon, I’m going to lose my shit,” you spit, and he nods in agreement. He has a similar scornful look: one of the traits the both of you inherited from your father. The two of you have an idle conversation about how annoying all of this is until the coaches announce it’s time to board the plane. Travis and you both suppress sighs.

When you get on the plane, you’re not quite as awe-struck as the girls on the team. You don’t even want to be here, although you must admit it is pretty nice. You look around for a place to sit and see Lottie glancing over at you nervously. There’s a seat open next to her. You quickly veer over to Travis and sit beside him, which pretty clearly interrupts his usual schedule of brooding alone, but you don’t care. He hisses at you to leave, yet you stay seated. He’ll get over it. You feel slightly bad that Javi will have to sit alone until you remember that your dad is here, too. The whole reason you’re on this trip, and you simply forgot. Javi’ll be fine, you tell yourself. He is your father’s favorite, after all.

As everyone is taking their seats, they talk loudly about how excited they are, how they’re going to win nationals, and pretty much anything else they can think of. You huff tiredly. You wish you had brought your own music to drown out some of the noise. You rest your head on Travis’ shoulder, nodding off when the plane takes flight.

You awaken to screaming, flashing lights, and Travis’ arm frantically strapping an oxygen mask to your face with a look of fear in his eyes. You look around anxiously, your voice coming out in tiny, breathy squeaks. Travis is holding a protective arm out in front of you, trying his hardest to keep you from violently thrashing around. Your eyes land on Javi, who has his oxygen mask on and is sobbing in fear. Swallowing nervously, you notice your dad isn’t sitting beside him anymore.

Then, you see him—your dad. Your stupid, stupid dad, who hasn’t put on his oxygen mask. Instead, he’s running around ensuring all the girls have theirs. You want to yell at him for how fucking dumb he’s being. He trips, falling backward and sliding down the walkway; you quickly rip your mask off and run toward him despite Travis’ fearful protests.

Trying to plant your feet steadily onto the floor, you grab his arm and try to pull him up. The plane is exceptionally rickety, scraps flying off as you realize it’s definitely going down. You nearly let go and rush back to your seat once you realize, but fate has a different idea as the plane hits something, throwing you and your father out of the plane entirely. The last thing you remember is your dad gripping onto you for dear life, and landing on your arm in the foliage of a forest.

You fade in and out of consciousness, always aware of the horrible, throbbing pain in both your abdomen and arm. You can’t move, can’t speak…can’t do anything. You’re helpless; you’re dying. Fear floods your body, and you try your best to call for help, it sounding more like a strangled cry than anything else. You gurgle up some blood, spitting and hacking endlessly. There’s a large branch protruding through your stomach, and your arm…below your elbow, your bone is horrifically sticking through your skin. You scream and choke on your own vomit. A few feet away from you is your father; he’s groaning, tears and sweat running down his face. He’s looking around frantically, desperate to find some way to fix this.

There’s so much noise and screaming, and your head feels like it’s going to explode. There’s the occasional explosion, the sound of flames enveloping bodies…so much is going on, it seems that no one has noticed you yet. They’re getting closer, though. They’re nearby. You know it's selfish. You know that you’re going to die either way. Regardless, you call out for your brothers, coughing up more blood.

Travis hears first, eyes darting up to where you both lay, attached to the branch. His eyes widen, his body running on adrenaline as he scales the tree. There are many protests from people surrounding him, screaming and crying that he’ll only get hurt.

“(Name)! Dad!”

You feel your vision blacking out once more, but not before you can hear the branch starting to creak under the weight of all three of you. Yeah. You were definitely going to die here. You spit up some blood, hoping that Travis is smart enough to jump back before the branch breaks, and you pass out.

When you wake up, your vision is fuzzy and you’re in excruciating pain. You try and fail to hold back a sob, and suddenly, there's someone leaned over looking at you. You groan, tears flowing from your eyes.

“Shit— (Name), can you hear me?”

You blink, sniffling and breathing erratically. You muster up the energy to nod.

“It- it’s okay, (Name)— You’re gonna be— gonna be fine,” the girl says through tears, and you recognize her blurry silhouette and voice to be Lottie’s. You open and close your mouth, attempting to talk. You look at Lottie tiredly.

“Somethin’...wrong. Hurts Lottie,” you sob. She strokes your hair, eyes darting back and forth between your body and your face. You swallow, trying to look at the sources of your pain—your abdomen and your right arm. There’s still a large branch in your stomach, and your arm is barely even attached to your body anymore. You sob once more.

“Don’t— Fuck, don’t look, okay?” Lottie says, her eyes wide. You squeeze your eyes shut, more tears falling from your eyes. You hear an argument nearby. It sounds like Travis and one of the girls.

"You're not fucking cutting it off!” Travis yells, voice cracking. You can hear him hyperventilating.

“I have to! Do you want her to die?” The girl asks, and then you’re pretty sure you hear the sound of Travis shoving her. You’re so tired, and so, so sick. You mumble out a string of incoherent words, Lottie whispering comforting words. The argument is getting more intense, the sounds of heated words and angry shouting growing louder and louder. Lottie frowns, her lip trembling, and she gets up, walking in the direction of the voices. You blink, crying harder; you really didn’t want to be alone if you were going to die.

The next thing you register is a horrific slashing sound, and a pain so blinding that you scream. You nearly choke on your own vomit and blood, and pass out once again.

By the time you wake up and the pain is less searing, you know that your arm is gone. Misty, who had taken on the role of playing doctor, was attempting to get rid of it, causing a fight between her and Travis. Lottie had apparently snuck around and grabbed the plane axe during the altercation, amputating below your elbow.

You breathe a sigh, sticking by Javi’s side. You feel sick, having just learned that the girls and your brothers had buried the team members who hadn’t survived. Your father lay underground, dead, merely feet away from where you were sleeping. You wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of here, being one of the first to advocate for leaving the crash site. A lake didn’t sound too bad, and at least you wouldn’t be sitting near where you almost died.

“Are you okay?” Javi whispers, looking at you with worry painted all over his features. Currently, you were all attempting to get to the lake Taissa had spotted. You had been exempt from having to carry Coach Ben, due to….You know. Only having one fucking arm. Misty had initially wanted to carry you as well, but you insisted on walking yourself. You told her you’d stick by Javi and Travis to ensure you didn’t pass out or fall over. Misty didn’t seem certain, but the scowl on your face when she started to protest was enough to get her to approve of your idea.

“Fine,” you mumble in return, eyes heavy. Maybe Misty was right that you would be overtired and exhausted from the blood loss, but you’d be damned if you had to ask for help now. You’d much rather suffer in silence. You wobble unsteadily through the forest, trailing behind the girls, unconsciously leaning against your younger brother. You know that if you fall he likely won’t be able to support your weight. You don’t care; you’re far too committed at this point.

“Are you sure? Maybe you should sit for a minute, or something,” Javi says, voice barely above a whisper. You sigh. Really, you shouldn’t be annoyed at his concern. He’s just trying to help. And yet, you find yourself speeding up, and standing beside Travis. He glances at you briefly, before training his gaze back on the forest in front of you. You’ve barely spoken ever since the crash. Swallowing down the dread you feel at his distance, you look down at your feet.

It takes a while before you all reach the lake, and by the time you do, you’re exhausted. Misty had warned you before you all left that you likely wouldn’t be able to swim, as there was no telling what was in the water; the last thing you wanted was an infection on top of everything else. Internally groaning, you trudge over to the shore. You’d just get your feet wet, then. Travis swats water at you as he dives into the lake, and you curse at him. Now your clothes are wet. Great! He flings more water at others, messing around. You roll your eyes, the first genuine smile on your face in what felt like years.

Some of the girls laugh behind you, and you overhear a bit of their conversation.

“Wait…Is Travis actually hot?”

“Don’t tell me you’re that desperate already.”

You cringe, sending them a withering glare. That shuts them up pretty quickly. You’re enjoying the feeling of the water washing over your legs, when you notice Lottie staring at you. She’s shifting awkwardly, and she sort of perks up when she sees you notice her. Shit. Lottie clearly wants to talk to you, and by the looks of it, she wants it to be a private conversation.

You don’t let her, not wanting a repeat of the last solo conversation the two of you had. Instead, you quickly veer backward and walk over to Coach Ben and Misty. Ben is trying to convince Misty he’ll be fine by himself, and you’re quickly thrown in as a bargaining chip.

“(Name) will stay with me, Misty. Go enjoy yourself, I won’t be lonely!” He exclaims, looking to you for support. You grimace, and nod slowly. Misty looks unsure, but you plop down beside Ben, and the look on your face is enough to scare her off for now. It’s silent between the two of you, but not awkward…at least not on your part.

Ben seems like he has something he wants to say, but you ignore him mostly in favor of biting at your nails. It’s actually sort of peaceful, the sounds of everyone laughing and playing around.

“Uh, (Name),” Ben starts, and you suppress a sigh. You really weren’t in the mood to talk right now.

“Yeah?” you respond, trying your hardest not to sound as annoyed as you really are. It sort of works.

“It’s— uhm, it’s nice to see everyone…so calm, huh?”

You relax a bit, nodding your head. A small smile finds its way onto your face as you spot Javi floating and laughing next to Travis. He sees you and waves. You wave back.

“Yeah,” you respond, “First calm moment we’ve had in a while.”

Ben’s face darkens with your allusion to the crash, and you nearly flinch. Curse your horrible conversational skills…

“Listen– I, uh, I wanted to say…About your dad–”

You quickly slap a hand over his mouth, causing Ben’s eyes to widen in concern (and maybe even fear). You grit your teeth, scowling at him.

“Don’t. Okay? Just…just don’t.”

Coach Ben nods slowly, staring at you with a pitying look. You remove your hand from his face and turn your back to him, curling up your feet underneath you. You wrap your good arm around your legs, and hold back tears.

So much for a peaceful moment…

You aren’t particularly religious, but you’re convinced that the cabin is divine intervention. By the time you’ve all settled, it’s getting dark out. Everyone is setting up their makeshift beds; you want to sleep beside your brothers, but the boys have decided on sharing the room and you’re too tired to argue about sleeping arrangements.

You look around the room skeptically. There’s a few empty spaces around the corners of the room, although they don’t have a good amount of room to spread out. There’s a spot next to somebody, but you’re almost certain it’s Lottie. Before setting anything up, you realize Lottie is still standing outside, looking around with frightened eyes. You sigh, swallowing your pride and heading in her direction.

Taissa is currently trying to convince her to come inside, but Lottie seemingly won’t listen to reason. You frown, tapping Lottie’s shoulder. She startles, but settles upon realizing that it's just you.

“Come on, Lottie,” you say much softer than intended, your voice betraying you. “I’ll sleep next to you. You’ll be fine.”

Lottie blinks, looking at you up and down. She nods, starting to head inside, seemingly trying to decide if she’s seeing things or if this is actually happening. You follow her, setting up your blankets and pillow beside her. You lay down, back turned against her, but you’re certain that she’s staring. As the sun sets, you’re about to fall asleep, but then you hear shuffling. You huff tiredly, tempted to cover your head with your pillow, but decide against it.

“Lottie,” you whisper, turning to look at the tall girl. “What’s wrong?”

She swallows, avoiding eye contact. Lottie seems a bit embarrassed, like she’s trying to figure out the right thing to say.

“Tai’s wrong.”

“About what?” you ask, rubbing at your bleary eyes.

“This…this place. It’s— it’s just— it isn’t right.”

You lay in silence for a moment, her eyes nervously glancing in your direction, before you decide on what to say.

“Show me.”

“...what?”

“Show me what isn’t right. Maybe I can show you it’s fine,” you mumble. She looks over at you fully, almost as if to garner whether you’re being serious or not.

“And then, I can actually go to sleep,” you say lightheartedly, patting her on the shoulder. She huffs in silent laughter. Lottie moves to get up, helping you to stand as well. The two of you tip-toe across the floor, careful not to step on anyone. She leads you over to a small ladder that must lead to the attic. Nervously, she looks between you and the ladder. You hum, thinking about the best way to do this.

“You go up; I’m still not used to the whole…one arm thing.”

Lottie swallows, nodding, before heading up. After a few minutes, you’re starting to get concerned; calling out to Lottie silently, you sigh in frustration. She’s not responding. With much difficulty (you almost fall off the ladder quite a few times), you manage to get up to the attic. Breathing erratically, you hiss out Lottie’s name. It’s quiet for a moment, until you spot her.

“Told you,” she mutters, rocking back and forth slightly. She points towards something you can hardly make out. You gasp, recognizing it as a human skeleton.

Maybe this cabin wasn’t a gift from god after all.

#yellowjackets x reader #travis martinez & reader #lottie mathews x reader #javi Martinez x reader

1K notes · View notes

monchaeri3 · 4 months ago

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shadysider sunshine

a/n: basically i rewatched the fear street trilogy and i could not resist writing this fic...

warnings: tommy slater x reader, camp counselor! reader, sunnyvaler! reader, pet names, "oh no there's only one shower" trope, kind of enemies to lovers but not really, shower sex, teasing, semi-public sex, bruising/hickies, unprotected sex, reader has an attitude, afab reader.

word count: 4k

"Dude, what are you doing here at this time of night?"

You want to be mad about it, but even the lilt of your voice betrays your own entertainment with the situation. The last person you would expect to find skulking around your cabin late at night is the same person you've locked eyes with, the younger campers that were once his comrades having shrieked and fled the scene upon being caught in the beam of your flashlight. After having your shower and traipsing all the way back towards your cabin, hair still wet and your legs cold from the cool air against your damp skin, you just wanted to relax--but it never seems to work out that way at Camp Nightwing.

Honestly, you're not even sure what to expect. It's not uncommon for the opposing teams, Shadyside and Sunnyvale, to play pranks on each other, but for the most part any counselor participation would be prohibited--especially when it's everyone's favourite heartthrob, Tommy Slater.

"You gonna egg my cabin, Shadysider? Cause if you are, you're gonna have to be a little sneakier than that."

His eyes widen and he looks around as if he hasn't already been caught red-handed, locks of light hair swinging about his face each time he turns his head. A quick glance down and he's got nothing in his hands, but that doesn't mean anything. As much as you hate to put the stereotype on people, especially kids, Shadysiders have a knack for getting into trouble with minimal effort.

"N-No! Uh, we weren't...I wasn't…"

Has he really not noticed that he's been left afloat? He takes a further look around and seems surprised at the fact that his little campers are all gone, no doubt having sprinted back to their cabins to keep from getting caught doing...whatever they were planning to do.

"Listen,"

He snaps to attention when you speak up again, in the midst of pulling your robe tighter around yourself. Even a blind man could see where his eyes fall when you do so, and as much as you don't want to encourage him, you just have to scoff and let a smirk work its way across your lips. How cute, trying to pretend he doesn't notice your current state of dress.

"I really don't give a shit, I just want to go to bed. Congrats on the colour war, Mr. Slater, and try to keep your campers out of my cabin."

You flick the flashlight off and pitch you both into relative darkness, with the moon being the only thing half-illuminating each of your faces. Honestly, you've spent the last hour or two comforting the disappointed Sunnyvale campers after their first loss, and Kurt's anguished cries of unfair play are still ringing in your ears. If nothing else, you just want one more good night of sleep before there's even more to contend with tomorrow.

"You can call me Tommy, y'know."

It hurts how naïve he sounds. He really is such a goody two shoes, but you can't even really get on his case for it. It's just the way it is, and you'll be the first to admit that there's certainly much worse ways to be.

"I know your name. I'm just messing with you, honey."

A soft "Oh," leaves his lips, and….God, he's hopeless. Who wouldn't know his name, his face, or that innocent look that makes you feel like you're staring into the eyes of a lost puppy? Many of your fellow Sunnyvalers like to mock you for extending an olive branch to the poor, misfit Shadysiders, but they really aren't that bad. Well, at least some of them aren't.

But jeez, you've never seen him so meek before. Tommy shifts his weight from foot to foot, and as far as you can tell in the dim light he looks like he's got something else to say. But he just can't seem to spit it out, and with a sigh at the tease of something interesting happening, you turn and flick your hair aside as you start taking steps back towards your cabin door. And just as you're in the midst of bidding your fellow counselor good night, with one hand set on your doorknob, you hear a shout of "Wait!" from just behind you and a force at your back that shoves you forward. Within seconds you're on the floorboards in the entryway of your cabin, flashlight rolled out of reach and dazed from the sudden push--and with a creak and a splattering sound you feel something splash all over the back of your legs, and you turn yourself around to see the carnage that lay between them.

There, with half his body in the doorway and the other half on the stairs where he's come crashing down, is Tommy--covered from head to ass in blue paint. The bucket is already in the process of rolling down said stairs, surely having been propped on top of your door to stain whoever was unlucky enough to open it, and despite being so bold as to shove you out of the way, he grimaces at the fury that's written clear as day on your face. You want to curse him out so fucking badly, want to kick his stupid pretty face in for letting those shit kids of his do this, but you're so annoyed already that the anger almost cancels itself out as you take a deep breath in. Almost.

"You're a dickhead."

Only then does he scramble to get up, stepping back to avoid getting more paint on your floor only to slip and fall backwards on to his ass. And despite being ever so courageous to save you from such a stupid prank, you groan as you look down and find splatters of blue paint all over not just your legs, but your robe and your hands too. And he's absolutely doused in it, hair soaked through and his clothes totally marred by the thick paint, little bastards must have mixed it with something else to make it stick. At the moment it's not even worth it to try mopping it off your floor and the stairs, you just get to your feet and slam the door behind you, punting the bucket all the way into the bushes as you stomp past Tommy and head right back towards the showers. Again.

"W-Wait-! I'm sorry, I really-"

"I don't wanna hear it, Shadysider!"

What you also don't want to hear is his footsteps hurrying towards you, and yet he's caught up in less than a minute and matches your pace as you head towards the building just across the field. If not for the snatches of lamplight catching your faces as you walk, you wouldn't have taken notice to the panic in his eyes that softens the anger a little bit….but not enough to make you stop.

"It wasn't meant for you, they thought it was Kurt's cabin, and I really thought it was! But it was dark, and I tried to tell them it was a bad idea, and….I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

You want to be mad. You seriously, desperately want to be mad enough that it none of it matters, that him hurrying to stand in your way and apologize makes no difference to you, and that the gentle grip he gets on your forearms to keep you focused on him doesn't make your heart flutter. Being touched by some guy, and a Shadyside one at that, shouldn't make you so weak, but it really does. The silence hangs heavy between you, nothing but the crickets and the sound of a warm breeze passing through the trees and rustling the leaves to pepper the quiet air.

"...Fine. It's fine. Now, can we just go wash this shit off?"

The paint dripping down his face can't hide the relief that passes over it, yet when he has the mind to let you go, a soft "Oops," falls from his mouth as you both glance down to see the palm prints he's left on you. It breaks the tension in a way, though, as you roll your eyes and pull him along as he chuckles, another apology coming out as the two of you approach the steps to the shower block and slip inside.

Lucky for you, for once, it's completely empty. The stalls sit open and the tiles dry, although it is pretty late at night and nearly all the campers should be asleep. But when you reach for the nearest one in a row of four to turn it on, your face falls and you groan for what feels like the hundredth time today.

"Of course. It's past midnight. Only one of them is on."

Whatever kind of water-preservation bullshit they wanna keep going with just exists to piss you off, evidently--Tommy kicks his shoes off and follows close behind as you test each one, before finally reaching the double-wide stall where the handle squeaks and out comes a hail of fresh, warm water.

"C'mon, I wanna get this over with. If we stand around it's gonna be harder to get off."

His first instinct upon you loosening the sash of your robe is to turn his head away, a hand coming up to block his vision even though you've already caught the red tinge rising to his cheeks, and the giddy smile that he can't quite wipe off his face.

"You sure?"

He says so with his eyes still averted, but the desire to sneak a peek is so strong you can feel it even just standing next to him. To you it's whatever, but it's obvious that this is his first time doing something like this--and as much as you want to laugh, you dim it to a smirk as you shrug your robe off your shoulders and toss it on the towel bench to your right.

"We'll just turn around. It's no big deal...what, you afraid?"

Stretching a hand out, you test the water to check the temperature, only distantly aware of the click of Tommy's belt behind you as he starts to undress. For some reason the sound stirs something within you, and you can't help biting your lip as you try to stifle the urge to turn around and look.

"As long as you don't mind sharing the water with a Shadysider."

Ooh, you can just feel the smirk on his pretty face as he teases you, finally seeming to come out of his shell the more he bares himself to you. He doesn't bother hanging up his sleeveless tank and his tight jeans, just tosses them in a heap on the bench for them to dry. They're probably ruined anyways, you can feel how thick the paint is as it dries on your skin, and you can only imagine how tough it's going to be to get it out of his hair. You try your best not to think of how he's gonna need help to do so, but you fail, just as expected.

"Just get in, dummy."

You can't help your smile either, and once the steam starts rising from the cold tiles, you finally step underneath the shower head and sigh at the feeling, the water like a warm blanket covering your body entirely and wrapping you in comfort you can't get anywhere else. At least, until Tommy's warmth shuffles closer and he sidles up behind you, his body so close that you swear you can hear his heartbeat from here. And if you really can, then it's thudding like the keys of a typewriter, so fast you pray he doesn't have a heart attack where he stands. But to say you aren't starting to feel the same would be a lie, a huge one.

With your backs turned, you let him lean back against you as he lifts his arms, no doubt scrubbing the semi-dried paint from his scalp and squeezing it out of his straight locks. And you can feel his muscles tense against you as he works away, so toned and firm but with soft skin stretched taut over each one. When you raise your leg and steady it against the wall to try to rub the stuff off, you can feel him pause just as you did, but this time it's because you've leaned over enough to press your ass into his. He'll get himself into trouble being so innocent like that, but you keep your mouth shut for his sake and scrub until all that remains against your skin has a light hue of blue, which you suppose you'll just have to wait awhile for it to completely go away. At least it's not as bad as your hero, who you can tell is struggling by the way he grunts and mutters a "Damn," under his breath as you're finishing up your other leg.

"Need a hand?"

He huffs a sigh, and turns his head to look over his shoulder at you--the streaks of blue running down between his eyes should be enough of a tell, and trying not to be too conspicuous about it, you shift yourselves so you're face to face, and eye to eye. It's like a silent competition, the eye contact intense but the threat of embarrassment for whoever looks down first even more so, but that's swiftly remedied by Tommy getting up closer so you're chest-to-chest. Which, of course, means your tits are now pressed up against him, but the goofy grin on his lips is too cute for you to be mad.

"Don't get excited, Shadysider. I'll be able to tell."

"Will you now?"

There's that cheeky tone, as if all his shyness has evaporated with the steam rising up all around you. You try to smother the heat that stirs in your belly because of it by reaching up and ruffling his hair with both hands, flicking little blue-tinted specks of water all over both of you and each of the walls. Once you've had your little giggle session together you feel the stress ebb away, and it grows more comfortable as you wash the paint away and watch it stream down his body with the running water, highlighting all those features that make the girls go crazy and the other guys jealous. Before long he's nearly back to normal, his hair as clean as you can get without shampoo and his body washed clear of any blue residue, and you're almost disappointed that you're done when the water starts running clear.

Or, maybe not, based on the growing stiffness against your thigh that's beckoning for your attention. Your gaze drops and finds his once again, his grin having shifted to teasing laughter as he realizes it too.

"Sorry, can't help it. You're just too pretty, sunshine."

Stupid, stupid, stupid heart, pounding so hard in your chest you can't even think straight. And him sliding his arms around you to hold you tight to his chest isn't helping, at least the pattering of water against your bodies might mask how stuttered your breathing has become, even though nothing can hide how both of you keep stealing glances at each other's lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

At this point, he doesn't even need to ask. Shadyside, Sunnyvale, who gives a fuck--you can't say no to that sweet face, so innocent on one hand yet with such intensity and lasciviousness in his eyes. You're the one who closes the distance between you, your breath stolen away by how unexpectedly soft his lips are. He's warm, unsurprisingly, and somehow you can feel gooseflesh on the back of your neck that prickles the hairs there, and sends a shiver racing down your spine that has you arching your back into his embrace.

And everything moves much faster after that. Tommy takes a step forwards and then another, and before you know it he's backed you up against the wall, hiking your leg up around his waist so there's nothing stopping you from each other. He makes his hands useful by feeling you up from the hips to your chest, and when he's got every inch committed to memory and you've hooked your other leg over his waist, he shifts you up once more so you won't fall and loops his arms under you to press his palms against the shower wall. And with nowhere better to put yours, you wrap them around his neck and lean into another kiss on the way, maybe just to make sure your moans are swallowed into his mouth when he finally starts to enter you.

For a supposed virgin boy, he really does make your head go blank and your limbs melt into jelly as he feeds every inch of himself inside you. And with nowhere to rest your feet to take the pressure off, you push your tongue past his lips and let his have free admission, just to try and stifle those noises that might just turn into screams of pleasure if you can't stop them. He's so thick you can barely wrap your mind around it, and your body can barely fit it--but he waits for you to start gushing like there's no other option, his playful chuckle like a mumble from his mouth to yours as he starts thrusting. Your defense mechanism certainly isn't lasting, however, since he breaks the kiss just to press his forehead to yours and gasp for air as the shower's rain pours down his back.

"What's my name, sunshine?"

The answer's ripped from your throat by a particularly hard buck, his cock so stiff that when it hits you as deep as it can go, all the air you can manage is sucked into your lungs and blown out in a moan so loud it rings in the empty shower block.

"Tommy! Tommy, Tommy!"

He nudges your face aside to bury his own into your neck, tonguing your sensitive skin before he scrapes his teeth along it and jolts when you clench around him as a result. And when you finally start to relax into the rhythm and grind your hips down to meet his, he steals your breath away again by sucking down hard, and leaving what you know will be a damn sore bruise behind that you'll have to scramble to hide tomorrow. That is, if you can even get out of bed, because at the moment you can't even feel your legs even as they're shaking and trembling as they hang over his hips, your pussy stretched to fit him and filled so deep you feel like a virgin born anew. And with each rock of his hips you can feel that end coming closer, like you're hurtling towards it with no way to fend it off so you can enjoy it a while longer. When it finally comes with one good, hard thrust that has his wiry little hairs rubbing up against your clit, the blinding heat that bursts inside you spreads to every limb of your body and leaves nothing but shivers behind. It feels like your veins are copper wire blazed through with an electric shock, and burned behind them to leave nothing but an empty warmth. And if Tommy wasn't still buried inside you, you would say it was quite empty indeed--but then he's scrambling to lift you off his cock, and when he's leaned you back against the wall on unsteady feet, he coaxes himself to his own end with his hand all over your stomach. It's mesmerizing to watch him, face twisted in pleasure as he milks himself dry like he's marking you, and once he's collapsed into your tired body with his chest heaving, you wonder if this isn't the first time he's cum to the idea of you.

For a while after that, it's quiet, save for the two of you breathing as you wait for it to go back to normal. After a few minutes of just holding you, he takes a step or two backwards and pulls you with him, standing you under the shower head so he can move you around and rinse you off like you did for him. Not just your belly covered in his cum, but the sweat and spit from your little romp too--he even spreads your legs apart and slips a finger inside you, making sure to lean away from the water spraying over you when he pulls it out, so he can slide it into his mouth and suck it clean with a goofy grin on his face.

"So,"

He breathes, the air warm against your damp skin as he reaches around you to shut the water off.

"You like the Shadysider experience?"

You press both palms to his chest to lean away as he laughs, diving in to pepper kisses to your face and your neck as you roll your eyes and kiss his forehead at the first chance.

"You're such a dork."

You can't even pretend to have any venom behind that. He's too earnest as he leans over to grab your robe, and only then seems to realize your newest predicament. His clothes are still covered in paint, and with how crusted and dry they are now, you doubt he would even be able to wrestle them apart from each other without ripping them. Unless he wants to streak across camp, you'll have to find another option.

"Here,"

Instead of letting him hand it over, you push the robe back into his hands, much to his surprise.

"Go back to my cabin, and grab me some clothes. I'll wait here."

The realization seems to cross his face, and as swiftly as he can manage with something definitely not his size, he ties it loosely and takes your face into those big, gentle hands.

"Be back soon, sunshine."

To be pulled into a kiss like this, brief but sweet and with a twinge of passion, you can't equate it to anything else. You watch as Tommy slips on his shoes, hurries out the door and heads towards your cabin, no doubt doing so in a rush so that you don't get chilly waiting for him in the airy building.

And as you stand there, bracing yourself against the cool breeze that parts the sticky summer heat, you wonder when you fell in love. Maybe it's not really love, but it could certainly turn into that soon, if things keep up as they are. You just can't wipe the smile from your face as you wait for him, eager to see his toothy grin as he rushes back to see you again, and it's a feeling unlike anything you've experienced so far. Your time has been short but the years have felt long, constantly filled with your Sunnyvale brethren not only mocking the Shadysiders to hell and back, but hounding you for pitying them and showing them some modicum of kindness.

At least, if nothing else, you can say that it's paid off. This moment is the happiest you've been in a long time, so much so that a tune makes its way to your lips and your humming echoes off the shower walls. Your mind wanders so contentedly that you don't even hear the creak of the door opening and closing, and only notice the presence when the sound of footsteps thudding towards you grabs your attention. They're quick at first but they slow as they get to you, and though a shiver runs through your body from nowhere, a soft whisper falls from your lips as a shadow casts itself across the floor in front of you.

"Tommy?"

#tommy slater #tommy slater x reader #fear street #fear street 1978 #fear street x reader #smut

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monchaeri3 · 4 months ago

Text

Conner kent x batfam!reader - patrol partners.

ps. sorry about the random part labeling part i messed it up and couldn’t fully get rid of it……..

Behind her, the sound of a boot scuffing against the rooftop grated on her nerves.

“You always this dramatic, or is this just for show?” Conner Kent’s smug voice broke the silence.

Y/N didn’t bother to turn around. “Some of us actually focus on the mission,” she said coolly.

Conner leaned casually against the antenna at the center of the rooftop, his leather jacket slung open over his S-shield shirt, the red and black colors popping against the dark backdrop of the city. The sunglasses perched on his nose, even at night, gave him the infuriating aura of someone who didn’t take anything seriously.

“Relax, Bat-lite,” he said with a lazy grin. “Clark’s golden boy is here to save the day. No need to brood yourself into an early grave.”

Her jaw tightened. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Bat-lite? Fine. Broody McPunch-a-Lot, then?”

Y/N finally turned to glare at him. “You’re not funny.”

“Debatable,” he replied, tilting his sunglasses down to meet her eyes. “But we’re partners tonight, so maybe try to enjoy my company for once. I’m a delight.”

She snorted softly, turning back to the streets. “Bruce thinks I can learn to ‘lighten up’ from you. That’s laughable.”

“Guessing that means you’re here to teach me how to scowl harder?”

“Something like that.”

The radio crackled in their earpieces before Conner could fire back. Clark’s calm voice came through.

“Y/N, Conner. Report of a break-in on Fifth and Pine. Two suspects. Armed. Proceed with caution.”

“On it,” Y/N said crisply, already stepping off the ledge and firing a grappling hook toward the neighboring building. She moved with practiced ease, her cape trailing behind her like a shadow.

“Wait up!” Conner called, hovering briefly before zipping after her. He caught up quickly, his flight speed more than compensating for her head start.

“Show-off,” she muttered as he floated beside her mid-swing.

“Just keeping up,” he said with a cocky smirk.

They landed on the roof of a pawn shop overlooking the intersection. Below, two masked figures were shoving what looked like jewelry and cash into a duffel bag.

“Stay here,” Y/N whispered, already angling for the fire escape.

Conner raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

“This requires stealth. Something you know nothing about,” she snapped.

“Hey, I can be stealthy,” he insisted, crossing his arms.

She shot him a pointed look. “You’re wearing a bright red ‘S’ on your chest and sunglasses at night.”

“Touché.”

Ignoring him, Y/N crept silently down the fire escape, her footsteps light and calculated. Conner, to his credit, stayed behind—though he leaned casually over the edge of the roof, watching her with obvious amusement.

One of the suspects turned just as Y/N landed softly behind them. Before he could react, she delivered a swift kick to his knee, sending him crashing to the ground. His partner spun around, pulling a gun from his waistband—only to have it yanked out of his hands by an unseen force.

“Uh-uh,” Conner said from above, the gun floating into his hand. He crushed it effortlessly, his grin widening. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

The second suspect tried to run, but Y/N cut him off, twisting his arm behind his back and forcing him to the ground.

“You’re welcome,” Conner said as he floated down to her level.

“I had it under control,” she replied, her voice icy.

“Sure you did,” he said, tossing the remains of the gun to the side. “I’m just here to make your life easier.”

Part 2

Y/N didn’t bother responding. She zip-tied the second suspect’s wrists with practiced precision before standing and looking up at Conner. He stood there like a statue, hands on his hips and that smug smirk plastered across his face.

“You’re in my way,” she said, stepping past him to retrieve the duffel bag.

Conner didn’t move. “I think you mean, ‘Thanks, Conner, for being awesome and saving my life.’”

She froze mid-step, her head turning slowly toward him. “I didn’t need saving.”

He gave a low whistle, holding his hands up. “Wow, you’re fun. You always this warm, or do I bring it out in you?”

“Are you always this insufferable, or is tonight special?” she shot back, hoisting the duffel over her shoulder.

“Depends on who you ask,” he replied with a wink, trailing after her as she moved toward the street.

By the time the cops arrived to take the suspects into custody, Y/N was already giving a report to Clark over comms. Conner leaned casually against a lamppost nearby, occasionally tossing glances her way as she talked.

“She’s a bundle of sunshine, isn’t she?” he muttered to himself.

“I heard that,” Y/N said without looking up.

Conner chuckled, pushing off the lamppost and stepping closer. “So, what’s next, boss? Or do you need a break to recharge all that brooding energy?”

Her hands clenched into fists, but she forced herself to stay calm. “There’s another report on Tenth and Broadway. If you’re done standing around, maybe you can actually do something useful.”

“Lead the way,” he said with a sweeping gesture, sunglasses flashing under the streetlights.

They moved in silence this time, Y/N swinging between buildings with her grappling hook while Conner soared above her like an overconfident hawk. Every so often, she’d catch him glancing at her from the corner of her eye, and it only irritated her more.

When they reached the next scene—a group of gang members looting a storefront—Y/N landed on the roof first, crouching low as she surveyed the area.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Here’s the plan—”

“No need for a plan,” Conner interrupted, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve got this.”

“Wait—” she started, but it was too late.

Conner shot toward the gang like a bullet, landing right in the middle of them with a loud thud. Glass crunched under his boots as he straightened up, grinning.

“Hey, guys,” he said, his tone casual. “Mind putting that stuff back?”

The gang members froze for a moment, their eyes widening at the sight of him. Then, as if on cue, one of them pulled a knife and lunged.

Conner didn’t even flinch. The blade snapped against his chest, and he raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Before the guy could react, Conner grabbed him by the back of his jacket and tossed him into a dumpster a few feet away.

The rest of the gang scattered, but Y/N was already in motion, intercepting two of them before they could escape. She took them down with a series of swift, calculated strikes, her movements efficient and precise.

By the time she was done, Conner had rounded up the rest, piling them together like a heap of laundry.

“You’re welcome,” he said again, brushing his hands off as he floated back toward her.

Y/N’s glare could’ve melted steel. “You didn’t follow the plan.”

“What plan?” he said, genuinely confused. “Your plan was probably ‘brood and punch,’ anyway.”

Her jaw tightened. “You’re reckless. You could’ve gotten someone hurt.”

“Relax,” he said, holding his hands up. “They’re fine. You’re fine. Everyone’s fine.”

“That’s not the point,” she snapped, stepping closer. “If you keep rushing in without thinking, someone will get hurt. And I won’t let that happen on my watch.”

Conner stared at her for a moment, his cocky grin fading slightly. “Wow,” he said softly. “You’re serious about this, huh?��

She crossed her arms. “Unlike you, I take this job seriously.”

“Hey,” he said, frowning. “I take it seriously too. I just don’t let it turn me into… you.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re so focused on the mission, you forget there’s more to life than crime-fighting. You ever hear of fun?”

She turned away, shaking her head. “This isn’t about fun. It’s about doing what needs to be done.”

“Spoken like a true Bat,” Conner muttered under his breath.

Y/N ignored him, her attention already back on her comms as she reported the situation. But his words lingered in her mind longer than she cared to admit.

Part 3

The night stretched on, with crime reports coming in one after another. As the duo tackled each incident, the tension between them grew. Y/N’s sharp commands and meticulous strategies clashed with Conner’s impulsive, devil-may-care approach at every turn.

At a small electronics store on Twelfth Street, Y/N disarmed a group of tech thieves with precision, while Conner smashed through the back wall to corner their getaway vehicle. The crash startled the remaining culprits, giving Y/N the upper hand but drawing her ire.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she snapped as the last thief was cuffed.

“I call it improvisation,” Conner replied, dusting brick fragments off his jacket.

“I call it reckless,” she shot back.

“Recklessly awesome, maybe,” he said with a grin.

By the time they reached their final stop—a warehouse filled with suspected smuggled weapons—Y/N’s patience was threadbare. She crouched on a high beam inside, mapping out their approach as Conner hovered beside her, arms crossed.

“This one’s serious,” she whispered. “We go in quietly, disable the security systems, and—”

“Or,” Conner interrupted, “I can just smash the guns and call it a night.”

Her glare could’ve pierced his invulnerability. “This isn’t a joke. If these are high-tech weapons, one wrong move could trigger an explosion.”

“Got it,” he said with mock seriousness. “No smashing. Light tapping only.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the “p.” “Pretty sure it’s part of my charm.”

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. “Why me, Bruce? Why me?”

“What was that?” Conner asked, leaning closer with a teasing smile.

“Nothing,” she hissed, dropping silently to the ground below.

Conner followed, his boots hitting the floor with significantly less stealth. Y/N winced at the sound but pressed on, her focus sharp.

Inside, they found rows of crates stacked high, each marked with the logo of a prominent defense contractor. Y/N pulled out a small device to scan for hidden traps while Conner wandered over to one of the crates, giving it a curious knock.

“What are you doing?” she whispered harshly.

“Checking for bad guys,” he whispered back, tapping his ear. “Super-hearing, remember?”

“Could you at least pretend to take this seriously?”

“I am serious,” he said, straightening up. “There’s no one here except us.”

Before she could reply, the lights suddenly flickered on, and the sound of guns cocking filled the room. Y/N spun around to see a dozen armed men stepping out from the shadows, their weapons trained on her and Conner.

“Nice going,” she muttered.

“Hey,” he said, holding his hands up as if surrendering. “At least we don’t have to look for them now.”

Y/N glared at him before turning her attention back to the gunmen. “I’ll take the left,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Cool. I’ll take the other eleven,” Conner said with a smirk, cracking his knuckles.

Before she could stop him, he was already moving. Bullets ricocheted harmlessly off his chest as he plowed through the gunmen, disarming them with almost comical ease. Meanwhile, Y/N darted between crates, using shadows and cover to take out her targets one by one.

As the last man hit the ground, Conner dusted his hands off and turned to Y/N. “And that’s how you clear a room.”

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, scanning the crates for any signs of a self-destruct mechanism.

“And you’re welcome,” he replied, leaning casually against a crate. “You know, if you’d just let yourself have a little fun, you might not hate me so much.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said without looking up.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She sighed, closing the scanner. “You’re just… distracting.”

He grinned. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night.”

Y/N shook her head, already heading for the exit. “Let’s just finish this and go home.”

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Conner fell into step beside her, his sunglasses tilted back onto his forehead.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “we actually make a pretty good team.”

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Don’t push it.”

He chuckled, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Whatever you say, Bat-lite.”

“Conner,” she warned.

“Fine, fine. Y/N,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But admit it—you had some fun tonight.”

She didn’t answer, her gaze fixed ahead. But for the first time all night, the corners of her mouth twitched—just barely—into something resembling a smile.

Part 4

The ride back to the Watchtower was quiet—at least for a moment. Y/N sat rigid in the passenger seat of the sleek transport pod, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the distant stars through the window. Conner sat beside her, tapping his fingers on the console with a rhythm she suspected was deliberately designed to annoy her.

“Can you stop?” she snapped, glaring at him.

“Stop what?” he asked, clearly feigning innocence.

“That,” she said, gesturing to his tapping hand.

He grinned. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize my natural charisma was so distracting.”

She let out a slow, measured breath and turned away. “I’m trying to debrief in my head. You should try it sometime.”

“Why bother?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “We stopped a bunch of crimes, caught the bad guys, and no one got hurt. That’s a win in my book.”

“You’re so cavalier about everything,” she muttered.

“And you’re so intense about everything,” he shot back, his grin softening into something more sincere. “It’s okay to ease up, you know. You’re allowed to breathe.”

Y/N didn’t reply. Her mind was already cycling through every moment of the night, analyzing what could have gone better, what she could have done differently.

Conner watched her for a moment, his usual cockiness giving way to a flicker of curiosity. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” she asked without looking at him.

“Beat yourself up over stuff that went fine,” he said, his voice less teasing and more genuine.

“Because it’s my job to make sure it always goes fine,” she replied. “If I don’t analyze every detail, someone could get hurt next time.”

“You know you can’t control everything, right?” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You’re good—great, even—but you’re not perfect. None of us are.”

She stiffened at his words, her jaw tightening. “I don’t have the luxury of failure.”

Conner raised an eyebrow. “And who put that kind of pressure on you? Bruce?”

She didn’t answer, but her silence spoke volumes.

“Figures,” he muttered. “Look, I get it. I do. Clark can be a bit of a perfectionist, too, but he doesn’t expect me to kill myself trying to live up to some impossible standard.”

“That’s because you don’t take it seriously,” she said, turning to face him fully for the first time.

“That’s not true,” he said, his tone sharper now. “I care just as much as you do. I just don’t let it crush me.”

“Maybe you should,” she shot back. “Maybe then you’d understand what’s at stake.”

He leaned closer, his blue eyes meeting hers with unexpected intensity. “And maybe you should realize that you’re allowed to be human, Y/N. You’re not some machine built to fix the world all by yourself.”

Her breath caught for a moment, his words hitting closer to home than she wanted to admit.

Before she could respond, the pod docked at the Watchtower, and the hatch hissed open. Y/N was the first to step out, her boots echoing against the metallic floor as she headed for the debriefing room.

Conner followed a few steps behind, watching her with a mix of admiration and exasperation. “You’re a tough nut to crack, you know that?”

“I don’t need cracking,” she replied curtly, not breaking stride.

“Right,” he said, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “Because you’ve got it all figured out.”

Part 5

She paused at the door to the debriefing room and glanced back at him, her expression unreadable. “You don’t know anything about me, Conner.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Maybe not. But I know what it’s like to feel like the weight of the world’s on your shoulders.”

She hesitated, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. Before she could respond, the door slid open, and the familiar figures of Bruce and Clark stood waiting inside.

“Report,” Bruce said, his voice low and firm.

Y/N straightened immediately, slipping into the role of soldier. “We stopped multiple crimes across Metropolis, dismantled a weapons-smuggling operation, and secured all suspects without casualties.”

“Efficient,” Bruce said with a curt nod. “Any challenges?”

“No,” she replied quickly, though her jaw tightened.

Conner tilted his head, his sunglasses now hanging from his jacket collar. “Well, unless you count her trying to control everything and me saving the day when she overthought it.”

Y/N’s glare shot to him instantly. “That’s not what happened.”

“Pretty sure it is,” Conner said, leaning against the wall with a smirk.

Bruce’s sharp gaze darted between them. “Is there a problem I need to be aware of?”

“No,” Y/N said firmly.

“Not unless you consider her being allergic to fun a problem,” Conner quipped.

“Conner,” Clark said, his tone a mix of warning and exasperation.

Y/N folded her arms, her glare locked on Conner. “Maybe if he took anything seriously, we’d actually be a functional team.”

“We stopped every bad guy we ran into,” Conner countered, his smirk fading slightly. “Sounds functional to me.”

Bruce stepped forward, his imposing presence silencing both of them. “The point of pairing you was to address these exact flaws. Y/N, your tendency to overanalyze can lead to delays in decision-making. Conner’s impulsiveness creates unnecessary risks. You’re supposed to balance each other.”

“Great. Mission accomplished,” Conner said, raising his hands in mock celebration. “We survived without killing each other.”

“For now,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

Clark stepped in, his voice gentler. “What Bruce is saying is that you both have something to learn from this partnership. Y/N, Conner’s right that not every situation can be controlled. And, Conner, Y/N’s discipline and planning are qualities you could stand to adopt.”

Conner crossed his arms, glancing at Y/N. “Fine. I’ll try to plan a little more.”

Y/N sighed. “And I’ll… try to adapt on the fly.”

“Good,” Bruce said, his tone final. “Because you’re not done yet.”

Y/N blinked. “We’re not?”

“You’re being assigned another week of joint patrols,” Clark said, though his smile was more apologetic.

“A week?” she repeated, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Conner said with a grin, nudging her shoulder. “You’ll get to spend more quality time with me.”

Y/N stared at him, her expression a mix of exhaustion and irritation. “I’d rather patrol Gotham during a Joker breakout.”

“Ouch,” Conner said, clutching his chest dramatically. “That hurt, Bat-lite. Really.”

Bruce and Clark exchanged a glance, the smallest flicker of amusement passing between them.

“Dismissed,” Bruce said, turning back to the console.

Y/N turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, her cape billowing behind her. Conner followed a moment later, still grinning.

“So,” he said as they walked down the corridor, “what’s the plan for tomorrow, partner?”

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered.

“You’re gonna miss me when this week’s over,” he teased.

“Doubtful,” she shot back.

As they reached the elevator, Conner pressed the button and leaned casually against the wall. “You know, I think this could be good for us.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“Because by the end of this, I’ll teach you how to have fun, and you’ll teach me how to stop annoying you.”

Part 6

“That’s impossible,” she said, stepping into the elevator and crossing her arms.

“Nothing’s impossible,” Conner replied, following her inside. “You’re stuck with me for a week. Plenty of time for miracles.”

The doors slid shut, and the elevator hummed softly as it began its ascent. Y/N fixed her gaze on the glowing floor numbers, pretending not to notice Conner’s lopsided grin as he leaned casually against the wall.

“Do you always have to talk?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s one of my best qualities,” he said.

“Debatable.”

He chuckled, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “You know, I’ve never met anyone who can brood as much as Bruce. Congrats on being his heir apparent.”

She shot him a sharp look. “And I’ve never met anyone who can be this obnoxious without even trying.”

“See?” he said, pointing at her. “That was almost a joke. You’re learning.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to reveal the living quarters. Y/N stepped out first, eager to escape the conversation.

“Where are you going?” Conner called after her.

“To my room,” she said without turning around.

“Cool, I’ll walk you there,” he said, falling into step beside her.

She stopped abruptly, fixing him with a glare. “Why?”

“Because I’m a gentleman,” he said, flashing his signature grin.

“More like a menace,” she muttered, continuing down the corridor.

They reached her door, and she placed her hand on the biometric scanner. The panel beeped, and the door slid open.

“Goodnight, Conner,” she said firmly, stepping inside and starting to close the door.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he replied, his grin widening.

Before she could retort, the door slid shut, leaving her alone in the quiet of her quarters. She let out a long breath, running a hand through her hair as she moved to her desk.

Sitting down, she opened her laptop and began reviewing the night’s patrol log. But her focus kept slipping, her mind wandering back to Conner’s words.

“Maybe you should realize that you’re allowed to be human.”

She shook her head, closing the laptop with more force than necessary. “He doesn’t get it,” she muttered to herself.

But deep down, a small, annoying voice whispered that maybe—just maybe—he did.

The next night came all too quickly.

Y/N stood on the roof of a high-rise building in Gotham, the cool wind tugging at her cape. Conner hovered a few feet away, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets as he surveyed the city below.

“Gotham, huh?” he said, breaking the silence. “Didn’t think you’d want me here.”

“I don’t,” she replied flatly.

“Then why bring me along?”

“Because Bruce assigned us to work together,” she said, adjusting her gauntlet. “And unlike you, I follow orders.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a shrug.

She glanced at him, surprised by his lack of a snarky comeback. “What? No witty retort?”

“Not in the mood,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

She frowned, studying him for a moment. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, but the tension in his jaw said otherwise.

“Conner,” she said, her voice softening just slightly. “What is it?”

He hesitated, then sighed. “It’s just… this place. It’s heavier than Metropolis, you know? Like the city’s carrying all this darkness, and it’s seeping into everyone who lives here.”

“That’s Gotham,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze distant. “Guess I’m just not used to it.”

She studied him for a moment, her gaze softened.

Later that night, Y/N sat at her desk in her sleeping quarters, her room dimly lit by the soft glow of the desk lamp. She’d intended to review the patrol routes for tomorrow, but her mind refused to focus. Instead, her pen moved aimlessly across the edge of a scrap of paper, creating a swirling pattern of lines and shapes.

She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. It was late, but sleep felt impossible. The events of the day replayed in her mind—Conner’s comments, his sudden seriousness in Gotham, and the way he managed to both infuriate and intrigue her in equal measure.

A faint noise broke her thoughts—a barely perceptible shift in the air behind her.

Her instincts kicked in immediately. She dropped the pen and spun out of the chair in one fluid motion, grabbing the intruder’s arm and twisting it behind their back. Using her weight for leverage, she slammed them against the wall.

“Who are you, and what do you—” she stopped mid-sentence as her eyes landed on the grinning face of Conner Kent.

“Hey,” he said casually, despite being pinned. “Nice reflexes.”

She released him instantly, stepping back with a scowl. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Relax,” he said, straightening his jacket. “I knocked. You didn’t answer.”

“That doesn’t mean you can break in!” she snapped.

He held up his hands. “Technically, I didn’t break anything. Your door doesn’t exactly stop someone with super strength.”

She crossed her arms, glaring at him. “Why are you here?”

“I was bored,” he said simply, leaning casually against the wall as if this were perfectly normal.

“So you decided to sneak up on me in the middle of the night?”

“Well,” he said, tilting his head, “I wasn’t sneaking. I just didn’t want to startle you.”

“You failed,” she said dryly, sitting back down at her desk and picking up her pen again.

He stepped closer, peering at the paper. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” she said, quickly turning it over.

“Looked like doodles,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“It’s nothing,” she repeated firmly.

“Come on, let me see,” he said, reaching for the paper.

She swatted his hand away. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Not really,” he said, pulling up the spare chair and plopping into it.

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here we are,” he said with a grin, leaning back in the chair. “So, what’s keeping you up?”

“Work,” she said curtly, gesturing vaguely to her desk.

“Liar,” he said, his grin softening. “You’re doodling. That’s not work.”

She shot him a look but didn’t argue.

“See?” he said, sitting forward. “Even you need a break sometimes.”

“This isn’t a break,” she said defensively. “It’s just… something to clear my head.”

“Exactly,” he said, leaning on the desk. “So why not do more of that instead of stressing yourself out all the time?”

She stared at him, caught off guard by the earnestness in his voice. “Why do you care?”

He shrugged, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by something softer. “Because I know what it’s like to feel like you’ve got to prove something all the time. And trust me, it sucks.”

For a moment, she didn’t reply, the weight of his words settling over the room.

Finally, she sighed, picking up the pen again. “You’re not as dumb as you look, you know that?”

“Thanks,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She shook her head, but this time, there was the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the tension between them easing just a little. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel entirely alone.

part 7

The next morning, Y/N woke up early, as always. The Watchtower was quiet at this hour, and she relished the stillness. After a quick routine workout, she returned to her quarters, showered, and sat at her desk with her headphones on. Music had always been one of the few things that helped her center herself before the day started.

She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes as the soft, melancholic notes of “Don’t Dream It’s Over” by Crowded House filled her ears.

The moment was short-lived.

The sharp knock at her door made her sigh. She ignored it, hoping whoever it was would leave. Instead, the door slid open, and Conner strolled in, looking entirely too awake and chipper.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said with a grin.

Y/N pulled off her headphones, glaring at him. “Do you not understand boundaries?”

“Not when it comes to my favorite patrol buddy,” he replied, flopping onto the couch in her room like he owned the place. “What are you listening to?”

“None of your business,” she said, putting the headphones back on.

“Oh, come on,” he said, leaning forward. “Let me hear. I bet it’s something intense and broody, like symphonic metal or darkwave.”

She ignored him, turning the volume up.

“Please?” he said, dragging out the word like a child begging for candy.

She finally yanked the headphones off and glared at him. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because music says a lot about a person,” he said, grinning. “It’s like a window into your soul. I mean, if you have one.”

She rolled her eyes but picked up her phone, scrolling to the track. “Fine. If it’ll shut you up.”

She tapped play, and “Don’t Dream It’s Over” began to play through the room’s speakers. Conner blinked in surprise at the opening notes.

“No way,” he said, sitting up straighter.

“What?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I love this song,” he said, his grin widening. “And this band. I didn’t think you’d be into music from the ’80s.”

“I didn’t say I was,” she replied quickly, though the faintest hint of color touched her cheeks. “I just like this song.”

“Sure,” he said, smirking. “You’re secretly an ’80s music fan. Admit it.”

“I’m not,” she said firmly, though her lips twitched.

“Come on,” he teased, leaning forward. “Crowded House is a classic. The lyrics, the melody—this is the kind of song you play when you’re driving with the windows down, just vibing with life.”

“Not everyone’s life is a constant road trip, Conner,” she said dryly, but her tone lacked its usual edge.

He leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. “Still, you’ve got taste. I respect that.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the music filling the room. Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was completely at ease, nodding along to the beat with a contented smile on his face.

“It’s a good song,” she admitted quietly.

Conner turned to her, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Yeah. It is.”

She looked away, but not before he caught the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

For once, she didn’t mind his presence so much.

Later that morning, Y/N and Conner met in the Watchtower’s training room for a scheduled sparring session. Y/N was already stretching when Conner sauntered in, still wearing his leather jacket and sunglasses despite being indoors.

“Are you seriously going to spar in that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned and shrugged off the jacket, tossing it onto a bench. “What? Didn’t want to make you feel underdressed.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, finishing her stretches. “I hope you’re ready to get knocked on your ass.”

“Big words,” he said, stepping into the ring. “Let’s see if you can back them up, Bat-lite.”

The sparring started with Y/N darting forward, quick and calculated. She aimed a kick at his ribs, which he blocked effortlessly, grinning the whole time.

“You’re fast,” he said, dodging her next attack.

“And you’re predictable,” she shot back, sweeping his legs out from under him.

Conner hit the mat but rolled back onto his feet almost instantly. “Okay, okay. That was good.”

Y/N smirked, her confidence building. “Want me to slow down for you?”

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that,” he said, lunging at her.

The fight escalated quickly, with Conner clearly holding back his full strength but still using enough power to keep her on edge. Y/N was agile, landing sharp punches and kicks, but every time she thought she had him, Conner countered with almost lazy ease.

Finally, he decided to use his powers to tip the scales. He feigned a stumble, then surged forward with super speed, grabbing her wrist and spinning her into a pin. In less than a second, Y/N found herself on the mat, her arms pinned above her head by one of his hands while he crouched over her, smirking down at her.

“Gotcha,” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

Her face flushed with a mix of frustration and embarrassment. “You cheated.”

“I used my resources,” he corrected, his grin widening.

“Get off me,” she snapped, squirming under his grip.

“Not until you admit I won.”

“Never,” she hissed, her glare sharp enough to cut steel.

“Suit yourself,” he said, settling in like he was perfectly comfortable. “I can stay here all day.”

Before she could retort—or flip him off the mat, which was her next plan—a voice interrupted.

“What’s going on here?”

Both of their heads whipped toward the door, where Bruce and Clark stood side by side, their expressions varying degrees of disapproval and surprise.

Conner immediately let go and scrambled to his feet, his usual confidence faltering. “Uh, sparring. Just sparring.”

Y/N sat up, brushing herself off and avoiding Bruce’s scrutinizing gaze. “He was cheating,” she muttered.

Clark raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Using your powers in a sparring match, Conner?”

Conner rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “Hey, I wasn’t using all of them. Just a little speed. For fun.”

Bruce’s gaze shifted to Y/N, who was still glaring daggers at Conner. “You let him pin you?”

Her face turned an even deeper shade of red. “I didn’t let him. He cheated.”

“Cheated is a strong word,” Conner said, holding up his hands defensively. “I’d call it improvising.”

Bruce’s expression remained unreadable as he turned to Clark. “They’re making progress, at least.”

Clark chuckled softly. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

Meanwhile, Y/N and Conner exchanged a quick, flustered glance before looking away in opposite directions, both pretending not to notice the faint blush on each other’s cheeks.

Bruce’s voice cut through the tension. “Since you’re both so eager to test your skills, why don’t you suit up? You’re patrolling together tonight.”

Y/N groaned inwardly, while Conner perked up. “Sweet. Team Bat-Kent rides again.”

“Don’t call it that,” Y/N muttered, her embarrassment quickly replaced by annoyance.

Clark clapped Conner on the shoulder as they walked out. “Try not to annoy her too much tonight.”

“No promises,” Conner replied with a grin, earning another glare from Y/N as they headed to the locker rooms.

After their sparring session, Y/N decided to cool off—both literally and figuratively—with a shower in the Watchtower’s communal facilities. The shower room was empty, and she relished the rare solitude as she stood under the warm water, letting it wash away the tension from the match (and her residual irritation with Conner).

She sighed, running her fingers through her wet hair. “Cheater,” she muttered under her breath, her thoughts drifting back to the smug grin on Conner’s face when he had her pinned.

The sound of the shower drowned out the faint click of the door opening.

Conner strolled in, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d taken his jacket off again and was grumbling to himself. “Where’s the stupid—oh, here we go,” he muttered, stepping further into the room.

Y/N froze, her ears catching the familiar voice even over the rush of water. She peered around the edge of the shower stall, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“Conner?!”

He stopped mid-step, his eyes darting to where her voice came from. For a moment, he looked genuinely confused—then realization hit him like a freight train.

“Oh, crap.”

“What are you doing in here?!” Y/N snapped, ducking further behind the frosted glass of the stall.

“I thought—this is the men’s, isn’t it?” he stammered, his face turning red as he shielded his eyes with his hand.

“No, it’s not! Get out!”

“Right, okay, I’m going—sorry!” Conner said quickly, spinning on his heel. But in his haste, he tripped over the edge of the tile, stumbling before catching himself on the wall.

“Are you kidding me?” Y/N groaned, her voice somewhere between exasperation and mortification.

“I’m leaving, I swear!” he called, fumbling for the door. “Didn’t see anything—didn’t want to see anything!”

“Good!”

Finally, he managed to escape, the door sliding shut behind him with an audible whoosh.

Y/N pressed her hands to her face, her cheeks burning. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, shaking her head as she tried to calm the swirl of embarrassment and frustration.

Meanwhile, outside, Conner leaned against the hallway wall, still red-faced and muttering to himself.

“Smooth, Kent. Real smooth.”

He glanced back at the door, half expecting Y/N to storm out and throttle him. When she didn’t, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Now she’s going to murder me before the next patrol.”

And for once, he couldn’t even blame her.

A few minutes later, Y/N stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, still feeling the sting of embarrassment from the unfortunate incident. She quickly dried her hair and dressed in her usual tight-fitting combat gear, taking extra care to avoid thinking too much about the awkwardness that still lingered from her encounter with Conner.

As she stepped out into the main area of the Watchtower, she spotted Diana—Wonder Woman—talking with Bruce, their voices low but animated. Diana’s presence always had a way of calming Y/N, and she appreciated the brief moment of peace as she made her way over to the conversation.

“Morning,” Y/N greeted, joining them with a slight smile.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Diana said warmly, her gaze friendly and inviting. “How’s the day going?”

“Could be better,” Y/N muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Trouble with the sparring session?” Bruce asked, his tone more neutral than curious.

Y/N didn’t answer immediately, choosing instead to take a seat at one of the nearby workstations. She didn’t feel like elaborating on the situation—especially since she was still trying to shake off the awkwardness.

Meanwhile, across the room, Conner was talking animatedly to Bruce, his words flying in a frantic stream of consciousness. He was pacing in front of Bruce and Diana, eyes wide as he babbled.

“You wouldn’t believe it, Bruce! I was just trying to go into the men’s shower, right? And then I—I walked in on her! Y/N! She was in there, and I didn’t even notice until—”

“Conner,” Bruce interrupted, his voice dangerously calm. “Can we keep it down? You’re not exactly helping your case here.”

Conner blinked, finally noticing how loudly he was speaking. He turned to Diana for reassurance. “I mean, I didn’t see anything, but I definitely scared her. You know, she was probably already mad about the sparring and—”

Y/N’s eyes flicked to him, catching his expression in the middle of his rambling.

And then, as their eyes met across the room, she gave him the coldest, most unimpressed stare she could muster.

Conner froze mid-sentence, the reality of the situation hitting him like a ton of bricks. He gave her an awkward, half-hearted wave, but Y/N didn’t flinch. Instead, she took a slow, deliberate sip from her water bottle, as if she had all the time in the world to watch him squirm.

For a long moment, there was an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of Conner shifting uncomfortably in place. He knew what was coming.

Bruce, who had been watching the exchange quietly, finally cracked a small smile, clearly enjoying Conner’s discomfort. Diana, too, looked at Bruce, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“Looks like someone’s in trouble,” Diana teased, her voice light with amusement.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, the faintest of smiles playing at the corners of his lips. “Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy.”

Diana smirked back at him, her eyes gleaming with playful insight. “Is it just me, or do you two always end up in situations like this?”

Bruce didn’t answer, but the subtle tension in his expression was enough to suggest that the idea wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

Meanwhile, Conner was still trying to figure out how to get himself out of the mess he’d made. “I—look, I’m sorry, okay?” he said to Y/N, his voice much softer now that they were face-to-face. “It was an honest mistake. I didn’t mean to walk in on you. Really.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, staring him down with that same unimpressed expression. “You better hope I’m not stuck patrolling with you tonight.”

“I—I promise, I won’t do it again,” he said quickly, though his sincerity was laced with a bit of nervousness.

Diana glanced at Bruce, catching his subtle shift in demeanor. She leaned closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. “What do you think, Bruce? Are we witnessing a different kind of training session here?”

Bruce didn’t respond at first, but his smile lingered, just long enough for Diana to catch the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“It’s complicated,” Bruce said in his usual gruff tone, though it lacked its typical edge.

Diana leaned back, raising her eyebrows as she caught his eye. “Complicated… or maybe just interesting?”

Bruce’s smirk deepened, though he remained silent. He glanced at Conner, who was still trying to salvage the situation. “You’re lucky she’s not in the mood to throw you off the Watchtower, Conner.”

Conner shot a nervous glance at Y/N. “Right. Got it. Noted.”

“Good,” she replied flatly, her tone dropping into a comfortable finality.

Conner sighed in relief. It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been—at least she wasn’t about to choke him out. But he knew one thing for sure: he was going to have to earn back a lot of good will if he didn’t want to spend the entire patrol in the doghouse.

Y/N stood up then, looking between Diana and Bruce with a brief smile. “Well, I’ll leave you two to continue your little chat. I’m going to go grab my gear.”

As she turned to leave, she shot one final, pointed glance at Conner. “And just so you know, I’m not forgetting this.”

Conner gulped, watching her walk away, before looking back at Bruce and Diana.

Bruce’s smile turned into a small, knowing smirk. “You’re in trouble, kid.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Conner said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Diana chuckled lightly, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I’d say she’s got a fire in her, Conner. You should be careful.”

Conner just groaned, rubbing his face in frustration. “I’ve got no chance, do I?”

“No,” Bruce answered, deadpan. “Not really.”

Diana grinned, her gaze flicking to Bruce again before meeting Conner’s eyes. “Looks like you’re both in for a very interesting patrol.”

And with that, the tension in the room lightened just enough for them all to know that something was simmering beneath the surface.

Later that evening, Y/N and Conner set out on their patrol across a quieter part of Metropolis. The streets were busier now, filled with people heading home after work or out to enjoy the night. Conner, in his usual black leather jacket, had his hands shoved into his pockets as they perched atop a building, looking out over the city. Y/N, ever the stoic one, stood next to him, scanning the area below for any signs of trouble.

The night was still, but they both knew better than to think it would stay that way.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Y/N said, her voice low but steady.

“Always,” Conner replied, though his eyes were more distracted than focused. “So, uh, you’re still mad at me?”

Y/N glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “For walking in on me in the shower?”

He winced at the reminder. “Yeah. That.”

Y/N shrugged, still scanning the area. “I’m not mad, just… annoyed. It was an accident. You don’t need to keep apologizing.”

“Yeah, but I feel like I need to make up for it,” Conner said, his voice dropping in a rare moment of awkwardness. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze lingering on the dark skyline. “I didn’t mean to make it weird. It’s just… you know… I didn’t think anyone was in there.”

She turned to look at him now, her face unreadable, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “It’s fine, Conner,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, as if it were no big deal.

“I—I know, but it’s just…” Conner trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought. He was so used to joking around, to being the guy who could easily brush things off, but Y/N wasn’t like everyone else. She didn’t let things slide that easily, and now he found himself stumbling over his words.

Y/N could sense his discomfort, but she wasn’t about to make it easy for him. “You’re really making a big deal out of this, aren’t you?”

He sighed, hanging his head. “I just don’t want you to think I’m some kind of jerk. You know I respect you, right?”

She paused, considering him for a long moment before a flicker of amusement crossed her face. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Conner blinked, clearly caught off guard by her lack of a sharp retort. For once, she wasn’t being cold or distant. There was something almost… warm in the way she said it.

“Good,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, I’ll stop bringing it up. I’ll just focus on keeping Metropolis safe. No more… accidental walk-ins.”

Y/N smirked, clearly enjoying his awkwardness. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

They both turned back to the streets below, their conversation drifting into comfortable silence as they resumed their watch.

The night passed uneventfully at first. They stopped a few petty crimes—some muggings, a car break-in, and a couple of minor robberies. Each time, Conner’s usual swagger returned as he easily handled the culprits, using his powers with ease and tossing criminals around like ragdolls. Y/N, ever the tactician, made quick work of the situations, apprehending the criminals with precision. Despite their contrasting styles, they were a solid team in action.

By the time they found themselves on top of another building, the adrenaline from the previous encounters had begun to settle, and they were once again standing side by side, the quiet hum of the city below the only sound.

Y/N crossed her arms and glanced at Conner, her tone light but her gaze serious. “You know, I’ve got to admit… you’re not terrible at this hero thing.”

Conner grinned at her, the compliment clearly hitting the mark. “You too, Bat-lite. I mean, it’s not like I ever doubted you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well, I’m glad to know you didn’t.”

“Yeah, well,” Conner started, his voice turning a little more serious again, “I just wanted to say… thanks. For, you know… not making a bigger deal out of earlier. I was just trying to be a good teammate, but I didn’t think you’d be so… I don’t know, forgiving about it.”

Y/N paused, glancing at him as if she were weighing her words carefully. “You think I’m mad about a mistake?” she asked, her voice almost teasing. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about than your accidental shower incident, Conner.”

Conner opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond to that. “Right, sure. Gotcha.”

“Good,” Y/N said with a small smirk. She let the silence stretch on before speaking again. “Now, let’s finish up here. I don’t feel like staying on this rooftop all night.”

Conner nodded eagerly, clearly relieved that the tension had finally broken. “Agreed. But hey, at least we’re getting the job done.”

Y/N just nodded, her focus shifting to the next area they had to cover. As the night wore on, they patrolled side by side, each of them comfortable with the presence of the other, the earlier awkwardness slipping away as they worked together to keep Metropolis safe.

The quiet banter between them, the shared understanding of the mission, and the sense of unspoken camaraderie made it clear that, despite their differences, they made a pretty good team.

And, maybe—just maybe—they were starting to understand each other a little better too.

Later that evening, after a long and eventful patrol, Y/N and Conner made their way back to the Watchtower. The quiet hum of the station seemed to contrast sharply with the intensity of their patrol, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction in the air. Both of them had been working well together, and despite their earlier tension, the night had gone smoother than either expected.

As they entered the locker room to change out of their gear, Conner tossed his leather jacket onto the bench, feeling the weight of the night lift off his shoulders. He was still trying to process everything from their patrol and the little moments that had been a bit… different. Y/N had been more relaxed with him, less guarded than she usually was. But he wasn’t about to get ahead of himself.

Y/N was already in the middle of taking off her utility belt, her expression neutral as always. The awkwardness from earlier seemed to be fading with each passing second, and for once, Conner wasn’t sure what to say to her. He hadn’t exactly expected the patrol to go the way it had.

“Hey,” Conner finally spoke, breaking the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

Y/N glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow, but she didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she finished unzipping her jacket and shrugged it off. “You’re going to ask me about the shower incident again, aren’t you?”

“No, no!” Conner immediately shot down the idea, his face flushing slightly. “Not that. I mean, maybe a little, but… no, that’s not the point.” He hesitated for a second, trying to find the right words. “I just—uh, I’m kind of… I don’t know, in over my head here.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly, sensing his unease. “In over your head?”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I’ve been thinking. I know we’ve been kind of… at odds, and you’ve got your walls up, and I get it. But, uh…”

Y/N gave him an unreadable look. “But what?”

Conner hesitated again, his mind racing with everything he wanted to say, but it all felt so complicated. Finally, he just blurted out, “I want to ask you out. Like, on a date. But I have no idea how to get past those walls you keep up.”

There was a long silence between them. Y/N stopped mid-motion, her fingers stilling as she stared at him. Her face remained carefully neutral, but Conner could feel the tension in the air.

He started rambling, clearly flustered. “I mean, not that I’m expecting you to say yes, it’s just—well, I wanted to ask. I’ve never really… done this before, and you’re always so… you know.” He waved his hand vaguely in her direction. “Distant, cold, stoic—”

“I’m not cold,” she interrupted, her tone sharper than usual.

“Right, not cold,” Conner mumbled, his face turning even redder. “But, you know, I’m trying to figure out how to, I don’t know, get through to you. And I thought—maybe a date? I mean, it’s just a thought. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

Y/N stood there, still processing his words. She didn’t answer immediately, and Conner’s nerves started to get the better of him. He let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just thought—”

But Y/N’s voice cut through his rambling. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Conner blinked, taken aback by her calm tone. “Well, yeah. I’m not messing around.”

For a long, drawn-out second, Y/N just stared at him. But then, much to his surprise, her lips curled into a small, amused smirk. “Alright, fine. I’ll go with you.”

Conner froze. “Wait—what?”

She smirked a little more, crossing her arms. “You asked. I said yes. How hard can it be?”

Conner’s heart nearly skipped a beat. “You’re saying yes?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Did you expect me to say no?”

“Uh… yeah, kind of,” Conner admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not exactly the type to go out for a casual dinner.”

“I’m not that much of a robot, Conner,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I can go out for food.”

He stood there for a moment, still processing what she’d just said. His voice was a little incredulous. “Wait, are you sure about this? Because you’re not exactly the… dating type, either.”

Y/N gave a small shrug. “I’m not. But I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

Conner’s grin spread across his face. “Alright, alright! We’re going to get food. And it’s not going to be weird. It’s just… food.” He said that last part like he was convincing himself just as much as he was trying to convince her.

Y/N didn’t respond immediately, but her expression softened just slightly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Conner. I said yes, but I didn’t say I’m going to make this easy for you.”

He laughed nervously, the excitement of her agreement mixing with the familiar anxiety he always seemed to feel around her. “I can handle that. No problem.”

She gave him a sharp, pointed look. “Just so we’re clear—I’m not one of those girls who gets swept off her feet easily. Don’t expect any grand romantic gestures.”

Conner nodded eagerly. “Totally. I’m not into that either. Just… dinner. That’s it.”

“Well, you’d better make sure the food’s good,” Y/N added with a smirk, before turning back to finish removing her gear.

Conner stood there for a moment, stunned but thrilled. “You actually said yes.”

“Don’t get too excited,” she muttered without turning around. “You haven’t earned anything yet.”

Conner grinned to himself, his heart racing. He wasn’t sure what to expect from their date, but if tonight was any indication, maybe—just maybe—he was finally starting to crack through the walls Y/N had built around herself.

The diner was small but cozy, tucked into a quieter corner of Metropolis, far enough from the hustle and bustle of the city center to offer a bit of peace. The neon lights buzzed softly outside, casting a gentle glow on the interior. The hum of conversation and the clink of dishes filled the air, but it was calm—a far cry from the intensity of their usual patrols.

Y/N sat at the booth across from Conner, savoring the first bite of her burger. The thick, juicy patty, the crisp lettuce, the melted cheese—it was simple but satisfying, exactly what she needed after a long night of action. She’d been anticipating the meal all evening, and now that she had it in front of her, she dug in with gusto, enjoying every bite.

Conner, on the other hand, sat back a little, watching her with a subtle, almost awestruck look on his face. He couldn’t help it. She was so focused on the burger, her brow furrowing slightly as she took each bite, and the satisfaction on her face was… honestly, kind of adorable. The way she fully immersed herself in the experience was something he hadn’t quite expected.

It wasn’t like he’d never seen someone eat before, but there was something different about the way she did it. It was as if the world around her faded away for a moment, and all that mattered was the food.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away, and before he knew it, he was openly admiring the way she devoured her meal, oblivious to the fact that he was staring.

After a few moments, Y/N suddenly paused mid-bite, her eyes locking with his across the table. Conner froze, caught in the act, and for a split second, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her expression amused but knowing. “What?” she asked dryly.

Conner blinked rapidly, his face flushing instantly. “Uh, nothing. Just… nothing.”

She smirked, leaning back slightly and crossing her arms as she took another bite of her burger, clearly enjoying the way he was fidgeting. “You’re staring at me, Conner.”

He sputtered, trying to brush it off. “I wasn’t—well, I mean, I guess I was. But not in a weird way! I was just… uh… admiring how you, uh, eat?”

Y/N’s smirk deepened, clearly enjoying the effect she had on him. “You’re really bad at this whole not staring thing, aren’t you?”

“I’m just trying to, uh, make sure you’re enjoying your food!” he said, flustered but determined.

“I’m definitely enjoying it,” Y/N replied, her tone dripping with mild sarcasm as she chewed another bite. “But it’s not like I need someone to watch me eat.”

Conner shifted uncomfortably, his face a deep shade of red. “Right, sorry. I’ll, uh… look away now.” He turned his gaze toward the window, trying to act casual, but the warm glow of the diner seemed to highlight just how flustered he was.

Y/N chuckled quietly to herself before taking another satisfying bite of her burger, her eyes flicking back to him. “It’s fine, Conner. I’m just messing with you.”

He couldn’t help but glance back at her, his expression sheepish but unable to hide the lingering admiration. “You’re just… you’re really into your food, huh?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow again, this time taking a sip of her soda. “What can I say? I don’t waste time on anything I don’t enjoy.” She pointed her straw at him playfully. “But if you want to watch me eat, I’m not going to stop you.”

Conner’s eyes widened in surprise, and his face turned a few shades redder. “I—uh—no, no! I’m good, I’m good.” He cleared his throat, trying to regain some composure. “Just… you’re… you’re really focused. I respect that.”

Y/N’s smirk softened into a small smile, and for the briefest moment, the walls she usually kept up around her seemed to fall just a little. “Well, you might as well learn something from me, then.”

Conner couldn’t help but grin, despite his nervousness. “I’m trying. I really am.”

The conversation shifted as Y/N finished off her burger and turned her attention to the two large orders of fries sitting in front of her. She wasn’t sure how long they had been sitting there, but as soon as she noticed them, it was as if they were the only thing that mattered. Without a second thought, she reached for a handful and dipped them into the ketchup, savoring the taste.

Conner watched her again, though he tried to keep his focus on his own meal this time. It was hard, though—especially when Y/N was so unapologetically comfortable in her own skin, doing something as simple as eating fries.

“Are you always like this?” Conner finally asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Y/N paused mid-dip, glancing up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like… not caring about what anyone thinks? You’re just, like, fully yourself.”

She shrugged nonchalantly, as if it were no big deal. “I don’t have time for pretense, Conner. Life’s too short. You might as well enjoy the things you actually like.”

Conner smiled a little, clearly impressed by her no-nonsense attitude. “I think I could learn something from you.”

“You probably could,” she said with a faint, almost imperceptible smile of her own. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m not here to be your role model.”

He laughed, the sound more genuine than before. “I don’t need a role model, but… yeah, I could definitely use some of your confidence.”

Y/N took another bite of her fries, a small smile still tugging at the corners of her lips. “Confidence doesn’t come easy. But it does come. Eventually.”

Conner nodded, his admiration for her growing in ways he wasn’t sure how to articulate. This wasn’t the person he had expected when they first met—she was sharper, stronger, and far more intriguing than he had ever imagined. And even though he knew she wasn’t the type to wear her heart on her sleeve, he couldn’t help but feel like she was showing him a side of herself that not many people got to see.

Y/N caught him staring again, but this time, she didn’t comment. Instead, she gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if silently acknowledging the shift in their dynamic.

And as the night wore on, with the laughter and conversation flowing more freely between them, Conner realized something—this wasn’t just a date. This was a glimpse into a side of Y/N he had never thought he’d get to see, and it felt like the beginning of something… unexpected.

Something real.

After their meal, Conner and Y/N decided to take a walk around Metropolis. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow across the skyline. The city was alive with the sounds of the evening rush, but there was a quiet intimacy to the moment as they walked side by side, the distance between them shrinking with each step.

Conner couldn’t help but notice how comfortable the silence felt between them. It wasn’t awkward or forced—just… easy. But that didn’t stop his brain from working overtime. He was still trying to figure out what was going on between them. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the way Y/N had agreed to go out with him in the first place, or how she didn’t seem to mind the fact that he was obviously getting way too flustered by everything she did.

But he didn’t want to overthink it. He wanted to be honest, even if it made him sound like an idiot.

“So…” Conner started, breaking the silence. “I know you probably think I’m annoying, and you probably hate being around me, but… I’m gonna be real with you.”

Y/N glanced at him sideways, an eyebrow quirking up at his sudden admission. She kept walking but didn’t respond immediately.

“I like you, Y/N,” he continued, rambling. “I mean, I’ve liked you for a while now, but, you know, you’re all… brooding and intense, and I didn’t think you’d ever even—well, I didn’t think you’d go out with me, honestly. But you did, and now I’m just trying to figure out if this is real or if it’s just some weird… what do you call it? ‘Hero bonding’ thing. You know?”

Y/N’s steps slowed slightly, and she glanced over at him, her expression unreadable. “What are you saying, Conner?”

He took a breath, realizing just how ridiculous he must sound. “I don’t know, it’s just… I think you might despise me sometimes, but I really, really like you. Like, really like you, and I don’t know what to do with that. It’s, like, the most frustrating thing in the world because you keep pushing me away and… God, I sound like an idiot.” He ran a hand through his hair, feeling embarrassed.

Y/N stopped walking entirely and turned to face him, her gaze softer than usual. She looked at him for a long moment, as if deciding whether to say something or let him keep rambling.

Conner, still flustered, took a step back, running his hand through his hair again. “I just thought… maybe I should be honest with you for once. You know, instead of trying to play it all cool and detached.”

Before he could finish, Y/N moved. In one smooth motion, she grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him toward her. Conner didn’t have time to react before her lips crashed into his.

It was sudden, surprising, and completely out of nowhere, but as soon as it happened, Conner’s entire body froze. He was barely able to process what was going on, but his mind went completely blank as he kissed her back, not caring about anything else in the world. The whole city seemed to fade away around them.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, and Conner’s heart was racing. He blinked a few times, his hands still gripping the edges of her jacket, completely stunned.

Y/N just stood there, a small smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “That better be the last time you ramble on about how much you like me,” she said, her voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

Conner, still recovering from the shock, blinked a few more times, trying to gather his thoughts. “I—I didn’t know… I didn’t expect—”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her smirk widening. “Well, you’ve been talking about it long enough. Thought I’d make you shut up.”

Conner finally found his voice. “You—you really kissed me.”

“I did,” she said matter-of-factly, as if it were no big deal. “And now you know. You’re welcome.”

Conner stood there for a moment, unable to wipe the goofy grin off his face. He was absolutely floored by what had just happened.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, high up on a nearby skyscraper, two very familiar figures were watching the whole scene unfold.

Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne stood side by side, observing the couple below with a sort of knowing amusement.

“I told you they’d kiss,” Clark said with a grin, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bruce didn’t look at him but gave a small nod. “I’m surprised you didn’t bet more. You should have bet ten.”

Clark chuckled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled five-dollar bill. He handed it to Bruce. “Five bucks is good enough for me. I figured it would happen sooner or later.”

stoic demeanor. “This is going to be interesting, isn’t it?”

Clark raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. “You could say that. I think they might actually work.”

Bruce just grunted in response, looking back down at Conner and Y/N. “We’ll see how long it lasts. But I’ve seen enough to know that they’re… different.”

“Different is good,” Clark said with a smile. “Sometimes, it’s exactly what they need.”

Bruce didn’t respond immediately, but there was a subtle shift in his posture, as if something had occurred to him. He watched as Conner and Y/N continued walking down the street, the tension between them melting away. Maybe Clark was right. Maybe the two of them did have something special.

After a few moments, Bruce turned to leave. “You’re still paying for dinner next time,” he muttered.

Clark just grinned. “Deal.”

#kon el x reader #dc x reader #superboy x reader

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monchaeri3 · 4 months ago

Text

𝖯𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗇𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝖧𝖼’𝗌 - ( 𝖲𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖽 𝖦𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 )

˗ˏˋ Warnings / Tags ˎˊ˗ ╰┈➤ established relationship, pregnancy (ofc) suggestive in some parts, cursing, mentions of drug/alcohol usage, mentions of killing, spoilers !!, definitely ooc, grammar/spelling mistakes, afab!reader, skin!Neutral, suggestive, not proof read !!

꒰⋮ Wc ⋮꒱ 1.5k ~ !!

˗ˏˋ Author's note ˎˊ˗ ╰┈➤ This takes place after the games btw !!

⋆ 𝖪𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝖣𝖺𝖾-𝗁𝗈 ⋆

You getting pregnant was an honest accident, sometimes things don't go as planned! But you weren’t exactly worried either since Dae-ho has mentioned multiple times about the possibility of children

When you first told him it was right before the two of you were going to bed he was ecstatic. Immediately pulled you into a hug and kiss – his mind already starting to race with different plans for the baby

Even in the first few months when you’re perfectly able to do things, he’s insisting you lay/sit down to rest, he even went as far to take time off work so he could be there for you more during this whole pregnancy

He was very involved with the whole process – going to all the appointments, going on late-night snack runs for you, getting you anything and everything you might need to make this whole process as stress-free for you as possible

And he of course had his moments of panic, what if he wasn’t gonna be a good father? What if the baby didn’t even like him? Was he even responsible enough to be a father? But he didn’t wanna overwhelm you with these problems of his so he just went to his sisters for advice

Which he did often, (at least one or more of his sisters as kids) he’d always be texting or calling them for anything ‘Is this okay for her to have?’ ‘how bad does morning sickness get?’ ‘what should I do if she goes into labour while I'm not there?!’ (highly unlikely)

Sits with you through everything and is just generally as present as possible through it all, even waking up extra early to make sure the bathroom was ready for your morning sickness – truly the ideal partner to have through these 9 months

⋆ 𝖧𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝖩𝗎𝗇-𝗁𝗈 ⋆

This one was planned! After several negative tests, you both stood in front of the little plus sign in shock – after the initial surprise though he pulling you into a soft hug and whispered ‘i love you’ to you

Considering his job – he tried to take as much time off as possible but there were just times were he had to be on site, but as soon as he came home he’ll be checking on you and how your day went.

Luckily he wasn’t at all the type to be ‘grossed out’ at anything – he’s just happy you’re having a healthy child together and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way

During the first 2 or 3 months when you were still super okay to be doing things he wasn’t very overbearing, letting you go to appointments on your own and such – but once you actually started seriously showing that when he wanted you to rest up

Though he wasn’t very forceful with it, more like just constantly nagging you if you were doing things to over exert yourself

Read up on a bunch of pregnancy and parenting books so he could be 100% prepared, even suggested taking those parenting classes which you insisted that you’d be fine without

When it comes closer to your due date, that's when he really starts stressing. Not wanting to miss the birth and being busy with his police job wasn’t a great combo after all. But after some reasoning with his boss, he was able to get at least three weeks off so he could also take care of you afterward.

⭑ 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗌 - ( 𝖢𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗌𝗎-𝖻𝗈𝗇𝗀 ) ⭑

Accidental. You were honestly terrified to tell him for the longest time too, a rapper/addict who never seemed to care for responsibilities was definitely not the first nor best choice of person to start a family with

But after the multiple near-death experiences in the games, it really changed him – so surprisingly once you did tell him, he was thrilled. Jumping up and down and everything.

He immediately started discussing baby names, gender, and nursery plans – even though you were barely 2 weeks in.

Unfortunately, he is the type to be grossed out at certain things, which meant he never really wanted to come along to your doctor appointments, but he gladly drove you there, sat in the waiting room, and bombard you with questions the second you came out!

(secretly praying for a boy) He has a complete 100+ list from names, all spanning from su-bong Jr. to Marionette which was definitely not at all inspired from miraculous lady bug

As much as he tries to put on a confident front, he’s absolutely scared shitless about the fact he’s gonna be a father – his own dad wasn’t very great so he doesn’t even wanna imagine ending up like that

Once you started really showing, that's when the whole situation sets in – he’s actually about to spend the rest of his life as a role model and father figure, the thought of this was so incredibly serious to him that he actually ended up quitting his pill addiction!

(also he’s for sure the type to talk to your unborn child in full conversations)

⋆ 𝖭𝖺𝗆-𝗀𝗒𝗎 ⋆

This one was also accidental, though he was actually rather happy since he secretly always wondering about his life if he was a father – now he’d actually be able to live out those dreams !!

Genuinely waits on you hand and foot so you won’t have to lift a finger. He even started working from home to find people to gig at the club so that he could be as much help to you as possible

He’s taking this whole thing very seriously, spending countless hours researching into all the possibilities of complications or possible situations and how to handle them all, he’s really not playing around when it comes to being a father

You both decided to find out the gender as soon as possible, and it was a girl! He was honestly so excited and easily the perfect ‘girl dad’. Already started planning the nursery and various lists of girl names you both liked.

When it comes to morning sickness, he’ll hold your hair for you and rub your back when you need it – bringing you as many glasses of water or cold washcloths as you need.

⋆ H𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗀 I𝗇-𝗁𝗈 ⋆

Fully planned and already had a full nursery built by the time you had found out you were pregnant, he’s wanted kids with you for ages now

Because of the games, he knows its a bit dangerous to be lurking around you 24/7 – so instead he has a few guards around your house working as your servants pretty much (and yeah they’re still wearing the uniforms/masks)

He’s getting you the most expensive, top-quality of baby supplies – cribs, strollers, toys, everything. Even when it comes to doctors appointments he’s having you go in for weekly check-ins to make sure everything looking right

Around halfway through the pregnancy is when he starts to take a step away from the games and spend more time with you, preparing to be a father – he wanted his kids to have a present dad in their life even if that meant giving away his multi-billion dollar ‘company’

Though he already had enough money to last the two of you for ages so that wasn’t really an issue – he was already sworn to secrecy after he resigned, and even offered to move you farther away from all that.

He stayed calm through most of it, mood swings, vomiting, arguments – he was as gentle and understanding as possible since he knew you couldn’t really help it, and getting angry would only worsen things

Went as far as to get a private hospital for you and the top doctors in the country when it came to your due date, despite you insisting that a regular hospital and regular doctors would’ve been fine.

⋆ 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖱𝖾𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋 ⋆

It was an ‘accident’ that he had been conveniently dropping hints and purposely planning for months…

If you were upset about it, he calmly told you it was a good thing and something to be happy about! Also not even considering the option of abortion – he’ll just convince you to keep it either way

He had a busy job, but that didn’t stop him from sending you check-in texts every hour and making sure always to check the cameras in your house to make sure everything was going well

Even if he did have a 9-5 almost a full seven days a week – he still made sure to be there for the late-night talks on the couch discussing plans for parenthood and everything along those lines

The few days a week he is off though – he took the two of you out baby shopping for the nursery and different supplies you might need, no baby shower necessary whatsoever.

Luckily your morning sickness and his schedule aligned! So while you would be vomiting in the bathroom he was able to be there for you as he got ready for work – though occasionally he was not doing much more than offering some supportive words while he groomed his hair.

(im just guessing and did 0% research, as a man I've never been pregnant but idk maybe mpreg will be real in the future)

#squid games x reader #squid games headcanons #kang dae ho x reader #jun ho x reader #hwang in ho x reader #nam gyu x reader #thanos x reader #the salesman x reader

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monchaeri3 · 4 months ago

Text

Positions

This work contains smut - minors do not interact

Pairing: Fem!reader x Multiple Death Note characters, separately. (L, Light, Matt, Mello, Near, Matsuda)

Synopsis: Which position do they enjoy ruining you in?

Warning: Smut

wc: 2.5k

A/N: I don't think you will be able to guess which position I picked for Light. (I even surprised myself- that why I put him last.)

___________________________________________________________

L - Face-off

(Very intimate, he wants to try being as close as possible but still wants to see your reactions)

L has always been an enigma, unreadable, untouchable—until now. Now, he’s beneath you, his lean body sprawled against the mattress, those dark, calculating eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as you sink down onto him, the stretch slow, deliberate, filling you inch by inch until you’re seated flush against his hips.

This position leaves no space for hesitation, no room to hide. His lips part in a quiet gasp, brows knitting together at the feeling of you wrapped around him, but he never looks away. His fingers dig into your flesh, guiding your movements as you start to roll your hips, the friction sending shocks of pleasure rippling through both of you.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmurs, voice low, almost thoughtful, as if he’s analyzing every shudder, every twitch, every soft sound that escapes you. His hands travel up, one trailing along your spine, the other slipping between your bodies, fingers brushing over your clit in slow, torturous circles.

A sharp gasp tumbles from your lips, and L’s gaze darkens, something almost smug curling at the edges of his expression. “Fascinating,” he muses, his grip tightening, forcing you to grind down harder. “The way your body reacts to me… it’s intoxicating.”

His hips snap up suddenly, driving into you with a force that steals the air from your lungs. The change in pace is jarring, overwhelming, his thrusts sharp and unrelenting as he fucks up into you, meeting you halfway with every movement. Your hands scramble for purchase, nails dragging over his shoulders, his chest, and he shudders under your touch, his control fraying at the edges.

Your moans grow louder, more desperate, and L drinks in every sound like it’s data he’s cataloging for later use. “I wonder,” he murmurs, voice strained as his rhythm turns rougher, more erratic, “if I could make you cum just from this alone—just from the way I move inside you.”

His fingers press harder against your clit, his pace relentless, the angle devastating. Your body tenses, the pleasure building, surging, until it crashes over you in a blinding wave. Your walls clench around him, your vision going hazy, and L lets out a ragged groan, his grip tightening as he thrusts up hard one last time, spilling deep inside you.

For a moment, all that remains is the sound of your mingled breaths, your trembling bodies still locked together. Then, L leans up slightly, his lips brushing against your jaw, his voice a low murmur against your skin.

“A fascinating experiment… one I’d very much like to repeat.”

__________________________________________________________

Mello - Prone Bone

(He likes to be in control and pinning you underneath him fuels his ego)

Mello’s got you pinned, his body weight pressing you deep into the mattress, every inch of him flush against you. His breath ghosts over your ear, hot and ragged, matching the relentless rhythm of his thrusts. The prone bone position leaves you at his mercy, his chest pressing against your back, the heat of his skin searing into yours. His hands are greedy—one gripping your wrist above your head, the other tangled in your hair, keeping you right where he wants you.

"Look at me," he growls, his voice rough, commanding. His other hand slides under your chin, forcing your head to the side so your eyes meet his. His golden hair falls over his face, sweat-slicked and disheveled, but his gaze is sharp, unyielding. Those icy blue eyes bore into yours, devouring every flicker of pleasure and desperation. You moan against his fingers as he presses them against your lips, silencing your cries, owning every sound you make.

His pace is brutal—each thrust forcing you further into the sheets, the friction making your nerves scream in overstimulation. His grip tightens as he leans in, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "You feel that?" he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Taking me so well, like you were made for this."

The bed creaks under the force of his movements, each deep stroke pushing you closer to the edge. The intensity leaves you trembling, toes curling as you struggle to hold onto any semblance of control. But Mello doesn’t allow you that luxury. His hand snakes around to press against your abdomen, right where he can feel himself stretching you open.

"Fuck," he hisses, eyes darkening as he watches the way your body reacts to him. "So tight—so fucking perfect." His fingers slide lower, brushing over your swollen clit in lazy, teasing circles, making your whole body jerk. "Gonna cum for me?" His smirk is pure sin, knowing, taunting. "Do it. Cum while I’m inside you. Let me feel you break."

He fucks you through it, never slowing, never relenting, dragging you through wave after wave of pleasure until you’re left a shaking mess beneath him. Only then does he allow himself to let go, his thrusts turning erratic, his breath shuddering against your neck as he spills into you with a deep, guttural moan. He stays there, chest heaving, fingers still tangled in your hair, his lips ghosting over your ear.

____________________________________________________________

Matsuda - Spooning

(I feel like he's a romantic)

Matsuda's arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you tight against his chest, his breath warm and uneven against the nape of your neck. The spooning position keeps you close, his body molding to yours, his cock stretching you slow, deep, filling you completely. One of his hands grips your hip, steadying you as he rocks into you, the other slipping beneath your chin, turning your head so he can press his lips to your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

"You feel so good," he murmurs, voice rough, edged with something almost reverent, almost desperate. His thrusts are deliberate, the angle perfect, the way he holds you leaving no room to escape, to do anything but take it. The heat of his skin sears into you, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your back, his breathing growing more ragged with every stroke.

His fingers slide down, skimming over the softness of your belly before dipping lower, finding your clit, circling it in slow, teasing motions that make your body twitch, your thighs pressing together in response. "Matsu—" You barely get his name out before he rolls his hips just right, and your words crumble into a broken moan.

"Yeah?" His voice is teasing, but there's a breathlessness to it, a hint of strain. "Tell me how good it feels, baby."

The slow drag of his cock, the way his fingers work you in sync with each thrust—it's too much, but not enough, pleasure building in hot, rolling waves. His lips brush your ear, whispering filth, encouragement, promises of making you fall apart for him.

His grip tightens as his pace picks up, thrusts turning sharper, deeper, chasing his high. His fingers move faster against you, determined, and you arch against him, body trembling, nails digging into the arm wrapped around your waist as that pressure coils tighter, tighter—until it snaps.

You cry out, legs shaking as you cum around him, your walls fluttering, gripping him in a way that drags a low, guttural groan from his throat. He thrusts through it, chasing his own release, his movements growing sloppy, desperate. And then he's spilling into you, burying himself deep with a shuddering gasp, his grip locking you against him as he rides out the aftershocks.

For a long moment, there's nothing but the sound of your breathing, the sweat cooling on your skin, the lazy circles he keeps tracing over your thigh.

Then, a breathless chuckle. "Damn," he murmurs, pressing another lazy kiss to your shoulder. "We should definitely do that again."

___________________________________________________________

Near - Missionary

(Not because it's basic- because it's effective.)

Near has always been quiet, composed—so much so that you never imagined this side of him. But now, he’s above you, pinning you beneath him, his pale hair falling in soft waves around his face as he fills you, slow and deep. The missionary position leaves no distance, no barrier between you, his body flush against yours, every thrust pressing you further into the mattress.

His hands are firm, but there’s an almost reverent touch to the way he holds you, his fingers threading with yours, pinning them beside your head. His breath is unsteady, warm against your lips as he watches you, his silver eyes dark with something raw, something unspoken. He’s usually so reserved, so detached—but now, he’s wholly present, completely focused on you.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, as if the words are more for himself than for you. His hips roll into yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each movement precise, measured, dragging out every sensation. He watches your expression closely, cataloging every reaction, every gasp, every shudder, like he’s memorizing the way you fall apart beneath him.

The stretch of him is perfect, the depth making you tremble, and when his pace shifts—when he begins thrusting just a little harder, a little deeper—it sends sparks of pleasure racing through your veins. His grip tightens, one hand breaking free from yours to slide down your body, tracing your curves, ghosting over the sensitive skin of your waist before settling between your thighs. His fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles, making your body arch into him.

The sound you make has his breath hitching, his rhythm faltering just slightly before he regains control. His usually impassive face is marked with something new—desire, need, something just as overwhelming for him as it is for you. His lips brush against your temple, then lower, his mouth trailing along your jaw, your neck, leaving soft, lingering kisses that contrast the way he’s fucking you now—deeper, more urgent, as if he’s losing himself in the sensation.

“Near—” His name slips from your lips in a breathless moan, and the way his body tenses, the way his fingers tighten against your skin, tells you that it affects him more than he lets on. His thrusts grow faster, rougher, the precision of his movements unraveling as he chases both of your highs.

He swallows hard, his breath growing ragged, and when you tighten around him, your body writhing beneath his, he groans, deep and quiet, burying his face against your neck as he cums, his hips pressing flush against yours.

For a moment, neither of you move, bodies tangled, his heart pounding against yours. Then, slowly, Near lifts his head, his eyes searching yours, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a touch so gentle it almost undoes you completely.

______________________________________________________________

Matt - The Lazy Man

(it's fitting, right? Basically loves any position w/ you on top- but with a twist)

Matt lets you think you're in control—lets you roll your hips at your own pace, hands braced against his chest, sweat beading along your skin as you take him deep, dragging slow, teasing motions just to watch the way his brows knit together, jaw tightening. But he's patient. He lets you have your little moment.

Until he doesn’t.

His grip snaps onto your waist, fingers digging in firm, bruising, and before you can even let out a gasp, he's driving you down onto his cock with a force that knocks the breath out of you. His hips slam up to meet you, the sudden impact sending a sharp wave of pleasure burning through your core. A broken moan tumbles from your lips, and Matt chuckles darkly beneath you, eyes half-lidded behind his tinted glasses, knowing damn well what he’s doing.

"That’s more like it," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement, with want. His fingers tighten, guiding you into a punishing rhythm—no more lazy rolling, no more teasing. Just raw, desperate motion, his cock hitting deep, over and over, his hips meeting yours in perfect, devastating timing.

You claw at his chest, struggling to keep upright with the way he’s fucking up into you, making your body tremble, your thighs burn from the sheer effort of trying to keep up. But Matt isn’t about to let you falter. His grip slides up, one hand splaying across your lower back, the other trailing to the back of your neck, pulling you down until your forehead presses against his.

"Keep up, baby," he taunts, breathless, voice laced with pleasure. "Thought you were gonna ride me—what happened?"

You whimper, trying to form words, but they dissolve into a sharp cry as he angles his hips just right, dragging a full-body shudder out of you. The way he moves—sharp, controlled, relentless—it leaves you helpless, reduced to nothing but sensation, his hands forcing you to take it all, take him deeper, faster, harder.

"You feel that?" His voice is rough now, his own control fraying at the edges, each thrust growing more desperate, more demanding. "You're mine, sweetheart. Gonna make sure you remember that."

And the way he fucks you, the way he slams you down to meet him with every bruising stroke—it leaves no room for argument.

____________________________________________________________

Light - Fell Nelson

(did you guess it before you got here? We all know he likes control, what better way to assert his dominance than this?)

Light’s never been the type to lose control. Always so composed, so deliberate in every move he makes. But now—now, he’s got you bent, folded, completely at his mercy. His arms hook under your knees, locking you in place, your body suspended in the ruthless hold of a full Nelson. The stretch is intense, exposing every inch of you to him, leaving you utterly vulnerable.

You didn’t expect this from him.

The first deep thrust knocks the breath right out of you, his cock splitting you open in one smooth, unforgiving stroke. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, a sharp gasp slipping past your lips, but Light doesn’t slow. He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, doesn’t give you anything but the relentless pace of his hips slamming up into you.

“Didn’t think I had it in me, did you?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something dark beneath it—something dangerous. His grip tightens, pulling your legs further apart, forcing you to take him even deeper. “You should know by now—I always exceed expectations.”

The angle is devastating, each thrust hitting places that make your body convulse, pleasure crackling through your nerves like wildfire. His breath is hot against the side of your face, lips grazing your temple, your ear, every little brush sending shivers down your spine.

You can’t move—can’t do anything but take it.

“That’s it,” he breathes, watching you fall apart in his hold. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, keeping you spread wide, keeping you where he wants you. His pace is brutal, precise, every stroke calculated to push you closer, closer—until you’re nothing but a trembling mess in his arms.

Your moans are desperate, wordless, and Light drinks them in like they’re proof of his victory. “Look at you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your ear, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Completely ruined for me.”

His cock twitches inside you, his rhythm faltering just slightly, and you know he’s close. The way your walls squeeze around him, the way your body trembles in his hold—it pushes him over the edge. He groans, deep and guttural, thrusting hard one final time before he spills into you, heat flooding deep inside.

He holds you there, still buried to the hilt, panting against your skin as the aftershocks pulse between you. Slowly, his grip loosens, letting your legs down, though he doesn’t let go of you completely. Instead, he keeps you against his chest, his lips brushing over your shoulder, his breath still ragged.

A quiet chuckle rumbles against your back. “You’ll never see me the same way again, will you?”

#death note #death note x reader #death note smut #mello x reader #mail jeevas x reader #near x reader #l lawliet x reader #light yagami x reader #matsuda x reader

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monchaeri3 · 4 months ago

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Condor Two

RE4! Leon Kennedy x Reader

Summary- You're Leon's partner, separated by villagers when you arrive in Spain. Word Count: 3425 Established Relationship A/N: Something different, there will be more to the Family Matters series coming soon!

I should’ve gone with Leon, you thought. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be tied to a pole and helplessly watching a Spanish police officer being secured to a pyre. What a way to begin your search for the president’s daughter.

Even more frustrating, you could hear Leon talking in your earpiece, trying to reach you. But with your hands literally tied, there was no way for you to respond. You hoped Hunnigan would be able to get a location on you. Of course, Ashley Graham remained the priority. But knowing Leon, he wouldn’t rest until he’d recovered the both of you.

The scent of old manure and death filled your nose. Your wrists and ankles ached and burned from the ropes binding you. At least you didn’t have to go looking for that village, you supposed. Still, you doubted that you’d find Ashley here.

As the sun rose, you surveyed your surroundings. Old wood buildings surrounded you. Chickens, cows, and pigs roamed freely and the villagers… well, you didn’t know what to make of them.

You and the officer tied to the pyre had been ambushed. They’d slashed the tires of the police car that had brought you out here and quickly overwhelmed both you and the officer. There was a throbbing in the back of your head where you’d been hit before waking up here. Wherever ‘here’ was.

Villagers wandered aimlessly through the small town, muttering things under their breath in Spanish. Something wasn’t right with them. Black veins covered their pale skin and their eyes were wild. It didn’t even seem like they fully registered pain. Some were covered in cuts and blood that they hadn’t bothered to clean and the bandages you did see were old and dirty.

“Condor two,” came Leon’s voice again, “Condor two, do you read me?” You rolled your eyes and groaned. You wanted nothing more than to answer him. “Y/n, where are you?”

Waiting for Leon to find you wasn’t an option. If your suspicions were correct, you were next on the sacrifice list.

The villagers had taken your guns when they’d taken you, but they hadn’t stripped you of your jacket. The small knife sheath strapped to your forearm was still hidden beneath the sleeve. There wasn’t much room to move, but you could move your arm against the pole just enough to free the knife from its sheath.

Warm leather fell into your hand and you gripped the handle as tight as the rope would allow. The angle was awkward and your hand was already beginning to cramp, but you slowly began to saw away at the rope.

Keeping an eye on the villagers, you watched them begin to gather in the middle of town where they’d constructed the pyre. As long as you stayed quiet, hopefully, you’d avoid drawing their attention.

A thought crossed your mind. How were you going to save the officer? He struggled and yelled, pleading with the villagers to let him go. His words carried no weight.

The ropes around your wrists fell to the ground. Now you just had to free your ankles and then–

One of the villagers approached the pyre, a thick burning stick in his hands. Before you could blink, he tossed it into the wood pile and within seconds the whole thing had gone up in flames. The officer screamed and flailed. The smell of burning flesh filled your nose and you knew there was no saving him.

Heart pounding, you reached down and cut the rest of the ropes. Finally free, you crouched down and quickly dashed between the nearest buildings. If there was anything you knew for certain, it was that you couldn’t stay here. You didn’t stand a chance against a whole town with only a knife.

You turned the corner and skid to a stop. Not everyone was in the town square. An old woman stood in front of you, a pitchfork held firm in her bony hands. She raised the pitchfork and swung so fast you were barely able to dodge. You dropped to the ground and kicked her feet out from under her. You were on her in a second, pinning her shoulders down with your knees and driving your knife into her temple.

She lay dead and you quickly searched her body for anything that might be useful. Your shoulders slumped. Nothing.

Mud squished behind you and you turned to find a group of four more villagers stalking toward you.

"C'mon," you muttered, frustration laced in your voice like venom. There was no winning this fight. Your only choice was to turn tail and run. But to where? The last thing you wanted to do was run deep into the woods with nothing more than you knife. So what–

An axe whizzed past your head, lodging itself into the wall behind you. "I take it we can't talk this out," you said. The villagers only growled back at you.

You vaulted over the fence next to you as they pounced, narrowly avoiding another axe. Then you were running as fast as possible.

Branches scratched your skin, mud sloshed and slid beneath your feet. You didn't know where you were going, and nor did you really care at the moment.

You burst through the trees and found yourself in a small clearing. You stopped to see if anyone had followed you and when you didn't hear anything but the sound of rustling trees and chirping birds, you let yourself relax.

"Condor one," you said, reaching to activate your earpiece. "Condor one, I'm here." No reply. "Leon?" Nothing. You tossed your arms. Of course your equipment would stop working the instant you were free.

You looked back toward the village. Smoke rose into the sky. The screams of that poor officer still echoed in your ears. You knew you needed to go back, that if you were going to find Leon the best place to start looking was there. But having nothing more than your knife to defend yourself with made you hesitant.

Still, it's not like you had much of a choice.

"You got the stench of battle on ya," a rough voice said. You whirled on your heels, knife ready. A man in a black cloak stood behind you, a purple mask covering the lower half of his face. "You can put the knife down, I mean you no harm."

"Who are you?" You demanded, not lowering your knife.

He chuckled. "Just a man tryin' ta make a living. Got some rare things on sale for ya, stranger." He held out an arm, revealing a variety of weapons and ammunition along the inside of his sleeve.

"Impressive," you mused. "But I don't have any money. So thanks, but no thanks."

"Nothin' wrong with doing things the old fashioned way," the merchant replied. "How 'bout a trade?"

His offer was tempting. You didn't have much, but maybe there was something you could give him in exchange for that pistol you spotted on his sleeve.

You lowered the knife and folded your arms. What did you have to offer? Your knife wasn't worth much and you were hesitant to part with it. Aside from that… Your heart sank as you remembered the one valuable you did have on you.

Leon had gifted you a necklace on your birthday last year. A beautiful silver piece with a small yet intricately detailed bird hanging from it. He never told you what it had cost, but you knew it had to be expensive. Subconsciously, your hand came up to touch it.

"That's a fine piece you got there," the merchant said.

You didn't want to, but it could mean the difference between life or death. After a moment of silence, you asked, "What will it get me?"

"It may be small, but this beauty packs a mean punch." He showed off a revolver. "And as a first-time customer, I'll toss this in free of charge." He flaunted a can of first aid spray. "Whaddya say, stranger?"

Given the circumstances, you weren't sure you could pass up the offer. Reluctantly, you took off the necklace and handed it to him. As promised, you received both the revolver and spray.

The merchant must have noticed how your eyes continued to follow the necklace as he held it. "This is in good hands, I assure you. Now, don't go gettin' yourself killed." There was nothing more to say. The deal was done. With a simple nod, you turned away and began to trek through the forest back toward the village.

You felt naked without the weight of the bird against your chest. Ever since Leon had given it to you, you'd almost never taken it off. What would he think when he saw you without it? That necklace was his silent claim on your heart.

Romantic relationships between agents were frowned upon, forbidden almost. As far as the agency was concerned, it was a conflict of interest and if anyone found out, it was likely they'd separate you. Leon couldn't have that. He needed you as his partner both on and off the field, to be sure you were (somewhat) safe and alive.

He must be worried sick, you thought. Unless it was absolutely necessary, Leon hardly ever allowed radio silence between you two. It had been hours since you last had contact with him. Hell, the last time you saw him was when he left the police car to find the first police officer that had wandered off, instructing you to keep an eye on the second.

You checked the chamber of the revolver. Six bullets. Six shots. You had to make them count.

You tried your earpiece again. Still no answer. Maybe the signal would get better the closer–

"Mother of god!" You yelped, pawing at your ear in pain. A loud screech filled your ear, followed by the sharp crackling of static.

A voice was coming through the other end. It was Hunnigan.

"Condor two," she said, "What is your status?"

"You could warn me next time before you almost blow out my eardrum," you shot back. "I'm still breathing. All four limbs are accounted for. I'm on my way back to the village."

"Negative, Condor two," Hunnigan replied curtly. "There's a good chance Baby Eagle is being held in a church by the lake. I've sent you the coordinates."

"Well, I'd love to see those, but I've lost pretty much all my stuff." You could practically see her rolling her eyes.

"Alright, I have a lock on your position. Head north from your position. Leon is on his way there now."

"Roger that, Roost. Condor two out."

You finally managed to find a path leading north. So far you'd encountered no one else and you hoped it'd stay that way. You wanted to hang on to your six bullets for as long as you could.

"Condor one?" You tried again. If Hunnigan was able to reach you now, you should be able to reach Leon. Right? "Leon?" Silence. You'd be having a serious chat with your techies when you got back.

The lake couldn't be too far now. Trees and brush was beginning to thin and that musty lake smell began to hover in the air. The gravel path you walked along slowly turned into a muddy trail. You emerged onto the bank of the lake. A castle stood menacingly in the distance on the other side. To your left, you saw old wood scaffolding webbing up the side of a cliff. A dock sat just underneath it and at the top, you could just barely make out a church's roof.

Looks like that was where you were heading. With a new determination, you began the long walk over, falling back into the treeline to avoid detection from the water and clifftops.

Ashley Graham was the priority. She was the one they were here to save. Even if one of you had to be left behind or killed to do it, she was the objective.

But Leon refused to leave you. Even if he had to take your body back to the States, there was no reality where he left you here in this hell.

He'd come so close to you in the village. He'd seen you through his binoculars and then you were gone. Once the villagers had retreated into their church, he'd searched the place high and low, finding only your guns and equipment. He was fearing the worst knowing you were out there with only a knife, assuming it hadn’t given out on you yet.

He continued along the winding path, still trying to catch his breath. The village chief had nearly choked him to death not long before and he still felt the ghost of his fingers on his neck.

"Looks like you're in quite the rush, stranger." Leon stopped and rolled his eyes. It seemed like this merchant was there at almost every turn.

Oh well. Leon could stand to lose some excess weight from his bag. As he opened his mouth to reply, his words caught in his throat. There, among the vast array of goods, was your necklace.

"Cat got yer tongue?" The merchant chuckled.

"Where the hell did you get that?" Leon said, his voice low.

"What? This?" The merchant held up the necklace. "An exchange with a traveler lookin' to keep their head on their shoulders."

A part of Leon wanted to be hurt that you'd traded it. But his more rational side understood that you didn't have a choice. He'd found everything but your knife in the village and he knew well enough that you'd need more than just that to make it through this.

The merchant was a reasonable enough man. Leon was sure he could trade something to get the necklace back. Without a second thought, he rummaged through his bag and pulled out two silver goblets and a handful of gems he'd found in the village.

"Must hold sentimental value if yer gonna trade all that for this," the merchant observed. "Can't put a price on that." Still, the merchant tossed Leon the necklace and stashed away the rest. "Pleasure doin' business with ya."

That was easy, Leon thought. Much easier than he anticipated.

Pop pop

Leon perked up. Two solid gunshots had come from the direction of the church. It had to be you. It had to be.

He took off running, not caring if he drew attention to himself. He had to find you.

The church was crawling with villagers. You'd managed to kill three already, but the rest materialized from everywhere. From behind the church, from the graveyard, from the way of the lake, they were everywhere.

Down to four bullets, you had a choice to make. Ashley could be just within reach. You could potentially thin out this crowd for Leon by the time he got here, make his job easier at the cost of (most likely) your life.

Or you could turn tail and run. You refused to keep running.

Someone grabbed you from behind, wrapping their arm around your neck to choke and hold you still while another prepared to swing their axe.

You dropped your weight and threw the one holding you over your head. Grabbing your knife, you threw it as hard as you could. The one holding the axe fell with a hard thud. You ran and pulled the knife free, turning just in time to stab it into the head of another.

A pitchfork came flying at you. It whizzed past you, the spokes just barely missing your arm. Blood began to flow from the wound but you had to keep fighting. Any hesitation could result in your death.

Four more surrounded you, cornering you against the fence. Your drew your pistol and fired twice. Two flew back and dropped to the ground. Two bullets left.

You took aim once more and just as you were about to pull the trigger, something slammed into your back. You were thrown fast and far, landing hard against a headstone. The pistol clattered out of reach and when you went to pull your knife, the blade snapped from the hilt.

Your arms shook as you tried to push yourself up, only for them to give out and leave you nearly limp against the headstone. A monster of a man towered over you, a massive hammer held menacingly in his hands. He raised it high over his head.

Time slowed down. Memories began to flash through your mind. Your first time meeting Leon at bootcamp. Sparring with him in the middle of the night, comforting each other when the whole world felt like it was collapsing in on you. The first time he kissed you.

A sense of peace washed over you as you watched the hammer begin to fall, sunlight glinting off of the metal.

No. You couldn’t let it end like this. You rolled, the hammer meeting the ground where your head had been not a second before. Scrambling to your feet, you dove for your gun. Back on your feet, you shot down two more villagers. Better to have them dead now and not wait for them to gang up with the big one against you.

Your bullets were gone and your knife was broken. You scanned for anything you might be able to use. The brute marched toward you, hammer ready. You lept over headstones, ripping a shovel from the hands of a dead villager.

You turned just in time to bring the shovel up to meet the hammer, stopping it in its path. The wood handle splintered, your arms shook with the strength it took to keep the hammer from you. The handle cracked into two pieces and the brute charged into you, throwing you hard against a tree and knocking the air from your lungs. He charged again, hammer high and then–

BANG!!!!

The man stumbled back forward. Another BANG and he fell to the ground lifeless.

“Y/n?” came Leon’s voice. A second later he was in front of you, cupping your face in his hands.

“I had it handled,” you muttered.

“Of course you did.” He helped you sit up the brushed your hair away from your face. The urge to pull you into his arms was overwhelming, but with the beating you just took he didn’t want to risk hurting you even more. At least you were alive. “Think you can stand?”

You nodded and let him help you up. Your legs were shaking and your head felt dizzy, almost falling into Leon as you tried to regain your balance. He held you against him until the world stopped spinning and you could stand on your own again.

“What happened?” Leon asked, his arm tightening around your waist, almost as if he were afraid that you’d disappear the moment he let go.

“Got bored, decided to go sightseeing,” you replied. He gave you a look. “We were ambushed and I have been hit in the head too many times today.”

He nodded and dug around in his pocket. "I found something I thought you might want back." He held up the necklace you'd traded with the merchant.

"Leon…" Guilt and shame came over you, but also relief at the sight of it. "I'm sorry, I–"

"I know," he said, moving to fasten it around your neck and tucking it under your collar. "You didn't have a choice, I get it. I also found the rest of your stuff."

A weight lifted off your shoulders. Your pistols felt like a comforting blanket as you strapped them back on. "What would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn," Leon said simply as he hooked an arm around your waist and drew you back to him, crashing his lips against yours. He pulled away and smirked down at you, knowing the kiss left you breathless.

It took a moment for you to regain your senses and when you finally registered the knowing look on his face, you swatted his chest. “C’mon, Romeo. We still have a job to do.” It took another moment for your feet to start moving again, your body wanting to stay wrapped up in his arms. They couldn’t waste any more time. “Baby Eagle’s still waiting for us.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Leon watched as you quickly approached the front gate of the church, a new pep in your step. He’d do everything in his power to make sure you weren’t separated again.

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy fic

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monchaeri3 · 4 months ago

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Hi! Can you write some fluffy Mello x Reader after the events of the story, like after Kira is caught? thank you :)

It's finally over

A/N: this is an AU where he doesn't die btw!

I accidentally added a little angst there in the beginning, oops. This also got kinda long because I was trying to make up for the angst lol

Mello was back

That's all you could think of when you saw him again

He had told you what his plan was and you had told him it was a suicide mission

This caused an argument between the two of you right before he left

Typical Mello..

You saw on the news what had happened to both him and Matt later that evening and had been distraught

It had been months since you had last seen him and since the news was usually right, you assumed he was dead

He was not dead.

He showed up months after Kira had been caught and you couldn't help the relief you felt

Once he's back you refuse to let him go, and begged him never to do anything like that again

You've almost lost him twice now, you didn't want to actually lose him one of these times

He's extremely cocky about your clinginess, but totally loves it

Lots. Of. Affection.

You're smothering him and he's torn between telling you to stop and asking for more

Please kiss his scars and tell him how handsome and badass he looks, he really needs an ego boost even if he won't admit it

Now that the mafia and general public thinks he's dead, he can take you on dates

He still covers up and only goes to slightly public places just to be safe tho

MOTORCYCLE RIDES!!

You better like them, because he's taking you on his bike whether you like it or not

All in all, you're both happy he's back and you better cling to his leather clad ass as tight as you can or he might do something reckless again

#mello death note #death note #mello x reader #miheal keehl x reader #miheal keehl

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monchaeri3 · 4 months ago

Note

can I get an imagine with Mello and his s/o with having a day with their child? I love your blog btw 💘

Sorry for such the long wait, I’m back!! Hope this is what you wanted. By the way, I have another imagines blog, @leafyishereimagines

You watched as Mello pushed your two year old child that was currently sitting in a swing, giggling away as Mello had a faint smile on his face. You smiled back at the pair, wondering how you got this lucky. How both of you managed to take down Kira and still live a happy life after it. You were still deep in thought when Mello sat down next to you, bouncing (Child’s name) in his lap. He planted a kiss on your head and you glanced up at him.

“What’cha doing?” he asked.

“Just thinking. Thinking how I got so lucky with you two,” you said with a cheesy grin on your face, which he soon returned.

“I was thinking the same thing,”

#mello x reader #mello death note #death note x reader #death note

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monchaeri3 · 4 months ago

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Upcoming The Rookie series.

A/N: I’m not a committed writer, nor do I promise consistent posts. I don’t expect anyone to read my fics either, I’m kinda just writing what I want because I’m quite literally addicted to The Rookie right now and need an outlet with all these scenarios in my head. But, in saying so, I don’t mind requests, so if you have one, don’t be afraid to submit some.

Last Updated: 3/14/25

❀ = Fluff ✸ = Angst ☆ = Suggestive ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶ ￶✮ = NSFW 〤 = Platonic ! = Ongoing

Like Father, Like Rookie !

Tim Bradford x Rookie!Reader [PLATONIC] 〤

Summary: Being the youngest rookie in Mid-Wilshire so far—let alone being Tim’s rookie, everyone either looked out for you, or was determined to prevent whatever disasters were bound to come with your youth. But to Tim, you were his mini him. And he honestly couldn’t tell if it was a curse or a blessing.

Episodes: Not in the Rook Book. ❀ Stay here. ❀ / ✸ Boot to most, Kid to Tim. ❀ Coffee Routine. ❀ Rookie Down. ❀ / ✸ Not my Rookie, Not my Problem. ❀ Not my kid! ❀

#the rookie #tim bradford #series #found family #dadford #tim bradford x reader

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monchaeri3 · 5 months ago

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Spencer Reid wakes you up with kisses as often as he can.

His slightly chapped, perfectly pink lips drag across the heated skin of your neck. The kisses are sickeningly sweet and so impressively gentle that goosebumps spread themselves along your arms and butterflies erupt in your stomach making your eyes flutter softly as you start to wake yourself.

You grumble sleepily when his hands move to wrap around your waist tighter. Your hands grab and lace your fingers with his.

When your eyes finally will themselves open, they crack only slightly, your eyesight blurs, and you're pretty sure your eyes are crusted in the corners. Spencer's cheek smooshes roughly against yours and you groan in pretend annoyance. He smooshes harder in response.

"Spencer..." You groan again.

He presses a wet kiss to your cheek and you try to fight against the smile that began growing on your face.

"I just love you," Spencer whispers to you, you feel his breath against the shell of your ear.

"What time is it?" You ignore him on purpose.

He squeezes the skin of your waist, "Say it back... please."

You want to hold out just to tease him but the way his voice sounds when he pleads with you makes you give in instantly.

"I love you, Spence"

You feel a grin grow against your cheek, he snuggles closer to you almost like no matter what he can't be close enough like he needs to be attached to you completely, apart of you.

"Love you," He sighs, gives you one more sloppy kiss, and let's you fall back asleep once and for all.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader

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monchaeri3 · 6 months ago

Note

Married life wid Naruto boys!

HIII! So sorry this took forever lol. Please forgive. :) I mean you have to forgive because I did put Kakashi, Gai, Asuma, Genma, Yamato, Naruto, Sasuke, Lee, Choji, Shino, Shikamaru, Kiba, Gaara, Kankuro, Neji and Sai in it sooooo.....

Happy reading!!

Married Life With Naruto Boys

Kakashi

Married life is really simple with Kakashi. He makes you breakfast and coffee (or tea) every morning. Sometimes you make breakfast together if you get up enough, which consists of you wrapping your arms around Kakashi’s bare back as he feeds you little tasting spoons of the breakfast he’s making. He remembers every important date in your relationship. Wears his ring like a badge of honor (except on missions he wears a glove over it so it doesn’t get lost/people find out he’s married.)

Definitely has children eventually as is super protective of them. I can picture him naming his son after his father or Minato or Obito. Your daughter could be named after his mom, or someone in your family.

Absolutely has Pakun or one of his ninja hounds stay with you while he’s away on missions or stuck in the office all day.

Gai

Married life is simple with Gai but also a constant rollercoaster. He will make you breakfast but only after you’re actually up and out of bed because you can’t waste your youth. He definitely wears his ring as a necklace when he’s on missions mainly because he’s a taijutsu user so his hands are constantly hitting people and opponents. Only started after he accidentally broke the first ring.

I see Gai with a baby girl because we already see mini Gai’s through Lee and Metal Lee. It's time we see girl Gai. Except the haircut lowkey works for her.

He always stops by your home first after a mission, before he goes to the Hokage Tower, before he sees any of his friends, before he even goes to the hospital if he’s injured.

Genma

I literally just sighed at the thought of being married to Genma. God I fucking love this man.

Anyways, married life with Genma is simple and fun and the most amazing thing in the world. (I’m not playing favorites.) He’s a little too lazy and a little too obsessed with cuddling you in bed so the two of you go out for breakfast constantly but by the time you both get out of bed it’s possibly lunch time.

I already wrote an entire preference on Dad!Genma and my stance hasn’t changed so read that here.

Will come home from a mission all bruised and cut up purely so you can take care of him because he doesn’t want anyone else touching him, just you. Which you don’t mind because shirtless Genma is the best Genma.

Will meet you on your route heading back to the village from your mission and walk you home.

Yes, Kakashi had to pull the Senbon out of his mouth at the altar because he forgot.

Yamato

The sweetest boy ever oh my god.

Married life is fun with him when he’s not tracking and keeping an eye out for Orochimaru. (Is that still an actual storyline in Boruto? I have no clue.) He would absolutely make you a light breakfast in bed because dinner is his specialty.

Your entire yard is filled with trees so when he’s away from you on a mission you still have some comfort by him.

You definitely both meet each other at the gate when you come home from missions.

Asuma

Sorry Kurenai, don't hate me.

Absolutely neither one of you is even attempting to be awake enough to make each other breakfast, or coffee or tea very similar to Genma in that aspect. However when he does it’s very attractive.

Your kids are the absolute cutest and get to have both Shikamaru and Konohamaru as uncles which is just doubling up on the cute factor.

Honestly, depending on the length of the mission I can picture him going to the bar to catch up with friends first. HOWEVER, if it’s longer than a few days he’ll go home to you and snuggle in with you.

When you come home from a mission you do find the apartment slightly messy but a giant bouquet of flowers in his hands as he waits for you to walk into the dining room with a beautiful dinner (or takeout).

Gaara

Oh my absolute sweet ultimate love of my life.

Married life with Gaara is like a movie with a sepia filter. Everything about your marriage is warm and filled with love. Sweet and tender moments between the two of you. He is the Kazekage though so he doesn’t always have time to take care of you in the morning or throughout the day but you have his personal assistant constantly bringing you flowers and food.

If you’re just walking around the village and he sees you through the window expect his sand to come and hold your hand.

You have children definitely even though he was truly terrified at the thought but adopting Shinki really helped.

Your daughter is absolutely a daddy’s girl through and through but visa versa.

When YOU come back from a mission, he is actually taking off of work early to meet you at the gate and take you home, pampering you through and through.

Kankuro

Literally the exact same as dating him. Like the two of you really only got married because you’ve been dating long enough and the Elders kept pestering him and you are still very much in love with each other it was just never a big thing for you.

Like truly I can’t imagine him making a big deal of marriage, that being said… he is still an absolute sweetheart.

Always uses his chakra strings to twirl you into him if you’re too far away for his hand to reach. I picture him as a dance in the kitchen light kind of marriage. The two of you are just that much in love with each other that things are just simple and easy and casual.

Kiba

Married life with Kiba is so much fun. Lots of sex, lots of laughter, maybe some fights here and there because the two of you are just very fiery people.

Similar to Kankuro, not much changes from your dating relationship to your marriage relationship, still calls you his girl instead of his wife.

Lots of dogs and lots of kids… I mean it’s Kiba that’s lowkey expected. I picture him with a daughter though and it would’ve been really cute if they gave him a kid. He’d be such a protective father.

Leaves Akamaru with you when he’s out with friends but when he’s out on a mission he begs you to stay with his mom and sister so he knows you’re safe.

When you come home from a mission he’s like Genma and he meets you a little outside the village.

Shikamaru

You make him breakfast in bed because you are too hungry to wait for him to get up. However, sometimes the smell of breakfast wakes him up and he wraps his arms around you, (reverse Kakashi) and places small kisses on your collar bones as you make breakfast.

I wish we saw Shikamaru with a baby girl (I love Shikadai don’t get me wrong.) but Shikamaru is such a misogynist sometimes, having a baby girl would’ve proved him wrong and he’d become such a huge feminist.

Of course you’re the first person he sees after a mission and he immediately pulls you into bed for a nap.

Choji

The two of you make breakfast together, both trying out new recipes or keeping it simple with just eggs and toast. Literally such a loving marriage.

Definitely pictured Choji with a daughter who is very similar to him but is best friends with Ino’s daughter and the two of them constantly gang up on Shikadai.

You’re the only thing on his mind when he comes home from a mission, he just wants to see you.

You always make a big deal when he comes home from a mission, it makes him happy to see how happy you are when he comes back.

Neji

The most beautiful marriage, dare I say out of everyone on here? I don’t know why but that’s what I’m feeling.

If Neji actually allowed himself to open up to you like that, absolutely fucking magical marriage you are his entire world and he is yours. You do everything as equals and when one of you needs the other to step up, the two of you do no questions asked.

I picture a boy and a girl with him. Maybe twins and they’re called the Hyuga Twins and they’re truly the ultimate badass duo.

When he comes home from a mission he will avoid everyone until he gets to see you.

When you come home from a mission he meets you at the gate, no PDA until you’re in private though.

Naruto

Before he’s hokage, literally such a fun and happy and beautiful marriage. You’re definitely the one who cooks all the food though. When he is hokage, I would think a lot of trips to his office, lots of late nights in the office that you would choose to spend with him rather than alone.

You absolutely would not let him name your child BORUTO. Out of all the important men in his life and he goes with BORUTO. No, it’s being named after Iruka, or Jiraiya, or Kakashi, or Minato.

He does hate sending you on hard missions, he’s always really worried about you the entire time.

Sasuke

Listen, I know he does his little redemption thing IRL but I think if he actually opened himself up to someone and cares about them he would actually be a really present husband and father.

He’d be the stern quiet father and husband that is only soft sometimes but those soft moments are truly the most special moments.

He would give his daughter the entire world and he literally could haha. I just think that after his parents death and knowing what it did to have no one, he’d be actively with his daughter and partner.

Would probably bring you on missions because he could protect the two of you easily.

Is stressed when you’re on a mission but ultimately trusts you.

Shino

Literally probably such a chill marriage.

Why am I thinking the two of you probably have the fanciest house as well, just two people chilling in a mansion living life together just vibing.

You’re definitely the cook but he’s definitely the cleaner.

I picture him with a son who just looks EXACTLY like him, talks like him and everything.

Definitely sends you his bugs when he’s on a mission for too long just so you know he’s okay.

He definitely places a bug on you, hidden in a pocket or something so he can track you.

Rock Lee

Gai part 2.

But seriously he worships the ground you walk on. He cooks, he cleans, he organizes, he pampers the fuck out of you.

I wanted him with twins too and his twins and Neji’s twins are just eternal rivals.

RUNS to you after he’s back from a mission and likewise you run to him when you’re back from a mission.

Sai

Your entire house is filled with his art, it’s truly the main way he tells you he loves you.

You definitely have to put in the most work at first. He didn’t understand the idea of marriage, if you two were already in a relationship then why make it so complicated and official?

I want him to have a daughter who is basically always covered in chakra ink because she’s constantly painting and drawing but she also ends up using it to her advantage somehow.

Tagged list: @mrsbakashi @thetimelesschild @sharingangirl @anchy-bananchy

#kakashi x reader #naruto x reader #sai x reader #rock lee x reader #gaara x reader #shikamaru x reader #neji x reader #gai x reader #shino x reader #sasuke x reader #choji x reader #kiba x reader #kankuro x reader

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monchaeri3 · 6 months ago

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Hello, any chance I could get headcaons of Neji and the reader in a arranged marriage since they were kids? While Neji was only doing it for the clan and didn't get along with her at first he begins to warm up to her as they get older until the feelings he had to fake when their clan were around start to become real? Please and thank you, dear.

ARRANGED MARRIAGE

Pairing: neji x fem!reader

Content: sfw, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, mentions of bearing children

A/N: thanks for the request! I absolutely love writing for Neji!

Neji was simply a genin when he was told that you would become his future wife for the rest of his life.

He wasn’t surprised. After all, it was the same for everyone in his clan. It was just one of the many things he couldn’t change in terms of his destiny.

Even so, that doesn’t mean he was happy about it. Those within a lesser branch had less freedom when it came to picking a spouse. While the clan leaders allowed those in a higher branch to at least have some say and who they wanted to marry, the only choice that someone like Neji had was whether or not he wanted to get married in the summer or the spring.

Although Neji received the official news that you would become his wife about two weeks before the chunin exams, he had known you since the age of three. When he was around four years old, his father tried his best to explain to him what would happen, as spouses where picked out practically at birth.

“You can think of it as having someone who will be your best friend for the rest of your life,” his father told him one night at the dinner table, his fork scraping against his plate. “Doesn’t that sound fun?”

To the little boy, it did sound fun. He didn’t question why his father couldn’t even look him in the eyes while explaining, only able to pick at his salad.

Neji smiled happily, wondering to himself if you liked snow or birds as much as he did.

Soon enough, he realized that it was nothing more than a business transaction. By forcing members of the Hyuga clan and your clan into marriage, it would breed children who would have the blood of both clans running through their veins.

That was the “peace treaty” formed as a last stitch effort to avoid a war between the two clans. And, of course, another form of enslavement for those who wore the curse mark.

Even though you and Neji were both well aware of being practically engaged, you had hardly ever spoken a word to each other. At most, he would glare at you during the chunin exams with his arms folded across his chest.

You both knew nothing about each other; not that it mattered. Even so, you wanted to at least get to know the person you’d spend the rest of your life with. You were told that Neji was a bitter, cold hearted, excellent shinobi. Based on how he glared at you from across the room during the preliminary rounds of the chunin exam, you could definitely confirm that he was bitter.

And when you witnessed his battle with Hinata, you saw that he was definitely cold hearted as well.

About a month later, during the fight between Naruto and Neji, one of the many things that he mentioned to the Jinchuriki (and everyone else in the stadium) was how he couldn’t pick his own spouse as example of the freedom he lacked.

“…and somewhere up there, watching us right now,” Neji paused to catch his breath, gesturing to where he assumed you would be, “is someone I’ll be forced to marry once I become of age. Someone I don’t care for. Someone I never will care for.”

Perhaps, if you even knew anything about Neji aside from his name, that would have hurt your feelings, but no. He was angry, and he had every right to be.

You were angry too. The last thing you wanted to do was marry that asshole and start a family with him one day.

Ever since then, your only interactions with Neji amounted to nothing more than glares at the sight of one another.

The first time Neji held a real conversation with you took place a few years later. You were both teenagers now, as well as the selected few who were already Jonin amongst your class and friend group.

You were on a mission together, taking a short break. The others were off gathering water and branches to start a fire, and it was apparently just you and Neji around.

You were both quiet for a moment. You were seated on the ground, tying up your shoes, and Neji was attempting to bandage a minor injury of his. However, he couldn’t properly reach it, being that it was on his back.

You saw that he was struggling, and after a moment of watching him, you offered to help.

“I can bandage that up for you if-”

“No. I’m fine.” He said sternly, cutting you off.

“You can’t even reach it,” you pressed, continuing to watch him strain. “You’re going to injure yourself even more by trying to-”

“I’m fine, Y/N.” Neji turned back suddenly, his eyebrows pinched as he glared at you.

For a moment, you gave up. The way he spoke just now was nothing short of venom spewing from his mouth, but you simply wouldn’t have that.

“What’s your problem, Neji?” You started, “I’m just trying to help you out. I mean, we’re stuck with each other for as long as we live, right? We might as well try to get along. Being an asshole won’t change the system.”

You could see it on his face that he was a bit taken back by you calling him an asshole, but even so, he seemed to give in.

“Fine.”

With that, you bandaged up his wound in complete silence. You had to pull down his shirt and move his hair to access the part of his back to reach the injury, and when he flinched, it was quite obvious that no one had ever touched him like this before.

“If anyone should do this, it should be your future wife, right?” You finished up by pressing down on the bandages to make sure they were nice and tight. “And, for the record, I don’t wanna marry you either.”

—

Your wedding day came around a few years later.

Nothing had changed.

Aside from a couple of missions with Neji, or forced dinners or festivals where you both had to show up together but still didn’t interact, you were complete strangers.

Your wedding day was simply another mission to the both of you. Your task? Carrying on fake smiles for the entire day, and avoiding one another for as long as possible.

That night, you both arrived home at different times. You came home first, itching to get out of your wedding clothes and to forget all about this day. It was a day that was supposed to be special for so many lucky people in the world. As ninja, love was perhaps one of the very few forms of joy your lifestyle allowed for, and you couldn’t even have that.

The thought of it made you sit on the edge of your bed and cry. You’d spend the rest of your life with a total stranger. Have children with a total stranger. Share and do everything with a total stranger.

You figured that you were alone, able to sob into your hands in the darkness of your bedroom, but Neji could hear you loud and clear.

He was naturally a quiet man. That, along with your sobs, it was no wonder you didn’t hear him come in, not expecting him to come home so soon.

He was standing in your doorway for a moment, watching you cry over being married to him.

When you finally saw him, you tried your hardest to wipe your tears away. His face held no expression.

“N-Neji,” you mumbled, “sorry, I just…”

“I know.” Neji, much to your surprise, walked over and sat down next to you. He was on the other side of the bed, a good distance away. “I understand.”

You both sat in thickening silence. It felt as if it lasted forever, but when you looked over at him, you could see that something was bothering him. All day long, he held the same blank expression, so to see him look this way now was quite puzzling.

“What’s wrong?” You asked softly.

He was silent. You figured he wouldn’t respond, and dropped your gaze to the floor.

“I don’t know how comfort you,” he said. “I don’t know how to comfort my own wife.”

You looked at him with pure shock.

“It’s the first thing a husband should learn,” he mumbled.

He dropped his head, frowning at the ground.

“Hey, it-it’s okay,” you said, “we have a lot to learn.”

Neji looked up at you, and gave you a small nod.

“Where do we start?” He asked.

“Well…” you turned around, and gestured towards the door. “I like to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door.”

“That’s interesting. I prefer the window.”

You gave a small laugh, “that’s good then, we should have no problem sharing.”

Neji gave you a soft smile.

“Hey,” you smiled softly at him, “a smile looks good on you.”

With that, Neji’s cheeks became a light dust of pink, and you giggled a bit.

“Look at that, I made you blush! Now we’re getting somewhere!”

“No,” his blush deepened, “I’m not blushing. It’s just…hot in here.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, giving another soft laugh.

—

As time passed, you and Neji grew closer, which was something neither one of you could have ever predicted. You both developed a routine and trust for one another, as well as an appreciation for each other’s marriage duties.

However, it eventually became something more than that. Neji found that he loved the way you sometimes mumbled random words in your sleep, or unintentionally grab ahold of his arm at night. How you’d get shy around strangers and excited around your friends. How you were one of the strongest ninja he had ever seen. How you’d hum a little toon when you both washed dishes together, or make a little game out of doing the laundry, or any other mundane chore. He had noticed all of the little things you happened to do, and in short, he loved it.

He loved you.

You were both having dinner one night, and since you cooked, he would clean.

You were telling him about the wild encounter you had at the grocery store when buying the needed items to make dinner, and he took in every single word. His eyes were locked on yours, his heart started to beat lovingly at the sight of you, and he found that his palms wouldn’t stop sweating no matter how many times he wiped them off.

“…and after I told the lady in line that the chicken didn’t look anything like chicken-”

“I love you.”

You blinked. In short, his confession caught you off guard. It took a moment, but those three heavy words finally registered in your mind, and you smiled. It was a big, beautiful smile, one that made his skip a beat.

“I love you too, Neji.” You said, taking ahold of his hand across the table.

You both simply stared into each other’s eyes for what could have been for all eternity; not that it mattered.

“Hey, don’t try to butter me up, Neji. You’re still doing the dishes tonight!”

Thanks for reading! Don’t forget to like, reblog, and comment as it encourages writers!

#naruto x reader #neji x reader #neji hyuuga x reader

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monchaeri3 · 6 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭.

a case involving female students being murdered in their dormitories brings the team to stanford university. You have more of a connection to it than you originally realise.

cold!reader ❅ 8.4k ❅ cold!reader masterlist. ❅ main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, violence against women, detail of murder and injury, abuse of power, student-professor relationships, miscarriage and abortion, character death, manipulation, cynicism

“Three women, all doctorate students of Stanford University, have all been killed inside their dorm rooms in the last two weeks,” There’s a click of a button, and then three images flash up on the screen, headshots of the girls. “All three were found with their stomachs cut open and their reproductive organs removed,”

What a lovely way to start a Monday morning.

“So much for the best University in California,” Morgan nudges your arm with his elbow, and your roll your eyes.

“What was the medical knowledge of the unsub?”

“You tell me,” JJ clicks another button on her remote, and the smiling photos of the victims are replaced with their crime scene photos.

Hands and feet tied to their beds, a large incision at the pelvic bone that had been stretched open to leave the internal organs bare, and the uterus cut out of the body. The surface knowledge was there, but the execution was not. Messy lines and uneven incisions that left the gap left in the victims more blood and tissue than actual hole.

“So we’re not looking for a professional then,” Morgan points out the obvious with a cross of his arms, leaning back in his chair.

“They clearly know something about it though,” Spencer leans forward as Morgan leans back, squinting his eyes like it’s going to make the images clearer. “There’s several different ways to perform a hysterectomy, but for a complete hysterectomy like our unsub is doing, the most common method is to start with an incision just above the pelvic bone,”

We’ll discuss the details of hysterectomies whilst we’re on the plane,” Hotch taps both of his hands on the table as he stands. “Gather your things, wheels up in thirty,”

There’s a chorus of “Yes Sir,”s as you all follow him out of the conference room to return to your respective desks and gather your belongings for the flight, an air of fatigue still surrounding the group even through the graphic imagery you were presented with.

“Going back to your alma mater, how do you feel?” Morgan clasps his right hand into a fist and holds it out to you like an invisible microphone.

You push it away without much thought as you pack your laptop into your bag, rolling your eyes at him for what feels like the tenth time since you’d walked through the door an hour ago. “It’s been almost— no, it has been ten years since I graduated, what’s there to ‘feel’?”

“Okay robot face, damn, no lingering love for the College that gave you your career?” Morgan’s taunt is laced with that familiar air of light-heartedness that’s there to remind you that he really is just poking fun, but you’ve never been very receptive to his humour.

“No.”

He lets out a sharp laugh in a mix of amusement and surprise, opening his mouth to make another comment, but the expression on your face tells him you’re definitely done talking about the topic.

He does have some self restraint.

—

Stepping out of the San Jose International Airport almost felt like going into a time machine, spitting you right back out where you’d left that decade ago just 18 miles from your old campus.

It felt even more surreal actually reaching Stanford’s main site, walking around the place you’d dedicated four years of your life to. Not much had changed since you’d left, not that you really expected it to, but it felt almost foreign to you to walk around the campus as you were now, a properly matured adult compared to the almost naive teenager you started as.

You began where you always did, at the most recent crime scene, a college dorm room on the south-east side of the campus.

It was pretty standard, a bedroom big enough for a double bed and a desk, a built in wardrobe, and a private bathroom; Decorated how you would expect from a girl in her early twenties, covered in memories and interests that gave it a personality outside of the off-white paint on the walls.

Of course, it was mildly ruined by the fact the previously pink bedsheets were stained in a pool of oxidised blood that dripped down onto the rug adorned floor and ledger small spatters on the skirting boards, but what can you really expect when the girl had been cut open whilst she was still alive and most definitely struggling against it.

“There’s no signs of forced entry,” All Morgan could do was shrug as he examined the fire door that acted as the room’s only entrance. “The inside lock was unfastened and there’s no marks indicating it was forced open, or that it even could be without heavy grade tools,”

“So our unsub had his own key then?”

“Or,” Emily’s suggestion was side-stepped by Spencer, “He was let in,”

There’s a small hum from Hotch as he stands beside you, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. “Alright,” He turns his eyes onto you with a small nod, “Take Prentiss to the Mortuary and check the autopsy. Morgan, Reid, get Garcia to find a list of professors the victims shared and go and speak with them, they might’ve noticed a change in the girls’ behaviours before their deaths.”

“Will do,”

“Got it,”

There’s a series of shared nods between you as you spilt up, leaving Hotch, Rossi and JJ at the crime scene in search of any more information they could utilise.

—

Trying to catch a Professor when they’re not busy is harder than most people would think. So hard in fact that Spencer and Morgan had been left with standing inside one of the lecture rooms to endure the last twenty minutes of a forensic psychology lesson so they could get the professor between classes.

“Professor Callahan?”

“For any personal feedback on your essay please send me an email,” The professor doesn’t so much as look up from the papers he collects and organises on his desk, seemingly already in a rush even after barely two minutes of the lecture ending.

Morgan and Spencer share a glance.

“My name’s Dr Spencer Reid, and this is Agent Morgan, we’re from the FBI,”

Callahan looks up this time, rectangle glasses reflecting the two back to each other through the overhead lighting.

“We were hoping we could ask you a few questions, Sir,”

Spencer watches the Professor’s eyebrows knit in confusion before his eyes spark with a hint of realisation, and then understanding.

“Yes, of course,” He nods, collecting the pile of papers in his right arm. “Please, follow me into my office,”

His office is filled with bookshelves stacked with psychology texts and framed accolades lining the walls. Small busts of philosophers in the mpty spaces. His desk is littered with small rememberences of his former students, and lining the opposite wall is another, a small plaque reading Dr. Wittchen at it’s forefront.

“Did you notice any changes in the girls’ behaviour, or anything unusual leading up to their deaths?” Spencer’s question is cautious, if not a little bit emotionally insensitive.

Callahan’s expression shifts to one of concern. “Honestly, I hadn’t noticed anything alarming. They were all such high achievers, incredibly driven. The stress of their programs sometimes affected them, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

Spencer nods, then glances toward the accompanying desk. “What about Professor Wittchen? Does he interact with the students much?”

Callahan hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly. “Robert is highly respected, very dedicated to his work. He can be a little tough on their grades, but more often than not he’s sat in here doing one-on-one tutoring in his spare time,”

Spencer hums softly at Callahan’s assessment. “Do you know if he turoed any of the girls? He might have a better insight into any changes in their mannerisms,”

“I’m not sure I’m afraid,” Callahan shakes his head, “I leave him to his teachings most of the ime, but I can let him know you’ve asked,”

As they speak, Morgan’s gaze drifts to a nearby display shelf adorned with photographs of past students on the far wall, each one framed and labeled with a name and a date.

Etched into the wood of the shelf itself an engraving reading, “Shelf of Stars.” stood front and centre, and as Morgan’s eyes wandered the pictures, a certain label caught his attention.

Front and centre, there you sat, “2006 PhD” followed by your name, a picture of you and your Professors in what’s presuambly your first year.

“No way,” Morgan breathes out a laugh. “Reid come look at this,”

“What? What’s wrong?” Spencer and Callahan’s expressions mirror each other as they glance over at Morgan in concern, only for him to quash any need for worry as he holds up the frame in their direction.

“Look how different she looks! What happened, did she get hit by a truck when she turned 20 or what?”

There’s a flicker of recognition in Spencer’s eyes, one that almost turns to fondness as he takes in the bright smile printed behind the glass. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you smile like that since you’ve been with the team.

“You know her?” Callahan raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s on our team,” Morgan nods with a chuckle as he places the picture back where he found it, pulling out his phone to snap a photo, probably to make fun of you later.

“Really?” Professor Callahan looks more than a little surprised at the revelation. “I knew she was destined for great things, but the FBI, wow,” He breathes out a short sigh, nodding. “Robert’ll have a field day when he finds out she chose forensics over clinical,”

Spencer gives what’s almost a laugh, clearing his throat. “Well, Professor, thank you for speaking with us, we’ll contact you if we find any more information,”

“No problem at all, my door is always open,” Callahan follows Spencer and Morgan over to the office door, holding it open for them as they leave.

“Oh, Agents?” He stops them before they get too far. “If you have any time in or after your investigation, ask her to pay us a visit? It’d be nice to catch up,”

“We’ll let her know,”

—

“From what I can tell, the removal of the uterus was done antemortem, and the victims cause of death was the blood loss that resulted from it,” The Coroner lifts the muscle torn by the initial incision to give you and Emily a proper look at the damage.

“The nature of the incisions tells that they were most likely done with proper surgical instruments, a scalpel most likely, but their nature is unpracticed, see here for example,”

She points towards the left side of the victims pelvis, where the muscle had been separated from the uteral lining. “In a professional hysterectomy, this tissue here would also be removed, but in this case it’s been left attached to the surrounding tissues, and the same can be said for the others,”

“So our unsub knows the basics, is that something that would require medical training?” Emily furrows her eyebrows at the sight, and you’re much the same.

The sight is almost enough to make you feel nauseous, but you don’t need sickly thoughts clouding your judgement right now.

“Possibly, although with how the internet is, it’s possible they read an article or watched a documentary on how the procedure is done,” The coroner sways her head side to side, “I’d say that whoever did this has had some training, but not necessarily in the field,”

Emily hums, turning her gaze from the victim towards you. “Medical student maybe?”

You hum absently, eyes trained on the gaping hole left in the girl’s stomach. “Maybe, probably won’t still be a student though,”

It affects you more than it should, you think, a malingering nagging in the back of your head that won’t leave you alone but also won’t tell you why it’s there in the first place.

You sigh, “We should look at biologists too, clinical fields,”

Emily gives you an agreeing nod. “I’ll call Garcia,” She pats your shoulder deftly as she leaves the room.

“Was there anything else strange about the body?” You tear your eyes away from the girl to look up at the coroner, who only gives you a small shake of her head.

“Not that I can see,” Her gaze, though objective, flickers with small amounts of uncertainty. “It’s so upsetting, things like this, what spurs someone to do something so… primally horrific?”

“A rejection probably, a denial of a sexual relationship or children that’s projected onto other women because he can’t get to the person he really wants to hurt,” You shrug out an exhale. “More common than you’d think,”

She frowns. “it’s awful,”

“Yeah,” You purse your lips together. “But it is what it is,”

—

“Did the three girls have any clear connections?”

Garcia taps away on her keyboard, and the jingling of her earrings over the reciever suggests that she’s shaking her head. “Apart from being Stanford students, not really. Julie was doing an MsC in Pediatric Therapy, Ophelia doing an MA in History of Medicine, and Marie doing a PhD in Psychology.” She sighs. “None of them had any classes together, no mutual friends, I don’t even think they knew the others existed,”

“There has to be some overlap,” Morgan groans exasperatedly, glancing over at the mostly bare profile board that him and Spencer were trying to put together. They’d spoken to most of the girls’ professors by now, and apart from offhanded comments about stress and pressure, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It was frustrating, really frustrating, and for all they knew, the team was on a time limit before another girl suffered the same fate. They needed a break in the case, sooner rather than later.

“What about the students Emily asked you to look into? Spencer bends almost awkardly towards Morgan’s phone, trying to raise his voice into the speaker whilst still writing against the whiteboard.

“Nada, I’m afraid, no one who had connections to all three girls, past or present, I’ve hit a wall,”

“No kidding,” Morgan exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding his phone. “Thanks anyway, sweetness,”

“Of course my love, I’ll hit you back if I find anything, Penny G out,” —

“So we’ve got three dead girls, no connections, and no signature to help us track down this guy, lovely,” Emily sips on her coffee, leaning back into her chair with a sigh.

“Isn’t this like every other case we’ve ever had?” You raise an eyebrow is disinterest, stretching you arms above your head and almost hitting Morgan in the face as he and Spencer reenter the room from their lunch break.

The Psychology department had been kind enough to loan you one of their staff rooms during your investigation, and comments had already been made about Hotch’s demeanour as he walked around you like he was keeping an eye on a group of toddlers.

“There’s something we’re missing here,” Rossi pours over the whiteboard with a disgruntled sigh, his palm dragging down the side of his face. “There’s always something,”

Reid nods, tapping his pen against his notebook as he takes a seat. “Even perfectionists leave traces. It’s just a matter of understanding their logic—how they justify their actions.”

“Change of subject quickly,” Morgan holds up a hand as he walks around the table, his other hand landing on your shoulder. “Talking of leaving traces, who was going to tell us that you actually knew how to smile?”

You shrug his hand off of you with a furrow of your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m talking little nineteen year old you beaming like you were trying to compete with the sun,” He digs his phone from his pocket, holding the screen out to face the group. “I mean look at this, look at you, its weird,”

You snatch the phone from him as soon as you recognise the picture. “Why do you have that picture?”

“We took a trip to see one of your old Professors,” Morgan wrestles the device back out of your hands before you have a chance to what he assumes will be deleting the evidence of your past sunniness. “He asked to see you at some point by the way, wants to ‘catch up’,”

“Delete that photo, Morgan.” You cross one leg over the other with a huff.

“No way, Ice Queen, I’m gonna make fun of you with this forever,”

“I hate you,”

”I love you too,” He blows an air kiss in your direction.

The shrill ring of the door opening cuts through the room, snapping everyone to attention. A mildly out of breath PD officer leaning against the doorframe.

“There’s been another one,” she says, her voice tight.

The room erupts into motion.

—

When you arrive, the scene is eerily similar to the others. The victim, a young woman in her early twenties, lies in the middle of her dorm room, fully clothed and carefully positioned. Her face is serene, as though she’s simply sleeping. The blood pooling out of her lower abdomen tells you that she’s not.

“Victim’s name is Natalie Yu. Twenty-one, Psychology major. She fits the profile—academic, driven, top of her class.” JJ fills you in easily.

You step closer, your heart sinking as you take in the meticulous staging. The unsub’s reverence for his victims is apparent in every detail. No signs of a struggle. No personal belongings out of place.

Reid crouches near the body, his eyes narrowing. “Same as the others. No physical trauma that would suggest a cause of death other than bloodloss. Removal of reproductive organs.”

Morgan stands by the door, his jaw clenched. “This guy’s escalating. Three murders in three weeks, and now this. He’s not slowing down.”

Something catches Prentiss’s eye. She kneels beside the victim and carefully lifts the edge of her blouse. Tucked neatly into the waistband of her jeans is a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she murmurs, pulling on gloves before unfolding the note. The room goes still as she reads aloud:

“It was meant to be you.”

You lean over Emily’s shoulder to get a glance at the writing yourself. And then you immediately regret doing so. The handwriting is unmistakable—sharp, angular strokes that you’d recognise anywhere.

But you can’t say that. Not yet.

“‘It was meant to be you’?” Rossi repeats, stepping closer. “What the hell does that mean?”

Reid frowns. “It’s personal. Direct. He’s targeting someone specific now.”

“It could be a taunt,” JJ offers. “A way to throw us off or instill fear in the team.”

Morgan shakes his head, his expression grim. “No. This is different. This isn’t just about control anymore—this is about sending a message,”

“It’s personal,” Reid says again, his gaze sweeping the room. For a brief moment, his eyes land on you, and you feel like he can see right through you.

“Excuse me,” you manage, your voice steady despite the panic clawing at your chest.

You step outside, the crisp air hitting you like a jolt. Your hands shake as you pull out your phone, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The note wasn’t just a taunt—it was a reminder. He knew you were here. He’d known the moment you stepped onto campus.

It was meant to be you.

The words echo in your mind, a sinister promise that leaves no room for doubt.

—

“This is different from the previous victims,” Spencer says, “The note changes everything. If we assume the unsub has been fixated on someone specific all along, the other victims could have been surrogates—stand-ins for the real target.”

Prentiss looks at him sharply. “You think the unsub is escalating because the real target is now within reach?”

He nods. “Exactly. The murders were practice, perfecting the method. But now that the target is accessible, he’s shifting focus.”

“Great,” Morgan mutters. “Wonderful.”

JJ gestures to the note. “We need to figure out who he’s targeting—and fast.”

You stand by the door, your stomach twisting. You can’t let them figure it out, not like this.

“I’ll follow up on the note,” you say, forcing a calm you don’t feel. “Maybe there’s something about the phrasing or handwriting we can use to narrow down suspects.”

Morgan eyes you, his brow furrowed. “You sure you’re good? You’ve been quiet since we got here.”

You nod quickly, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.

—

You barricade yourself in the staff room, spreading out the case files across the table. You stare at the note, the handwriting glaring up at you like a brand.

“It was meant to be you.”

You were just a kid, desperate to prove yourself. He saw that. He used it.

You grip the edge of the table, your knuckles white. You can’t let him win. Not again.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. It’s Spencer, holding a cup of coffee.

“Thought you could use this,” he says, setting it down in front of you.

“Thank you.” You manage a display of gratitude, but his gaze lingers, sharp and questioning.

“You’ve been off since we got here,” he says softly. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

Your heart skips a beat. Reid is too perceptive for his own good, and you know he won’t let this go.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, stepping back. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

As he leaves, you let out a shaky breath. The walls are closing in, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this to yourself. Not if you don’t want anyone else to die because of it.

—

Spencer stands near the board, absentmindedly tapping his pen against his palm. Morgan is leaning against a table, arms crossed, while Prentiss and JJ exchange quiet remarks by the coffee pot. Rossi, as always, is seated with his chair tipped back, his eyes fixed on the board.

But it’s Hotch who breaks the silence. “This unsub’s timeline is escalating, and the note makes it clear they’re getting bolder. If we don’t figure out their connection to Stanford soon, someone else is going to die.”

Morgan sighs. “We’ve gone through the victim profiles a dozen times. There’s no overlap other than the school. No shared clubs, professors, dorms, nothing. It’s like this guy’s picking them at random.”

“Not random,” Spencer interjects, his voice sharp. “The victims are stand-ins for someone else. I’m sure of it. The note confirmed it—‘It was meant to be you.’ The unsub isn’t just killing; they’re trying to send a message to someone.”

Rossi tilts his head. “None of them bear any significant physical relation to each other,”

Reid nods. “It doesn’t have to be physical. It’s an ideal, there’s something specific that ties all of the victims together, something linked to whoever the unsub is actually after,”

JJ frowns. “But who is it? If it’s not one of the victims, how do we figure out who the unsub is fixated on?”

You tense in your chair, your hands curling into fists under the table. You can feel their eyes shifting to you, their collective attention like a spotlight burning against your skin.

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “You did go here. Maybe there’s something you’d recognise—something we’ve missed.”

You meet their gazes with forced calm, willing your voice to remain steady. “Just because I went to Stanford doesn’t mean this case has anything to do with me.”

Prentiss leans forward slightly, her tone gentle but insistent. “No one’s saying it does, but if there’s even a chance—”

“There’s not.” you cut her off, sharper than you intended. The words hang in the air, and you immediately regret your tone. It doesn’t change anything though. “We’re here because of the victims, not because I graduated from here a decade ago.”

The room falls quiet, and the tension thickens. Hotch watches you carefully, his unreadable gaze a weight you can’t escape.

“I need some air,” you say abruptly, standing before anyone can argue. “I’ll be back in a few.”

You leave the room before anyone can stop you, the sound of your boots echoing down the sterile hall.

—

Stanford’s campus feels both foreign and familiar as you wander its paths. The sprawling quads and ivy-covered buildings haven’t changed much in the years since you left, but the memories they stir feel sharp and raw.

You stop at a bench near the Psychology department, the cool breeze doing little to calm the storm inside you. Your arms wrap around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together.

“You’re not fine.”

The voice startles you, but you don’t turn around. You’d recognise that soft, observant tone anywhere. Spencer.

He sits beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you, his lanky frame folding awkwardly on the bench. “You’ve been different since we got here,” he says after a moment. “Quiet. Hesitant. That’s not like you,”

You don’t respond, staring out at the students passing by, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the weight in your chest.

“I know it’s not just the case,” he continues, his voice gentle but unyielding. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling us.”

Your jaw tightens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,”

His certainty grates on your already frayed nerves, and you finally turn to him, your eyes flashing. “What are you trying to say, Reid? Spit it out.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing as he chooses his words carefully. “I think you know who the unsub is. Or at least… you suspect,”

You laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. “That’s a hell of an accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says quickly. “I’m worried about you. You’re not acting like yourself, and the way you reacted to that note…” He trails off, shaking his head. “It was different. You looked like you’d seen a ghost,”

“Maybe I’m just tired,” you snap, the defensive edge in your voice sharper than you intend.

He doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s more than that. I can see it. You’re scared,”

The word hits you like a slap, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. He’s right, of course. You are scared. Terrified, even. But admitting that feels like surrendering, like letting him win.

“Stop it,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Spencer leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “I think I do. I think this unsub has a connection to you. And I think that’s why you’ve been avoiding us—because you don’t want us to figure it out.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, and you glare at him, your composure threatening to crack. “You don’t know what he did to me.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and the moment they do, you see the understanding dawn in his eyes. “Who?” Spencer presses gently. “Who are we talking about?”

Your chest heaves as you fight back the tears threatening to spill. “One of my Professors.”

“Did he…” Spencer hesitates in pressing the subject, a mix of his usual timidness when it comes to you and the fear that he’s broaching on a very concerning topic.

“It was consensual.”

Spencer watches you closely, his eyes searching your face for a sign, some clue, as if trying to understand the puzzle that is your inner workings.

He doesn’t push, but the silence between you both is suffocating. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks again, but it still cuts through the heavy air between you.

"You were just a kid," Spencer murmurs, his words soft but no less sharp. "He took advantage of you when you were vulnerable, when you were still figuring things out. That’s manipulation."

You flinch at the truth of it, at the way he so easily sees the pieces of your life you've tried so hard to bury. You didn’t want to think about him anymore, didn’t want to remember how he twisted every gesture, every word, until it was all about him, all about what he wanted.

You can still feel the weight of his hands, the way he made you feel like you didn’t have a choice, that this was all part of the price you had to pay to succeed, to be seen as worthy of your place in academia.

Spencer shifts slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “He used his power over you. You were just a kid, and he was a professor. Someone you trusted.” His words are steady, but they cut deep. "You were in a position where you thought you had to do what he wanted. But it wasn’t your fault,”

“It was consensual.” you say again, more firmly this time, though it feels like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than him, the words raw and drenched in a cold calmness you didn’t really feel.

“Was it?” Spencer asks gently, his voice low. “If you were 19 and you thought you had to do it to get ahead, was it really? Was it truly your choice?”

You feel the air leave your lungs, and you want to scream at him, to deny everything, to make him stop asking these questions, because the answers are too painful, too complicated.

But he’s right. You were a child—so young, so desperate to succeed, to make a name for yourself in a field dominated by people like him. You thought you were lucky when he took you under his wing, when he offered you guidance, extra attention, time. But you weren’t.

“I had an abortion,” you finally confess, the words coming out in a broken whisper.

Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he’s silent, processing your admission. His lips part as though he wants to say something, but nothing comes. He doesn’t push, though, just watches you, his expression a mix of sympathy and concern, but there's no judgment in it. Not like you expected.

“In my shitty college dorm room,” Your voice catches, and you blink rapidly, trying to stop the sting in your eyes. “I thought I was dying. The amount of blood—” You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling in your lap. “I didn't know how to make it stop.Sometimes I wish it didn’t.”

“Don’t say that.”

Spencer leans in a little, his gaze intense, but gentle. “You were just a kid,” he says softly, his words like a balm, soothing yet cutting through the guilt. “He took advantage of you. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve that.”

You want to believe him. You want so badly to hear those words and let them erase the shame that has clung to you for so long. But the voices of doubt are louder in your head. The fear that somehow, deep down, it was your fault. That maybe you could’ve said no, maybe you could’ve gotten away before it went too far.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you say, your voice low, almost ashamed of the vulnerability. “I couldn’t tell my parents or my friends… or anyone. It was like everything I worked for, everything I had, was tied to him. If I said something, everything would’ve been ruined.”

Spencer’s brows furrow, and he lets out a soft exhale. “No one should ever have to carry that weight alone, especially not at your age.” His voice is steady, but there’s something deeply empathetic in his tone. “It’s not a burden you should’ve had to bear by yourself.”

“I lied to him too,” you whisper, the confession hanging heavily in the air. “I told him I miscarried. He was devastated. He wasn’t even angry—just sad. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything.”

“You…” Spencer starts, hesitating to make sure he words his response correctly. “Being in a state of shock is normal after a traumatic event,”

You shake your head. “I know what shock feels like. I was just numb. I murdered my own child and I didn’t even feel guilty about it.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens slightly, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes, but it’s not directed at you. It’s directed at him, at the man who should’ve protected you, not preyed on you. His voice is tight, but he keeps it calm.

“You did what you had to do. That’s not your fault.”

“It was alive. Seventeen weeks. I flushed it down the fucking toilet,” You drag your palm down your face, leaning forward until your elbows are resting on your knees.

“I didn’t even want to graduate after that,” you admit, your voice raw. “I couldn’t face him. I just wanted to disappear, but I was not going to put myself through hell without getting something out of it.”

Spencer is quiet for a long moment, taking in everything you’ve said. His gaze never wavers from yours, like he’s trying to understand every piece of you, trying to reach that place where you’re still hiding, still locked away from the rest of the world.

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation for what happened. You did what you needed to survive. And you are surviving. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. The storm inside you hasn’t calmed, but for the first time in a long while, it feels like it’s not threatening to swallow you whole. The walls you’ve built around yourself feel just a little more porous, itching to crumble.

“I’m scared,” you say, the vulnerability you’ve been holding back creeping into your voice. “He’s murdering people because of me.”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. He sits up straighter, his expression serious. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll help you, and we’ll make sure that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“You can’t tell anyone what I just told you.”

He lets out a sigh of your name.

“Promise me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” He nods solemnly. “I promise.”

—

The moment you walk through the doors of the empty lecture hall, you feel it—that same nauseating mix of dread and anticipation curling in your stomach. The air is stale, thick with the weight of memories you spent years trying to forget.

He’s already there, standing at the podium like he belongs there, like nothing has changed. Like he hasn’t left a trail of bodies behind him.

“Ah,” Professor Wittchen exhales as if relieved. “There you are,”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. “I should’ve known you’d pick this place.”

His lips curve into a small smile, a smile that used to make you feel seen. Now, it makes your skin crawl. “It’s fitting, don’t you think? This is where it all began,”

He watches you with the same unwavering gaze he always had, the one that used to make you feel special—chosen. Now, it just feels predatory.

“I missed you,” he says simply, stepping closer.

You don’t move.

“You should’ve visited,” he continues, his voice warm, inviting, like this is a casual conversation and not a confrontation between a killer and his last loose end. “You were my brightest student,”

“I was your victim.” you correct, voice sharp.

His expression doesn’t falter. If anything, he looks pleased. “Victim?” he echoes, like he’s rolling the word around in his mouth, testing its weight. “That’s not how I remember it.”

You swallow hard, jaw clenched. You knew this was how he would react. Knew he would twist things, make them blurry, like he always had.

He tilts his head, studying you. “I heard you became a profiler. That’s impressive. Though I always thought you were more inclined to be a Psychiatrist.”

“You shouldn't be surprised,” you say flatly. “I learned from the best manipulators.”

A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Now, that’s not fair,”

Your nails dig into your palms. “I know it’s you,” you say, cutting through the act. “You murdered four innocent women because you couldn’t move on.”

He exhales, almost disappointed. “That’s not quite right.”

You don’t let him continue. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”

His gaze darkens, and for the first time since you stepped into this room, the warmth fades from his expression. “It’s been ten years since you left me,” he says simply. “You never even had the decency to say goodbye. I tried to find a substitute, but they weren’t like you. No body is. You’re special.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but you force yourself to hold his stare. “I didn’t owe you anything.”

Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve disappointed him. “That’s not true. I shaped you. I made you.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “You ruined my life.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable, and then—slowly—he steps down from the podium, closing the distance between you. “You don’t believe that.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t move.

He stops inches from you, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I see it in your eyes. You still need me.”

You know what he’s doing. You know how his mind works, how he bends reality to his will, how he rewrites history to suit his narrative.

And for the first time, you don’t fall for it.

“You’re pathetic,” you whisper. “You think killing people will make me what? Love you? Miss you?” You shake your head. “You mean nothing to me.”

Something in his expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you catch it. The crack in his mask. The first glimpse of the monster beneath.

His fingers twitch at his sides.

There it is. The control slipping.

Good.

You see the flash of something dark behind his eyes—anger, frustration, maybe even desperation. He knows he’s losing control, and for a man like him, that’s unbearable.

You take a step forward. Not away, but closer.

“I hate you.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.

Wittchen’s lips barely twitch, but you see the flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he thinks you’re still playing a game with him. Like this is another debate, another test of wills.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs. “Not really.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

He sighs, tilting his head like you’re disappointing him. “I did anything you didn’t ask for,” he says, like it’s a fact. “You wanted me.”

Rage burns through you, hot and all-consuming. “I was nineteen,” you spit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You took advantage of me.”

Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that,”

“It was exactly like that,” you snap, stepping closer. “And do you want to know the worst part? I spent years telling myself it wasn’t. That maybe I did love you, that maybe I wanted to be with you. But I didn’t.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.

“I don’t regret leaving you,” you continue, voice trembling with fury. “I don’t regret moving on, or never looking back. But do you know what I do regret?”

He doesn’t answer, just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting for the killing blow.

“I regret ever letting you touch me. I regret every second I spent thinking you were something special, that you cared about me. You didn’t. You only cared about what I could give you.”

Something shifts in his expression—subtle, but enough. His fingers twitch again.

You steel yourself and drive the dagger deeper.

“You think I miscarried?” you ask, voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s what I told you, right? That I lost the baby?”

His face remains eerily blank.

“I lied,” you whisper. “I had an abortion.”

His entire body stiffens.

“Because the thought of being tied to you for the rest of my life made me sick. And I would’ve rather died from sepsis than deal with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

For a moment, Wittchen doesn’t react. Doesn’t breathe.

Then, without warning, he moves.

His hand goes for his waistband, and in a split second, you see the glint of a gun.

But you’re faster.

Your own weapon is already in your hands before he can fully draw his, aimed directly at his chest.

“Don’t.” you warn, your voice steel.

Wittchen hesitates, his gun halfway raised, his eyes locked onto yours.

For the first time, there’s something close to uncertainty in his expression.

—

The team is listening.

They hear every word.

Spencer’s grip on his gun is tight, knuckles white, jaw clenched so hard it aches. The rest of the team stands tense beside him, ears trained on the conversation happening just beyond the door.

They could go in. They should go in.

But they don’t.

Not yet.

Because this isn’t their battle.

Still, when they hear the shift in the conversation, the moment Wittchen reaches for his gun, every muscle in Spencer’s body tenses, ready to move.

And then—

Silence.

A long, stretching silence.

Then a single gunshot.

—

“You’re lying,” Wittchen snaps, his voice rising as his fingers curl tighter around the revolver’s grip. He pulls back the hammer with a metallic click, the sound loud in the charged silence of the lecture hall.

His arm is steady, the barrel aimed at your chest, but you don't flinch. “You miscarried. You were sick. That’s the truth. I took care of you. I was there when you needed me.”

Your lips curl into a bitter smile.

“The baby was fine,” you say, voice cold and firm. “I just didn’t want it.”

The words hang between you, heavy and raw.

For a split second, something akin to disbelief flickers in his eyes. But he recovers quickly, his jaw tightening as his grip on the gun tightens. The cold, calculating look is back.

The man who used his power over you is right here, still trying to control the situation. But he’s unraveling, and you can see it now—the cracks in his façade.

“You think you can just walk away from all this?” Wittchen growls, his voice a low threat. His eyes dart between you and the gun in your hand, calculating the distance, the time it would take to react.

“You’re going to watch me.” you reply, your voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside you. You take a step forward, gun lowered in favour of a pair of handcuffs.

He lets out a sharp breath, taking a step backwards, his arm still outstretched, but his expression is one of rage and something else—desperation.

“I gave you everything,” Wittchen sneers. “I could’ve given you more. You were a star, you were going places. But you threw it all away.”

“I didn’t throw away anything.” you say, voice sharp, anger curling in your gut. “I made my life what I wanted it to be.”

You take another step toward him. Your hand grips your gun tighter, its cold weight a reminder of how far you’ve come, how much you’ve survived.

“I was a kid,” you say, quieter now, more dangerous. “A kid who wanted to make something of herself. But you? You made sure I’d always be tied to you, that I’d never escape your reach. You took that from me. And now?”

Now, you’re not just angry. Now, you’re done.

“I don’t need you anymore,” you continue, voice quiet but lethal. “And I don’t need to live in fear of you. Not anymore. Just give up.”

Wittchen’s face hardens. His finger moves closer to the trigger, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still. His eyes are cold, calculating—he’s trying to force you to back down, to make you fear him again. But you don’t. Not anymore.

And he knows it.

The silence stretches out, suffocating. And then, without another word, he turns the gun away from you and towards himself.

For a moment, the world is frozen.

The sharp scent of gunpowder lingers in the air.

You don’t flinch.

You don’t move.

Wittchen stares at you, almost smiling.

A slow, dark red stain spreads across his chest. His gun falls from his hand, clattering uselessly to the floor.

Then, his knees buckle.

He collapses.

The impact is dull, almost anticlimactic.

His breath comes in shallow gasps, and for the first time since you walked into this room, he looks small.

Weak.

The man who once held so much power over you is nothing more than a dying, pathetic heap on the floor.

And somehow, there’s no satisfaction in it.

You watch as the light fades from his eyes, as the last breath leaves his lips.

And then—

It’s over.

—

The gunshot sends the team into action.

Spencer is the first through the door, gun raised, eyes scanning the room for threats.

But all he finds is you—standing still, gun loose in one hand, handcuffs in the other, staring blankly ahead.

Wittchen is on the floor, unmoving. Blood pools around him.

For a second, no one speaks.

Then you move.

Without looking at any of them, you turn away from the corpse.

And then, numbly, silently, you walk past them.

You don’t stop when Spencer calls your name.

You don’t stop when JJ reaches for you.

You just keep walking.

Because it’s finally over.

And yet, somehow, it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

—

The air outside the lecture hall is thick with tension.

Your gun feels heavy in your hands, and at some point, you register someone gently taking it from you. You don’t resist.

The hallways of Stanford feel different now. The ghosts you tried so hard to forget have been exorcised, but their shadows still linger.

You reach the nearest exit and step outside, inhaling sharply as the crisp night air hits you. You brace your hands on your knees, grounding yourself.

Then you hear footsteps behind you.

You know it’s them.

You straighten, forcing yourself to meet their gazes.

Hotch stands with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his presence steady. JJ and Emily exchange a look, worry etched into their features. Rossi, as always, watches with quiet understanding.

Then there’s Morgan.

He looks… shaken.

Guilt lingers in his eyes, and when he steps forward, his voice is lower, softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You blink, caught off guard.

“For what?” Your voice is hoarse, raw.

Morgan exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw with his eyes full of regret. “I didn’t know.”

You swallow hard. You don’t want to talk about it. But there’s something in his voice, in the way his usually confident demeanor falters, that makes you nod stiffly.

“I know.”

It’s the closest thing to forgiveness you can offer right now.

Morgan nods, accepting it.

Spencer is the last to approach.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes, though, say everything.

You hold his gaze for a moment before sighing. “What?”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits. His voice is careful, but there’s an edge of something else—frustration, sadness, maybe even anger. Not at you. Never at you. But at what happened. At what Wittchen took from you.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur.

—

The hum of the jet is steady and low, a constant presence that fills the silence between breaths.

You sit by the window, staring out at the clouds, your reflection barely visible against the dark glass.

You should be exhausted.

You are exhausted.

But sleep won’t come.

Your mind won’t let it.

The seat next to you shifts slightly, and you glance over to see Spencer settling beside you.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t ask if you’re okay, because he already knows you’re not.

Doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances.

He just sits.

And somehow, that’s reassurance enough.

Sleep comes a little easier after that.

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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