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kiwriteswords · 8 months ago

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And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like, "I love you."

AN: Since you guys seem to like the Shy!Reader drabbles!

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader!

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: Everyone

TW: shy!reader, alcohol mention

Five times you were shy around Aaron Hotchner because of your underlying feelings for him + one time, Aaron Hotchner was shy around you because of his underlying feelings for you.

one.

The office was unusually quiet, save for the occasional rustle of papers and the soft hum of computers. The rest of the team was out in the field, leaving just you and Aaron Hotchner behind to finish reviewing the case files for the next briefing.

You glanced at the clock. It was just after 6 p.m. Most people would be winding down their day, but for the BAU, the hours always seemed to blend together. Of course, you didn’t mind—working with the best agents in the FBI was an honor, but working directly under Aaron Hotchner, your team leader and a respected figure in the bureau? That was something else entirely.

And today, you were supposed to help him with the case files for the recent kidnapping case. Alone.

“Ready?” His deep voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you nearly jumped. You didn’t have the time to dissect why this man--your boss, made you feel this way. As if every time he looked at you, it felt like he could see things differently--more than anyone else. You felt a level of exposure you were not quite used to. It wasn’t bad, no. Just made you feel sort of funny inside.

“Uh, yes, yes, sir. Just—just a second.” You scrambled to gather your papers, your hands suddenly clammy as you fumbled with the file in front of you. Great start, you mentally scolded yourself.

You could feel his eyes on you, calm and patient, as you tried to compose yourself. Hotch, with his sharp features and intense gaze, sat down beside you at the long conference table, his presence commanding even though he said nothing. As usual, he was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, tie still impeccably knotted despite the long day.

He always looked so put together, so composed, and here you were, barely able to keep from dropping the entire file on the floor.

And that was the thing about Aaron Hotchner’s microscope; it was never him purposefully looking at you--through you with judgment. Just through a different lens, you could feel it.

“Okay,” you breathed out, finally opening the folder and staring at the first page, willing yourself to focus. But of course, all you could focus on was him sitting beside you, his arm brushing ever so slightly against yours as he leaned in to review the documents.

Hotch’s voice broke the silence again. “I noticed some inconsistencies in the witness statements,” he said, pointing at a section in the report. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the proximity making your heartbeat quicken.

“Right, um, inconsistencies. Yes, I—I saw those too,” you stammered, your voice just a little higher than usual. You could feel your cheeks burning. Pull it together.

As you reached to turn the page, your fingers trembled slightly, and the edges of the papers crinkled under your grip. You cursed yourself internally. He’s going to think I don’t know what I’m doing.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hotch glance at you. His brow furrowed, not in frustration, but in something softer—concern, maybe? Before you could stop yourself, you began speaking too fast, trying to fill the silence.

“I mean, the statements are definitely off, like you said. I was just thinking, you know, we could um, cross-check them against the surveillance footage from the convenience store and maybe, uh, match the timestamps, because—well, um, obviously, you’ve probably already thought of that, but I just thought…”

You trailed off when you realized Hotch wasn’t looking at the file anymore. He was looking at you. And oh god, that made things so much worse. You felt the tips of your ears burning now, and you quickly looked down at the paper in front of you, pretending to reread the same line over and over just to avoid his gaze.

“You’re doing fine,” Hotch said softly, his voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

You looked up, blinking in surprise. His expression was calm, reassuring even, as though he could sense how flustered you were. For a moment, you thought you saw the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I—thanks,” you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper. You bit your lip, cursing yourself for sounding so meek. This was Aaron Hotchner—your boss, your colleague. And yet, here you were, acting like a nervous schoolgirl with a crush.

Well, because you did have a crush. A big one. A ridiculous, all-consuming crush that you had been battling for months now. And being this close to him, feeling his presence so close—it was like your brain short-circuited every time. His cologne, his energy--everything that surrounded your senses was just like a drug making your brain work in ways it really shouldn’t be when you have a job to do.

Hotch nodded, his attention returning to the file in front of you, but the moment didn’t pass unnoticed. The air between you felt different now--lighter. As if he understood, on some level, that your nerves weren’t because of the case, but because of him.

You worked in silence after that, the tension slowly ebbing away. But every now and then, you caught him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, as if he was still watching, still noticing.

And for the first time, you let yourself wonder if maybe, just maybe, Aaron Hotchner noticed you too.

two.

It had already been a morning and a half. The team had gathered for a debrief, with everyone scattered around their desks reviewing the latest case notes. You felt the weight of exhaustion after the last long night, and from the looks of it, so did everyone else. It was natural for these long hours to catch up to you all eventually.

“Coffee run?” you asked, glancing around at the others. JJ and Spencer immediately nodded, followed by Morgan flashing you a grateful smile.

“I could use about three cups,” Emily quipped, massaging her temples.

You smiled back and quickly made your way to the break room. As you stood by the machine, the familiar hum of it brewing filled the room. You glanced at the lineup of mugs in your arms, including the one you had specifically set aside for Hotch. His was easy to pick out—simple, just like the man himself.

For some reason, even the simple act of grabbing coffee for him made you feel jittery. Maybe it was because of the way he always carried himself—calm, collected, completely in control. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you, like he was always assessing, always paying attention.

Or maybe it was because you had the world’s most inconvenient crush on your boss.

You sighed and shook your head. It's just coffee. Be normal.

When the machine finally finished, you loaded the cups and returned to the bullpen. As you handed the team their drinks, your nerves started to build as you approached Hotch’s office. His door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, you could see him typing away on his computer, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You knocked softly, pushing the door open a little wider. “Coffee?”

Hotch glanced up, his eyes softening for a brief moment as he saw you standing there, juggling the last two mugs. “Thank you,” he said, his voice warm but as professional as always.

You stepped forward, holding out his cup. “Uh, here,” you said, your voice coming out a little I quickly. As he reached for it, your fingers accidentally brushed against his.

The contact was fleeting but sent a jolt through your whole body. Your breath hitched, and suddenly, you were hyper-aware of how close he was. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, and you swore he must have heard it. You tried to ignore how your hand trembled slightly, but it was impossible with Hotch standing right there.

For a second, he didn’t move. His gaze flickered down to your hand, then back up to meet your eyes, and you could have sworn there was a flicker of amusement in his expression as if he was beginning to catch on to the hold he had over you. He took the cup from you carefully, his touch deliberate and slow.

“Thank you,” he repeated, but this time, there was something softer in his tone. His lips curved ever so slightly—a small smile, barely noticeable if you weren’t paying attention, but you were. You always were.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. Why am I such a mess around him?

“Oh—uh, no problem,” you managed to stammer, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. You took a step back, desperate to escape before you embarrassed yourself further. “Enjoy your coffee, Hotch.”

You turned to leave, feeling your face burn with embarrassment. Behind you, you heard him chuckle softly—a rare sound, one that sent another rush of heat through you. You could only hope he didn’t notice how flustered you were. But then again, judging by that tiny smile, he already had.

three.

A grueling case with long hours and high tension called for alcohol and camaraderie. When Rossi suggested they all unwind at a nearby bar after wrapping things up, no one argued. The idea of a drink and a few hours of normalcy was too tempting to pass up--and much needed.

You found yourself sitting at a long table with the rest of the team, squeezed between JJ and Hotch. Normally, that would have sent your nerves into overdrive, but after the first glass of wine—and then the second—you felt your anxiety loosen just a bit. Just enough to breathe without overthinking every little move you made next to him.

The conversation flowed easily around you, with Morgan and Garcia trading playful banter while Spencer tried to argue some statistic about criminal behavior. You laughed along, but every time Hotch spoke, your focus snapped to him. You couldn’t help it. It was like your mind was on high alert every time he addressed the group, or worse—you directly.

“Good work on the case,” he said at one point, turning to you with that intense gaze of his. “You managed the witness interviews really well. I think it made a difference.”

Your heart lurched. He was complimenting you—praising your work in front of the whole team. The sudden attention made your pulse quicken, and you could feel your face heating up despite the buzz from the drinks.

Before you could stop yourself, the words just spilled out.

With a slightly bolder tone than you usually used around him, you turned to face him fully, giving him a playful smile. “Well, maybe I just wanted to impress you, Hotch.”

The second the words left your mouth, you realized how bold they sounded. You raised your glass slightly, locking eyes with him for a moment longer than necessary. You’d just flirted with your boss. There was no going back now.

Hotch blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but then a slow smile—rare but devastating—appeared on his face. “Is that right?” he replied, his voice low and most definitely amused.

Your heart practically stopped, but before you could spiral too much, JJ leaned over with a laugh. “Well, someone’s confident tonight.”

You hadn’t even realized that not only did you flirt with Hotch, but you happened to do it in front of your coworkers--your profiling coworkers. Ones that were well-trained and versed in all sorts of fucked up psychology that “having an apparent crush on your older boss” would fall under.

The moment passed quickly, and the conversation shifted again, but your head was spinning. The buzz from the drinks had officially worn off, leaving you hyper-aware of everything. You spent the rest of the night trying to avoid looking directly at Hotch, hoping that maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t taken your words too seriously.

By the time you walked into work the next morning, the weight of what happened at the dinner hit you full force. I flirted with Hotch. The realization felt like a brick sinking in your stomach.

You avoided his office all morning, burying yourself in paperwork and case files. Every time someone walked past your desk, you jumped, paranoid that it would be him coming to say something—anything—about last night.

Why did I have to say that? What was I thinking?

By midday, you were a ball of nerves. Every interaction with Hotch now felt loaded, as if you were walking on a tightrope. When he passed by your desk and gave you a small nod of acknowledgment, you nearly knocked your coffee over, your hands trembling as you tried to act casual.

You could still feel the burn of embarrassment every time you remembered how easy the words had slipped out. And the worst part? He hadn’t seemed uncomfortable at all. If anything, he had smiled. That tiny, knowing smile that you couldn’t get out of your head.

Later, when you were both in the conference room, going over case files, the tension felt unbearable. You barely managed to string together coherent answers every time he asked you a question, your brain too busy screaming Don’t be awkward.

But even in your shyness, you couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered what you said. If maybe, somewhere behind that calm, professional exterior, Aaron Hotchner had actually been flustered, too?

four.

Everyone else had left hours ago, but you were still there, finishing up some paperwork that seemed never-ending. The only sound was the soft clicking of your keyboard and the occasional creak of your chair as you shifted positions. Being the newest member on the team, you often double- or even triple-check everything, afraid it would be wrong. This cost you a lot of your spare time, but in fairness, what else did you have going on?

You weren’t surprised that Aaron Hotchner was still there, too. He was always the last to leave, always pushing himself past his limits. It was one of the things you admired about him—and maybe one of the reasons you found it so hard to concentrate whenever you were alone with him.

You glanced at the clock. It was well past 9 p.m., and the fatigue from the long day was starting to settle into your bones. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your eyes when you heard footsteps approaching. Before you could turn around, Hotch’s calm, steady voice cut through the silence.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” he said softly, standing just behind your desk. “Maybe it’s time for a break.”

Your breath caught in your throat for a moment. You hadn’t realized how quiet it was until his voice filled the space. His tone almost vibrating against your ears.

You quickly straightened up, trying to act casual, though you could already feel your pulse quickening.

“Oh, uh, yeah… probably a good idea,” you said, a bit too quickly. You glanced up at him, and for a split second, you wished you hadn’t. He was standing close—too close—and the sight of him with his tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sent a fresh wave of nervousness through you. Why did he always have to look so effortlessly composed?

Hotch tilted his head slightly, as if considering something. “I was about to make some tea,” he said, his voice low and calming. “Would you like some?”

Tea. Something about the simplicity of the offer made your heart flutter. “Sure,” you replied, smiling faintly. “Tea sounds nice.”

A few minutes later, Hotch returned with two steaming mugs. He set one down beside your stack of papers and took a seat in the chair next to yours.

You quickly pulled your hand back, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way your breath caught in your throat. But of course, he noticed everything. That’s who he was.

“Long day,” he said quietly, sipping his tea and glancing over at you.

You nodded, trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling. “Yeah. Feels like the days are getting longer.”

Hotch smiled softly, a rare but welcome sight. “I’d say you handled it well.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Compliments from Aaron Hotchner were few and far between, and when they came, they always seemed to hit harder than you expected. You swallowed nervously, feeling the familiar heat rising to your cheeks.

“T-Thanks,” you stammered, looking down at your tea and willing yourself not to blush. But it was no use. You were hyper-aware of how close he was, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Every word you could have said stuck in your throat, as if your mind had gone blank.

There was a brief silence, the kind that felt charged with something unspoken. Hotch leaned back in his chair slightly, his gaze steady on you. You could feel it—his calm presence, his quiet strength—and it only made your nerves worse. How did he manage to make small talk feel so intense?

“You don’t have to push yourself so hard, you know,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “You’re already doing more than enough. There’s nothing you need to prove--you deserve to be here.”

Your breath caught again. Was he worried about you? The thought made your heart race even faster. You tried to find the right words, but they felt stuck. All you could manage was a small, awkward laugh. “I guess I’m just trying to keep up with you.”

Hotch’s expression softened further, and for a moment, you swore there was something in his eyes—something warmer, more personal. He didn’t respond right away, just held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire now, and you quickly took a sip of your tea, hoping it would calm your racing heart. But the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like a quiet understanding had passed between the two of you, something unspoken but undeniably there.

Maybe he put together all of the pieces and realized you were hopelessly crushing on him, so he had pity and let you be. Maybe he thought men made you nervous--but then again, he’d seen you all buddy-buddy with Reid or even Morgan.

As the minutes passed, the tension slowly ebbed away, but the closeness remained. Hotch’s presence beside you felt reassuring, yet it kept your pulse thrumming in a way that made you wish you could stay like this just a little longer. Even if it meant fumbling over your words, you wouldn’t mind.

five.

The overhead lights buzzed softly, and the air was thick with the smell of coffee. You were sitting at the round table in the conference room, papers spread out in front of you, piecing together a presentation for the case debrief tomorrow. Your focus was sharp, and for once, you weren’t thinking about how close Hotch was sitting. Well, almost.

Aaron Hotchner was seated at the head of the table, reviewing files and notes from his section of the case, his brow furrowed in concentration. The silence between you felt comfortable—until it wasn’t.

Out of nowhere, Hotch spoke up, breaking the quiet. “Your organizational skills are impressive,” he said, his tone casual but sincere. “I don’t know how you keep all of this together so efficiently.”

You froze, your pen hovering above the notebook in front of you. He complimented you--again. The words sunk in slowly, and you could feel your face start to burn. Why did he always catch you off guard like this?

“I—uh, thanks,” you stammered, suddenly feeling the need to escape. Your heart raced as you realized how flustered you must look, your cheeks burning under his calm gaze. You barely managed to glance up at him, but his expression wasn’t teasing. It was soft, warm even.

“I just try to stay on top of things,” you mumbled, pushing your chair back too quickly. The sound echoed through the room, making you cringe. You could feel your face turning crimson as you gathered up your papers in a rush, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Why did he have to say something so nice? Why did you have to react like this every time?

You gave him a brief, awkward smile and practically bolted for the door. “I-I need to get this to JJ,” you blurted out, even though you had no intention of doing so.

As you reached the doorway, your hand on the handle, you heard him call your name—soft but unmistakable. You froze in place, half-turned, not daring to look back fully.

“By the way,” he said, his voice still calm but a touch more serious. “You don’t need to rush out every time I give you a compliment.”

Your breath caught, and for a split second, you weren’t sure if you could move. There was no teasing in his tone, no sharpness—just a quiet, sincere warmth. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Hotch noticed more than you thought.

You finally turned slightly toward him, meeting his gaze briefly. “I… I’ll try not to,” you whispered, your voice shaky but honest. Without waiting for a response, you slipped out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest.

And as you left the room, you heard Hotch chuckle softly to himself. It wasn’t cruel; it was amused, affectionate even. That only made things worse.

As you walked down the hall, the sound of his words still echoed in your mind, replaying over and over. You didn’t need to rush out every time he complimented you. And for the first time, you wondered what might happen if you didn’t.

+one

It had been weeks since the last case that left you fleeing the conference room after Aaron Hotchner’s casual compliment about your organizational skills. You’d spent every day since trying to keep your interactions with him as short and as professional as possible, but avoiding him entirely wasn’t exactly an option. You were part of the team, and your role often required working closely with him. That only made your constant nervousness more exhausting.

Every time he passed by your desk, every time he said your name in that calm, authoritative tone, your heart would skip a beat. The nerves were always there, simmering just under the surface. You weren’t sure if he noticed how flustered you got around him or if he simply chalked it up to work stress. Either way, it made every interaction with him feel like walking on a tightrope.

And today was no different after another intense case had finally been closed. You were finishing paperwork at your desk when you saw Hotch step out of his office, his eyes scanning the bullpen. The moment his gaze landed on you, your stomach twisted.

He started walking over, his strides purposeful. You tried to keep your face neutral, even as the heat rushed to your cheeks. Stay calm. It’s just work.

You looked up at him when he stopped before your desk, forcing a smile. “Do you need something?”

Hotch’s expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes seemed different today. Less intense, more… hesitant? “Can I see you in my office for a moment?”

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you quickly nodded, not trusting your voice. You grabbed your notepad, assuming it was something case-related, and followed him back into his office.

As you stepped inside, he closed the door behind you. The click of the latch made the room feel suddenly smaller--more intimate. You turned to face him, clutching your notepad like a shield.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of your voice.

Hotch didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he walked over to his desk, leaning against it, his arms crossed. His posture was relaxed, but there was something in the way he looked at you—something that made your pulse quicken.

“I’ve noticed,” he began, his voice measured but quieter than usual, “that you’ve been avoiding me.”

Your stomach dropped. He noticed. You hadn’t thought it was that obvious, but of course, this was Aaron Hotchner. He noticed everything.

“I… I h-haven’t been avoiding you,” you stammered, though you knew it was a lie. “I’ve just been busy. Lots of cases lately, you know.”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s not what it feels like.”

You swallowed hard, your nerves threatening to overwhelm you. He wasn’t angry; his tone wasn’t harsh or accusatory, but there was a weight to his words that made your throat go dry. He uncrossed his arms and took a small step toward you, closing the gap between you just enough to make your breath hitch.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he continued, his voice softer now. “But I’ve noticed how you’ve been acting around me. And I have to admit, it’s been difficult to ignore.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your mind racing. Was he going to reprimand you for being unprofessional? Did he think you couldn’t handle your job because of the way you acted around him? Would he send you off to report to someone different? You felt the familiar heat rising in your cheeks and wished you could disappear.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been… awkward,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. At this moment, you felt like a small child, “It’s just—”

Before you could finish, Hotch interrupted, his expression softening in a way you hadn’t seen before. “You don’t have to explain. I think I know why.”

His words hung in the air between you, and suddenly, everything felt different. You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “You do?”

Hotch took another small step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. He was so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. For the first time, you noticed the way his usually composed features seemed more vulnerable—like he was grappling with something inside himself.

“I’ve noticed because I’ve been feeling the same way,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart stopped. He feels the same way? Your mind struggled to process what he was saying. Aaron Hotchner, your boss—the man who was always in control, always so composed—was confessing that he had feelings for you?

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Your thoughts were a tangled mess, and all you could do was stare at him in stunned silence.

Hotch ran a hand through his hair, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture that sent a ripple of shock through you. He seemed just as uneasy as you were, as though he wasn’t used to being in this position—being vulnerable. “I’ve been trying to ignore it for a while,” he continued, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reaction. “But…but I can’t anymore.”

The silence between you felt thick with unspoken words, with all the tension and longing that had been building for weeks, maybe even months. And now it was all out in the open.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Hotch smiled—just a small, almost shy smile that you’d never seen from him before. He let out a soft chuckle, “Neither do I. This is… new for me.”

Your mind was still racing, but somewhere amidst the chaos, you realized that he wasn’t just confessing to you. He was just as nervous, just as unsure. For the first time, Aaron Hotchner—the man who always seemed unshakable—was standing in front of you, vulnerable and open.

You felt a surge of courage then, maybe fueled by the realization that this wasn’t one-sided. He was just as affected by you as you were by him. Slowly, you took a step closer, closing the remaining distance between you.

“I didn’t think you’d ever notice,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly, though steadier than before. You took a breath, forcing yourself to keep eye contact, despite the fluttering nerves in your stomach. “I thought I was just… making a fool of myself. That you’d think I was unprofessional.”

Hotch’s expression softened, his gaze never leaving yours. He shook his head gently, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name, something more tender than you’d ever seen from him before. “You haven’t,” he said softly. “Believe me… I’ve noticed everything.”

The weight of his words hit you, and for the first time, you realized how closely he’d been watching, how much attention he’d been paying to all the little moments you thought were only one-sided. A warmth spread through you, melting away some of the nervous tension that had been building for months.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore—it was charged, yes, but it was also full of something else. Understanding. Relief. The unspoken truth you’d both been dancing around finally laid bare.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, just stood there, the distance between you feeling impossibly small. You took a deep breath, your heart still pounding but lighter now, and offered him a small, hesitant smile. “So… what happens now?” you asked, your voice quieter, as if you weren’t sure you wanted the spell to break.

Hotch’s smile was subtle, but it reached his eyes this time, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “But I do know this… whatever we decide, we don’t need to rush.”

His words were steady and reassuring, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like you could breathe. The uncertainty was still there, yes, but so was the certainty that you weren’t alone in this anymore. That the feelings you’d been so afraid of had been mirrored all along.

You nodded slowly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Together, then?”

“Together,” he echoed, his voice quiet but firm.

And just as you turned to leave, feeling the tension melt away, Hotch called your name again. This time, his tone was softer, almost hesitant. You turned back to face him, your breath catching in your throat.

“One more thing,” he said, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ve spent a lot of time noticing you. Maybe now… we don’t have to hide it anymore?”

His words lingered in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You swallowed hard, your heart racing again, but it wasn’t from nerves this time. It was from the hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something real.

You smiled a genuine smile this time. “I’d like that.”

With that, you left his office feeling lighter than you had in months. And for the first time, the uncertainty ahead didn’t feel so daunting.

tag list:

@zaddyhotchzaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #shy!reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #kiwriteswords #aaron hotchner one shot

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twstedfreak · 13 days ago

Text

The Disappearance of Y/N L/N | PRELUDE - 00

Pairings: Various! JJK x Reader (Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Naoya, Toji)

Synopsis: Y/N L/N has vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a trail of confusion and unanswered questions. Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Naoya, and Toji are all pulled into the investigation, each one a suspect. They all believe Y/N is still out there, but none of them know what really happened. Their fragmented memories and conflicting stories of their last encounters with Y/N only deepen the mystery. As Detective Higuruma digs deeper into their pasts, he uncovers dark secrets and hidden motives, but the truth remains just out of reach.

Genre: Dark Romance(?), Mystery, Thriller, Psychological

Warnings: Mature Themes, Mentions of Death, Violence, Abandonment, Graphic Descriptions (crime scene), Trauma, Psychological Distress, Unreliable Narrator

A/N: Hey, it's been a while, but I’m back! Here’s the start of The Disappearance of Y/N L/N. If you like stories where a character lingers in the background and haunts the narrative (you know, that character), then you’re in the right place. This one's got a little mystery, a little kick, a little suspense, and a whole lot of unanswered questions. Hope you enjoy the ride! and as always, thanks for reading! I really appreciate the follow, reblogs, and likes so w/o further adeu,, let's all begin :3

teaser | masterlist | drabbles | headcanon | playlist

—Some people vanish quietly. She didn’t.

The rain hadn’t stopped for three days. The city pulsed under a curtain of gray, neon signs bleeding color through the wet streets. Inside the station, Detective Hiromi Higuruma stood before a case file that hadn’t been touched in weeks—until now.

Y/N L/N.

Age: 25.

Status: Missing.

Presumed deceased.

No body. No note. No witnesses. Just absence.

The kind that wraps itself around you like smoke—clinging, stinging, impossible to ignore.

He flipped open the folder, slow and careful. Her photo was clipped to the front page, eyes too alive for a still image, lips curled slightly like she was about to laugh—or lie. It unsettled him. Most victims’ photos looked hollow, frozen in the past. Hers seemed to look back.

She had disappeared six months ago. No signs of struggle. No sign she ever planned to leave. Just a single call to emergency dispatch—never traced—then silence.

There was no family listed. No one had come forward when she vanished. No concerned boyfriend, no best friend sobbing into the receiver. Only one person had even noticed she was gone.

An elderly woman from the neighboring apartment.

Hiromi’s jaw clenched as he read over her initial statement again, scribbled in loose, looping handwriting with parts underlined and circled.

"She waters her plants every morning. Always the same time. I could hear her singing to them sometimes. But then… she just stopped." "The cat started meowing more. Crying at the door. I saw it getting thinner. Day by day. I knew something was wrong when the leaves by her doorway started to brown. She never let them wither." "I called the tenant. Told him something was wrong. We went in." "Her apartment—it looked like someone had been living there and then just left. Just… left. Plates were still on the table. Food rotting. Worms in it. The sink had dirty water. Like she got up in the middle of lunch and never came back. The cat was still inside. Barely alive." "Please find her. That sweet girl. Where could she have gone to..."

Hiromi imagined the scene. The stench. The silence. The way abandonment settles into a room like mildew. Her cat, bones beneath its fur, curling into itself, waiting.

And the apartment, it told a story, even if no one else would. No signs of forced entry. No indication of a struggle. Nothing stolen. No signs of packing. It was as if she’d simply evaporated into the walls.

That’s what got to him.

He’d seen crime scenes drenched in violence. But this? This was worse. This was absence. An unnatural quiet. Like she had been erased.

Hiromi leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking beneath him. The city outside blurred through the glass—neon signs bleeding red and electric blue onto slick pavement. Tokyo was wide awake, uncaring. But inside this file, inside this room, was something unfinished. Something rotting.

The more he read, the less he understood.

Until he found the envelope.

Tucked at the back of the file was a thin, unmarked envelope. It hadn’t come with the report. There was no label, no sender. Just one handwritten note on the outside.

“Reopen. Start with them.”

Tucked inside the folder were names. Six of them.

He read them once. Then again.

Ryomen Sukuna

Satoru Gojo

Suguru Geto

Kento Nanami

Toji Fushiguro

Naoya Zen’in

No prior connection between them, not on paper. No overlapping records. No reason to suspect them, yet here they were, listed under Persons of Interest. Not suspects. Not witnesses. Just men with suspicions.

Y/N.

What stood out wasn’t their reputations— all though some were notorious in their own right, it was how different they were. Different lives, different worlds. And yet, somehow, all tangled up in hers.

The deeper Hiromi read, the stranger it got. No official record of romantic ties. No clear motive. But there were letters. Notes. Photos. Snapshots of a woman who meant something different to each of them. A chameleon. A muse. A mistake. A memory.

It was like piecing together a puzzle where every piece belonged to a different picture.

Still… No one had reported her missing.

Not one of them.

That bothered him the most.

He sat back in his chair, the storm outside echoing his thoughts. Any time now, he’d begin the interviews. But for now, all he had were names and questions and the heavy knowledge that someone wasn’t telling true.

Was Y/N dead?

Perhaps, she is alive.. somewhere

Was she hiding?

And if she was hiding... from who?

But what terrified Hiromi wasn’t what they would say. It was what they wouldn’t.

Two months have passed.

A girl with no trace. An apartment like a tomb. A cat barely breathing, clinging to hope in the only way it knew how.

And now, six men. Each one who might have a story.

But only one of them, Hiromi was certain, would know the truth.

And the truth? It would not come easy.

This wasn’t just a missing person case.

He was intrigued.

Maybe, this was something else.

Maybe something cold.

Maybe something violent.

Maybe something personal.

. . . . Who knows?

“Someone needs to be looking for this girl.”

The next morning came with no sun. Just a dull, smothered sky pressing down on the city like a weight. Hiromi walked into the precinct with the file under his arm and the envelope of names secured inside. The halls were half-awake, the scent of burnt coffee and cold sweat lingering like ghosts from the night shift.

He didn’t wait to be called in. He headed straight for the chief's office.

Detective Masuda barely looked up from his desk when Hiromi entered. He was an old dog, worn thin by decades of rot in the system, and even thinner on patience. His tie was crooked. His shirt wrinkled. But his eyes, sharp as broken glass lifted the moment he saw the folder in Hiromi's hand.

"You're early," Masuda muttered, leaning back.

"I'm taking the L/N case," Hiromi said, setting the folder on the desk with a dull thud. "Nearly two months missing. No family, no formal report, but a witness. We’ve got signs of abandonment, starvation, possible neglect, and names. Some big ones."

Masuda raised an eyebrow. "You're wasting your time on a cold ghost story?"

Hiromi’s tone didn’t waver. "It's not cold. It’s buried. There's a difference."

Then, Hiromi reached into the file—past the grainy photographs, past the neighbor’s written testimony, past the preliminary notes from the patrol officer who first stepped into that hollowed-out apartment.

He pulled out a plain, creased envelope.

Unmarked. No return address. No police seal. Just a thin fold of paper that felt heavier than the rest of the file.

He slid it across Masuda’s desk with two fingers, slow and deliberate.

"Look at this," Hiromi said, his voice low, unreadable. “Someone wanted this case reopened.”

Masuda raised an eyebrow, then opened it.

Inside were six names, printed on a small sheet of paper like they’d been clipped from some confidential database. Clean type. No context. No explanation. But they hit like a punch.

Ryomen Sukuna.

Satoru Gojo.

Suguru Geto.

Kento Nanami.

Toji Fushiguro.

Naoya Zen’in.

Masuda’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you proposing?”

Hiromi straightened. “I’m requesting search warrants. For her apartment. For their personal records. Surveillance near her building from the last 90 days. We reopen this case—formally.”

There was a pause. The silence between two men who had seen enough in their lives to recognize when something felt off.

“You’re going to stir up a hornet’s nest,” Masuda warned. “These men. Some of them have influence. Money. Ties to people who don’t like being watched.”

“I don’t care,” Hiromi said. “There’s a girl no one’s looking for. And the longer she stays missing, the colder she gets.”

Masuda looked at Hiromi and frowned as he reached for the file.

He frowned.

“I know some of these names,” he muttered. “Whispers. Trouble. One of them’s a consultant for a private security firm, isn’t he? Another was tied to that Shibuya case, but never charged.”

Hiromi nodded slowly. “They all move in different circles. None of them clean. None of them ever in the same room at the same time. But somehow , it seems like they’re all connected to her.”

“And you’re saying this girl… Y/N…?”

“She’s the thread,” Hiromi replied. “I think she somehow ran through each of their lives like clockwork. One by one. I don’t know what she meant to them, or what they meant to her. But she’s gone. And they’re all still here.”

He leaned forward now, tone darker. “But not one of them filed a report. Not one of them called to check in. Not one of them even pretended to be concerned.”

Masuda exhaled slowly, tension creasing his brow. He looked down at the names again, like they might rearrange themselves into something less dangerous. But they didn’t.

Hiromi’s voice dropped to a near-whisper.

Hiromi didn’t stop with just the names.

He reached into the envelope again, this time pulling out a series of photographs—old, slightly worn, printed on glossy paper like someone had developed them by hand. Not police-issue. Not digital. Personal.

He laid them out on Masuda’s desk, one by one, like cards in a tarot reading.

The room seemed to quiet with each photo placed down. You could nearly hear a pin drop.

First Photo:

It wasn’t a posed photo. It looked like it wasn’t meant to be taken at all.

The grain of the image suggested it came from an old CCTV still or maybe a camera phone shot from behind tinted glass. Y/N was sitting on the floor of what looked like a stairwell—somewhere dim and industrial, like the back exit of a club. Her knees were tucked to her chest, cheek resting on them, hair messy, mascara smeared like she’d been crying.

Sukuna Ryomen was standing a few feet away, partially turned, as if caught mid-motion. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, but he wasn’t looking at her—he was looking at whoever took the picture.

His stare was dead-on. Unblinking.

Unmistakably a threat.

The only thing more chilling than the fury in his eyes was the stillness in hers. Not scared. Not begging. Just… resigned.

It wasn’t a couple caught in a sweet moment.

It looked like the last quiet moment before something terrible happened.

Second Photo:

It wasn’t the typical carefree shot. At first glance, it seemed playful enough—Y/N and Satoru Gojo laughing at something only he could’ve said, her mouth open in a wide grin, eyes squinting from the brightness of the neon lights reflecting off her face. Gojo’s trademark shades were pushed up to the top of his head, his grin wide, almost too wide.

But there was something off.

Y/N was leaning back, hands bracing against a wall as if she was about to pull away—but Gojo’s hand was still on her wrist, fingers curled around it tightly, a little too tightly. The carefree nature of the moment felt staged, the way he kept her just close enough to hold on—and the look in her eyes was no longer one of amusement. There was a flicker of unease, a momentary hesitation before her smile flickered and she tilted her head, like she was waiting for something.

Third Photo:

This wasn’t a photo that seemed like it belonged in a keepsake album. It looked like a stolen moment—an uncomfortable one. Y/N and Suguru Geto were in a photo booth, yes, but there was no fun, no laughter. The graininess of the image made it almost feel like it had been taken from some hidden corner.

In the first frame, Y/N was giving a peace sign, but her smile was strained, too tight. Her eyes weren’t on the camera, they were glancing sideways at Geto, as if she had just said something, but his reaction didn’t match her expression.

It seems like his hand was resting on her knee in the second frame, and while she looked down at it with an almost imperceptible frown, his fingers were draped too casually. The tension between them was palpable, even in black and white.

In the third frame, she leaned in closer, but instead of the intimacy one might expect, her shoulders were stiff, her body angled away from him. Geto, on the other hand, stared straight into the camera with an unnerving, cold intensity, his eyes unwavering. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even pretending to.

In the final frame, her peace sign had dropped. Her face was half-turned, lips parted as if she was about to say something, but the silence in the booth felt suffocating. Geto’s gaze, though, never wavered—sharp, calculating, as though he was looking right through her.

This wasn’t a photo of affection.

Fourth Photo:

This was not a moment anyone would expect from Kento Nanami. The photo showed him and Y/N in what seemed like an ordinary moment at a cozy, well-lit café—her hands wrapped around a coffee cup, his resting on the table beside her. They were sitting close, but something about the image made it feel wrong.

Y/N’s expression wasn’t one of comfort; it was a mixture of betrayal and shock. Her lips were slightly parted, but she wasn’t speaking. Her eyes were focused on something—no, someone—behind the camera, and the tension was palpable. Nanami’s face was unreadable, but his eyes, usually calm and steady, had a flicker of something unsettling—guilt? Regret? His hand, which was placed casually on the table, was pressed against hers in a manner that, on the surface, seemed simple. But looking closer, you could see the slight tremble in his fingers, like he was holding back something. His eyes never met hers, not in the way they should have. Instead, he was staring down at the table, at the spot where their hands touched.

What was truly shocking, though, was the small, crumpled letter partially visible under the coffee cup, its edges bent from being squeezed too tightly. It was addressed to Y/N. But there was no smile, no warmth in her expression. Instead, there was a quiet, unspoken question hanging between them.

Had he written the letter? Had he given it to her? And why was it so clear from the photo that she was already done, even if she hadn’t said a word?It wasn’t a moment of love or affection. It was a moment frozen between a decision and a realization, the weight of something left unsaid hanging heavily between them.

Fifth Photo:

The photo was nothing like anyone would expect from Toji Fushiguro. He was known for his cold demeanor, but this shot caught him at his most vulnerable—at least, in a way no one would have anticipated. Y/N and Toji were locked in a heated kiss, but it wasn’t romantic—it was almost primal. His hand was tangled in her hair, gripping it with a force that made her head tilt back, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat. There was no gentle approach here. No slow build. It was pure, raw need.

Y/N, completely caught up in the moment, looked a mess. Her lipstick was smudged, her hair was tangled and falling wildly around her face, and her eyes—when they weren’t squeezed shut—held a dazed and frenzied look, as if she couldn’t even fully comprehend what was happening. In one hand, she carelessly held a cigarette, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling, forgotten and almost abandoned, as if it didn’t matter in this moment. Her other hand was gripping the back of Toji’s neck, nails digging into his skin, as if she were holding on for dear life.

The intensity between them was palpable, raw—there was no tenderness, no softness in the way their bodies collided. Toji’s chest was pressed against hers, his grip firm, almost possessive, and Y/N was lost in it, her body leaning toward him, caught in the urgency of the kiss. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t graceful. It was reckless.

The background was barely visible, a dark, dimly lit room, adding to the feeling that this was a fleeting, chaotic moment—one that wasn’t supposed to be captured, yet it was. It felt like something that should have been erased, but instead, it was frozen forever. The cigarette, the way her body was slanted against his, the way he held her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded—it wasn’t just a kiss. It was fire and danger, a reckless dance that neither could stop once it had begun.

Sixth Photo:

The image was caught mid-motion grainy, distant, probably taken by someone on the street. Y/N was stepping out of a sleek black car, one heel already on the curb, the other still inside. She looked furious. Her lipstick was smudged like she’d bitten her lip too hard. Her hand was raised in a sharp motion mid-gesture. They seem to be in a mid-argument. Naoya Zenin was still in the driver’s seat, leaned over, clearly shouting something back at her through the open door. His jaw was clenched, face twisted in frustration.

You couldn’t hear the words, but the body language said enough. She was done. He wasn’t.

No smiles. No poised elegance. Just raw emotion between two people unraveling in real time.

It was the only photo where she looked like she wanted to leave

—and the only one where someone was trying to stop her.

Masuda stared at the spread of a mess on the table.

Six men.

Six moments.

Six different versions of Y/N.

“She’s a ghost stitched into all of them,” Hiromi said, voice low. “A different girl in every photo. The question is, who was she really? And why did she vanish without a trace?”

Masuda looked back up at him, face unreadable.

Hiromi tapped the photos one more time.

“Someone slipped this into the file, chief. No initials. No trace. Just the names and these photos. That’s not random. That’s someone telling us where to start.”

He let that sit for a moment.

And then, like a hammer to glass, he added, “I think we’re not looking at a disappearance. I think we’re looking at something worse. And someone out there, someone who knew her. Wants us to dig.”

Masuda didn’t answer right away.

But Hiromi could tell by the way his fingers tightened around the edge of the envelope.

The case is open now. Whether the department liked it or not.

Ꮺ ⋮ TAGLIST OPEN ! comment to be added to the official list of this series (in the making) —

@ratedrrrr @barbare2 @artist1936 @tojis-ball-sack @mangiswig @levimaids @poopooindamouf @ukhtlindi @gremlinartstudio @stardustquills @kingshitonly @levifiance @sakanelli-afc @theanaoevre @yu-uwu @personally4runa @indiewritesxoxo @sunahsvt @sakanelli-afc @ivy-vivii @gojoslovelylover @sukunaslilsocks @amberbrevily @eolivy @miniv1x3n @grignardsreagent @noooo-onee @penguinotapioca @ladytamayolover @getomeatrider01 @lucilles-witchery @van9lla

˚ 　 ⤹ 　 ❝ ©twstedfreak | all rights reserve to the owner. . . . do not plagiarize, steal, translate, or modify my work

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uhohdad · 10 months ago

Text

(18+) ♡König♡ Voiceline Inspired Drabbles

“Who else is with you?”

Jealous!König Shows Ghost Who Reader Belongs To

WARNING: ABUSIVE & NON-CONSENSUAL THEMES

“I can hear them with you, don’t even think about lying.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

Your response was meant to sound nonchalant, but it comes out wavered and squeaky. Shaking fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt.

“Who is it?” König demands, but you both know he already knows the answer.

“It’s- it’s just the guys,” You mumble into your phone, shoulders braced and lips pulled back in unease.

“Of course it is. Is Simon there?”

“Who ya talking to, bonnie?” Soap asks, and you give him a panicked push on his chest in an effort to shut him up.

“Come home, right now.”

König’s tone leaves no room for argument. Grit and threatening, it sends a chill down your spine and raises the hairs on your neck.

Your lips part to speak, stammering through your sentence.

“I- I’m not driving, I cant-”

“You have twenty minutes.”

The line cuts off, the phone shaking in your rattling hands as you pull it in front of your face, staring at it with wide eyes.

“Simon,” You utter, “You have to take me home, now, please.”

The car goes silent, the light atmosphere sucked from the car the moment your frantic words cuts through.

“What’s wrong?”

“I- nothing,” You say, eyes darting to the side, “Just-”

You cut yourself off, debating whether or not you should tell the truth, scrambling for an excuse, but your mind draws a blank.

“You have to take me home.”

“Lover boy?” Simon asks.

Your silence confirms his suspicion. You wince, knowing this is being filed in his ever-growing ‘Reasons to Hate König’ folder.

“Simon, please,” Your plead is made of only breath, fingers fidgeting beyond control.

Simon says nothing, the car suffocatingly silent. He continues driving, not so much as activating his turn-signal.

Your voice picks up vigor, the desperation palpable, “Simon- Simon, please. Take me home.”

“No.”

The car sucks in a collective breath, only the hum of the engine filling the taut, awkward air choking you all.

“Simon,” You whine, your eyes pinch shut and your hand rests on your collarbones, “Please.”

Soap raises a brow, lost, “What’s wrong?”

“Lover boy doesn’t like it when our dove has a good time,” Simon answers gruffly.

You unclip your seatbelt, sticking your head in between the two front seats.

“Simon, you have to take me home, now, please.”

He says nothing, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Simon!”

Without thinking, your trembling hand darts out to grab the steering wheel.

“Sit back!” Simon demands, the car swerving in its lane as he bats your hand away.

The sudden harshness in his voice makes you flinch, eyes wide and your hand retracting to your chest. It is not a request between friendly co-workers after hours, it is an order from your Lieutenant.

“Now,” He says, glaring you down in the rearview mirror.

At once you shrink in on yourself, shoulders slouching and eyes fixated on your shoes as you sit back in your seat.

The burn of Soap’s stare is searing, he’s looking for an explanation, but you can’t meet his eyes, too busy swallowing the shame of Ghost’s scolding and the fear of your boyfriend’s fury. Your stomach is twisted in knots, breaths shallow and knee bouncing to expel the nervous energy.

When Simon pulls into the pub’s parking lot, you whip your phone from your pocket as you scramble to order a ride, but Simon snatches your phone from your hands and ignores your objections.

“Simon, please! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“I’ll handle it,” Simon grits without looking over his shoulder.

He gives you a look piercing enough to make your knees knock together. You swallow, unable to find the strength to argue.

After a few drinks, the energy of the group has relaxed, but you’re still fidgeting, darting your eyes around and trying to keep the beer in your stomach instead of throwing it up from pure nerves.

You freeze when you see him yank open the pub’s door, hard enough he nearly rips it off the hinges. Your heart stops, your mouth parts, wide eyes locked onto him. He scans the pub for a moment before he finds you, wearing those scary, half-lidded, dangerous eyes that bore into you. From across the pub, his stare makes your stomach twist, and you have to stifle the urge to claw your way free from the booth and flee from predator eyes.

König crosses his arms over his chest, and tilts his head at you. An impatient finger taps his opposing bicep. Even from the other side of the noisy room, his message is clear.

‘I’m waiting.’

You swallow and look to the sticky tabletop, both your knees and your voice trembling when you speak.

“I gotta, I gotta run to the bathroom,” you mumble to no one in particular, shimmying awkwardly from the booth.

“König,” You start once in range, “I can explain, please, just let me-”

You cut yourself off with a gasp when he snatches you by the wrist with a crushing grip, forcing you to stumble over your own feet as you’re dragged out of the bar and along the sidewalk.

“König, please- I tried, I swear I tried, Simon just-”

König’s other hand grabs you by the waist with enough strength that bruises are surely to bloom at his fingertips. He ignores your writhing and winces of pain when he pushes you up against the pub’s dingy alleyway, blocking you in with his massive frame. His voice is hissed, his eyes devoid of any emotion other than rage.

“I don’t ever want to hear his name again. You understand me, little one?”

You choke, sputtering and stammering out syllables that will never get flushed out into sentences as his eyes narrow at you. Your body curls in on itself as he towers menacingly over you, his size alone more than enough of a threat to keep you compliant.

You nod, shaky but quick.

“Say it,” He growls.

“I understand,” You answer, just a squeak with words warbled in.

“Good,” He says, but you can tell by his tone he’s still not appeased.

A hardened hand snatches your wrists, pinning them to brick. Another yanks at the waistband of your jeans, ignoring your objections and your squirming legs.

“König, no! Here?” You whisper frantically, head whipping around to search for watchful eyes.

“You had the opportunity to come home. And you chose not to.”

He leaves no room for argument, a boot coming up to step on the pants bunched at your mid thigh, forcing them entirely to the ground when he plants his sole back on the concrete. You obey when he nudges you to suggest you free your ankle, and he wastes no time taking his cock from his pants.

You whimper when he presses himself to your panties, nestling between your lips with a grind.

He laughs, low and sinful in your ear.

“Already fucking wet, schlampe?”

A raspy grunt leaves him as he ruts his swollen cock against your panties.

“Just a little hure, whoring herself out for every man who pays you attention.”

You shiver at the vibration of his words against your chest, the tickle of his breath on your ear.

“Guess I’ll just have to remind you who you belong to.”

With your wrists pinned to the brick above your head, his other hand snatches your jaw with a tight grip. He forces your head to the side, sinking his teeth into the sensitive, exposed flesh of your neck. You can’t help the strangled cry that leaves you, and the hand on your jaw quickly covers your mouth, muffling your wails with his calloused palms as he leaves imprints of his bites on your skin.

He laughs into your slobbered skin, kissing over the tender indents in your flesh.

“Don’t worry little one,” He coos in a sickly sweet voice, “It’ll be over soon.”

Your whimper is stifled by his hand, but he gives your voice back when he reaches down to yank your soaked panties to the side.

“But you still need to learn your lesson, ja?”

He lets out a groan when the tip of his enraged cock swipes along your slick cunt.

“König, please,” You whine on a shaky exhale.

“Sh, sh, sh.”

König grinds between your lips, coating himself in your arousal before lining himself up. He is by no means patient, bullying half of his cock inside of you on his first thrust. Your head lulls forward, sniveling in his hold as your cunt stretches around his greedy cock.

He grunts through clenched teeth, pulling himself from you only to thrust mercilessly back in.

“Take this cock like a good girl,” He grits.

He finds a steady pace, hardly letting you adjust to his size before he’s fucking more of himself into you, your arousal soaking his throbbing cock.

“You want to act like a hure, hm?”

He leans in, letting go of your wrists to pick you up by your thighs, and gives you a stint of particularly brutal thrusts, your tits bouncing degradingly against your ribcage as he fucks you further into the bricks.

He snarls at you.

“Then I’ll treat you like a fucking hure.”

With your hands free, you’re clawing at him, trying to expel the overwhelming sensation of him robbing you of your tight, sensitive cunt. White knuckling his shirt and digging into his chest with your finger nails, pathetic whimpers leaving your lips.

“See? You can barely handle me, hure. You don’t need anyone else.”

You suck in a sharp breath when you hear bootsteps echoing at the end of the alleyway.

Sprung eyes lock with Simon, standing still in his spot, watching you get pounded against the wall.

König laughs, low and truly gut-wrenching. He doesn’t even have to look to know Simon’s there. As soon as he’s aware of his presence König doubles the pace of his thrusts, forcing his entire cock into you and filling you to the brim with each bottom out. His brute cock, his mound slapping against your clit, it turns your moans choppy and unrestrained as you succumb to the pleasure, the pain, the humiliation of knowing your Leuitenant has a front row seat to your punishment, watching König demean you and have his way with you.

You’ve gone entirely limp in his hold, intoxicated and cockdrunk, only able to focus on his ruthless cock ravaging your dripping cunt, the feeling of being stretched and filled, the burning eyes of Simon at the end of the alley.

“Alles meins,” He growls strictly, “Got it? All mine.”

You nod, stuttered moans pouring from your lips without thought. His grip on the back of your thighs tighten painfully in threat.

“Say it.”

“A-All yours!” You cry, lulling your head against the brick in defeat.

The pleasure is building in your lower abdomen, an electric and exponential euphoria taking control of your body, every muscle tensed and shaking.

“Tell your Lieutenant who you belong to.”

You twitch in his hold as he pushes you over the edge, not letting up in the slightest, cruelly abusing your g-spot as he works out every last wave of your overwhelming finish.

“König!”

♡ Jealous!König Makes A Bet With Reader ♡

♡ König Drabble Masterlist ♡

Dividers by the lovely @strangergraphics

523 notes · View notes

xuchiya · 10 months ago

Text

"Let's count" || drabble || song mingi

Mingi had you in his lap as he had his earphones on, working on a song that he thought of while you played on the switch that Seonghwa gave you on your birthday. As your character flew of the track, your body slump on Mingi as you sigh in frustration; having to play the round over and over again. You have been playing for over a hour and half which it has been long since you got to the studio.

As much as you want to know what your boyfriend's occupation, you were curious as to how he does the beat and how he perfectly time them with the vocals and other beats.

So with a gentle tap, Mingi turned to you with his eyes open, curiosly and asking you through his eyes, "I'm curious how you do it..." You spoke, pointing at the screen. He turns towards the screen then back to you.

"Well it's quite complicated to explain but i'll simply explain it for you." Your heart fluttered at how considerate he was. You nodded, enthusiastically. With the sudden boost of excitement in your nerves, you adjusted yourself on his lap to get yourself more comfortable as you always do whenever you wanted to digest a new skill or topic.

That is until you later, realise what you have been doing and slowly glance at Mingi's hard gaze. Mingi had no time to open his mouth to tell you to stand up so he could adjust the seat but you already had yourself wiggling on his lap, awakening what is not supposed to be awakened.

And he had to swallow a thick groan as your ass swipe exactly on his dick.

"I- ... Uhm let's go to it?" You awkawardly chuckle, turning to the screen with your back leaning a little further from him. Mingi scoffs, placing back the headphones in but only with one ear covering, then trapping your body between his and the table as his fingers run across the keyboard and the other gripping the mouse tightly.

You felt him closing the gap, his chest pressing on your back as you watch the cursor moves towards the blank music bar.

"Before we start, you know time signatures right?" you nodded, as you watch him open a file where at least few files with the names of time signatures are written. he opened the folders and click the first file and soon, by the speakers you heard the beats going off.

"But how do you know that the beat is that kind of signature?" you turn leaning on your left to glance at his face, he looks at you with a smirk, "Usually it is discussed but in cases like this, you come up with a beat that is suitable to your taste."

Mingi pressed the spacebar and you felt your head nodding at the beat of 4/4. Your mouth formed a 'o' shaped as you realized that they do based on this beat to create a fantastic, upbeat music.

As Mingi explains the beats, you couldn't help but be slightly distracted what is poking you underneath. Every time you moved, you felt his dick going in between your sweats and between your cheeks, some time it would nudge your aching pussy as he would lean forward or backward. You were more than slightly distracted now.

"...are you even listening?" Before you could answer that you were, you felt Mingi's large hands gripping your waist as he leans on your ear, his usual tone, now dropping to a lower and sensual one.

"maybe this could help you ... understand more."

as you knew Mingi having the biggest dick you have seen and usually you two would be fucking like rabbits in broad daylight in your apartment. Whether it would be him, drilling your pussy in a missionary position, your legs were on your sides as you were both chest to chest; you screaming so blissfully in his ear as your pussy glisten from the multiple creampies he gave you.

Or when you were both in the kitchen, having your legs thrown over his shoulders as he rams in and out of your velvety walls as knead your sides or boobs in his warm palms.

Or it would be him, riding him by the balcony. Your back facing him as you bounce yourself on his dick, creating such lewd sound as the sun sets over the horizon; behind the other buildings.

Either way, his dick still makes you flinch from how big he is.

"One..." You felt the tip slowly entering you as guides you down lower and lower on his dick. You whimper, gripping his forearms.

"Two ..." You gasped before following a sensual cry as you felt his fingers on your clit, rubbing in eight motion slowly.

"Three ... sweetheart, we're not even halfway." You threw your head back as it become too much and it always felt like that. Being full even if it was still few inches in but that's Mingi and his huge drill gun.

You heard Mingi took a deep breath in before sinking you further into his dick, "... four."

"Mingi~"

His chest rumbles as he chuckles dryly, "We still have more things to ... cover and we're just getting started."

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usagii-bun · 25 days ago

Text

𝐝𝐫.𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 ‧₊˚ part 2 | fluff

╰┈➤ fem reader. reader is alhaitham’s patient (this may be a bit self indulgent hehe). mild flirting. fluff. attempt at comedy, just a drabble ig, i love alhaitham fr— WAH a part 2 ?? masterlist

part 1 | part 2

Unknown Number: Hi. This is Dr. Alhaitham. I received your results. Are you available to come in tomorrow?

Your heart skips a full beat.

Wait. Wait.

You reread the message about eight times, thumb trembling over the screen.

Dr. Alhaitham. Dr. ALHAITHAM.

You never gave him your number. Not directly. The clinic must’ve had it on file from your intake paperwork. Still—why did he text? Shouldn’t it have been the nurse? Or the front desk?

Your brain spins in three different directions while your thumbs hesitate, hovering mid-air. What tone do you even take with a man who has seen your bloodwork and your undereye bags?

You: Hi… yes, I’m free. Is everything okay?

You don’t expect a reply right away, but the bubbles pop up almost instantly—like he was waiting. Watching the clock.

Dr. Alhaitham: I’d rather explain in person. It’s nothing urgent. I just… want to speak to you myself. Tomorrow at 10?

You stare. Blink. Re-read. “I just… want to speak to you myself.”

Butterflies launch a full-scale riot in your stomach. Your cheeks go hot. You’re squealing internally as your thumbs tap out a response that’s way too calm for how your heart is behaving.

You: Okay. I’ll be there. Also… is this your personal number?

A beat.

The kind of beat where you spiral. Where you consider throwing your phone across the room, just to escape the weight of your own message.

Your face is burning. Why did you ask that? Why did he use it?

The silence stretches until it starts to ache. And then—ping.

Dr. Alhaitham: Yes.

A full-body meltdown ensues.

You collapse back into the couch like a Victorian woman being told her corset’s been outlawed. He gave you his number. He texted you himself. He wants to talk to you personally.

Tomorrow cannot come fast enough.

The Next Morning…

You show up to the clinic early. Too early. You pretend you’re just organized, but really you’re anxiously clutching your water bottle like it’s a lifeline. You tried to look effortless—pulled-together, but not obvious. Cute, but not trying too hard. Just… normal. Which is laughable, considering the amount of time you spent choosing earrings.

The nurse checks you in with a kind smile. You sit in the waiting room, leg bouncing, rehearsing responses in your head.

Then he appears.

Alhaitham steps out from behind the frosted glass doors. Still in his lab coat, still maddeningly unreadable. But when his eyes find yours—there’s a flicker of something. Recognition. Warmth. Something quieter.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

You could swear—swear—the corner of his mouth twitches, like it’s tempted by a smile.

You follow him in.

The exam room is quiet, neat, humming with soft fluorescent light. You take your seat. He opens your file, but doesn’t look at it. His eyes stay on you.

“I didn’t want to go through the receptionist this time,” he says, voice quiet. “I thought it might make you anxious.”

You blink. The words take a second to land. “Oh. That’s… kind of considerate.”

“Also,” he says, finally glancing down, “your iron levels are low. You’ll need supplements. I’ve written the prescription.”

He slides the slip across the desk like he’s handing you a secret. You take it carefully, like it might crumble.

Silence.

The kind that sits heavy. The kind that means something.

He closes the folder, slow and deliberate. Leans forward just slightly, elbows braced on the desk, fingers laced.

“You didn’t tell me you’d been feeling this way for a while.”

You look away, shoulders curling in slightly. “I didn’t want to be dramatic.”

“You said you were a Victorian woman,” he deadpans.

You smile despite yourself, soft and a little sheepish. “Okay, but that’s just my personality.”

He watches you. Sharp eyes, steady and assessing—but not unkind.

Then, gently: “I don’t think you’re dramatic.”

You suck in a breath, caught off guard.

“I think you’re… overwhelmed. Tired. Maybe not used to being taken seriously.”

Your throat tightens. You bite the inside of your cheek. Something inside you shifts.

“I just treat patients,” he says. “But… I remembered you. More than I expected.”

Your heart slams once, hard. “…Why?” you whisper.

He shrugs, gaze not quite meeting yours. “You made an impression.”

Your grip tightens on the paper in your lap.

And then—his voice drops lower: “If you feel dizzy again… or if anything gets worse—don’t wait. Just message me. Directly.”

You nod, silent.

And as you leave—hand curling around the doorknob, heart thudding in your chest like it’s trying to break free—his hand comes to rest gently on the small of your back.

Warm. Steady. Certain.

You freeze. Just for a breath. His palm lingers there like it belongs, grounding you in the quiet between heartbeats. You swear you feel the heat of it radiating through the fabric of your blouse, straight into your spine.

You try not to melt. Try not to show how much that simple touch undoes you.

Then, just as your breath begins to hitch, he leans in slightly. Not too close. Just enough that his voice slides in low, just above a whisper.

“Go home safely.”

His hand slips away—slowly, deliberately. The loss of contact is almost startling.

You turn, instinctive, eyes finding his.

And he’s already looking at you.

Not blankly. Not politely. No, his gaze is sharp and unreadable, steady and direct. There’s something in it—something knowing—that makes your breath catch and your fingers tighten around the cold metal of the doorknob.

You swallow hard.

You manage to nod. Maybe say “good bye.” You’re not sure. Your brain’s short-circuiting.

You take one step out.

Two.

You don’t even make it to the end of the hallway before your knees buckle slightly. Not enough to fall. Just enough to feel the ghost of his hand still lingering on your back.

11:41 p.m.

Your room is dim, bathed in the glow of your phone screen. You’re curled up in bed, overthinking the day in painful HD. You keep replaying every word. Every glance. Every almost-smile.

You haven’t messaged him. Even though he told you to.

You want to. But courage, it turns out, is fictional after 10 p.m.

Then—your phone lights up.

Dr. Alhaitham: Are you awake?

You sit up so fast you almost concuss yourself on the headboard. Your heart stumbles. Hands fumble.

You: yes?

A pause.

Dr. Alhaitham: Sorry if this is strange. I just remembered something you said the other day.

Your pulse is in your ears. You clutch your phone like it might float away.

You: Which thing? (The Victorian woman part?)

A longer pause. Bubbles come and go.

Dr. Alhaitham: No. The part about collapsing into someone’s arms. You joked. But I keep thinking about it. Wondering if someone’s ever really done that for you.

The air leaves your lungs.

The world stills.

This isn’t a joke anymore.

You: No one ever has. Why?

A minute passes.

Then:

Dr. Alhaitham: Because I think you deserve to be caught. Even when you’re not falling.

You sit frozen in your bed, the blanket bunched around your waist, the silence loud in your ears. His words wrap around you like warmth. Like something you didn’t know you needed.

Then, another message:

Dr. Alhaitham: Sorry. That was unprofessional. Good night.

But you can’t stop staring at the one before it.

“Because I think you deserve to be caught.”

The School Auditorium – 10:07 AM

The lights are too bright. The hum of the overhead fluorescents buzzes against the high ceiling, competing with the chorus of second-graders who are very much not using their indoor voices. You’re wrangling your chaos crew down the aisle—two are arguing about who’s taller, one’s asking if astronauts eat soup, and another is trying to lick the back of their own nametag.

You’re functioning on three hours of sleep, a half-drunk coffee that went cold in your cup holder, and the sheer force of whatever maternal instinct allows a person to stop a glitter spill midair.

You don’t notice the man walking onto the stage at first. Not until the noise cuts.

The chatter dies so suddenly it’s eerie—twenty-five small heads pivoting in unison toward the front like a hive mind has seized them.

You look up.

And your brain short-circuits.

There, standing at the center of the stage, is a man. Clipboard in one hand. Other tucked neatly into the pocket of a lab coat. He’s tall—really tall—built like someone who definitely doesn’t trip over his own feet, and carrying himself with the kind of effortless confidence that makes you feel like you’ve shown up underdressed to your own job.

He’s calm. Polished. Crisp lines and clean edges. A quiet authority that makes even the most fidgety of your kids fall still.

Alhaitham.

Dr. Alhaitham.

Your doctor.

Your heart leaps to your throat and lodges there.

He scans the room slowly, methodically. Dispassionate and professional—until his eyes land on you.

And pause.

Just for a second.

But it’s enough. Your breath catches. Your stomach does a little somersault, unprompted.

You are suddenly painfully aware of the state you’re in: oversized cardigan, mystery glitter on your left sleeve, your hair pinned back with a pencil because someone borrowed your last claw clip. There’s a child gripping your leg like it’s the mast of a sinking ship.

He starts to speak—something about germs and handwashing and healthy habits—but you don’t really hear it. The children do. They’re captivated. Spellbound.

You’re just trying to remember how to breathe.

The talk ends after what feels like a hundred years but also three minutes. You start herding your class toward the exit, one hand on a shoulder, another plucking a crayon from someone’s mouth.

And then your phone buzzes.

You glance down.

Dr. Alhaitham : You didn’t tell me you were a teacher.

You stop mid-step. The world tilts slightly.

You read it again.

You: You didn’t tell me you do school tours.

The reply comes so fast you know he had the message half-written already.

Dr.Alhaitham : I don’t. I only agreed because the principal is a patient. Didn’t expect to see you. (Or twenty-five second graders clinging to your legs.)

A breath escapes you—half laugh, half disbelief. Your heart’s still racing, but it’s a little lighter now. Warmer.

You: Yeah well… you might have cracked the case. That’s why I was always sick. Kid germs are no joke.

You watch the typing bubble appear. Disappear. Appear again.

You can feel the deliberation behind it. He’s thinking. Rethinking. Overthinking. You know the feeling too well.

Then finally—

Dr. Alhaitham : I get it now. All the coughs. The dizziness. The stress. You were holding together an entire classroom by sheer willpower.

You stare at your screen, throat tightening.

Something about the way he says it. The way he sees it.

Then another ping.

Dr. Alhaitham : You’re… kind of incredible, you know. Even with stickers on your pants.

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound that leaves it. A sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scream.

Because you look down—and yep. There they are.

Two sparkly dinosaur stickers on your thigh.

And suddenly, you don’t feel quite so exhausted anymore.

—usagii’s note

I wish alhaitham was real :(

#alhaitham genshin #al haitam x reader #genshin x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham x female reader #alhaitham x reader #genshin impact alhaitham #fluff #genshin impact #drabble #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham x you #alhaithamdrabble #genshin masterlist #genshin fluff #alhaitham genshin impact

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pretzel-box · 8 months ago

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OMG THE LITTLE DRABBLE YOU WRITE FOR SEBASTIAN WHERE READER ACCIDENTALLY GAVE HIM A LOVE NOTE INSTEAD OF THE FILES HE WANTED WAS SO GOOD!! can you please try to recreate it as a fanfic ? Love your writing btw :3 (also can it please be fem!reader?)

Tags: Established Relationship [Marriage], Fluff, Comfort, Motivational Notes

Words: 1k

Sebastian spends most of his precious time reading files, listening to annoying human visitors and scavenging. The last name was something he enjoyed since it was so simple and relaxing.

On this particular scavenging run, things were different. He hadn’t come across anything remarkable for a while, letting him feel a wave of frustration run over him, but then, tucked away in an old storage room, he found a file cabinet half-buried under debris. It was unlocked, and inside were files, all marked as unimportant or abandoned.

He hesitated for a second, figuring it was nothing more than outdated reports or useless data. But something compelled him to grab a few of the folders and stash them in his pack. Who knows? Maybe he could find some clues about the facility’s history, or something he could use against Urbanshade.

After the long trek back to his shop, Sebastian settled in, tossing his gear aside and grabbing a drink before collapsing at his cluttered desk. He didn’t bother with the files at first, instead leaning back, glancing at the framed photo on his desk.

It was of you, standing by his side, beaming that radiant smile of yours. He traced a finger gently over the frame with a small, rare smile tugging at his lips. The two of you had been through hell together, but despite everything, here you were—still by his side, still the one constant in his life.

Sighing, he leaned forward, flipping open the first folder from the stack he’d brought back. But instead of the usual boring documents he expected, he found something else—a small, folded note.

"Seb, I know you're probably frustrated right now, but I just want you to know how much I love you. You’re stronger than you think, and you’ll get through whatever this is. Remember that, okay?"

Sebastian blinked, caught off guard. He stared at the note for a moment, his fingers brushing over the paper as a warmth spread through his chest. He recognized the handwriting instantly—it was yours. But what was it doing here?

He reached for the next file, flipping it open with more curiosity this time. Inside, he found another note:

"When you feel like the world is crashing down on you, remember that you’re the one who holds us together. You’ve always been my hero, and you always will be."

A chuckle escaped his lips as he read the words, shaking his head in disbelief. What were these doing here? He sifted through more of the files, each one containing more of the same—small, handwritten notes from you, each one filled with love, encouragement, and sweet little reminders of how much you believed in him.

"I know you’re tired, but don’t forget to take care of yourself. Drink some water, take a break. I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re ready to come home."

“You mean everything to me, Sebastian. Don’t ever forget that. Even on the days you feel lost, I’m right here beside you."

His heart swelled with every note he found, the exhaustion from the day’s work slowly melting away. He could practically hear your voice in his head, soft and comforting, as if you were sitting right next to him.

He laughed softly, shaking his head in disbelief. Of course you’d do something like this. You always knew how to surprise him, even in the smallest ways. He could imagine you sneaking these notes into various places around the Blacksite, knowing full well that one day he’d find them. You were always thinking ahead, always finding ways to make him smile, even when he didn’t think he had the energy for it.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. He couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, a little less burdened.

Grinning, he stood up and moved to the back of his shop, grabbing two mugs and setting them on some boxes that served as tables. He heard the soft patter of your feet as you came down the ladder that led to the small loft in his shop where you usually rested, and soon enough, there you were, walking into the room, rubbing your eyes from a nap you’d taken.

“Hey,” you said, smiling as you stretched your arms over your head, an action that he always loved to see you did it. “What’s with the grin?”

Sebastian just shook his head, watching you with a fondness he rarely showed anyone else. “I found your little scavenger hunt,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

You blinked, confused for a moment before realization dawned on your face. “Oh, you found them?” you asked, a playful glint in your eye. “Took you long enough.”

He walked over, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close, his forehead resting gently against yours. “You know,” he said softly, his voice full of affection, “you’re a pain in the ass sometimes.”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. His body was cold as always, making you feel cooled down but his actions had a comforting warmth to it as if a weighted blanket was laid upon you. “Yeah, but you love me for it.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I really do.”

The two of you stood there for a while, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the world feeling a little less heavy in that moment. Eventually, you pulled away, glancing over at the files scattered on the table.

“So,” you teased, “how many did you find?”

“Enough to remind me I married a complete sap,” he replied with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, leaning up to kiss him, your lips meeting him and you could feel him lean closer. “Well, someone’s gotta keep you from brooding all the time.”

Sebastian chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “Guess I’m stuck with you then, huh?”

You smiled, resting your head on his chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “You’re stuck with me.”

And for once, Sebastian didn’t mind being stuck at all.

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #roblox pressure #sebastian solace fanfic #pressure #pressure x reader

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sentient-rift · 5 months ago

Text

New Friends from Christmas

"Yay! It's the Christmas Season again! I'm so excited!"

"So am I, Terios. I do enjoy the smiles on peoples faces when they receive the gifts I give them..."

"I enjoy how much kinder people become during the season."

"I like that, too, Mr. Klonoa. I also love making new friends on the Holidays. Emerl said he plans to introduce me to Miss Milla real soon. Speaking of which, I met a new friend recently while Miss Goober went through one of those portal things again."

"Aw, you did? Leave it to Cream to make a new friend! Where are they?"

"Oh, he's nearby. He's just a little shy is all. Go ahead! Say hi. They won't hurt you, I promise!"

Stepping out of the shadows was none other than...

"Hey... Isn't that...?!"

"Hello... Everyone..."

Wait, what?! Infinite?! How did he get here?! Stay tuned to find out.

#folder file (drabble)#merry christmas #character select (ic)#new muse coming soon #child like shadow android (terios)#don't worry! I can fix it! (Mr. Tinker)#wahoo! (klonoa)#pure heart bunny (cream the rabbit)#bring hope to humanity (emerl)#prince of Sega castle (paradox prince Sonic)#phantom ruby master (infinite)#early bird cameo #shangtusianheroes

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fallen-symphony · 10 months ago

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"CHYA HA HA HA HA HA!!! We have all four of those meddling females on radar, Lord Brevon! We can attack them whenever we want now!"

"Four...? I only remember three females thwarting my plans."

"Oh... I forgot to mention... They had another female join them when I was stuck on their planet..."

"Oh, great... They're multiplying..."

"General Serpentine, don't forget that you can't just attack whenever you want. Wait for my orders first."

"The only orders I take are from Lord Brevon! Besides, you let Scourge go to fight against that key wielding Sonic whenever he wants!"

"That's because punishment is always waiting for him when he gets back..."

Right on cue, Scourge returns.

"(BLEEP) IT, (BLEEP) IT, (BLEEP) IT!!! WHY CAN I NEVER BEAT THAT KEY WIELDING FREAK!?!?"

"Ah, Scourge. You went to fight Prince Sonic without my permission again, I see. You know what that means, right?"

"Hah! Go ahead and sick Rosy on me! Obake's upgrades allows me to use my Super Form even longer! I'm indestructible!"

"...Obake."

Scourge's Super Form suddenly deactivated. And what's worse, the energy drain that Obake originally took away using the special bracelets he invented returned with a vengeance.

"Wha... What the (BLEEP)...?!"

"Sorry, my friend, but I'm not willing to be erased from existence on your behalf. That's why I had to manually deactivate your upgrades."

"That... That ain't fair, man..."

"Now, with that settled... Rosy, be a dear and smash your Scourgey poo for me, please."

"With pleasure, Slurry! I've prepared a very special head smashing for you, Scourgey! Don't worry... IT'LL ONLY HURT A LOT!!!"

"Oh (BLEEP)...

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

R.I.P. Scourge.

#folder file (drabble)#character select (ic)#“CHYA HA HA HA!” (General Serpentine)#wanted space tyrant (Lord Brevon)#Symphony no more (Slur.EXE)#“All hail the king baby!” (Scourge the Hedgehog)#“And now for a new experiment!” (Obake)#“LET ME CRUSH YOU WITH LOVE!” (Rosy the Rascal)#freedom planet #megaman battle network #sonic archie comics #big hero six #shangtusianheroes

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hoe4almondmilk · 2 months ago

Text

Lucky 🍀

Sonny Carisi x Reader

an: No warnings! Just cuteness. I used @creativepromptsforwriting Drabble list #10, prompt #23 to write this!

You rushed around your condo, trying to find clothes to put on. Today was your day off, but of course, Sonny rushed this morning and forgot to grab his lunch and Manila folder for the upcoming case he had been working on. He would normally manage without lunch, opting instead for a bagel from the bodega, but he needed that file urgently. SVU had an upcoming trial, so Sonny has been working out of the squad room for the past couple of days.

You two didn’t live together, but Sonny would occasionally spend the night and, without fail, would almost always forget something. You were no stranger to going down to Sonny’s office and bringing him his missing items, but today was different. You had never been to Manhattan SVU. You actually hadn’t met any of his coworkers. Not for any reason in particular, you and him had only been dating for a few months now, and he didn’t enjoy talking about work so much in his free time; there hadn’t really been an opportunity to do so.

You made sure your hair looked decent and did your normal makeup. Since it was warm out and you were going to have quite the walk, you opted for a plain white tee, jeans, and a pair of sneakers. You wanted to look nice but not too nice and overdo it. You texted Sonny that you were on the way and headed out.

You looked up at the rather tall building, a little intimidated by all of the people coming in and out of the building. You walked in, and you made sure to keep a tight grip on the file and the sack lunch you had. You made your way into the office that read ‘Special Victims Unit’.

“Here we go, you muttered to yourself. You weren't sure as to why you were so nervous all of a sudden.

As you walked in, you noticed the front desk was unoccupied. You slowly walked into the room a little further. As you walked in, you caught the eyes of a rather tall woman with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“Hello, can I help you?” She said, approaching you with her full attention.

You made a small gulp, as the other people at the desks glanced over. A blonde woman and an older black man.

“Oh, hi. My name is (y/n). I was dropping these off for Sonny.” You showed her the file and brown paper bag.

She raised her eyebrow. “OH! Carisi?” It took Kat a minute to realize who you were talking about. “I’ll go get him, one sec.” She made her way to a rather large office in the back.

You waited awkwardly and got on your phone to text your boyfriend.

“Heeeeelppp. I feel so awkward.” You texted Sonny.

“Who do you think that is?” Amanda whispered over to Fin.

“Not sure.” He replied. “What do you think she wants with Carisi?”

Both of them attempted their best to not make it look like they were talking about you.

Amanda looked over at you. “She’s super cute, though. Thinkin’ she might be his girlfriend.” Amanda said as she continued to eat her cup of yogurt.

“Damn, Carisi must got some game pullin’ a girl like that.” Fin chuckled.

Not that Amanda and Fin didn’t think Carisi could date a girl as beautiful as you, but Carisi was quite the awkward guy outside of his ADA title. One time at Forlini’s, Amanda joked about giving Carisi’s number to a girl he said was cute and freaked out and got all flustered.

Kat knocked on Olivia’s door, opening it as she heard Benson tell her to come in. Carisi was sitting in the chair in front of Benson’s desk.

“Carisi, there’s a woman out there asking for you.” Kat said. Carisi bounced up the chair. “Crap, that’s (y/n).” His phone was silenced; he felt so bad making you wait.

Kat furrowed her brows, “(y/n)?” Still confused.

“My girlfriend.” Sonny smiled as he walked out of Olivia’s office.

“Damn.” Kat said as she watched Sonny give you a hug and peck on the lips. “I didn’t know Sonny was dating a model.”

Olivia walked over, curious. She poked her head out. Kat wasn’t exaggerating. You were beautiful. Not just looks wiseeither; you had a beautiful aura around you. She could see how lit up Carisi was seeing you. Olivia usually had a pretty good read on people.

“Thank you so much for bringing this over.” Sonny said as he took the file and lunch from your hands and put them on the desk next to Amanda. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Sonny grabbed your hand and walked you over to Amanda and Fin. You shook their hands, the three of you introducing yourselves. After chatting for a few minutes, Sonny took you to Olivia’s office.

“Capt’ and Kat, this is (y/n).”

“It’s great to meet you, (y/n).” Olivia said as she gave your hand a firm shake.

“Nice meeting you.” Kat smiled.

“It’s nice meeting you two. I’ve seen you on the news before. This is surreal. I think the work you all do is amazing.” You gushed.

As you were talking to Olivia and Kat, unbeknownst to you, he was observing you interact with his coworkers. He was just so happy to see how fast you got along with everyone. He couldn't help but smile. It was refreshing to see you fit in so well, and he felt a sense of pride knowing that everyone seemed to like you.

“I should probably get going.” You said to Sonny. “I’ll let you all get back to it. It was nice meeting you all.” As everyone was saying their goodbyes. Your boyfriend offered to walk you out. You smiled at him, feeling grateful. “Thank you,” you replied softly, stepping closer as you both made your way to the door.

Are you sure you don’t want me to call you a cab or anything?” Sonny offered. “You walked out this way just for me.” You could see guilt wash over his sweet face.

“I’ll be okay walking. It’s really not that far! It’s a gorgeous day.” You replied with a grateful smile.

Sonny pulled you into a hug, his hands on your hips. I owe you big time for today, doll.”

“Dinner’s on you then.” You responded before you kissed him. Sonny made sure to stand and watch you walk away until he couldn’t see you anymore for safety.

As Sonny walked back into the squad room, he noticed that the squad was in a group around Amanda’s desk. “What’s going on here?” he asked curiously.

“Girlfriend? Sonny, you never told us you had a girlfriend.” Amanda sassed.

Sonny’s face lip up like a Christmas ornament. “I guess the topic never came up.” He replied shyly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“When you got a woman like that, you would think the topic would come up more!” Kat joked. “The bragging would never end.”

"Where, when, and how did you two meet?” Amanda asked curiously.

"This sounds like an interogation." Sonny chuckled as he made his way back to Benson’s office.

“Because it is.” Fin retorted.

“Alright, alright. I’ll invite her to Forlini’s sometime then. That work for everyone?” Sonny jokingly pleaded.

Amanda, Fin, and Kat all looked at each other and nodded their heads.

“Works for us.” Amanda chuckled. “Friday night.”

As Sonny closed the door to Benson’s office, he couldn’t help but smile. Thinking about how incredibly lucky he was.

#law and order svu #svu #svu fanfic #svu x reader #dominic sonny carisi x reader #dominic sonny carisi #sonny carisi/reader #Sonny Carisi x reader

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dimlylittorch · 5 months ago

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sighhhh the silco brain rot is real. i need him like i need air. he’s on my christmas list.

My Masterlist🌱

Silco x transmasc!chubby!sweetheart!assistant!reader

extension of this drabble

this is very ‘by me, for me’😀 so reader may not cater to everyone, forgive my self indulgence. IT ENDED WITH ANGST I’M SORRY. THIS IS PART 1, THERE WILL BE MORE I PROMISE

You had been working for Silco for a few weeks now, and to be quite honest you liked your job. He treated you well, the pay was good, and considering you lived in Piltover it was nice to see a whole other world that you never knew much about.

Silco had taken a special liking to you- it was clear to anyone no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Let’s just say he liked to keep you on a short leash. He felt more comfortable when he had you at his side, more at ease. Of course, you were such a sweet little thing you never even noticed. He’s very nice to you- maybe he’s just a great boss, right?

He initially had planned on having you as more of a trophy, not really expecting you to do any real work. But much to his surprise you took your job seriously. On your first day you’d walked in with your own satchel bag, notepads and pens at the ready for whenever he needed you. Having people at his disposal was a common thing for him, of course. But having someone be so eager to work for him? It made his chest stir in ways he hadn’t felt in years.

When you were in the room, his eyes were always following. He couldn’t help it. You were like a swan surrounded by geese- you stood out beautifully compared to everyone else in the Undercity. Whether it be your topsider clothing or your kind features, it didn’t matter. You kept his gaze all the same.

One thing he adored about you was your clothing to be honest. Everything you wore was soft and clean, nothing like the others. You weren’t here to fight, so no need to dress like it, right? You were oblivious to how often he had to kick someone’s head in before walking back into his office to give you a faint smile and nod before discussing business. The first time you wore a turtle neck he swore his heart stopped. A brown turtle neck with earthy green pants and brown boots. When you saw the look on his face as you pulled your jacket off, you paused.

“I’m sorry- I meant to ask you if Earth tones were okay” you say softly, gaze laced with worry that you’d done something wrong. “I can go home and change if it’s not the office attire you had in mind-“ you start to say, but he quickly cuts you off.

“It’s fine.” He says simply, but his heart was hammering in his chest. “We don’t have a dress code.. just as long as you look nice.” I murmurs before he takes a puff of his cigar, trying to seem nonchalant- but in reality, he didn’t ask anyone else to look nice. Only you.

His words made a smile form on your lips, as sweet as always. “Of course- I think I can manage that.” You say sweetly.

He had gotten you your own desk in his office of all places. He always wanted you within arms reach if possible. Anything you requested he got for you. Although he had to make it seem like he was begrudging about it, in reality he had it ordered within a day.

You had been sitting at your desk, sorting a few papers into different folders before glancing over at him. “Do you think.. maybe I could have a filing cabinet?” You said softly, your voice quiet but he heard it clearly throughout the silent office.

“Whatever for?” He muttered with faux annoyance.

“Well- it would make keeping track of the files a lot more convenient. I can make them more easily accessible for you that way.” You say tentatively. “That is- if you plan on keeping me for long enough to set it all up.”

He’d tensed at your last words- the thought of you leaving making his blood pressure spike. “I’ll see what I can do.” Let’s just say you had a filing cabinet next to your desk the next day.

He’s always hesitant to have you do any work that involves you talking with other people. You’re not used to how rough they are, and he’d hate for his favorite little assistant to get dirtied by some street rat. He does find that you do well with his other workers. It’s often the same case as him- they have to maintain their image, so they act like they don’t like you. But in reality they do appreciate a non threatening presence every once in a while.

He had snapped at one of his men that were rude to you, even though you had simply smiled and taken it before making yourself scarce. He came up to you later and told you he’d ’handled it.’

“Assistant” he murmurs as he walks into his office, slamming the door behind him. You were sitting at your desk with your sleeve rolled over your hand, resting at the corner of your eye as you keep your gaze on your paperwork. You might’ve shed a tear or two.. who can blame you? These people were much scarier than you were used to. Silco certainly didn’t. He walks over to your desk, standing next to the filing cabinet and leaning against it while taking a puff of his cigar. “The moment someone has a problem with you, they have a problem with me.” He says quietly, his tone laced with a little layer of venom. “Be a good boy and let me know the next time someone misbehaves, hm?”

One night you end up staying in the office later than you had expected to, grabbing your bag and heading out the door. When you realize how late it is you hesitate, seeing how the streets were full of all kinds of.. people. Lucky for you Silco was just coming back from some business, raising and eyebrow when he sees you outside by yourself at that time of night.

“Assistant?” He questions quietly as he slips out of the alley way and into the light. You flinch slightly, but quickly relax and smile when you see that it’s him.

“How was your meeting?” You say sweetly as you stand in the doorway to his office, completely unaware that his ‘meeting’ was just settling a score or two.

“Business as usual” he murmurs as he moves to stand at the bottom of the small step. “And what, might I ask, are you still doing here?”

When he’s only a few inches in front of you, you feel your face flush slightly. You smiled wider, hoping he wouldn’t notice it. “I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.. I suppose I’ve gotten used to you kicking me out at quitting time” you chuckle.

“Hm” he hums as he glances around, noticing the stragglers wandering down the dark streets. “I’ll walk you home.” He speaks, leaving no room for argument. You couldn’t refuse, could you? So you simply followed him down the winding streets.

“I’m sorry to make you walk me all the way up there..” you murmur faintly as you both stroll along at a leisurely pace. It was easy to walk without fear when he was next to you.. no one would dare come up to you- or him, for that matter. “But I really do appreciate you.”

He doesn’t miss the way his heart skips a beat when he hears your words. ‘You.’ You could’ve easily said ‘I really do appreciate it.’ But you said ‘You.’ It drove him up the wall knowing how the smallest things you did and said made him feel like a teenager again. “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t walk you home..” he murmurs while taking a puff of his cigar.

And of course, his words make your heart skip a beat too. He could’ve easily said ‘boss’ instead of ‘man’. But he didn’t. He saw himself as more than your boss. You liked that. More than you thought you would. You felt stupid for letting yourself get worked up something so simple.

Once he’d walked you to the elevator that led up to Piltover, you both stopped at the door. Keeping your eyes downcast shyly, he couldn’t help but let his eyes trail over you, hands slipping into his pockets as he tosses his cigar and steps on it, oozing as much confidence as usual. It was hard to hide the way your cheeks were burning slightly. When was the last time a man was nice enough to walk you home?

He knew you’d be safe from here.. no sense in going up with you. He starts to turn away to slip back into the dark streets, but before he can you grab his arm, keeping him from leaving. He tenses, slowly looking over his shoulder to meet your eyes, his eyebrow raising questioningly.

When you realize what you’d done you quickly let go of him, but not before straightening out the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m sorry.” You say quickly. “I just-“ you add, trying to think of something reasonable to say. When you can’t think of anything.. you decide to settle for the truth. “You’re a really.. good man.” You say gently as your eyes meet his own.

The second you had grabbed his arm, every nerve in his body was on fire. You’d barely touched before, and it was something he didn’t know he needed so desperately. When he hears your words, he can’t help but stay quiet for a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had said he was good, let alone complimented him. And your honesty? He adored. He didn’t know anyone that dared be honest with how they felt. “I don’t think you know me very well if you think that.” He says quietly, trying to make his voice uncaring. His eyes glance down at his sleeve where you’d just touched him.. he swore he could still feel your hands on him.

“You’re kind to me.” You say softly. “And you listen. You’ve never yelled at me- not to mention you walked me all the way over here..” you murmur.

He could hardly believe his ears. Yes, he had been especially nice to you. But for someone like you? That should all be the bare minimum. “Do you always get emotionally attached to your employers?” He snaps, taking a few steps away from you.

Your heart freezes at his tone, quickly taking a step back yourself. “I.. I thought-“

“Perhaps you should try to be an adult.” He says firmly as he adjusts his shirt where your hands had been. “Whatever you’re thinking- get it out of your head. I don’t pay you to think, do I?” He mutters coldly as he starts walking down the alleyway.

Leaving you standing there was one of the hardest things he’s done. He couldn’t show weakness. He couldn’t let you worm your way into his heart. But you already had. And he’d just ruined it all.

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iggyshippingcorner · 2 months ago

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1: alpha/alpha stobotnik (pre-canon) (word count: 1600)

[ here is my drabble for the poll from the other day! features: alpha stone, alpha robotnik, the death of an unnamed assassin (not super graphic), and robotnik's lack of care for stone's personal space. ]

When Agent Stone was assigned to Dr. Robotnik, he’d already heard enough rumours and hearsay to build a comprehensive dossier. Impossible to work with. Workplace hazard. Dangerous, a bully, a lunatic, aggressive. Uncontrolled. Several of his fellow agents, of multiple designations, had told him in confidence, huddled in the breakroom, that Dr. Ivo Robotnik was the most impossible alpha they’d ever had the misfortune of working with. An actual mad scientist. I mean, he’s brilliant, but he’s a right asshole. I heard Holly retired right after working with him. They actually let her leave, set her up somewhere in Mexico. And she only made it a week!

Stone had absorbed as much of the gossip as he could, compiling it all in a neat folder in his mind. He used to pride himself on his network of “friends” in GUN, people who were eager to share workplace drama with him because they didn’t see him as a threat. He’d never felt the need to posture or preen like the other alpha agents-- always found it far more useful to allow others to underestimate him, get comfortable with his neutral scent and his calm demeanour. Plus, if he’d been an arrogant, bull-headed alpha, he never would’ve been selected for Dr. Robotnik’s security detail.

The official facts, passed down to him from on high, are as follows:

Dr. Ivo Robotnik is a genius inventor, and one of GUN’s most prized assets, despite the fact that his contract with the organisation is about as sturdy as sand. His allegiance could be swayed with a strong enough tide, and GUN knew it.

GUN wants any possible crumbs of proof that Dr. Robotnik is working with foreign agencies or diplomats or anything suspicious, so that they can force him to take a more permanent contract.

Dr. Robotnik is a paranoid, highly territorial alpha who rules his den lab with an iron fist. His security detail has the highest turnover rate GUN’s ever had the misfortune of paying for. In the nine months Dr. Robotnik has been contracted to work with GUN, he’s gone through sixty-three agents from varying levels.

The longest lasting bodyguard assigned to him was another Special Agent with a lengthy military career and a knack for quiet violence. A beta, the file reports. GUN thinks he will fare even better-- counting on his status as an alpha to not be run off by Dr. Robotnik’s posturing.

( They want him to approach the doctor with a firm hand and a calming alpha smile. He’s done it before, technically, played at subterfuge and designation politics in the name of the US government. He could certainly do it again, but he knows without stepping a foot in Dr. Robotnik’s lab that it would certainly fail. )

Stone’s first few days on-site are some of the most fun he’s had since he was snapped up by GUN recruiters. The doctor is easily the most fascinating person Stone has ever met. His lab is sleek and impossibly modern, filled with technology that begs to be admired and praised. Every surface has been meticulously scent-marked, to the point that Stone suspects the doctor of using a synthesised pheromone. Maybe the drones come through and mist the place after hours. There is a very strict “no touching” policy on most worktables, equipment, and the doctor himself. Stone commits every rule to memory as he familiarises himself with the lab and his circuit through and around it.

Dr. Robotnik pays little attention to him, seemingly, while he does his rounds. Stone catches glimpses of him working on a gutted chassis in the centre of the work floor when he passes through the main lab, back always turned, head lowered over the metal carcass suspended on the rig. Sometimes he’s welding, huge goggles pulled down over his face. But Stone feels eyes on him everywhere in the lab. If it’s not Dr. Robotnik’s heavy, critical gaze on his back, it’s the curious, back-lit eyes of his many drones as they drift through the lab on their own missions. More than once, Stone has found a drone hovering just beyond his shoulder as he patrols the grounds outside the lab, a silent proctor as he scans the treeline and keeps himself a moving target.

Beyond the initial hazing attempt-- the doctor crowding him against the door and purposefully, aggressively scenting him before withdrawing and beginning to recite the lab rules at his slowly blinking visage-- Dr. Robotnik hasn’t spoken more than ten words to him by the end of the first work week. He gets the occasional comment as their paths cross but nothing beyond brief acknowledgment and dismissal. But that’s better than being thrown out on his ass, so Stone doesn’t falter. He continues patrolling, continues keeping his scent as bottled up as he can, continues his attempt at becoming a nearly invisible presence on the outskirts of the doctor’s senses.

The start of his second week is marked by a haphazard assassination attempt (!) that Stone takes joy in putting a bloody stop to. It’s a rare moment where he’s unaccompanied by one of the doctor’s drones, something he’ll later wonder if it was intentional, and the assassin is attempting to scale the shadowed back wall of the lab. Must’ve snuck in past the treeline. Stone watches impassively for a few seconds as the man clambers up onto the awning and begins trying one of the windows of the second floor. His gun is sitting comfortable and accessible at his hip, but he hasn’t had a good fight in too long, and a long-dormant protective urge is just beginning to stir inside his ribcage. He takes another look around. No drones. No view from the driveway. Just a camera up where the third story wall meets the overhang of the roof.

The would-be assassin doesn’t even realise he has company until Stone levers himself up onto the awning enough to circle a hand around his ankle and yank. He goes down with a choked yell, and Stone drops down to the ground below as the assassin topples over the side of the ledge. He hits the ground with a satisfying thud, and Stone takes pleasure in planting his foot on the cretin’s wrist, pinning it. He crouches to divest the assassin of the gun at his hip, dropping more of his weight on the fragile bones beneath him. Idiot’s still dazed by the fall and the surprise. Stone waits until comprehension finally dawns on him before flicking the safety off of his requisitioned gun and pressing the muzzle against the soft give of the man’s carotid artery.

“If you scream,” Stone drawls, letting go of his genial, polite mask in order to stare down at the rapidly widening eyes of the man beneath him, “I will blow your brains out.”

The man’s face twists in defiant anger, and his scent flares pungent and offensive. Stone wrinkles his nose even as the man snarls and makes a grab for the gun, which, really? It’s like no one trains assassins anymore. Stone squeezes the trigger as one hand fists around his tie, and the sound of the shot is louder than he would prefer for the relative silence surrounding the lab. He idly hopes the doctor soundproofed his main work room, and isn’t disturbed by the gunfire. Maybe Stone can get this all cleaned up and have his report together by the time Dr. Robotnik bothers to come looking.

He stands up, flips the safety back on. Deep breath, smelling blood and smoke and fire. Stone shakes himself slightly, letting the mask slide back over him as he leaves the body sprawled in the dirt in order to slip into the lab to search for cleaning supplies.

He’s just located the first floor maintenance closet when Dr. Robotnik’s voice comes from behind him. Stone turns and stands at attention, nose twitching slightly as the slightly acrid scent of motor oil and myrrh washes over him.

“You were in the Marines.”

It’s not a question, but the doctor doesn’t follow it up with anything else, so Stone inclines his head and replies, “Yes, doctor.”

There’s the faintest suggestion of a smirk on the doctor’s face. He draws closer and closer to Stone, who tilts his chin up and bares his throat in the most open display of submission he can manage, with the rapidly dwindling space between them. “Did they teach you that in the Marines?”

Stone blinks slowly, offers that polite, closed mouth smile he’s honed over the years, both curious and reserved. “Sorry?”

Dr. Robotnik scowls. “Don’t play cute, agent. Are you going to clean up your mess?”

Stone nods, and very bravely stands his ground when the doctor reaches out to straighten his tie, which was still slightly rumpled from being so rudely grabbed. His hands are warm, even through all the layers separating them. Stone takes careful, measured breaths, letting the doctor’s scent fill his senses as he tucks the tie back into place. Instead of taking his hands back when he’s done, Dr. Robotnik jabs a finger against his chest, hard enough to press Stone backwards into the doorframe. “Good. I don’t need GUN thinking I need more of you wretched government dogs sniffing around. One of you is enough.”

And then he turns and disappears down the hall, leaving Stone off-kilter and slightly breathless in his wake. If Stone ducks his head to sniff at his adjusted tie, catching another whiff of the doctor’s usually close-kept scent, well. There’s no one else around to judge him.

#stobotnik #iggy fic tag #abo #fic #yippee! finished this in mostly one sitting today and then cleaned it up for posting :3 #hope to get another one out tmrw before work... if all goes according to plan

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waynes-multiverse · 1 year ago

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Polaris – Chapter 1

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, angst, hints to a slight drinking problem, mentions of murder, serial killers, divorce & death, set after & before the events of season 3

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Welcome to another series, loves! I'm so excited to share this one! 🤍 You may read the Dirty Drabble that inspired it first, but there's references to the events of it throughout. Enjoy, babes! 😉

Huge special thanks to @blackcherrywhiskey, @deans-spinster-witch, @roseblue373 & @ladysparkles78 💚 for kicking my ass to write a whole series from that little one shot. I know y'all wanted me to bring the smut, and while I certainly did that, I couldn't resist bringing the angst. And well, once that angsty stone started to roll, it couldn't be stopped and downhill it all went... 😝 I usually do slow burns, so starting off hot and going in reverse for once was such a fun change!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 1: Caught Up In A Moment

September 2023

One. Two. Three.

At the third knock, your bare feet sprinted to the motel room door from the bathroom, a towel still in hand as you dried your damp hair.

“Coming!” you called out and twisted the knob, opening the door with a keen smile.

Beau stood in front of you in all his glory – washed jeans Sherpa jacket, a button-up in your favorite color, and some tight denim clad his muscular bow legs. That man always effortlessly took your breath away when he really shouldn’t.

A cocked brow graced his features as he eyed you from head to toe, a smile twitching on his plump, kissable lips underneath the scruffy beard. “You open the door always like this, darlin’?”

The familiar drawl made your knees weak. Back home, the accent was nothing special, but his deep timbre of a voice that made your bones tremble surely was. The combination of the two was heaven-sent and hell-bent.

“I just got out of the shower.” You shrugged innocently, your golden halo swinging with your sinful hips.

As you rubbed the rest of your hair dry, your black silk robe swayed with the movement of your legs before you leisurely discarded the used towel on your bed and waited for the handsome sheriff to follow you inside.

“Brought you something,” Beau said and wiggled a thick folder over his head as he walked in, closing the door behind him with a kick of his boot. He ceremoniously slapped the file on the small desk in your room.

Your lips curved into a sly grin. “Oh? Almost feels like my birthday, Mr. President.”

Beau let out a hearty laugh, showing off the endearing crinkles around his shimmering green eyes. “I think you’ve got something confused there, darlin’. It was Kennedy’s birthday.”

“Huh, so I’m the president and you’re my Marilyn?” you teased.

“Oh, I’ll happily be your Marilyn,” he said with a cheeky smile.

As your fingers eagerly leafed through the file, you could feel Beau’s breath fanning against your neck as he came to stand behind you, shiny leather boots plodding on sordid motel carpet. The hair on your skin saluted him as goosebumps rose.

You could smell his cologne as it tingled your nose, bergamot and cedar mixed with a hint of vanilla flooding your senses and washing a sea of memories into your mind. Memories you wished were lost and never found.

Postponing the deep dive to tomorrow, your eyes only skimmed over the contents of the folder. But just as you suspected, the victimology and modus operandi were all too familiar. You’d seen this before, and it wasn’t good.

You’d be here for a while.

“And?” Beau’s voice broke you from your thoughts before you felt his fingertips softly brushing the flesh on your hips. An electric shudder ran down your spine at his touch, your mind on the fritz.

“Definitely my jurisdiction,” you replied and closed the file.

Moaning with pleasure, you felt his lips on your neck, kissing a pathway down to your shoulder. One of your hands wandered up and tangled in his thick, luscious locks, grabbed and tugged until he groaned against the shell of your ear. You still managed to blab about the case with strained concentration.

“There’s been similar cases in, uhm… Texas… Utah… Colorado… Wyoming… and now here.”

“Hmm,” Beau hummed, not letting himself be disturbed. The vibrations of his voice thrummed against the column of your throat.

Your cunt clenched; you could feel the rising wetness between your legs and the growing bulge against your ass.

A large hand brushed stealthily across your stomach and snaked past the silk fabric to grab a generous breast, squeezing the tender flesh and tweaking the nipple between his thumb and a finger. His hardening cock pressed at the crack between your buttcheeks, your arousal dripping down your thighs.

A second palm wandered to your front but was bound southward this time. His digits pried apart your folds, two of them running through your slick with a growl in your ear before slipping inside your pussy. A whimper left your lips as you braced your palms on the surface in front of you for support, your legs threatening to buckle under the pressure.

But Beau wasn’t going to let you fall, his grip like a vice around you as he held you flush against his chest, hot breath tickling your earlobe and beard burning your cheek. You moaned his name with a few expletives as he thrust his fingers in and out of your soaked channel.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn wet. Want you to come for me,” he husked into your ear and pushed his erection even more against your ass. Your pussy clenched around him. “Yeah, that’s it. Squeeze those fingers like you’ll squeeze my cock… It’s been too fucking long. Wanna finally fill you, darlin’.”

“God, yes,” you whined in agreement as the coil in your belly tightened with each plunge into your heat.

He curled his knuckles and expertly thumbed your clit, making you cry out. His strokes became harder, your breathing grew labored. Your body quaked with each thrust, cunt throbbing around his fingers.

“Fuck,” you moaned as the heel of his palm rubbed your clit, igniting the fuse to the fireworks in your belly. Your explosion could be seen in the sky from miles away without binoculars.

“I gotcha,” Beau whispered as a strong arm wrapped around your ribcage, your pussy pulsing with his fingers deep inside you. Brushing your damp hair to one side of your neck, his teeth sunk into your shoulder as you steadied in his embrace.

“You’d think as the sheriff, you’d care a little more that a serial killer is running around and murdering citizens of your county,” you teased breathlessly.

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Beau said simply, removing his wet fingers from your drenched cunt.

You lifted an eyebrow at him and bit down on your lower lip. “No?”

“Nope, not since you’re here,” Beau quipped and kissed your shoulder blade. “I know you won’t rest till you got that bastard all nicely cuffed up.”

You huffed a laugh. “Wow, you’ve got a lot of confidence in me, huh?”

“You betcha. Got nothin’ to do with confidence, either. I just know you, darlin’,” Beau stated with a cocksure grin and palmed one cheek of your ass as he rutted against you.

“Beau, fuck… I still have to lock the folder into the safe,” you managed to say, your mind in a haze of desire as your pussy whined in starving anticipation.

“C’mon, who’s gonna steal it, huh?” he muttered against your skin. “Would be a damn fool to break into a room with a sheriff and a federal agent.”

“You can never be too careful,” you argued lightly.

“Says the woman who can’t lock a damn door,” Beau sassed with a chuckle and threw you a raised look as he spun you in his embrace.

You laughed, your cheeks blushing when you were reminded of your little unfortunate adventure at lunch. Your arms draped around his neck as his hands wandered to your lower back, the two of you gently swaying from side to side.

“I’m sorry, okay? I told you. I thought it was locked.”

“Uh-huh.” Beau chuckled, shaking his head. “You’d think with all those criminals running around, you’d know better.”

“Look, the Academy doesn’t technically teach us how to lock doors, just how to kick ‘em in, alright?” you retorted. He pecked the tip of your nose, flashing you a grin. “Is your deputy, okay? I felt bad. He looked traumatized. You know, he couldn’t look me in the eye when I left.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Beau laughed and rubbed his bearded chin before his palm moved back to its original place on the small of your back. “As soon as his shift was over, he bolted straight outta there. But Papa Smurf will be fine. Don’t worry about it,” he assured you with a warm smile that could melt several hearts. It sure did yours. “You do know, though, I’ll get teased for this, right?”

“I know.” You laughed and buried your face in his chest upon Beau’s playful glare. He pursed his lips as his cheeks flushed with color before placing a kiss on your crown. “I’m sorry. Maybe no one knows?”

“Y/N, this ain’t Houston. This is a small town. Everyone knows by now,” Beau reminded you with a small laugh.

Guiltily, you looked up at him and bit your lower lip, one corner of your mouth tugging upwards into a smirk. “I’ll make it up to you?”

“Oh?”

On tiptoes, you then nuzzled your nose against his, hands traveling from his neck to his cheeks as you tenderly caressed his beard and felt his breathing quicken. Your gazes locked. You got lost in pine green.

His fingers played with a wet strand of your hair, a smile fluttering on his mouth as he tucked it back behind your ear. His palm wandered to the back of your head and pulled you to his lips. The first kiss was tender and hesitant, like a kid testing the temperature of the ocean with its big toe before fully diving inside and getting carried away by the waves.

The kiss grew needier and rougher as he pushed you back until you hit the edge of the small desk in your room. Effortlessly, strong arms lifted you on the surface, your bare buttcheeks feeling the worn wood underneath. It was too easy for you two to fall back into an old rhythm.

“This is very handy, by the way,” Beau said with a smirk as his fingers opened the loosely tied bow of your robe and revealed your naked body underneath.

“Thought you’d appreciate it,” you purred as he slid the silky material off your shoulders, letting it billow around your waist.

“Oh, I do, darlin’,” he rasped, his voice loaded with lust, nibbling along your jaw. His mouth wandered down to your throat, sucking the skin purple and blue before he claimed your first breast, his tongue rolling over your nipple until it peaked.

“Fuck, baby,” you whimpered breathily, your head lolling back as he worshipped your body, running a river of kisses from your collarbone to the end of your ribcage. “Need you inside me, please.”

It had been so long, you had almost forgotten how good he was at making you come undone. Or better said, you had tried to forget it on purpose.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” Beau growled huskily in your ear.

Cupping his cheeks, you needily brought him back to your lips, your breathing ragged between a dance of tongues. His kisses were addictive; one taste and you were hooked. Consumption became an obsession.

Your hands climbed down his body, unbuckled belt and unzipped jeans, palming his massively hard cock that only grew even larger in your hand. Everything was indeed bigger in fucking Texas.

While you popped every button of his maroon shirt, he slipped out of his jacket and boxers, his erection springing against his stomach. It was perfectly wide and long, dangerously able to stretch you to your fullest. Your mouth watered, the taste of him still fresh in your mind.

His shirt joined the graveyard of clothes on the floor as your legs wrapped around his waist. He positioned his head at your waiting entrance, catching your gaze as he pushed inside, sheathing his cock fully in your soaking channel.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he groaned and rested his head on your shoulder as he momentarily stilled when he was at your deepest. He inhaled your scent and memorized every note like a love song. His lips bit and soothed your skin in a vicious cycle. There was no escaping him.

His harmless words caused a sting in your chest, however, cutting deeper than any knife could. You tried to ignore the dulled pain, reminding you of your oath to keep it casual this time. Your heart couldn’t get dragged back into his mess. Once was enough for a lifetime.

Beau had a punch list. You had a forget-about-him list.

A part of you doubted your decision to come here. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe no amount of time would ever be enough.

Beau grabbed you tightly and carried you to the bed, your legs still wrapped around him, still connected with him inside of you. Your back touched the light sheets underneath you as his weight heavily laid on top of you, pressing him further into you until you felt him at the spot you loved so much.

“Oh, fuck,” you mewled as he moved your thigh over his shoulder and thrust even deeper inside of you, filling you to the brim. It felt like he had remembered every move, everything you’d ever loved.

His hips then began to snap faster. Harder. He bottomed out each and every time. You felt him everywhere, your nerve endings catching fire as the flames inside you rose, climbed and burned down walls.

Beau could feel you were close, and he was right there with you. His hand snaked between your sweat-clad bodies and found your sensitive spot once more, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit till he pushed you over the cliff and you lost sight of the shore.

Ocean. Waves… Your boat capsized and got lost in them.

His lips sought out yours. His kiss was deep and passionate and lasting as his hips stilled, spilling his release inside of you with a guttural grunt. Your muscles trembled, your pussy tight and throbbing around his cock, and yet, still craving more. He was the worst drug you’d ever known.

As he slipped out of you and rolled next to you, both of you were panting heavily on the mattress. You stared at the water-stained ceiling above you, your skin glistening and sticky.

Chuckling, Beau ran a hand through his hair and whistled lowly. “Man… this was… wow,” he said and opened his arm, inviting you into his embrace.

“Yeah,” you breathed in agreement, your cheeks flushed as a blissful smile haunted your features. As your head rested safely on his chest, you listened to his heartbeat, steady and reliant, and concentrated on his tender and calm caresses on your arm.

“You know, I really did miss this,” he told you and placed another affectionate kiss on top of your head.

“Me too,” you admitted quietly and felt your heart crack a little more.

“You know, this kinda reminds me of that night in that shabby motel in Mexico,” Beau reminisced with a soft laugh. “Not Juárez but, uhm… Culiacán! Minus the food poisoning.”

“Sure as hell taught me to never eat tacos from some shady street truck again, no matter how hungry a stake-out makes me,” you agreed, chortling.

“Yeah, pretty damn sure that wasn’t beef,” Beau added. “Tasted like armadillo.”

Amused, you lifted a brow. “How do you know what armadillo tastes like?”

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know,” he replied and shuddered in disgust to drive the point home.

Laughing came easy with Beau. During stormy times, his heart was your lighthouse, burning in the distance. But then, it suddenly wasn’t one day, swallowed by fog and leaving you surrounded by darkness. Walking down memory lane also reminded you of that – the times when your tears could fill an ocean.

Moving out of his arms, you left the familiar and irresistible warmth and grabbed one of your navy FBI shirts from your duffel bag, pulling it over your head. Soon you found a pair of gray sweatpants as well. With each clothing item, you added another layer over your heart.

Beau watched you get dressed in silence, feeling you pull back from him. His heart twinged with anguish; his soul throbbed with longing. It was rare that he was at a loss for words, but you had a habit of leaving him speechless.

Softly, he cleared his throat to catch your attention and get you out of your head. “I meant what I said today, you know? I want you to stay, Y/N. Even when this case is over. I was serious about that.”

“I know.” You nodded, an amused snort involuntarily escaping your throat. “Just hard to believe, I guess… especially with Carla being available again.”

You bit your tongue and closed your eyes as the words slipped out of your mouth. You didn’t mean to, but it did.

“Y/N–”

You quickly turned around and faced him, doing your best at damage control. “Beau, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Beau said and shook his head.

He grabbed his clothes from the floor, feeling his time with you quickly coming to an end. He wanted to at least be dressed in case he had to chase after you. He figured one naked public outing per day was enough for Helena’s sheriff.

“Look, let’s just talk about it. Get it all out in the open, alright?”

“Beau, really, I get it. You don’t have to explain,” you replied in an attempt to brush him off.

“Yes, I do,” Beau insisted as he slid back into his jeans and buttoned his shirt, his gaze drilling into yours and pleading with you. Rising from the bed, he stalked closer to you. “A lot’s changed since the last time we saw each other. I told you. I moved here to be closer to Em.”

You rolled your eyes back and scoffed. Carding a hand through your hair, you spun on your heel in disbelief. You had to take a moment before looking at him again. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Beau sighed and conceded, hands held high in defense in case you fired another shot. “Alright, I hear ya. Maybe that wasn’t entirely true… initially. But it certainly is now, alright? It’s more complicated than you think. It just-… There’s so much I need to tell you… Carla and I… that’s over. Resolved, okay? Trust me. You don’t need to be worried.”

“I’m not worried!” you lied. Badly, might you add, but you didn’t care if he believed you or not. You let out a deep sigh and tried a calmer approach. “Look, uhm, maybe this was a bad idea. We shouldn’t have–… We-, we got caught up in a moment. I mean, that’s our thing, right? It doesn’t mean anything. Let’s just concentrate on the case and then go our separate ways again, alright?”

“Don’t do this, Y/N. Don’t push me to the sidelines,” Beau contended firmly. “It does mean something. It never didn’t. You know that.”

“Do I? I didn’t push you anywhere, Beau. You’re the one who left,” you snapped and unapologetically shrugged your shoulders once the words escaped. You held back the tears that brimmed in your eyes. The afterglow evaporated. Soberly, you walked to the door and nodded towards the exit. “I think you should go… After all, it’s what you do best.”

Beau smacked his lips, his brow creasing as he averted his green eyes and thoughtfully glanced out the window, his hands resting on his squared-off hips. You knew it was a low blow, but you couldn’t stop yourself, either. It was the truth, and sometimes it hurt to hear it.

Nodding, he scratched his beard. “Alright, I’ll go, but we’re not done,” he said resolutely. Internally, you sighed. You forgot they grew quite stubborn in Texas, too. “Look, I know I’ve made mistakes. I screwed up a lot… especially with you. But I’m not giving up… He wouldn’t want me to.”

With that, he walked out the door. As it closed behind him, you exhaled a deep and long breath. Looking out the window, your eyes drifted from the parking lot and gazed up at the famous big sky above you.

You found yourself fascinated by the twinkling spots of light in the midnight blue. Pensively, you glanced down at your hand and twisted the golden band on your ring finger. Your eyes then found one of the brightest stars in the dark night sky, Polaris, hoping it would guide your sinking ship back home.

September 2021

“This is the most boring stake-out ever,” you complained and blew a raspberry in frustration, leaning back against the metal hood of the car as the Milky Way shone brightly above you and the cicadas chirped their song in the distance.

You had parked the SUV on top of a plateau in the middle of the Chihuahuan desert somewhere in Mexico, overlooking a cartel hideout, but far enough away to not be spotted.

“Yeah, I don’t think they’re coming tonight. We better check that intel again tomorrow,” Beau said with a sigh and took off his cowboy hat, laying it on the hood behind him.

“I’ll talk to my CI again,” you replied and sighed as well, your eyes feeling more tired than they’d ever been. It had been a long few months and sleeping wasn’t exactly high on your priority list.

Beau nodded and ran a hand through his hair, scratching his head in impatient irritability. He then pulled out a silver flask from the inner pocket of his Sherpa jacket and took a big swig.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “We’re still on the job, you know?”

He stared straight ahead, not daring to look at you as the crescent moon hung high above him. “Yeah, so?”

“Nothin’.” You shrugged, not wanting to start a fight or upset him. “Just noticed you’ve been doing that a lot lately. Since the funeral… It’s not like you.”

“Yeah, well, things change,” he said bitterly and took another sip.

“I worry about you,” you confessed quietly, the concern shimmering in your eyes.

At that, he finally turned his head and caught your gaze. “Don’t. You’ve got enough to worry about. You don’t need me on your list.”

“Well, it’s too late for that,” you said and sent him a small smile. “In fact, all I do is worry about you. You’re the only thing on the list, actually.”

“Hmm… I guess it’s nice to know that at least someone cares,” he muttered and drank again.

“Oh, don’t gimme that! Stop with the sulking and the feeling sorry for yourself,” you chided and sat up straight, getting a better look at him as you leaned your arms on your knees. “Did you talk to her since… you know?”

He threw you a sideways glance, lifting a brow. “Since we signed the divorce papers? Nope,” he replied and popped the p, taking another swig.

“Maybe it’s not too late. Just talk to her,” you repeated words you’d said a thousand times by now. “That’s all she wants, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Beau nodded quietly, a thick swallow stuck in his throat as he stared at the desolate landscape ahead.

“You talk to me about it. I’m sure Carla would understand,” you added.

“I talk to you ‘cause I got no choice. You deserved to know how I fucked up. ‘Sides, you were already knee-deep in this shit. No stoppin’ ya,” Beau said. His eyes found yours briefly before he averted his gaze again.

“I prefer shoulder-deep,” you joked lightheartedly. Then, the familiar heaviness returned, weighing down your chest, your heart aching. “Feels like quicksand around my throat.”

“Yeah,” Beau agreed quietly, tongue swiping across his lips. “That’s why I don’t want her anywhere near this. With Carla… I have a choice.”

“She’s a defense attorney. She’s seen some shit, you know?” you pointed out. “I mean, is it really worth losing your family over?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Beau said stoically. He then let out a humorless laugh that you couldn’t place before putting the flask to his lips again.

“Okay, enough. Gimme that,” you snapped and grabbed the silver container from him, swallowing down a big gulp. You grimaced in disgust, everything in your body shuddering at the awful taste. “Dear fucking Lord! What the hell is that?”

In response, he snorted and gave you a passive twitch of his shoulders. “Little bit of everything I could find in the motel minibar.”

“Ew! You’re pathetic,” you retorted with a crinkle of your nose and meant it partially as a joke. You had always bantered like this, but this time, he took you by your word.

“Yeah, that’s what Carla said, too,” he belittled himself.

“Okay, stop with the pity party. I can’t take any more of this sad face you’ve got going on there,” you remarked with a huff. It broke your own heart to see his shattered like this. You missed his sunny laugh and the endless bad jokes and the nonstop chatter. He’d always been a good man, despite this newfound darkness of his, and deserved better.

“Well, get used to it. It ain’t going anywhere,” Beau replied, much to your dismay.

“Fine,” you relented and let out a sigh.

Silence fell between you two, only filled by the cicadas and the coyotes roaming about. Thoughtfully, you stared up at the beautiful night sky and spied a shooting star, feeling almost silly for daring to make a wish.

“Randy always said you should fight for the things that are worth fighting for,” Beau’s voice finally broke the silence. “Never give up.”

You peeled your eyes away from the stars above and looked at him. You chuckled softly at the memory. “Yeah, that sounds like him. He was annoyingly persistent like that.”

“I just don’t know if it’s worth it, I guess,” he said quietly.

“Of course it is,” you insisted. “You love Emily and Carla. They’re your family.”

“I’ve let them down… I’ve let a lotta people down, actually,” Beau said, and you could feel his eyes on you from your periphery.

“It’s been a tough year,” you said sympathetically.

“It has,” he agreed soberly and turned his gaze to the night sky above you. “You know what star this is?”

“The North Star, right?” you guessed, following his gaze to the Little Dipper constellation.

“Yeah, Polaris. It’s fixed in the sky while everything else moves ‘round it. It’s supposed to help you find your way when you’re lost,” he explained. “True north.”

“You’ll find your way again,” you told him confidently and nudged his shoulder, giving him a small but encouraging smile. “No one’s blaming you for what happened, Beau, so give yourself some grace, okay?”

He nodded, swallowing harshly as he met your gaze. “Thank you.”

Confused, you furrowed your brow. “For what?”

“Not leaving when you should’ve…”

You smiled softly. “We’re friends… and trauma bonded. I’d never do that to you.”

Beau matched your smile, but you could see the tears stinging in the corners of his forest-green eyes as the sadness overwhelmed him. “Shit,” he cursed, burying his face in his palms. He sniffed.

Concerned, your brows drew together. You laid your hand on his shoulder and gingerly stroked his back. “Beau, what’s going on?”

“I can’t…” He struggled for words, shook his head. Whatever was on his mind, he refused to voice it. His lower lip quivered before he covered his mouth with his palm, running a hand over his beard. Then, a sad smile grazed his face. “You know, I always thought Randy was the luckiest bastard alive.”

“Why?”

Beau didn’t respond. Instead, he closed the distance between you until his lips crashed against yours. You were shocked for a moment, froze down to your core. But then your hands found his cheeks and reflexively pulled him closer, a magnet you had no power over.

His hands did much the same, needily roaming your body and holding you flush against his own. His tongue hungrily slipped inside and devoured yours, tasting like the contents of the flask. Tequila, whiskey, and vodka were only a few you could decipher, but now the aftertaste was heaven instead of hell.

The kiss lasted till your head spun, a lack of oxygen forcing him to withdraw. It could’ve been chalked up to a drunken misstep, a glitch in the fabric of the universe that could’ve been swallowed by a black hole just as suddenly as it happened. But for you, it was enough to turn your whole world upside down and toss your planet out of orbit.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, his breath ghosting against your lips. The further he retreated, the more you could see the battle raging in his mind. “Fuck,” he cursed and clasped his mouth with his palm.

He jumped off the hood and walked a few suicidal-crazed steps towards the cliff, his back standing like a tall wall between you. You watched his shoulders tense as his gaze drifted upwards to the sky. It seemed like he was praying.

Your fingers touched your kiss-swollen lips, hot and yearning for more. There was a tug on your heart, a rope lassoed around the muscle that pulled you to him.

“Beau?”

Your call of his name forced him to face you. An apologetic and torn look pervaded his features as he fought a combat in his mind and wrung with the feelings in his heart.

“It’s okay,” you said gently.

He met your eyes, a shimmer of hope in his as a glimpse of a smile twitched on his lips. Something you hadn’t seen in well over a year. It was so delicate, you weren’t sure it wasn’t a malfunction. A damn counterfeit.

“How?” His question hung from the moon with despair.

“I don’t know.”

He stared at you for a moment, the hesitation behind his eyes still prominent. You felt the magnetic pull again, and you could tell that he felt it, too.

And then, with a few strides, he was in front of you, hands in your hair as he claimed your lips in a scorching kiss that set your entire world on fire. You sunk into him, forever lost in a cosmos of green, sucked in by his gravity, air gone from your lungs, and feet never touching ground again.

Beau sat in his car in the quiet parking lot of the motel, his gaze wandering up to the night sky above as he thoughtfully rubbed his chin. His other hand rested on the steering wheel, fingers tapping.

The same old war waged in his mind. Guilt filled his heart and bubbled to the surface. He debated whether he should turn the ignition or knock on your door. He always felt torn, unsure if you were a mistake or the best damn thing of his life.

His green eyes then fixed on the North Star, praying it would show him the way to your heart once more. This time, he swore to whoever was listening that he wouldn’t lose it. He’d keep it safe.

‘Cause the first time he kissed you, it surely changed everything for him.

Chapter 2: No Signs, No Compasses – MAY 8

If you've caught my not-so-subtle hints throughout this, you can already smell the drama and angst this series has in store for you 😂

Any ideas who Y/N is yet? Let me know in the comments 😏🤍

Hope you enjoyed this smangsty introduction!

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