#making new posters for my fics until the end of the year instead of writing new stuff huhu

[vigilvntes]

Vigilante Hotline - Adrian Chase x Reader

A/N: hi. my brain works in mysterious ways and i had this idea earlier on when i responded to an ask and now here we are, three hours later with a silly little vigilante fic. it's literally just text interactions, vig's texts are the ones that end with 🧜‍♂️ (obviously). but yeah. i had a lot of fun writing this, and i'll be SO happy to write more if y'all want it?? idk. anyway enjoy i guess!

Warnings: mentions of groping/non-consensual touching (grabbing ass, etc), creepy men, mentions of violence/injuries, language (are we surprised), and just vig being generally unhinged as always. (let me know if i've missed anything!!)

Word count: 2.9k. oops.

Summary: You text in to Vigilante's 'Vigilante Hotline' after a bad encounter at the club.

likes, comments and rbs are very much appreciated <3

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You've heard of it, of course you have. It's the town's worst kept secret. The little side hustle that Evergreen's favourite local murderer-slash-vigilante (who's conveniently named Vigilante) runs at the weekend, when the clubs and bars are busy and the creepy assholes come out to play, preying on and harassing unsuspecting victims who, by the end of the night, are probably too drunk to even remember their faces when they wake up.

The cops know about it, too. They've made weak attempts to shut down his operation over the last couple of months, but really he's doing them a favour. They're already in over their heads with calls when the Friday night crowd hits the town's nightlife, so why not just let him operate under their noses? At least, for now. Until they can apprehend him.

So, yeah. You know of it, but you've never utilised it before, because truthfully you've never really had a reason to. You like to party, but your nights out are usually spent with your girlfriends, keeping a close watch on each other and avoiding interactions with men who look like they're bad news like the plague. It's a system that works, one that keeps you out of trouble and away from bad pick-up lines and hands where you most definitely don't want them to be.

Tonight is different, though.

Your friend bailed on you at the last second, a family emergency, and you were already dressed up, so you decided that instead of wiping off your makeup and changing back into your sweats, you'd go out anyway. What's the worst that could happen?

You soon found out that the worst came in the form of Brett Lucas. A guy you knew in high school, someone you haven't spoken to in years. He found you at the bar, used the shittiest lines you've ever heard, and then bought you a drink. You decided to entertain it, because if he was willing to fund your night, then why not? You kept your hand firmly over your drink while he made derogatory jokes about other women and commented on your body and your dress. When he asked you to dance, you agreed, hoping you'd be able to lose him on the crowded dance floor.

That didn't happen, though. Instead, he got a little too touchy-feely, kept his hands firmly on your hips and pulled your body close to his until he got brave enough to slide them on to your ass and squeeze. Hard. You freaked out, told him to back the fuck off, and instead of showing any remorse, he cussed you out. Called you a fucking slut and told you that you're a bitch for leading him on and making him think he had a chance at getting into your pants.

Now, you're standing just down the street from the club, staring at the oddly professionally made poster that's been flimsily taped to a lamppost, a little picture of the all-too familiar masked man that you've seen on the news and wanted posters right in the middle.

Vigilante Hotline

Have you been a victim of a fucking creep in a club who just won't leave you the fuck alone?

Did the guy at the bar use his worst pick-up line and then immediately assume that you're into him and it's okay to touch you without your consent?

Do you wish you could fuck them up without having to face the consequences yourself?

It's your lucky day, because I can fuck them up for you!

Text their name and/or a description to the number below and I'll make them wish their mom swallowed!

(This part is just to cover my ass so, if I accidentally beat up or kill the wrong person... my bad!)

You chew down on your bottom lip, looking between your phone and the poster. You've never really been a vengeful person, you've never wished harm on anyone or caused harm to anyone, but in this moment, it's tempting. You're a little bit tipsy, irate and unsettled. The one night you decide to go out on your own, and this happens? It's a little too tempting.

But is what happened enough to contact a guy who's known and wanted for murder? Is what he did enough to warrant the beatdown of a lifetime?

You sigh to yourself before slipping your phone back into your purse, deciding that it's not worth it. But as you begin to walk away, you remember his loud, jarring cackle whenever he cracked himself up at his own shitty jokes. The way his eyes never met yours, always trained on your chest or your thighs. His gross, sweaty hands roaming all over your body before they went to grope you on the dance floor, thinking you wouldn't react because you were surrounded by other people and it'd be too embarrassing for you to make a scene.

No. Fuck it. That asshole deserves it.

You spin around quickly and pull out your phone, adding the number to your contacts and quickly typing out a message, sending it before you can even give yourself another second to think it through.

'Hey. First time texting in. Need some help. Brett Lucas. White blonde dyed hair. Awful beard, doesn't match his hair. Around 5'9. Wearing a pink shirt and black jeans. Got handsy with me. Grabbed my ass on the dance floor. Don't kill. Just rough him up a little, please.'

You don't even have a minute to breathe before your phone pings. Fuck. Alright. He's fast.

'Sick. A first time user. Happy to help. Where can I find him? 🧜‍♂️'

'He was in Dazy Nights, downtown. You know where that is?'

30 seconds pass. Your phone pings again.

'Yep. Got it. Thank god for GPS. Don't worry, first timer. I'll fuck him up the ass so hard his he'll wish he'd never even been born, as advertised. Not literally, though. I'm not gonna actually fuck him up the ass. That'd be weird. But not because I'm homophobic. My dad is gay. More because he's a creep and he touched you inappropriately. 🧜‍♂️'

"What..." You mumble under your breath as you read the text, an incredulous giggle escaping you. This guy, whoever he is, is seriously fucked in the head, you decide. A little funny, too. But you can't complain too much. You contacted him, you made the choice to text his number and incite some indirect revenge. So you just shake your head, and text back.

'Thank you. I appreciate it. Again, don't kill. Just get him good.'

'Noted! No problemo. But if you ever do need me to kill, don't hesitate to ask, first timer. Seriously, I'm so down for it. Guys like that deserve it. 🧜‍♂️'

You decide to cut the conversation there, sliding your phone back into your purse. You feel a little sick to your stomach as you walk yourself home, guilt and regret stalking you the entire way, following you into your home and crawling into bed with you.

But as you lay there, wide awake, you remind yourself of what he said. Guys like that deserve it. And maybe he's right. Maybe this is for the best, maybe next time fucking Brett will think twice before making unwanted advances. Maybe you've saved someone else from the suffering the same fate as yourself at his hands.

That thought helps you sleep a little easier.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

Monday rolls around quicker than you'd have liked it to, and all you've been able to think about over the weekend is that short conversation you had with Evergreen's own Vigilante a few nights ago. You spent all of Saturday morning re-reading the messages. Saturday night was spent in front of the TV, with some rom-com you've been meaning to watch playing as background noise while you thought about the messages. Sunday, you tried to distract yourself. You went out for brunch with a few friends, but as soon as you made it through your front door, your mind wandered right back to him and that silly little mermaid emoji that made his threats of murder seem a little lighter.

You wonder if he actually did it; whether he made good on his promise to fuck him up so badly that he'd be wishing he was never born. Part of you hopes he did, that he managed to find that fucker before he made it home and gave him a beating he'll never forget. The other part of you hopes that he missed out on the opportunity, if only to subside the quiet, yet nagging, guilty conscience in your head.

Work is a welcome distraction from the weekends events. Deadlines that need to be met, lunch with your co-workers, and your micro-managing boss that never seems to leave you the fuck alone when you're trying to do your job. It's all incredibly exhausting and boring, but at least it gives you the chance to take your mind off of what happened at the weekend, and the masked vigilante that's been invading your thoughts all weekend.

You haven't thought about it all day, until you pull up to the grocery store after work, and you see him. Brett.

He hasn't seen you, you're safely locked away in your car, but you can see him. He's standing outside the store, cigarette in hand, talking to a guy who you can only assume is one of his friends – he looks like he's just as much of an asshole as Brett. From where you're parked, you can see the shiner of a black eye on his face, dark blue bruising that extends to his forehead. There's numerous cuts and scrapes on his cheeks, and it's looks like his lips have been completely bust up.

It makes you feel slightly ill, looking at him, knowing that you're the one behind this. But at the same time, you can't help but smile to yourself, feeling weirdly... satisfied.

You grab your bag and pull out your phone, unlocking it and scrolling through your texts until you find the chat with the contact you've named 'VH'. You stare at your screen for at least a minute, re-reading the short conversation from Friday night over and over again. You want to text him. Hell, you've found yourself wanting to text him again all weekend, and you can't quite seem to place your finger on why that is. What would you even say to him? 'Hey, thanks for doing at great job at fucking up that guy's face, I really appreciate it'?

With a sigh, you lock your phone, trying to kick the urge to converse with a vigilante to the curb. But before you know it, you're typing in your password again and sending him a 'Hey'.

You keep the chat open, but you make a point out of looking away from the screen, hoping that if you don't look, he'll reply faster. Minutes pass by, and you're slightly disappointed by the absence of the jarring pinging of your notification bell. Then you remember that he probably has a life outside of being Vigilante. He's most likely just a normal guy, with a normal job and friends and family, he probably doesn't spend all of his time checking whatever burner phone he uses to run the hotline.

Just as you're about to lose hope that he'll respond, your phone pings.

'Woah, hey. First timer's a second timer already? Did you get yourself into trouble just so you could talk to me? 🧜‍♂️'

It pings again, a few moments later.

'For the record, that was a joke. If you're in trouble again, I'm sure it's not your fault and I'm more than happy to help. Though I gotta remind you that I usually only do this hotline stuff on weekends, but I'd be more than willing to extend my hours. For you. What can I do for you? 🧜‍♂️'

You feel your face heat up, a grin beginning to creep across your lips as you read the two texts. 'For you'. That's oddly sweet. He's oddly sweet. You know what he's done, you know he kills people. You've heard the whispers around town, stories from the people who've been lucky enough break the law and survive one of Vigilante's attacks. Yet you can't help but be taken in by how... charming he is. Sure, this is only the second conversation you've had with him, but he's been so kind. Funny, too, in his own way.

The rush you get from texting him is intoxicating, and it only makes you want more. So you type out a response, and hit send.

'Nothing! I didn't get in trouble again. I wouldn't want you working overtime for me. But I did wanna talk to you. Just to say thank you for what you did for me. I saw Brett. You got him good. Gave him a real shiner of a black eye.'

Just a minute later.

'HA. Yeah. You should have seen it. He took a real beating. He cried like a fucking BABY. Begged me not to kill him. I made him apologise for harassing women, too. It was HILARIOUS. You were right about the beard, btw. Definitely makes him look even more of an asshole🧜‍♂️'

You're surprised to see a video loading up on your screen.

'He definitely didn't mean it, life or death situations call for desperate measures I guess. But at least you can laugh at him and his stupid fucking face. 🧜‍♂️'

Although you're hesitant to press play, you do so anyway. There, on your screen, is Brett. Beaten and bloody, begging for his life, and apologising through his tears for being a creep. Saying sorry for using bad pick-up lines, and objectifying women's bodies, and... groping asses on the dance floor. You freeze up when you hear that, a wave of panic washing over you. Does he... does he know that you're the one that sent Vigilante after him? Fuck. You didn't even consider the possibility that he'd put two and two together and figure out that it was you who texted in. You have to know if he knows, if Vigilante mentioned anything specific about why he went after Brett.

'You're right. That's funny. But I need to ask you something.'

'Anything! 🧜‍♂️'

'Does Brett know that I'm the one who texted you? Did you mention anything about me or what happened?'

You chew on your bottom lip as you await a response, and when you read his reply, you're more than relieved.

'Nah. I didn't say anything. I wouldn't. Vigilante-client confidentiality, and all that. He was the one that mentioned names. A whole list of them, actually. Kinda concerning how many women he named that could've been the one to contact me about him.🧜‍♂️'

'Okay. Cool. I guess I just never thought of the consequences of texting in. I didn't consider that maybe he'd know it was me. Had me kinda panicked for a sec.'

'Don't worry, I made it clear that if he ever tried to approach or contact you or any of the other women he named, I'd find out. And I'd kill him for it. You're safe. I got you. 🧜‍♂️'

For what feels like the hundredth time in, you find yourself smiling down at your phone as you read his text.

'Thank you. I appreciate that :). Hopefully you've taught him a lesson. Maybe he'll stay home when the weekend comes around. I think he'd be doing everyone a favour.'

'Hopefully! Listen, I gotta buzz. Work stuff. Not Vigilante work. I only do that stuff at night. Like my actual job kind of work. But I'll talk to you later, first timer. 🧜‍♂️'

'Yeah, of course. Sorry for bothering you while you're at work. And thank you, again.'

You take a deep breath before sending another text.

'My name is (Y/N), btw <3'

'First timer has a name? Fucking sweet. Obviously I know you have a name but you never told me, so in my head I've just been calling you first timer. But now you're (Y/N), which is cool. So talk later, (Y/N)! 🧜‍♂️'

'<3 🧜‍♂️'

You throw your phone on to the passenger seat, like it's burning hot to the touch and it's just scalded you. Did you... did you seriously just send a heart to Vigilante? And did he seriously just send one back? Wait, no. The heart isn't the biggest problem. You just told him your name. Your real name. What if he finds you? What if this whole funny-charming-kind thing is just an act, and you end up bleeding in a dark alley within a month?

"Fuck..." You mumble, leaning your head back against your seat, wondering what the hell you've just gotten yourself into. Wondering if you should just block his number and never think about him again.

It's a stupid idea, getting involved with someone like him. One that could leave you hurt, or dead. Anyone would call you crazy for it. You probably are crazy for it. But that's not enough to deter you from reaching for your phone and grinning down at it when he texts you later that night.

'Hey. 🧜‍♂️'

It's a dangerous game, but one that you're more than willing to play.

#adrian chase #vigilante #peacemaker #adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #adrian chase x you #vigilante x you #adrian chase fic #vigilante fic #adrian chase x y/n #vigilante x y/n #hbo peacemaker

[izzy-b-hands]

random fic writing babbling and rambling below the cut. TW for discussions of babies, historical breastfeeding, birth, Ed's midwifery charge from his wanted poster (the inspo for these fic ideas that are being discussed below lol.)

I keep trying to write a fic based on the midwifery charge on Ed's s2 wanted poster but I keep getting hung up on the historical accuracy thing of 'where are they getting enough human milk to feed a newborn until they can get this baby to a new family.' Like. In theory, it is doable, but before I get into that:

to explain, the plot every time, even the times I've actively tried to write it differently, is that it's a thing of them choosing the worst time to raid another ship. Either they're mid-raid and hear this poor person still attempting to give birth while everyone else onboard is being killed or threatened by Ed and crew, or as in the latest draft, Ed and Izzy literally walk in to the room just as this person passes away post final push/baby fully delivered.

The baby doesn't fix jack shit between Ed and Izzy or Ed and the crew, bc that doesn't work irl and it ain't gonna work in fiction either.

But! The situation and how everyone pulls together to look after the baby does make Ed slow down and take a step back from the things that have been doing his head in abt himself and Stede and Izzy and life in general. Bc like. He didn't INTEND for this to happen, had he known someone on the ship was actively giving fucking birth, they would have passed it by and left that ship alone! That's too much extra risk/work, when he's intending to keep them on a briskly moving pace for raids. And he doesn't want to hurt a kid, so of course he's going to make their new mission finding someone or a family to look after the baby, and look after them well (god help them if he should find out that's not the case, even years in the future.)

In the latest draft, as in previous, I have it also highlighting Izzy's connection to his mum via midwifery and knowledge abt looking after kids/babies. in the latest draft in particular, Izzy is implied ftm who was absolutely being trained by his mum to take over as midwife for their village/town, had he not gone to sea with Ed instead. But it means he's still retained some knowledge of it all, so he takes on a lot of the baby care.

For example, the bassinet they steal off the ship goes into Izzy's room (which we've seen is small af, so like. He can't even close his door anymore with the bassinet there.) The bottle making kit (that was an interesting bit of research, to find out how the few bottles used might have looked if a wet nurse/someone else nursing that lived nearby/etc weren't available to just. nurse the kid directly) is in his chest at the end of his bed.

Izzy and Ed wind up, again at least in this latest draft, having a few late night, exhausted conversations as they feed the baby and take turns rocking/walking the hall with the baby, just generally so sleep deprived and focusing on the baby that they haven't noticed they're working together more again. It's still clear they have so many things to talk abt and unpack for both of their sakes, but that wax seal over their shared emotions for each other starts to crumble a little once the baby is onboard.

The conversations might not entirely evade the rest of the s2 events, but I can't say bc my drafts always falter right abt here, or when I'm trying to make it sound realistic that they are also, very much, now raiding other ships not just for loot but for anyone currently lactating to express milk for them to feed the baby

(honestly, i half wanna write at least one raiding scene in the fic simply to have Ed try and explain that demand. Yes, he's the dread pirate Blackbeard, the Kraken, your nightmare. Yes, he wants all the loot and money onboard. Yes, he's also currently an unintentional foster parent along with his first mate/husband and their crew to a newborn that needs more milk and as such, anyone currently breastfeeding is commanded to try and fill some of a bottle. Either way, you're giving up everything you have so stop thinking about it or asking questions, unless you know of anyone looking to adopt a baby, by chance. In that case, please give that information to Fang before giving up your expensive things and/or breast milk.)

There's a lot of tentative hope, among all of them re: the baby. All of them making little comments, here and there, that whether the kid winds up a pirate or not, they hope the baby will be happy. Looked after and loved, in the ways some of them either weren't or experienced a very unhealthy/dysfunctional version of.

I do know the ending pretty well, though elements of it could change.

But for sure, I'm thinking of a scene of the ship, dark, everyone quiet sitting on the deck after they've dropped the baby off with a new family (i keep hemming and hawing with it being Doug and Mary somehow having heard abt this kid some pirates are trying to unload, bc I like the idea of leaving a little room for a sequel in Mary being like 'huh sounds like this guy (Ed) is really upset over someone who sounds an awful lot like Ste-oh no' and letting Ed know what went down with Stede)

And as they sail into the night, Ed mumbles that they should consider the night as a night off, but be ready to fight tomorrow morning. He implies they can all go fuck off to bed or whatever then, but instead all of them, Ed included, wind up bunking together on the main deck. Sharing bottles of rum, taking turns at the wheel/making sure they're not about to run aground, and having conversations abt their childhoods, mainly the few happy things they remember.

Like, Archie reveals part of the reason she joined the snake cult was bc she just always has liked them. Even as a little kid, grabbing them gently and letting them chill on her arms/hands.

Ed talks abt his mum teaching him how to sew, and jokes abt him and Izzy having darned each other's socks for years, thank fuck they both sew fairly well.

That actually gets a smile out of Izzy, who mumbles out that his mum would be pleased to see he'd remembered how to keep a baby alive and that he'd maybe even done fairly well.

Fang makes a gentle, kindly meant joke abt Izzy keeping them all alive fairly well, that she'd be proud of that too, and we cut to Ed's face just. Destroyed as he realises yeah, that's exactly what he's been making Izzy do, now and before. And he's just stepped back from the Kraken and the feelings that make that up to have that make him feel terrible. They used to live for each other, each sunrise they saw a defiant, blinding medal in reward of their survival. But it hasn't been that way for a long time, has it? And he can't decide if he wants to explore that feeling or make it go away as fast as possible, or maybe both.

Cut back to Fang cheerfully telling everyone the story of how he wound up being named for his dad, becoming Kevin Jr, and we end on the implication that at least for the rest of the night, things will be calm for them.

Makes me mad as hell I can write this whole post out to discuss the fic, but I can't seem to finish a draft solidly enough to finally finish and publish lmao

#text post #long post #if anyone reads this and does wanna like #bounce ideas abt any of this or other fic ideas pls reach out to me #i don't have many folks i can talk abt these ideas with and i admit im shy to share sometimes but #man i miss just brainstorming random fic ideas and bouncing different ideas and bits together with ppl #genuinely sorry for how long this is but I did warn it was at least partially a ramble #I've had a lot of fic thoughts ive been wanting to bounce so. here we are lol

[turborose]

Off the Rails: Welcome to the Crazy Train

:A/N: This is my first fic that I’ve published for others to read in a while and I’ve never posted them on Tumblr so forgive me lol. I do write for Billy in this fic, having him be more OOC. I do love Dacre and his performance as Billy, but do not condone or support any of his shitty behavior. In this fic, I chose to write him as more so just aggressive/borderline abusive as a result of struggling with his trauma and will not be making him racist. I do not support the decision to be abusive to deal with your own trauma either. If you choose to continue reading, I hope you enjoy and please leave a comment telling me what you think.

WARNINGS: trauma, mentions of unhealthy coping mechanisms (slight eating disorder), mentions of abuse, PTSD, guilt, (I think that’s it, but please let me know if I’ve missed anything.)

The thing about death is that it never ends with you. All it does is shift your pain to someone new. The sudden absence of your presence in someone’s life can be jarring as it is, but in Hawkins it’s proven to be twisted in manipulation and lies. If one more person tried to prove just how sorry they were for the loss of her boyfriend Billy Hargrove, Aurora Ross was going to lose what little grip she had left on her mind. The apologetic greetings and sorrowful sideways glances had died down over the past few months, but not quite enough to feel like she hadn’t been stamped with the title of the town’s newest poster child for grief. It was ridiculous how strangers made themselves known to her and his family as if they somehow cared for any of them outside of what the condolences would offer their own consciences. Billy, however, would’ve revelled in the attention.

After witnessing the hellish battle at the Starcourt Mall, it was a miracle she hadn’t allowed the darkness that was left imprinted in her bones by the mound of molten flesh nicknamed The Mind Flayer rot her from the inside out. She had vaguely heard whispers about the creature being a shadowed arachnoid apparition in passing from Jonathan and Nancy as they fought to free Will the year before, but back then she just assumed they had been discussing a new horror movie of some sort. Like The Thing that had just come out around that time. That is, until Billy started acting weird. The poor boy often struggled with controlling his anger, especially after learning that the Principal had personally asked her to help a fellow student succeed just enough to graduate in hopes that the class clown Eddie Munson would no longer be a problem he had to resolve for what felt like every hour on the hour. To make up for the disappointing news, Aurora would go on even more outings with Billy to counteract her time with Munson as if Billy could smell him on her and like a dog he had to replace it to make sure Eddie knew who she belonged to. He had been making great improvement for her sake in his anger management and working through his trauma with her, but even he had warned her that she was his and the second Munson or anyone else tried to take her from him he’d kill them. She understood his possessiveness after losing his mother and became his safe place by dropping everything for him in a moment’s notice. It was a wonder her parents didn’t notice she was barely available, always sneaking out or sneaking him in. The summer he passed, she had even offered to help fix Billy’s car after the accident he had at the old steel mill while on his way to her, but under the watchful eye of his father he deemed a woman unfit to do it correctly. Instead, she made herself useful by helping his step mother and sister prepare dinner the next night. Even going as far as to bring the boys out beers periodically, earning a soft kiss on the cheek after each one. She told herself it was his way of keeping her out of his father’s reach after realizing just how terrible Neil Hargrove was to those trapped around him.

Trying her best to hide under the radar of false support, she isolates herself within the confines of the cafeteria with her chemistry book and notes sprawled out in front of her as her Walkman boomed in her ears in an effort to drown out the voices around her. Losing herself in her work, she almost misses it when someone takes the seat next to her. At first, she tried to ignore them hoping they’d understand she didn’t intend to be very social this year, as if she had been after dropping out of cheerleading soon after Billy’s passing, but they didn’t seem satisfied with the notion as they grabbed her notebook out from under her.

“Have you talked to anyone today? Or even this week? I hear self seclusion isn’t good for your mental health.” Hawkins’ leader of the outcasts, Eddie Munson, smiles as he lounges across the table straddling the chair backwards tapping the bands of his rings against the back of it as he relaxes. For a moment, he tilts his head like a curious puppy and those big brown eyes of his were only furthering the comparison.

“Did Dustin tell you that? I’m fine.” She lies just as she had practiced with every other passerby that commented on her well-being, taking her notebook back before he could draw on her notes just to watch her have an aneurysm like he had the year prior in their English class. The mood around them shifted quickly as he leaned forward toward her, sliding his hand up and down her forearm slowly in an effort to both comfort her overworked mind and signal silently that he would gladly assume a position within her support team.

“He didn’t have to. You forget, we’ve spent a lot of time together over the last year and a half and I’ve seen you stressed. You’re about one minor inconvenience away from starving yourself in favor of building a fort in your bedroom.” He hums, the concern in his eyes darkening the bitter dark chocolate brown of his irises to an almost onyx black. He tilts his head again to further examine her features as if all her secrets were written on her freckled-porcelain skin, his long brunette curls falling over her notes. She squirms slightly under the pressure of his assessment as if he’d be able to see just how alone she’d been the past few months, her fingers nervously dancing with the curls that tickled her forearms as it curtained across her arms. He was right, more so than she wanted to admit as her stomach growled in response to the mere mention of food. She shifts, taking a drink from her water bottle to further stifle the pangs of hunger as she had many times before, and tries her best to nudge him playfully as if it’d disguise her truth to him despite what he could already see. Just like Billy, he could read her like a book. Part of her knew it was of no use trying to hide, but she had to try.

“Eddie, it's a full time job trying to help you. If we can get you through Ms. O’ Donal’s class, you can graduate with me this year.” She teases, smiling to force a happier demeanor for him in hopes of it shifting his concern to something more pressing and not so personal to her. Suddenly, as if her brain accepted the switch in her train of thought all too eagerly, she leans into him to show him a page in her notebook. Scribbled across the faint blue lines were songs, artists, albums and the subjects or subsections of specific classes she thought each lyrical masterpiece he adored would fit best. He shifts the chair, causing it to squeal, and runs his fingers over the inked page as if the lines creating each letter were braille he desperately needed to graze. His eyes softened at the realization of her dedication to him and his future, almost shining a hazelnut caramel gold in the sunlight streaming in from the window.

“You-you did all this for me?” He whispers in disbelief, his eyes stuttering between her candy apple green eyes and her lush lips. The notion made her chew on her bottom lip slightly as she nodded, running a hand through her long black coffee tresses nervously.

“Of course. Principal Higgins asked me to do whatever I needed to to help you graduate. If we can prove this method helps you with test taking, I’m sure we can get him to talk to the teachers so they can ignore your humming if you need to hum a specific song or album for that subject. It’s worth a shot right?” She almost laughs as if it was offensive to think she would’ve put in such effort for a man she deemed a close friend. Just like with Billy, it concerned her that he didn’t see his self worth. She wondered if he even truly noticed how thinly she was stretched between helping him graduate and building their friendship and putting Billy’s mind at ease by continuing to be his safe place in this hick town he hated so much. They had already figured out a way for him to work through his anxiety and the painful stillness of sitting through a lecture by packing black ball point pens so he could draw on her while she herself took notes. She did have to admit he was her favorite part of those stupid classes and the best partner. He may not contribute much, but he did try his best to help her when she was stumped on where to go next in a project by shifting her train of thought for short intervals of time by teaching her how to make her own cassette tapes or even strum a portion of the rift he had been working on while she came up with a game plan. After a moment, she realized she had been staring and squeezed his hand as a blush warms her cheeks.

“We’ll figure this out. We always do.” She commented softly, shifting away from him as the bell rings to clear the cafeteria but before she could merge within the hoard he grabbed her hand. Something about the way he fidgeted with the lowest button on his denim vest over his leather jacket and Hellfire Club baseball tee made her heart flutter. She watched him bite his bottom lip as he swayed his weight back and forth between his feet nervously, the black bandana in his back pocket dancing in tune with his hips before looking up at her from under his shaggy bangs.

“Why don’t we skip the rest of the day? It’s only three classes. I’m sure they won’t miss us.” He suggested, those dark eyes gleaming mischievously as he steps up to her. She shifts her weight to one side and sighs, earning a whine and what could only be described as a slight temper tantrum as he stomped his foot and tugged on the sleeve of her flannel. “Don’t give me the patented ‘gentle let down’ sigh.” He chuckles, giving the nickname for her reaction the same voice over he gave some of his DnD characters, poking his bottom lip out to better plead with her. “Come on, someone has to save that last bit of sanity in that beautiful brain of yours.” He smiles, tucking hair behind her ear. “Besides Lite Brite, what’s it gonna hurt?” He taunts her, nudging her hip while jingling his keys in front of her as if trying to amuse a fussy infant with the distinct sound and shiny metal. She groans at the nickname , suddenly regretting mentioning how she liked Holly Wheeler’s decorative toy when dropping the notebook he had left at her house off during a campaign discussion last week but ultimately laughs, nodding in agreement.

“Alright, alright fine but you have to help me finish the breakdown for which songs go best with each subject you’re struggling with. Deal?” She smiles, shifting her books to the side so she could hold out her hand for him to shake. He feigns the proper agreement of a gentleman, bending at the hips as he takes her hand gently and bringing it toward his lips.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He smiles widely, his warm breath wafting over her skin just enough to cause goosebumps to erupt up her arm, but before he could kiss her knuckles as he usually would he shifts forward and licks the top of her hand. She shivers, blushing more so than she would’ve liked as he pulls out of her reach laughing. “I licked it so it’s mine. Now you’re stuck with me.” He laughs even louder, as if he wanted the heartfelt sound to fill the room as he runs from her just in case she felt like swinging.

“You’re gross, you know that?” She can’t help but laugh as she follows after him, wiping the back of her hand down the side of her thigh.

“But you love me, now move. We’ve got a shred of sanity to save.” He calls, jogging for the door down the long hall to hold it open for her.

Later that night, after spending what felt like hours finishing the list of songs she’d soon be associating to the subjects he needed help with most and sorting them into separate subcategories to later put on cassettes for him, Eddie makes the executive decision to put in a VHS tape of Alien before wandering off into the kitchen. He had wrapped her up in the blanket she had confiscated from his room and dubbed her favorite and ordered her to stay put, shrugging out of his jacket and vest on his way toward the kitchen. As she watched the slow progression of the xenomorph attacking the idling spaceship, she couldn’t help but notice Eddie making a fuss down the hall. She stayed seated as he had instructed until the sound of boiling water concerned her in his absence.

“Eddie?” She calls, rushing to the kitchen to lower the heat for the water in the saucepan he was using.

“Hey! No! I told you to stay put!” He playfully scorns her, damn near tripping over himself to get back into the kitchen before her. She sighs regretfully, holding up the box of Mac n cheese that sat next to the stove.

“Make sure you save some for Wayne.” She hums deflectively, shifting out of the way for him. He blocks her exit, trapping her against the counter with an arm on either side of her.

“We’ve made progress today. Please eat. For me?” He playfully pouts pleadingly. “I’ve got blankets piled up in my room, too. We can build a fort when the movie is over. What do ya say?” He adds, tucking hair behind her ear. His fingertips trace her jaw, tilting her chin up slightly so he could better gauge the reaction in her eyes. If she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to go home just yet. She knew going home would mean another lecture about the long face she struggled to hide around her father for a boy he deemed a bad influence and a trouble maker. No matter how understanding her mother was for her grief, she knew neither of them really knew just how close they were and it terrified her to tell them that Billy Hargrove was in her blood. He was far more than just a bad boy that took her on the few dates she made known to them. He was hers and now that he was gone, let alone how he was taken from her, it was hard to hide her pain in the confines of a home she was made to feel like a fool for being sad in. But obviously they didn’t know the truth about their relationship and being around Eddie was easy. He made her laugh and for the time being, she forgot about her trauma and it was nice. Something she needed more than the air she breathed. Since Billy’s passing, Aurora had been hounded by seemingly every person possible in one way or another, but with Eddie it wasn’t as selfish. He had genuinely missed her and cared about her well-being but ultimately understood when she needed time away and even called to check on her everyday while she lived with her Aunt in Georgia. It was innocent and sweet how excited he became at the sound of her voice and even now that she had been back for a few months, she never had to hide from him. He saw her for who she was and wanted nothing more than to help lessen the load on her shoulders. She couldn’t help but smile as she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as her body finally gave in from the tension that settled within her muscles under the watchful eyes of Hawkins.

“Thank you.” She whispered, the breath that followed seemingly alleviating the rest of the weight from her. He nods, wrapping his arms around her, stroking her back soothingly before pulling away.

“Go call your mom, tell her you’re at Delaney’s or something. I’ll finish dinner.” He hums, proving yet again just how attentive he was to her. She didn’t really want to call her mother, but even Eddie knew if she didn’t she wouldn’t be able to truly relax as her anxiety ran through every horror scenario possible about her panicking over her whereabouts. The name he threw out there, however, stung a bit. Delaney Richard’s had been her best friend in cheerleading, but once she quit she and the other girls seemed to hate her as if she had betrayed them. It was ridiculous, but she didn’t question it either. She didn’t have the energy anymore. Between discovering The Upside Down and having it ruin everything she knew about reality, her entire friend group shifted and she found herself slowly becoming closer with her cousin Robin Buckley and her friends. They had all been trauma bonding in one way or another, she assumed.

After dinner and building the fort he so lovingly suggested, just as she started to relax into the makeshift bed she had made next to him, it started to thunderstorm. Tensing, she tried her best to push the flash backs away as the thunder booms outside the thin trailer walls but it was no use. Eddie knew her too well. In a clumsy rush, he fumbled with his stereo placed just under the window at their heads as if it were a shield for her in hopes of drowning out the storm and pulled her close.

“Talk to me.” He breathes, tracing circles over her scalp as her head rests on his chest. She didn’t like talking about her problems recuperating or even Billy’s death since the town was lied to about it but the longer the storm went on the harder it pounded against the window above them, the more she clung to Eddie as those fireworks boomed in her ears over and over again. It was almost like her brain thought if she focused hard enough he’d be able to take the echoed explosions and the fiery brightly colored flares from her memory.

“I-I don’t know what to say. There’s so much going on, I-“ She struggled to explain when he stopped her, kissing her forehead.

“What is your favorite memory of him?” He asked softly as if he was afraid the words would cut deeper than the memory itself. For a long moment she stayed silent while she thought about what to say, careful not to say anything vulgar, intimate or incriminating after the cover story aired but eventually she smiled through the tears and pulled back to look at him.

“The night he gave me his leather jacket.” She started simply, toying with the saintly charm dangling from her wrist. “It had started raining the night he took me out on a date. He finally met my parents and wanted to take me to dinner.” She smiled at the thought. “Afterwards we went for a walk in the park. He was impressed I didn’t ask for anything fancy, saying how most of the girls he had dated wanted to be shown off extravagantly. I just wanted to spend time with him so he took me on a walk. We sat on the swings for a while just talking about our plans for the future. He pulled me into his lap, whispering for me to hold on when he started to swing with us both on the same one.” She laughed, wiping her tears. “I was so scared I’d fall and embarrass myself but he held onto me saying how he’d never let anything happen to me.” She looked up at him, trying to see if his eyes would give away any sign of boredom before continuing. “It started raining soon after that so he gave me his jacket to keep me warm while we walked back to his car. I love the rain and have never minded getting wet but he didn’t want me to get sick.” She nods, more so to herself as if confirming that she was finished with the retelling of her favorite memory. “I still have the jacket. I couldn’t let Neil take it.” She sighs, feeling terrible about the fact that she kept that hidden from his father no matter how terrible he was to him. Slowly, as if unsure of his actions, Eddie leans forward and kisses her forehead repeatedly. It was as if each kiss was meant to push away any fear or pain she still harbored while his fingers gently tangled in her hair to hold her to him. She closes her eyes, her hands resting on his chest as she tries to allow his kindness to sooth her, and rubs circles over the left portion of his chest where the widow tattoo rested under his club shirt.

“Sometimes I sleep with it. It still smells a little bit like him and I feel less alone with it next to me.” She confesses, tensing once the gravity of her confession settles in. She opens her eyes and pulls back slowly, her eyes burning with tears of embarrassment as her cheeks redden. “I-I’m sorry, I’ve never told anyone that.” She whispers, suddenly breathless and aching as if someone had punched her in the center of her chest. Quickly, in much more alarm than before, Eddie sits up and hugs her close.

“You’re never alone. I’ll always be here for you, Rory.” He huffs, his chest tightening as well as he rocks her comfortingly. She wraps her arms around his neck and hides her face in his hair.

“Thank you.” She whispers, just barely audible despite how close she was to him. It was hard to say much else to sum up just how grateful she was for this man and his beautiful heart. She could only hope he felt a semblance of just how much he meant to her.

The next morning, she made breakfast and wrapped up what she had left over for Wayne before putting it in the fridge with a small note about hoping he had a decent night at work. She hoped that even if he hadn’t in fact had all that great of a night that her trying her best to leave him something to come home to would help cheer him up. Afterwards, she sets their plates on the small island and shifted back toward Eddie’s room when she bumps into him.

“Hey, sorry, I hope I wasn’t too loud.” She apologizes softly, suddenly shy at the image of his sleepy form stretching in the doorway. The club shirt he had worn last night had come off in the muggy heat of sharing a confined space with someone under mounds of blankets with no real ventilation and now his grey sweatpants were rolled down just below his hips which only furthered the arrow-led happy trail of soft brown hair between the sculpted v formation against his muscles. She then made a mental note to always put a fan in their forts so they wouldn’t get so hot again.

“No no you’re fine. Did-did you make breakfast? It smells amazing.” He grumbles in his sleepy rumble as he rubs his eyes. She laughs and shifts to take his hand, leading him toward his plate.

“Yes. I’m glad you approve.” She teases, sitting him down before pulling his hair up for him using the scrunchie she held around her wrist. In his sleepy stupor, he didn’t fight the notion much as he dived into the meal. She hums to herself as she quickly eats what little she set aside for herself before turning toward his room again.

“Do you care if I borrow some of your clothes to take a shower? We can always run past my house on the way to school so I can change but…” She asks, rambling as her nervousness consumes her at the idea of wearing his clothes. She had worn Billy’s red button down shirt before and stole his leather jacket so why this was making her nervous she didn’t quite understand. He chuckles and nods, taking a drink of the orange juice she poured him.

“You can wear whatever you want as long as you keep cooking for me.” He teases with a wink. “My shirts are in the closet, boxers and jeans are in the top drawer.” He adds, waving her on her way. She smiles and kisses his cheek as a thank you before running off toward his room.

While she was in the shower, Eddie did his best to contain himself as his mind raced with all the possibilities of what would step through that door next. It wasn’t every day a girl asked to wear his clothes and a part of him hoped it wouldn’t be the last. After getting dressed, he grabs her books off his dresser.

“Hey sweetheart, did you put your notebook on the table? I can’t…” He calls, stopping in the doorway when he sees her shaking loose her long wet waves. She wore his black and bleach tie dyed Iron Maiden T-shirt over a pair of acid washed ripped pale blue jeans with her white Velcro strapped Reebok high tops that were basically a smaller version of his favorite, more well loved and dirty shoes. She looked gorgeous despite the shirt being slightly larger than her and something about her smile once she noticed he was staring made his stomach do flips. She smiles wider as a blush creeps across her cheeks as she ties her flannel around her hips and points toward the table where her notebook lay next to him.

“Thank you so much, you’re such a lifesaver.” She beams, gently taking the stack of books from him so he could put his jacket and vest back on over his Metallica shirt.

“Come on beautiful, let’s get you to class before Principal Higgins thinks I’m corrupting his best effort at getting rid of me.” He laughs tauntingly, ushering her out of the trailer.

#hellfire stranger things #stranger things #eddiemunson #eddie munson #billy hargrove #eddie lives #steve harrington #robin buckley

[polite-pandemonium]

Thoughts from an exhausted 30-something

I have been at my job nearly two years and still, sometimes I look around and see someone walk by and just think to myself, wow, I have never seen you before in my life. This honestly happens a lot more than I would like.

I need to go to the pharmacy before it closes and pick up my prescriptions, but I just need like, five minutes to think about what a bad mood I am in and wait to see if I am going to get indigestion from basically INHALING my dinner.

I also inhaled a bunch of Skittles as soon as I got in the door, what is wrong with me?

Speaking of what is wrong with me, spent a good fifteen minutes going back and forth from the kitchen to the mirror by my front door looking at my throat and thinking, "Is that part by my tonsils always red? Have I just never noticed before or am I getting sick?" like a fucking WEIRDO - my health anxiety is so much better than it was before but EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE, I stare at my throat like a WEIRDO.

I ended up saying to my reflection, "ARE YOU OKAY?"

I am SO SICK AND TIRED of the amount of admin life requires. Like I don't want to go to the pharmacy? I don't want to put my dinner away and pack my lunch for tomorrow and run the dish washer and fold laundry. I WANT TO REST.

I read a post on Reddit recently where the poster was lamenting the amount of life admin tasks that make her too exhausted for hobbies and I just...felt that so deeply. I haven't completed any writing in almost four years and I think while a huge part of it is work, the other part is life admin. I just spend so much time cooking and cleaning and feeding myself and book appointments and steaming my clothes and figuring out what to wear to work and putting on make up and washing and drying my hair that I just feel depleted.

But also, I was reading something a bit of writing i was working on yesterday and I just hate it! I think it's so bad! Maybe my best writing days are just behind me! Maybe I just don't got it! Maybe it's not work or life admin, but my talent! Maybe I'm the problem!

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me.

Taylor Swift has released two new albums (evermore, Midnights) and will probably release a new one (TTPD) before I get around to updating my fic.

Taylor Swift is a year older than me (because she is born so late in 1989 and I was born so early in 1991) and I sometimes feel incredibly close in age to her and also incredibly far away.

Recently, for the first time in years, I just feel incredibly behind my peers. It's a wild feeling but I am accepting that I am kind of stagnating in my career and I'm kind of in a place where I can't do anything about it. I feel like I maybe wrote about this, but I don't think I am worthy of a promotion, but I want one and I want more money. And since I have such great insurance and medication that costs $3,000 a month, I can't really just comfortably move.

God, I regret spending FIVE FUCKING YEARS at a company that bled me dry and wouldn't promote me when I didn't need insurance and wasn't chronically ill.

I guess you can't know you are making mistakes until after you have made them, though.

I also never really care about being single, but I'm so tired lately, that all I want is a partner who can clean the kitchen and make dinner and pick up my prescriptions sometimes. If I didn't have to make dinner or clean up tonight, I could have done so much more! I could even go pick up my prescriptions and still have spare time.

But no, instead I have a messy kitchen and pasta sauce on my shirt.

Oh, to be 33 and hopelessly tired.

Oh, to be 33 and hopelessly alone.

I, for the most part, like being alone. I'm good at alone! I love living alone. I don't really feel like I *need* something or someone to feel less alone. It's just being alone just means that you only have yourself to depend on for everything and it's just a lot.

I am feeling TIRED IN MY BONES.

OK, my time is up, I really gotta go get my prescriptions now.

Which means I have to put on real pants and bundle up and get my travel cooler and ice packs from the freezer to transport one prescription.

Which feels like too much work.

Ugh.

Wait, also, I was in the elevator alone with our CEO today and he brought up my recent trip to Asia and then he mentioned that someone on accounts is going to Tokyo next week and I just felt SILLY saying, "Oh, I am headed back to Tokyo next week, too!" so I just DIDN'T and now he's probably gonna find out I'm going back from my boss and be like, oh that's weird why didn't she say anything? I JUST FEEL A LITTLE SILLY SAYING I'M GOING BACK SO SOON TO MOST PEOPLE.

The more I think about this, he probably won't think that cause he probably WILL NOT REMEMBER we chatted given the conversation started with him saying, "Sorry, I can't remember, have you gone on your trip yet?" And I was like, oh yes, I went in November.

I don't mean this as a slight to him, I just mean he's a busy man and has a lot to think about other than conversations in passing and all of the vacation dates of the many staff.

Also all to say, he's not thinking about me, I'm just placing too much importance on this conversation.

#diana does stuff #more like diana WORD VOMITS

[moonswolfie]

Catastrophe

Kenma x gn!reader

Ah yes resorting to bad cat puns for the title

I'm finally writing a full fic for kenma again!! I can't believe it took so long (considering kenma is one of my favs) but here we are!!

an unrelated little cat sidenote, my neighbours got a new kitten and today i attempted befriending it and it ended with the kitty scratching my legs, trying to get up to reach my wiggling hand so i would say that was a great success

so i originally had this idea with kuroo but i thought it would be fun with kenma too (idk maybe i'll make a kuroo ver at some point BUT to shake it up maybe put it in a fantasy au)

Today is a very very strange day for Kenma. Mainly because he woke up in a cat's body.

At first he thought it was some sort of dream. I mean, who just wakes up as a cat at 3 AM with no explanation whatsoever? But Kenma's hopes gradually got crushed as no matter what he did, he remained a cat.

Is this some kind of punishment? What will his parents say when they find a cat instead of their son? Will he ever turn back?!

The thought of never being able to get that video game he was eyeing for a while now was an absolute nightmare. They won't sell a video game to a freaking cat, that's for sure.

The first order of buisness is getting out of the house. He definitely does not want to be found by his mom in this state. So he awkwardly pawed at the window until he managed to get it open, slipping through and jumping down to the ground.

But what does he do now? Cats don't really have much to do, do they?

He lived a good 17 years as a human, atleast. But now he's just another stray cat. His family will probably freak out once they can't find him anywhere and then there will be missing posters everywhere.

Kuroo will lose a friend and the team will lose a setter. He doesn't mind not playing volleyball anymore but he can't help but worry about Kuroo. They're good friends, after all. He has a feeling Kuroo won't take the news well, even if the two don't seem very close at times.

He sighed, laying down at the side of the road. This is the most troublesome thing that's happened to him in a while, and if he wasn't a cat, he would probably cry right now. How is this even possible in the first place?

He let the hours slip by, people walking past him. Some of them tried to pet him, but they quickly backed off after he hissed and pawed their hands away. Life as a cat was quite peaceful for now, but that didn't help in the slightest since that meant he had nothing to do but think of his predicament.

All of the secret videogame strategies he developed were for naught now too, and that bothers him a whole lot. Not just that, but he never got to see the good ending to a game he was still playing through yesterday.

Becoming a cat is a very horrible thing, indeed.

By now, students were already leaving to go home. Wait, they're already going back?! He almost feels sick, his perception of time is already completely lost. Not that it was very strong to begin with, considering his late night gaming sessions. But still, he shut his eyes, not wanting to look at the scene any longer.

He was about to leave the spot to go to a quieter place to mull his life over some more when...

"Pspspsps, here kitty kitty..." he knows that voice. His big cat eyes shot open to find you, his crush, kneeling in front of him with one hand outstretched. If he knew anything about you, it would be that you always try to befriend stray cats when you see them.

Normally he found it endearing, but now it was a different kind of emotion that he could quite describe with words (or, well, meows).

He was frozen in place. What the hell do you even do in this situation? But when he saw you get up and pout at an unsuccessful cat seducution, he made up his mind. If he's gonna be turned into a cat, he might as well get some pets and scratches from his crush out of it. He can't let you move on now.

He bounced to you on his little paws and reveled at the way your face lit up when doing so. You knelt back down as he rubbed against your legs, petting him.

He absolutely adored the way you smiled down at him and unintentionally purred when you rubbed him under his chin. If he wasn't a cat, he would be embarrased right now.

Buuut, since cats generally don't have a reputation or worry about what people think of them, this wasn't really a problem anymore. He still had a hard time with accepting that, though.

You got up after a couple of minutes, satisfied. You waved Kenma goodbye with the sweetest pout ever and he decided then and there to let you love him a little more. Suddenly feeling his mischevious side come out, he bounced behind you, determined to follow you home.

You didn't notice him until he meowed behind you, and he swears that his heart melted at the sight of your excitement when seeing that a cat wants to stay by your side. You let him follow you, checking back every minute or so to see if he's still behind you. Eventually, you stopped in front of your house.

"Now what will I do with you, buddy..." you pat his soft little head, smiling sadly at him. "I don't even know if you have an owner and my parents surely won't let you stay just like that..." There's no way Kenma's going to sleep outside tonight, though. He's already shivering at the thought. Besides, maybe you have some videogames that he can watch you play.

"Bye bye, kitty..." you said sadly, unlocking your front door. As soon as it cracked open, Kenma bolted inside. "Hey- Uhh, wait!!" you scrambled in after him, slamming the front door behind you. You quickly ran to the living room, where Kenma was happily situated on the couch next to your dad.

"What is this?" Your dad pointed to Kenma, annoyance evident in his voice.

"It followed me home and just ran in when I opened the door!" you defended yourself, though you were already planning things to use against your dad in order to convince him to let the cat stay.

"Well, get it out then." he said, slightly nudging Kenma who hissed and refused to move from his spot.

"Dad.... you know how I've been good recently... I even passed my math exam..."

"No, it can't stay."

"But dad! You know how much I love cats. And you have to admit it's cute." At this, Kenma intentionally rolled over on his stomach and acted cute, internally cringing. These are the lengths he has to go to sleep in a warm place as a cat.

Your dad stared at Kenma, sighing. "Fine. But only for one night AND if mom agrees."

"Yayyy!! I love you, dad!!" he huffed at your excited response as if he wasn't won over by Kenma's cuteness and you excitedly ran to your mom, who was cleaning the dust in the bedroom. "Mom! So, a cat followed me home and-"

"Let me guess, you want to keep it..." you paused a bit at her annoyed response, ultimately not letting that destroy your resolve. "I know how to take care of a cat! And I'll pay for the toys and food!" you tried convincing.

"It could have diseases.... and what if it has an owner already?"

"That's why we're gonna take it to the vet tommorow to check for diseases or a microchip! Just let it stay for one night, please." you stood your ground. Surely she's going to soften up a bit to it.

She paused and looked up slightly, as if mulling it over. "Okay, only for tonight." was her simple response. You honestly couldn't be happier. You ran back downstairs, announcing to your dad that the cat stays. He only muttered something under his breath as a response. Kenma took a sigh of relief at that.

"Now come with me!" you picked him up all of a sudden, and while he would normally be extremely annoyed, you are his crush, so he'll let it slide this once. You excitedly took him to your room, putting him down on the ground to explore the place.

Staying with you in your room was very relaxing. He just got to sit there on your warm, soft bed and watch you get about your daily routine, occasionally going to his side to pet him.

Ignoring what his family and friends must be thinking now, this actually wasn't so bad. Maybe, just maybe, he can get used to being a cat. Especially if by your side.

Although a little shy, he eventually cuddled up in your lap as you studied after your many attempts and bribes to get him into your lap. The smile on your face was worth it.

As dinner time rolled around, all the happiness in the world couldn't distract him from how hungry he was. Leftovers weren't the best food, not for Kenma and not for cats in general, but at this point, even a little would suffice, he supposes. Wait, does this mean he'll have to eat cat food for the rest of his life? He gagged at the thought.

As he waited for you in your room while you showered, he properly realised the situation he's in. Not the whole "I'm a cat now" thing, he's been over that enough already. The fact that he lives with you as a cat means you won't be careful around him. Careful in the sense that you'll say things you otherwise wouldn't want him to hear or do things you normally wouldn't want anyone to catch you doing.

He could take advantage of that, but he decided that he's above sleazy tricks long ago already. "Don't stoop to Yamamoto's level" is his personal motto right now. Besides, he wouldn't want the same to happen to him.

So respectfully averting his big cat eyes and distracting himself so he won't hear anything personal is the least he can do.

You walked in, already changed into your pajamas and sat down on the bed, patting the space beside you gently. "Come, come, kitty..." you gently beckoned.

And who's Kenma to resist? He settled beside you as you lay down, taking a deep breath.

"Actually, calling you "kitty" sounds kind of awkward, I should give you a little nickname for now.... Hmmm..." you closed your eyes, thinking for a second.

"How about Pudding? You sort of remind me of someone, hahaha...." you giggled at the thought of him, turning over, missing the way Kenma slightly flinched at that. You gently pet him as you rambled on about random things to him, even mentioning how mom would probably be mad if she found out he was sleeping in your bed. But there's no way he's getting off now.

Being a cat was surprisingly tiresome too, and he soon drifted off into sleep, as satisfied as he could possibly be.

.

"AAAAH!!" Kenma was rudely awoken by a scream.

He rubbed his tired eyes with his hands. Wait.... hands?! He blinked down at his very human body, barely covered by one of your blankets.

You were also there, standing bewildered on the opposite side of your room, still in your pyjamas. As soon as he realised just what the situation is, he turned bright red, unable to say anything. What can he even say?

"Ummm.... how are you here?" is the question you eventually managed to piece together, eyes darting around the room in fear and confusion.

He sighed. "You won't believe me."

"I mean.... if what I'm thinking happened actually happened, then I would have a hard time believing you." You took a step back, bumping into the wall by accident.

"...Right. Ummm.... Well... I don't know how it happened myself, really..." he rubbed the back of his head, way too afraid to make eye contact with you.

At your lack of a response, he clutched your blanket. "I... umm, I'll try my best to explain everything later, but for now... some clothes would be nice?"

Well, atleast he isn't a cat forever. But at what cost?

As soon as i remembered that today is ken kens birthday i scrambled to finish this half written draft lmaooo

Happy birthday my little video game nerd❤❤

#˗ˏˋ ★ ☁︎ 「Wolfie’s works」 ☾ ★ ˎˊ˗ #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #kozume kenma x reader #kenma x reader #kenma x you #kenma x y/n #kenma kozume #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #x female reader #x male reader

[robo-dino-puppies]

sooooooo... s2 of good omens is coming out soon and I’m hyped (but nervous! but also hyped!). I’ve stayed away from most promotional material so aside from knowing about some new characters I’m going in pretty blind.

I don't really consider myself a writer ... I've never posted anything anywhere, or really shared anything ever. I don’t read a ton of fanfic bc for whatever reason the stars have to align just right for me to be into it, and that doesn’t always happen even for my most beloved fandoms (like star wars - love Luke to bits, can’t stand to read practically anything about him. and yet I can read Rebels and Clone Wars-era fic just fine. idek). buuuuuuut after s1 of good omens I did devour several months of other peoples’ fic, and start (and never finish) a thing myself, and I kind of wanted to post the very rough first draft snippets I had for... posterity? I guess? or... as a push for me to try writing more? so. be warned if you click the readmore it’s gonna be a giant text post.

I feel a little sad that I never did more with it, and a little sad that now with s2 it will be firmly AU instead of... whatever you call canon-compliant things that continue on after canon has ended, but also excited because maybe s2 will spark more ideas, since I kind of ran out of inspiration and drive. anyway!

working title was Fire Above the Tideline, and it follows a surveillance demon (Kri) and a filing angel (Elstael) and what plans Heaven might have had after the failed apocalypse.

if you’re reading this (why? haha) snippets are separated by ‘--’s and some might make sense in sequence, but some others have big timeskips with no context.

--

Kriddar watches. Surveillance and intelligence are far too sophisticated words for Hell's work, she thinks, after a few years of doing it. She just... watches. Things, people, places. High-valued souls ready to stumble. It's not exciting work, particularly. She's never there when things go down, as the humans say, if the things in question ever do, in fact, go down. Her rank is unremarkable - not the lowest of the low, but whatever happens at the top is far beyond her paygrade. (Not, of course, that she's ever been paid.)

Watching Earth isn't considered a desirable position. She gets jeering laughter and sneers when she tells other demons her job (although to be fair, that’s a common reaction from other demons about anything). You had to be stuck on Earth, after all, and spend a lot of effort avoiding getting too noticed by the humans. But Kriddar finds she actually likes it. Earth has air that isn't stagnant, humid, and choking with bitter ash. It has climates that aren't sweltering or freezing. Even in crowded cities, which remind her of Hell quite a bit, people tend to respect as much of a personal bubble as they can. In Hell, her fellow demons go out of their way to purposefully elbow everyone they can in a crowded hall. There are a lot of humans, but Earth is quiet in a way Hell could never be.

After the Armageddon-that-didn't, Kriddar is afraid that she's going to be called back to the home office as upper management figures out what to do. But she hears nothing for three days until she she gets her new assignment out of a tinny smartphone speaker. The kid in possession of said smartphone is annoying the very limited good graces out of a whole car of New York subway riders with a loud video of another child who is opening a toy for the camera. The level of discontent and malice being directed at both kid and parent from the rest of the commuters is truly breathtaking (to use a human turn of phrase) and would probably fuel the bubbling sulfur pools Downstairs for several millennia to come.

"DEMON KRIDDAR." The video-kid's obnoxious, ear-shattering voice gets a definitely demonic undertone that no one can hear but her. "YOU ARE BEING REASSIGNED."

"Mm?" she says to her book. Although people talking to themselves are not exactly an uncommon sight on the train, it's enough to draw people's attention when she doesn't want it, so she concentrates a little harder on being unremarkable. She's told them time and time again not to call her in public, but do they listen? No, of course not.

Nothing to make her job easier.

"LONDON. WATCH THE DEMON CROWLEY. MONTHLY REPORTS."

"Mm-hm." She flips a page. Watching a demon is unusual, but if this is the same Crowley that was mixed up in the botched apocalypse it makes sense. She's heard some rumors.

"FIRST REPORT DUE BY MONTH’S END. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"Mm-hm," she repeats, and casually closes her book. The video goes back to being the shrieking kid, who is now screaming with laughter, and the palpable fury in the car ratchets up another notch.

Kriddar sighs and twitches her fingers against the creased paperback cover of her book. The smartphone miraculously flashes and spits a cloud of acrid smoke. The kid drops it with a yelp, and then starts crying. The murderous miasma that had settled over everyone in the car slowly starts to dissipate. Wet snuffles and wailing aren't actually much better than the previous noise, in her demonic opinion, but at least she's fairly sure that now the humans aren't going to pull out a weapon and commit homicide. That would have necessitated police, who would have asked everyone questions, which would have meant delays. Kriddar wants none of those things.

Now that she has a new assignment, she's got a plane to catch.

--

London feels much the same as the last time she'd been there, although that had been forty years ago. Of course, it looks different. The cars, the buildings, the people... She hangs around in Heathrow for a bit, watching the humans bubble about in the messy, harried, angry soup of emotion that is any international airport. The clothing isn't all that different from New York, of course, so she leaves her appearance as-is and gets on a bus heading toward Soho.

She's got a slip of paper in her pocket with the demon Crowley's last known whereabouts. A bookshop, apparently. This makes her smile. Kriddar likes books. They give her plenty of plausible cover when she's sitting around waiting for something to happen. For a while, that's all she'd used them for. But then, out of the boredom visited upon her by a target who refused to do anything reportable for days on end, she'd actually tried reading them, and... well. Humans were fascinating. She's read books about what they think Hell is like (all inaccurate, on the whole, but some parts they'd imagined are startlingly worse than the reality), on Heaven (she can't remember Heaven enough to judge their accuracy, but she figures they'd done about as well as they had with Hell), on human history (shockingly inaccurate considering they were the ones who had lived it), and everything in between. She likes fiction the most - imaginary humans doing imaginary things. Sometimes imaginary not-humans. It's like they’d invented their own plane of existence, drawn in it ink and stuffed it into the space between fragile paper pages. Creation on par with the Almighty Herself, if Kriddar felt like being blasphemous (she did).

The bookshop is on a corner, painted brick-red, with light stone columns framing a wooden door. She walks up to read the sign in the window, reaching for the handle, and immediately pulls her fingers away and hisses. She takes a step back. Something is awful about the door - no, not awful. Good. It's radiating... the whole place is steeped in... in angelic energy. She scrubs her tongue against the roof of her mouth and makes a face. Well, no new books for her, then. Anything coming out of that shop would reek of goodness and light. Entirely off-putting.

"He's closed," someone on the street says.

Kriddar winces. The shock of the bookshop's aura must have made her don't-notice-me glamour slip. She slowly gathers it around herself again as she turns. "Oh?" she says mildly to the human.

"Yeah, been closed since Saturday, I think. Some people around here swear the place was on fire then, but... well, looks fine to me. He keeps daft hours anyway."

"I'll try later, then. Thanks," she says. Her glamour should take care of it, but it never hurts to be polite when interacting with the humans, if only because they're less likely to remember her that way. With a final metaphorical tug she secures the I'm-unremarkable compulsion around her and watches as the encounter dribbles out of the human’s mind like water squeezed from a sponge. He continues on down the street as if he'd never stopped.

She retreats from the shop and finds a place to settle in and watch, and to check the paper in her pocket again. No, she definitely has the right address. The thing is, she just can't understand how a demon could be inside such a place for any length of time. It would have her tearing her corporation’s hair out. Perhaps it's the right address, but Crowley is no longer there? As she hides herself behind a newspaper, she reaches out with senses honed by centuries of observing. And yes, there is unmistakably one demon inside that shop. As well as one angel.

--

Four days later she sees the door to the bookshop finally open into the bright late-summer morning. Two figures come down the steps: Crowley is easily recognizable from his description, so the other must be the angel she'd heard about. They're smiling, arm-in-arm, and positively joyous. They both circle a shiny, black, illegally-parked car, and Crowley opens the door for the angel before sliding into the driver's seat himself. The car rumbles to life; he drives away with an unlikely effervescent laugh and a speed that the other humans on the road don't appreciate.

It should turn her stomach.

But there's something about them that is intriguing, pulling at her mind much like an unexpected plot twist in a book. Despite the positively heavenly vibe of the bookshop, the angel hadn't been throwing off holiness and Grace like the few other angels she's had the misfortune of meeting during her stint on Earth. And Crowley - for all that people said he was Satan's favorite, that he's been working temptations and wreaking havoc among the humans since Eden - was more of a mild, mosquito-like buzz of evil rather than a maelstrom of it. She folds up the newspaper and taps her fingers against the soft crinkled pages before dropping it on the sidewalk.

Now that Kriddar has the sense of him, she can follow his energy across the city. It's (unfortunately) not as easy as how the humans plug an address into their clever handheld computers and have it spit out a flag on a virtual map, but it's far better than trying to find him by sight alone.

It takes her a while, but she finally ends up at a restaurant. Going inside is far too risky - it's hardly two tables across, no corners to surreptitiously peek around, not even a leafy ficus near the door to lurk behind. There's a window, but the odd pair isn't seated next to it. She grumbles to herself. Outside will have to do.

She walks up and down the sidewalk on the other side of the street to judge her options, picks a spot, and waits.

They're just visible inside the shop - two figures seated opposite each other, plates and cups on the table between them. The angel tends to gesture enthusiastically; Crowley, on the other hand, is nearly motionless, leaning toward him with his chin propped on his hand and an expression on his face she can only describe as besotted. Every once in a while she can see that he speaks and laughs, but the angel clearly carries most of the conversation. Over an hour later they finally emerge. Again smiling and happy, again Crowley opening the door for the angel. His hand lingers on the angel's shoulder as he settles into the car's leather seat. They share a look of such overpowering fondness that even across the street, Kriddar sneezes. And then he gets into the other side of the car and speeds away.

She puts down her book and stares after them. This is not, she thinks in bafflement, at all what she expected.

--

The sign on the bookshop's door has not been changed to open, but she can see movement inside the windows. It's not him, but the angel. He walks around the shop, talking, picking books off shelves and tables, then walking out of her view. A little while later, he repeats the process. This goes on for long enough to force her to choose a different spot if she wants to stay in the shadows.

Finally the doors open again.

"Just think of it this way," Crowley says, stepping out. "Now you actually have some books to sell."

"I've sold books before," the angel insists, coming to the door and watching Crowley saunter to the car.

"Mm," he says. He opens the driver's side and leans against the frame casually. "How many? One every decade? One every two decades?"

"Oh, hush," the angel says, and they both laugh.

Kriddar barely holds in the sneeze this time.

Crowley slides into the seat. "Be back before dinner."

"The Ritz?" The angel's eyes light up.

"Whatever you want, angel," he says, and drives off with another unbearably fond look.

She waits until the angel has gone back inside the shop and she can no longer see him in the windows before following the trail of Crowley's energy. It leads her to a block of expensive flats in Mayfair. The car is parked outside and he is nowhere in sight. It presents more of a challenge, snooping-wise, than the bookshop had. There's far less cover.

Eventually she decides to use the roof of a neighboring building. It's short work to miracle the locked lobby open and take the stairs to the top floor. Another miracle and she's through the door to the roof.

Crowley's flat is a penthouse, and she's got a great view of it from her new spot. She immediately sees motion through one of the windows, although she can't see him, exactly. There seems to be a great deal of vibrant green vegetation in the way. She settles into a seated position and props her chin on her hand.

--

The unexpected whump of seriously strong demonic wards materializing out of nowhere nearly knocks her sideways. For a panicked second she is sure he's spotted her and she's going to have a fight on her hands, and Kriddar is terrible at fighting.

But nothing comes, and when she gathers her courage to probe at the wards, she finds them neatly contained by the walls of the flat. She can no longer sense his presence behind them.

"Well fuck you too," she grumbles. First the assignment turns out weird - demon and angel, somehow involved in the failure of Armageddon, apparently best of... friends? - and now he has to go and make it difficult on top of that?

She climbs to her feet, feeling suddenly exposed without her supernatural senses being able to pinpoint him. The ward even seems to block her human vision though the windows, because they've turned both strangely flat and excessively reflective at the same time. It's enough to give her corporation a headache.

The roof is no longer a good vantage point, so she goes back down the stairs and reinforces her don't-notice-me enough that she hopes it will work even with on demons. There's a good view of his car through the lobby windows, so that's where she parks herself, doing away with any pretense of books or newspapers.

She can feel the second he leaves the flat and pops back up on her metaphysical radar. She holds perfectly still.

He doesn't even glance around as he saunters out of his building and climbs back into the car. A pedestrian has to dodge him before she loses sight of the car to traffic.

--

It's already getting easier to track him, now that she knows some likely places he'll go. She travels rather confidently back to the bookshop, pleased to see the car parked carelessly outside it, but she freezes as she gets closer. The same dark wards that he'd put up at the flat are here, too, as well as a shimmering angelic protection that floats outside the whole building, looking like a soap bubble if she stares into another dimension. She grumbles.

--

What Kriddar doesn't realize is that Heaven has sent another angel. It's just that they're as astonishingly good at their job as their previous colleagues have been bad at it.

The don't-notice-me around them is so intense that it takes her five whole days to, well. Notice. When she does, it's just the tiniest itch at the back of her brain. Like a toothache that your tongue couldn't leave alone, she imagines, if she'd ever have had a toothache. Her eyes keep wandering away from Crowley to a particular bench, then she scolds herself for getting distracted and looks back at Crowley. But then her brain says, hey, wait, there's something... and she looks back to the bench. It's nearly ten minutes of this before she sees the angel, sitting upright and still, and it's a minute more before her brain can comprehend that she's seen the same angel for four days in a row, but just not noticed them.

"Well, damn," she breathes to herself. She's never been aware of being on the receiving end of a misdirection before. It's unsettling and impressive at the same time.

She gets up and walks over to the bench. It's a risk, she supposes, but she's so curious. This angel is clearly different from the others.

--

[cw: uhhhhh violent “death” (discorporation) lol - nothing too graphic I think]

"Remove your hand from me," the angel says coldly.

Kriddar blinks and does so. Then she steps back onto the sidewalk and shrugs, palms up.

"Do not presume to touch an angel of the Lord," they say, and walk on.

Unfortunately, straight into the path of an oncoming red double-decker bus.

Tires screech, as do humans, and a fragile flesh-and-blood corporation goes flying. Kriddar slides her hands into her pockets and surveys the grisly scene with no small amount of amusement. The angel's corporation isn't getting back up, that's for sure. It gives a few wet, pained gasps before going limp as the humans scream and flutter about.

"Watch out," she says, with the mild air of someone commenting on the weather. "There's a bus."

The angel, floating ethereally above their former corporation, sends a blistering metaphysical glare in her direction.

"You might want to learn how traffic works," she suggests. "Otherwise you were doing great. Top notch, really. Much better than your colleagues." She gives a jaunty wave and picks her way through the stopped cars, around the vaguely human-shaped smear and the unhappy mortals, to the other side of the street. She can practically feel the glare on the back of her neck before she hears the whoosh of the angelic energy leaving the earthly plane of existence. She allows herself a laugh and continues on to the Soho bookshop.

Two days later they're in the park again, and so is a certain angel.

"That must have set a record, getting the paperwork for new corporation through so fast," she says, coming up behind the bench and dangling her arms over the back of it.

The angel doesn't respond for a few long minutes. Kriddar doesn't mind. She watches Crowley instead, noting the way he leans into Aziraphale's shoulder and how their fingers brush together as they toss peas to the ducks. Don't presume to touch an angel of the Lord, indeed.

"You were trying to warn me," the angel says.

Kriddar gives them a sideways glance. "I was."

"Why?"

"We were having a conversation, weren't we?" She shrugs. "Terrible way to go, anyway. Happened to me once, back when cars were newer and traffic wasn't so... regulated. By the way, you read up on that yet? Traffic?"

"I... yes." If she's not mistaken, the angel looks sheepish. "I believe I underestimated the dangers of this plane."

Kriddar laughs and leans closer. "Oooh, yes, lots of lovely ways to die here. Humans are very creative."

"It's amazing that they survive against such adversity."

"Suppose," she says.

They fall into silence, watching their respective targets. They finish with the peas and lounge against the fence for a while, watching the ducks. The sun floats lower, painting the pond with autumnal gold light. That's a sight you wouldn't get in Hell, she thinks. And probably not Heaven, either. Nothing holy about it, after all, just... Earthy.

"I like this one better, anyway," the angel says, apropos of nothing.

Kriddar blinks, and wonders if she’s missed the angel saying something before. "Sorry?"

"This corporation." They look down at themselves, stretching long fingers out above their knees, sticking their feet out too, as if to examine them. They're taller than the last time, obviously taller than Kriddar (most people are). Their features are less masculine, although not what she'd consider particularly feminine, either. Too strong a nose and too sharp of a jaw for that. Their skin is darker than Kriddar's, sort of a latte-ish color (Kriddar likes lattes, especially from a particular American chain of coffeeshops - there's a bitterness in them that's not entirely from the coffee that is a delight to her demonic tongue), and their hair is a dark brown halo of curls.

"Well, better try to stay out of traffic, then," she says.

For the first time, the angel cracks a smile. Just a tiny one, just a little lift of the corners of their mouth, but it sparks something inside Kriddar. Hell isn't the place to trade jokes. Derisive laughter, sure, but not friendly amusement. And that's what it feels like - friendly. It's a new feeling. She's surprised to find that she likes it.

"Do you like yours, ah, Kree- Kree..."

"Kree-dar," she enunciates. "My body?" She wiggles her fingers. "Sure, I guess. A bit short, but nice enough. It does its job."

"Kriddar, sorry. I'm Elstael." The angel holds out an elegant hand.

"Thought I wasn't supposed to touch you?"

The angel looks... embarrassed. "I apologize for that. I misjudged you."

She takes their hand and gives them a sharp smile. "You really didn't. I could've stopped you getting run over by the bus if I'd tried."

A flicker of uncertainty crosses their features, but they don't drop her hand for another second. "And I could have researched Earth more thoroughly and not assumed the worst of you. But here we are."

"You should assume the worst of me. I'm a demon."

The angel folds their hands on their lap. "I suppose that's true."

But they say it with another twist of their lips, like they're sharing a joke, and for some reason Kriddar doesn't feel like pushing the issue.

--

She thinks about the exchange later, staying out of the rain in dragonfly form as she watches Crowley's flat. The angel - Elstael - had unintentionally shortened her name, as if it were a nickname. She is... unused to the idea. If you got a nickname in Hell, it wouldn't be a nice one. Kriddar wasn't her original name, of course, but it was the only one she could remember. It had never felt right, not exactly, but it was what she had.

Except.

Except she had heard that after the fall, Crowley had been called Crawly, and he had chosen the name Crowley for himself some time later. "Flash bastard," they'd said, scornful. But just like that, he’d picked a new name, and kept it. And most demons called him Crowley now.

"Kreeeee," she says to herself. "Kri."

It sounds interesting. Fun. Different.

She thinks she'll keep it.

--

"Kriddar," the angel says the next time they see each other.

"Actually, it's Kri now," she says.

The angel raises their eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Yeah. You messed my name up the other day, but I like the way it sounded. So. Kri."

The angel presses their lips together and frowns. "Can you do that? Just... change your name?"

She shrugs. "Why not?"

Silence falls as the angel - Elstael, she figures she should call them, since they don't seem to be going anywhere - considers this. Crowley and Aziraphale share lunch at a cafe, their legs tangling under the little table. A cup of steaming coffee and a single plate with half a sandwich sits in front of the demon; there's a much wider spread in front of the angel - pasta, a salad, a few half-eaten appetizers. As she watches, Aziraphale offers some of the pasta to Crowley, who leans across the table to bite it off the fork. He licks his lips and smiles, says something, and Aziraphale smiles back.

She doesn't feel the urge to sneeze, anymore. Perhaps she's become immune.

"Do you understand this?" Elstael asks, after they're done with their meal.

"Understand what now?"

They wave a hand at the scene in front of them. "The whole... That."

"Nah," she says. "Not my job, anyway. I'm just supposed to watch and report."

"But..." They rub their fingers against their crisp dove-grey trousers. "Don't you wonder?"

She smirks. "Careful with wondering, your celestialness, that's dangerous for angels."

"I’m not entirely sure it is, though? If that," they gesture to the cafe, where Crowley is gazing nothing short of adoringly at Aziraphale, who is returning the gaze in kind, "isn't enough to cause him to Fall, I don't think that wondering about it is either."

They have a point, there. Crowley is her job, not the angel, but she has to admit she’s through about it. Why hasn't the angel Fallen? It must be a sin to... to do whatever they're doing. Angels and demons don't mix. They're like poles on a magnet, aren't they? They should push each other away. They shouldn't be able to touch.

Aziraphale slides his arm around through Crowley’s. For a fraction of a second, she thinks Crowley actually blushes, which shouldn't be possible for a demon, should it? Then he smiles easily, brightly, and they walk down the street.

Before they get too far away, she and Elstael rise from their bench and start to follow.

"I kept track of his file," they say out of nowhere.

"You know," Kri says, "you really need to work on your conversational rhythm."

"Sorry. Aziraphale's file, in Heaven. With all of the records we had on him. Centuries of travel records and photos. He shows up a lot."

"He shows up in his own file, does he? Shocking."

"No, I meant... the... the demon." They hesitate before saying quietly, "Crowley." As if his name will summon him.

Kri frowns and looks over. "'Shows up a lot' meaning...?"

"Frequently," Elstael says.

She makes a face and lets her head fall back in exasperation. Conversations with the angel are a bit like taking a tapestry apart thread by thread. Painstaking and excruciating, but she wants to know what will happen if she tugs at a strand, so she keeps on doing it.

"I meant," she says, with a patience that surprises even herself. "How. Frequently."

They look at her, hesitating, as if they've just realized that perhaps they shouldn't be sharing this information. She uses her experience with human interaction to look open, friendly, nonthreatening. To her surprise, it seems to work just as well on the angel, and they continue. "At first, not often. Then every few centuries. Then every few decades. Quite frequently, in this last millennium."

"Heaven knew this and didn't do anything?"

Very intriguingly, the angel looks uncomfortable. "Well, I was in charge of the file."

Pick, pick, pick. Kri pulls at the thread. "You mean, you knew, and didn't tell them?"

"I didn't know anything." Elstael sounds, if anything, regretful. "I didn't- he was just around. They were enemies, weren't they? They would meet sometimes. Er, in that capacity."

"But...?"

They don't answer right away, because their targets have stopped. There's a little food cart selling frozen desserts. Aziraphale orders, hands over the bits of plasticky paper the humans value so much. Takes ice creams from the vendor, passes one to Crowley.

"You ever had ice cream?" Kriddar asks.

"Of course not," they answer, immediately.

"Afraid it would tarnish the holiness of your ethereal person?" Kri thinks the pair has moved on enough, so she steps into the line. Elstael joins her.

"No, I've never eaten anything before. I told you this is the first time I've been to the physical plane."

"Oh." They wait, the angel looking over her head toward Crowley and Aziraphale, who have stopped to peer in some shop windows. "You want one, then?"

Elstael doesn't answer until she's next in line. "I suppose."

"Two vanillas, one plain, one with sprinkles," she orders, holding out some rather confused pound notes that had seconds before been unsuspecting scraps of paper in her pocket. "Loads of sprinkles."

Elstael eyes the money suspiciously, but says nothing. They take the plain cone in hesitating fingers and examine it as if looking for a hidden grenade.

"Either convince it not to melt or eat up quick," she says, taking a messy lick of her own and getting sprinkles on her face. Elstael looks satisfyingly horrified at her lack of manners.

They continue on down the street. It's hard to keep an eye on Crowley when she really wants to see the angel's reaction to ice cream, the first thing they'll ever have eaten.

Elstael takes a breath like they're bracing themselves for pain. Then, gingerly, stick their tongue out and touch the ice cream.

"It's cold!" they say, as if taking offense.

"Ice cream," Kri says, not holding in her laugh.

"Ah." They take a tiny bite off the top of it. "Hm." They swallow. "It's.. sweet."

"That's the point. It's dessert."

They're silent again for a while (Elstael may find it strange at first, but has no difficulty finishing the ice cream) as they pace behind Crowley and Aziraphale. The angel miracles their fingers clean and disposes of the wrapper neatly in a trash receptacle. Kri catches their eye and drops hers on the sidewalk.

"No!" they scold, and retrieve it with a glare. Kri grins and shrugs with her hands out, sticky fingers and all.

"Was it any good, then?" she asks.

"Don't litter," they say. "Yes, it was actually quite nice. Is all food like that?"

"Not at all. You got your sweet, your sour, savory, salty, spicy. Or any combination."

"How interesting."

"Yep, humans are fascinating. So back to the files," Kri says, unable to let it lie any longer. It's like a book she can't put down, fingers drawn to turning the pages until she finds out what happens. "You knew they'd been meeting, but...?"

"Ah. It just seemed - well, I was only a clerk, after all. I didn't have anything to do with collecting the information. No one asked. So I never brought it up." They pause again as their targets do. "I thought it was strange, though, an angel meeting a demon like that. I kept track, whenever I had to add anything to the file. And I suppose..."

Kri waits, the weft slipping out of the warp slowly, tortuously. Don't make me pull more, she thinks.

"I suppose I thought they were happy."

She quirks an eyebrow.

"I know it seems strange. They shouldn't be, should they? They’re opposites. But look at them." They gesture to the pair, standing at the base of the wide steps leading up to a museum. "They are happy, aren't they? Despite... everything."

"It appears so," she agrees.

"I didn't think it was wrong. And then after... well, what happened..."

"The failed apocalypse?" Kri supplies.

Elstael gives her a little sideways look. "Well, no. I mean after."

"What about after?"

The angel looks startled. "You don't know?"

This puts her ill at ease, that the angel knows something she doesn't. But she doesn't let that show. "I know what happened in Hell," she lies confidently.

"Well, I don't know about down there, but I heard Aziraphale was, er, escorted to Heaven to face his punishment, and he was able to stand in a hellfire inferno without it so much as singeing a hair out of place."

Kri feels a chill go down her spine. She had heard rumors to the same effect concerning Crowley, except with holy water, but she'd dismissed them as wild hyperbole. Demons couldn't survive holy water. And angels couldn't survive hellfire. Those were just facts.

But apparently they weren't. Not anymore.

"So that's why they want to keep an eye on him," Elstael finishes, not noticing her discomfort.

"Obviously," she says.

"But he hasn't done anything since then, has he? Neither of them have. They're just..." Here the angel sighs. It's a delicate, almost longing sigh, and it makes Kri's lip twitch in distaste. "Well, they're in love, aren't they?"

"Yeah, and my sinuses don't thank them for it." The two are going up the steps now, into the museum. She starts to follow them, but the angel stays put.

"Wait, won't they see us?"

Kri laughs. "They already know we're around. If they wanted their privacy, they should have tried harder to lose us. We know they can if they want to."

Still Elstael hesitates, so she shrugs. "I'm doing my job, featherbrains. See you later."

She leaves the angel at corner of the street and jogs up the steps.

--

The place is full of art. It is, in her opinion, staggeringly uninteresting. She would think that as a fellow demon Crowley would share said opinion, whatever company he was keeping these days, but he seems to be as engaged as Aziraphale. They trade quiet comments, laughing sometimes, silently observing at others. Some of Crowley's thoughts on the artists are properly unkind, which she approves of, but then sometimes Aziraphale agrees with him and adds his own biting, decidedly unangelic commentary as well, which is unsettling.

...stood in a hellfire inferno, they'd said. But Kri can feel the holy presence of him all the way across the exhibit hall. He's no fallen angel, and Crowley is still definitely a demon. The shiver revisits her spine and she thinks, the world really is different now, isn't it.

She loses them about halfway through the museum. Fair's fair, she decides, and starts to head back toward the entrance, when a hand clamps around the lapels of her jacket and throws her against a dimly lit wall. Her useless breath escapes her lungs in a squeak.

"You're following usssss," he hisses, and she presses herself back against the wall.

She's been trailing him for over a month now, and she's never been this close to him. She's seen him laugh, and make a ridiculous number of besotted faces at Aziraphale, and drink coffee and wine and eat ice cream and feed the ducks at the park. The only demonic thing she's really seen him do were the wards around his flat and the bookshop, and they weren't even nasty ones. The impression she had formed, given what she had observed, was that for being the Serpent of Eden he was seriously off his game, and therefore harmless.

She is hastily revising this opinion.

Back when she had first clocked him coming out of the bookshop, she had expected him to be a maelstrom of evil, but she'd thought he was more like a mosquito. Now, here, with one of his hands twisted in her jacket and the other planted by her head, slitted snake eyes just visible over the top of his sunglasses, he puts her more to mind of the fire in a forge - banked, but ready to be stoked to an inferno within seconds. She's not afraid of his rail-thin corporation, or even what he could do to her in a fight, but rather the concentrated, determined intensity of his occult aura. It's not vicious or hateful like some of the more powerful demons she's met, it doesn't make her want to cower like the one time she'd had to give a report to Lord Beelzebub, but he wasn't off his game, not in any way that mattered in a confrontation like this. If anyone were off their game, it was her. She doesn't think she's ever misjudged a target this badly.

Slowly, she raises her hands, empty and placating, and tries to keep her voice calm. "Just doing a job," she says.

Her honesty seems to surprise him. He narrows his eyes further. "Oh, that'ssss it, is it?"

"It is. Observe and report. That's all."

His poison-yellow gaze travels across her face. "Hm," he says, twisting his grip tighter. "And what if we don't want to be followed?"

She coughs. Bargaining has been a successful tactic for her in the past. "Discorporate me and they'll just send someone else. Maybe someone who won't back off if you give them the slip around exhibit hall C. Devil you know and all that."

His lips twitch. "Not a terrible offer," he says. "But you're asking me to trust a demon. That rarely works out, in my experience."

"I've got nothing against you. Or him," she adds. "This is a nice assignment. Nice city. Trust that I'm lazy and selfish." And scared out of my fucking wits right now, she doesn't say.

Gradually, the fingers on her jacket loosen, and he gives her a wry smirk. "You've got a point there."

She keeps her hands up even after he lets go.

"I doubt Downstairsss will be very happy if they hear I caught you." he says, pushing the sunglasses up his nose. "I'd keep your reports short and sweet."

"I'm not stupid," she says. "Told you I wanted to keep the job."

--

Elstael stops to read some advisory signs before descending onto the beach. Kri waits, because she knows if she doesn't that she'll be called back to hear what they're about and it's easier to get it all over with in one go.

"It's a marine protected area," the angel says after finishing one of them.

"Good for it," Kri says.

A group of young, brightly-clothed, slightly raucous people approach the stairs and stop at the top of them as they shuffle various belongings among themselves for some reason. A woman dressed rather more plainly comes up behind them and frowns that they're blocking the path. She's wearing an expression that would be a perfect textbook example of "local resident observes tourists and is Very Tired of it" had any language possessed a word for such a thing.

"No fires above the high tide line?" the angel reads. "What does that mean?"

Kri shrugs - she's not planning on starting any fires - but the woman answers them.

"There's not much sand here, usually," she says. "It's mostly rocks, and underneath the rocks there's driftwood, even though you can't see it. So if you start a fire where the high tide won't put it out and it starts the driftwood smoldering, you could catch the whole beach on fire."

"Oh!" Elstael looks distressed. "Has that actually happened?"

The woman nods. "Yeah, in the seventies, I think. Some teenagers started a big one down at the other end."

Elstael tries to look down at the beach, but the view is blocked by the cliff and the young people. "And where is the high tide line?"

"This time of year, it's right at the bottom of the rocks, on the sand. You can see where it leaves a line of seaweed and stuff. In the winter it's practically up to the base of the cliff." She frowns harder at the group, who have finally started their descent. "But hardly anyone visits in the winter."

"Bit wet for sightseers?" Kri asks. She's had assignments in this part of the world before, and remembers what the winters are like.

"A bit," the woman agrees.

"Thank you," Elstael says to her, and she gives them a mild smile and nod before disappearing down the stairs.

The angel takes a few moments to finish reading the fire sign. Kri waits for them to move before following.

The woman had been right about the amount of rocks. There are at least fifty feet of grey, round-tumbled stones in a messy slope down to the sand. They're mostly on the large side, some as big as a human head, and they both have to be careful to not turn their corporations' ankles on them.

It's windy closer to the ocean. Before too long Kri feels her skin getting salty-sticky and her hair tangling with itself. Still, the sun is just the right temperature and the constant hiss and crash of the waves is soothing. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"What do you think?" she asks Elstael after a few beats of silence.

They turn their face into the wind. "I like it," they say. "It's very different from London, though."

"I'd say," Kri laughs. "Lots of places are different from London."

They turn bright, curious eyes to her. "Oh?"

"Well, yeah. Pretty much everywhere is different from everywhere else. Big cities tend to share some things, and small places do too, but everywhere is... unique."

"I didn't know." They start walking along the edge of the wet sand. "Heaven is more or less the same all over."

Hell isn't, Kri thinks. Hell is all sorts of uncomfortable differences - hot and cold, generally crowded but sometimes achingly desolate, dank, parching, filled with agonized screams or vicious whispers. It goes without saying that she tries not to think about it at all.

Instead, she points out a purple snail shell a little bit further on, and the angel inspects it curiously.

"This was an animal," they say, almost scandalized.

"Yeah. It was a snail." Kri points out the empty space inside the shell. "Not anymore."

"How sad," Elstael says, and they sound genuinely distressed about it.

"Circle of life, innit?" She shrugs. "You didn't kill it."

"I suppose," they say, bending to put the shell back on the ground.

"You can keep it," Kri says. "Take it as a souvenir. That's what people do at the beach."

The angel hesitates, the shell still pinched delicately between their fingers.

She chuckles at their indecision. "The snail isn't gonna want it back."

"It is beautiful," they say, straightening up.

Kri grins. They continue on down the beach, until they reach an outcropping of rock that stretches all the way into the water. There are tidepools there, and they inspect them for a while. A (living) relative of Elstael's shell leaves a squiggly trail in the sand in one, and intensely - almost neon - green anemones wave short tentacles in another. "Nice color," Kri compliments them. It's nothing compared to electric blue, but still a good effort.

As they peer closer at the other inhabitants of the rocks, the tide sweeps up unnoticed behind them and surges in around their ankles. They both yelp and leap away from the chilly water. Elstael looks around to see if their embarrassment was observed by anyone else, and Kri starts laughing. The angel joins in after a second.

Slowly, shaking waterlogged feet every few steps, they make their way to the sun-warmed rocks safely away from the waves. Kri sits and stretches her legs out in front of her, decides not to waste a miracle, and toes off her shoes to help them dry. Elstael copies her after a moment.

It's silly and simple and rather human, nothing either of them would have the chance to do in the course of their jobs, normally. But it's nice.

The sun sinks lower and paints the sky in fiery colors where it strains for the horizon. Above, the view into the firmament is all cool purples and blues, desaturated, soft. They are alone in the little corner of the beach, saltwater evaporating from their trousers and leaving behind crystals in the weave of the fabric and on their skin.

"The sign got me thinking of something," Elstael says, apropos of nothing, as per their usual.

"Marine protected area?" she asks, although she can't imagine what that would have to do with anything.

"No, no. About the fires."

Kri looks over at them. "What about the fires?"

The angel spreads their hands out, splaying their fingers across their knees. "The woman said the driftwood underneath the rocks, the stuff that you can't see, is the real danger."

Kri hums.

"It's sort of like us, isn't it?"

She blinks, frowns. "How so?"

"Ah, well..." They clear their throat. "Understand I'm not trying to insult you. But. You're not someone who's very important, er, Down There, are you?"

"I'll have you know that I'm quite insulted, Feathers." Kri makes a face of mock rage, and the angel laughs. "But yeah, I'd say that's fair."

"And I'm no one of import in Heaven. There are lots of other angels like me, just doing small jobs. Menial tasks, really. Are there lots of unimportant demons? Menial tasks in Hell?"

She blinks again, and thinks that she sees where this is going. "Yeah."

"And we were expected to fight, in the war with the Antichrist."

Kri remembers the sick feeling in her unnecessary stomach when she'd heard the call to arms, her travel orders to Meggido, and the guilty tsunami of relief she'd had when the whole thing had been called off. "Mm-hm."

"They need us to fight, even if they ignore us otherwise."

"I'd think so."

They reach down and crunch some salt out of their trousers. "But we don't want to."

"Not me," Kri whispers, almost afraid to say it aloud.

"Nor me." They lean their chin on their first, elbow propped on their knee. "We're already aflame with these ideas. So what if we catch some other unseen things on fire?"

Kri is silent for a long time, and Elstael lets her be. What they're saying... it's dangerous. More dangerous than what they've been doing, shirking their jobs and sending off half-fictional reports to their respective superiors. They're taking about rebellion, about revolution. About treason. Does the angel even know how dangerous that is? She glances over, sees the slight crease of skin at the edges of their eyes and between their brows. But of course they would.

"Would that... work?" Kri's voice is hushed, just audible over the susurration of the waves. "Are there angels who would, ah, catch fire?"

"There must be," they say firmly. "Look at me. And... him." They turn their head toward her, burnt-sugar eyes molten. "Aren't there demons who would? Look at you."

"And him," she echoes. She thinks of other demons in Hell, how she has never liked them. But now she wonders if that's by design. Hell is unpleasant, even for those who revel in its unpleasantness. It's really no surprise that its denizens aren't the best company. She'd be hard pressed to name someone who does actually enjoy their job, aside from the perhaps demons at the very top. She wonders what would happen if she showed them a little bit of Earth. A little mundanity, as a break from the exceptional torture that was the kingdom of the damned.

--

Kri doesn't quite understand what's going on when she gets there. There's a whole lot of people frozen in place, shimmering darkly with a demonic compulsion over them, and a very heavenly aura pulsing somewhere ahead of her, behind one of the doors. She can hear voices, a familiar rhythm of back-and-forth bickering, although it's more strained than normal. Then, loudly, "Where did you get that?!" overlaid with "Oh, no!" and a second later, the sharp retort of a handgun.

"FUCK!" Crowley spits, loud and agonized, and the compulsion vanishes like smoke. The people around her start to move, confused, angry. "FUCKING shit shit shit bloody hell-"

A flash of an angelic miracle makes her flinch, and Crowley continues to swear.

"Where is the Virgin?" one of the people asks. There are quite a lot of them, and the tenor of their minds sets her on edge. They are feverish with belief, zealous. They start toward the doors as a mob.

She thinks of several things in the space of hardly a second: Elstael, gingerly tasting an ice-cream. A demon and angel, hand in hand on the seashore. The wide sky and the quietness of a meadow, a yellowing paperback open on her knees. The oppressive weight of an infernal pen, searing words into decades of endless reports. Fog on the Thames. Shave ice melting in the bright Hawaiian sun. We should go someday. I'll show you.

She snaps her fingers, and the mob freezes.

The gravity of controlling so many minds at once makes her knees buckle, and she braces her hands on her thighs to stay upright. It's staggering, the determined force of the humans' consciousnesses, and she sucks in an unnecessary breath through her teeth. Her forte is not influence and control, not like this. She's all about indirectness, about deflecting glances like rain bouncing off an umbrella and easing human suspicions with a unremarkable smile. This is direct. Aggressive. They're fighting her, and she can think of nothing to soothe them. She's out of her depth.

Please hurry, she thinks. Whatever you're doing, hurry.

Another angelic miracle, stronger than the last, tasting like petrichor in the air. The cry of a child. "You won't remember this," Aziraphale says kindly, softly, but his voice is exhausted. "You'll wake up and all will be well."

"C'mon, angel," Crowley says. He sounds even worse. "We gotta hurry."

They step out of the middle door. Aziraphale is cradling a bundle in one arm and trying to support Crowley with the other. Crowley is leaning heavily on him, one hand mangled and bloody clutched to his chest. They freeze when they see her.

"Go," she rasps. "Go, go!"

They don't need telling twice. They start moving again, weaving their way quickly but unsteadily through the frozen bodies. As they go by, Aziraphale says, "Thank you so much, my dear, thank you," and she feels as if something brushes her shoulder though there's nothing there to see. A wing, she realizes, breathing in the passing ethereal energy almost against her will, glowing warm like sunlight, smelling like lilac and clover and ferns and running water. She feels stronger, the burden of the human minds lighter, and she gapes in amazement as they rush out the door.

She holds the humans for as long as she can, backing out of the room around them in an awkward shuffle as she tries to concentrate on both the metaphysical task of keeping minds still and the physical one of not running into bodies. She makes it out, lets go of the control and uses a much simpler miracle to lock them in. Almost immediately they start rattling and banging on the door.

The air outside boils molten with righteous fury.

Behind her, there is the well-tuned growl of a sports car. A woman is driving, not young but striking, with dark hair and dark eyes. Aziraphale bundles Crowley into the passenger seat, and Kri meets the demon's stare behind his sunglasses.

I understand now, she thinks. I understand.

He rolls down the window. "Get outta here!"

She gives him a sharp nod. The sky is starting to roil with bruised clouds, pregnant with divine lighting, and Aziraphale pulls the back door shut behind him. The woman peels out, and Kri starts running in the opposite direction. She thinks she hears someone call "good luck!" before they're gone.

She runs as fast as she's ever run before, but she's still close enough to feel the crack of the sky splitting and Heavenly wrath pouring down to Earth.

What did I do? Oh God, what did we do?

She is running so blindly away from the furious angelic presence behind her that she doesn't notice the one in front of her. Except it's not furious, it's Elstael.

"Kri?" they say, gripping her arms to keep her upright. "Kri, what-"

She has a plan. The beginnings of a plan. Well, less of a plan and more of an idea. But it's something.

"Can you-" she gasps, "can you smite me without actually, you know, smiting me?"

"What?!"

"Just singe me a bit. Or lop off an arm or something? Without killing me? C'mon, c'mon, quick!"

"I- uh, think so, yes," they answer. "But-"

"Do it!"

Elstael stares. There are angry voices coming from the direction of the building, angel and human. Kri thrums with impatience and panic.

"I don't want to hurt you," they say.

"It's fine," she says. "It's fine. It'll work out out. Tell them you chased me and fought me. You nearly got me, but I got away, right?"

"I don't want to hurt-"

"I let you get hit by a bus, fair's only fair."

Still they hesitate.

Kri twists her arms so her hands are mirroring Elstael's, resting just below the angel's elbows. "Trust me, please," she says, and means it.

Slowly, finally, they nod. Kri steps back, steeling herself for whatever smiting feels like. She's not sure - never experienced it, quite obviously - but it has to hurt.

Elstael lets their hands fall out to their sides, palms up, and raises their eyes, a picture of angelic holiness. They start to glow.

"Begone, demon," they say, and reach out to wrap elegant fingers around Kri's bicep. The glow immediately vanishes, but they keep their hand there.

It burns, but not like Falling at all - a clean, sharp, perfect fire that bites into her skin, muscles, bones, slicing like a million razor-sharp papercuts through her mortal corporation all the way down to her demonic self, a wave of holy pain rippling out from the angel's hold on her. She hears herself scream and Elstael's grip tightens. The burn stops advancing, but it smolders, from shoulder to fingertips. A good sign, that, she thinks. If her fingertips hurt it means she's still got fingertips, right?

"-sorry, sorry, sorry-" she realizes Elstael is saying, repeating it like a mantra.

"-'s'fine," she slurs. "Great. 'S great. Good job. Now. Just." She pushes herself upright, shaky, but determined, and also determinedly not looking at her arm. "Just tell 'em you chased me, right? You w're tryin' to protect the... the... the thing, 'n we... fought. 'N we'll meet back up wh'n'ev'r this blows over, right? 'Kay?"

"Yes, okay," they say.

She forms her un-smited hand into a thumbs-up and tries to smile at the angel. She probably looks wretched, but Elstael gives a watery laugh and smiles back.

"See y'later," she says, and lets herself sink into the ground that cracks apart to swallow her up, lets herself fall back into Hell.

--

The pain gets easier, Downstairs. She doesn't truly need her corporation down there, and with all the infernal energy around, it's easier to heal. All that said, an angelic near-smiting is nothing to sneeze at. She's still letting her arm hang limp when she's called to give her report. It goes over about as well as can be expected.

"How was I to know they were trying to steal the new Messiah or whatever blessed stunt they were trying to pull off?" She glares, covering the lie with indignation. Rightful indignation. "No one gave me any new info! I was just following him! That was my job!"

"You got yourself noticed by an angel," Regish scolds.

"Kinda hard not to, they were bloody everywhere," she mutters.

"And you lost him."

"Well I'm sorry I couldn't pay closer attention while I was being smote," she says, snappish. She has a risky thought - one that could help her, but potentially endanger everyone else. They're going to have to put the baby somewhere - either that, or disappear, and she doesn't think they'll do that. There are any number of places they could go on Earth, or even off Earth, unlikely as that would be. She just hopes she doesn't guess right.

"I think I heard the angel say something about Siberia."

Regish raises his eyebrows. "Which angel?"

"Which do you think? Crowley's... pet." She gathers all the disgust she feels at her current surroundings and infuses it into that single word. It seems to work, because Regish gives her a look that could almost be called commiserating.

"Siberia? You sure?"

"I heard him say the word Siberia, I don't know what he meant by it," she says. "That's all I got. But I can track them down again. Just send me back up."

He eyes her skeptically. "You want to go back?"

"To do my job, yeah! We can't let 'em get away."

Her artifice seemed to have worked, because three days later, when her arm is no longer stinging with holy fire, they send her back up the escalator and into London.

--

She goes straight to the bookshop. It won't look suspicious if they're watching her - obviously Crowley spends time there, so she's safe claiming she's looking for clues. It's still warded, and the windows still opaque to her eyes, so she lurks very obviously outside it until the door finally opens.

Aziraphale stands there inside the wards, looking cautious.

"You didn't send it to Siberia, did you?" she asks, not glancing at him at all, trusting that with his powers he can hear her across the street. "I'm not asking where, you don't have to trust me, just, I told them to look in Siberia. So if you sent it there, sorry, you've got a problem."

"Not Siberia," he says very quietly.

Her shoulders slump in relief. "Good. Great. Okay." She starts to move on - she'll go to Crowley's flat next, then the cottage, then back to LA - but his voice freezes her in her tracks.

"Thank you again for what you did. Would you, ah," he turns for a moment, looks over his shoulder. "Would you be so kind as to come in?"

She glances around. It's unlikely Hell is watching her - she's given them no reason to doubt her work, as far as she can tell. Still, the invitation feels enormous.

"Crowley says it's clear," Aziraphale reassures her. "But hurry, please."

She crosses the street and walks up to the door.

The bookshop still feels eye-wateringly good, but it provides no barrier to her entry. The angelic ward passes over her like a blanketful of static electricity, all sparks and crackles, and the demonic one slows her steps for an instant like she's forcing her way through mud. But then she's through, and she can finally see the inside of the shop.

There are books stacked everywhere - on proper shelves, on tables, on the floor. The place is all warm browns and golds and creams, like a box full of chocolate truffles, the kind that have the hard shell and the white chocolate drizzle and bits of actual gold leaf to make them fancier. She thinks maybe she can smell cocoa over the sugary-musty perfume of old paper and faded leather covers. It's wonderful. These aren't her kind of books, but she loves it all the same.

Absorbed as she is by finally seeing the interior of the shop, it takes her a moment to realize there are other people inside. Elstael is standing by a little round table, and Kri doesn't even try to hide the smile that stretches her face when she sees them. The angel smiles back with so much relief that Kri can practically taste it in the dusty air. Crowley, of course, is there too, sprawled across a plush chair and eyeing her with caution, and some of the humans that she's seen in Tadfield - the witch and her companion, and the former Antichrist.

"Er, hi," she says.

Crowley gets out of the chair, unfolding like some terrifying articulated origami, and starts to stalk toward them. "You sure we should trust this one, angel?"

"Yes," Elstael says firmly as Aziraphale opens his mouth to answer. They lift their chin bravely when Crowley shifts his gaze toward them.

"Well, no offense," he says, eyes unreadable behind the sunglasses, "but you don't have all that much experience with demons, do you?"

"With her I do." Elstael swallows nervously at his increased scrutiny but keeps their head high. A warmth like hot coffee spreads through her, but unlike coffee it doesn't stop at her stomach. It gets all the way to the tips of her fingers, she swears, and she grins in what she expects is a rather stupid way. For the moment, she can't care.

"Crowley, you saw what she did to help us," Aziraphale says as Crowley comes up to them. She notices that one of his hands is wrapped in a bandage, and she remembers the sound of a shot, and the bloody mess he'd been holding to his chest.

"She could be working for them, still."

"'She's' right here," Kri says, perturbed. "And I'm not. Working for them, I mean."

"Well, er." The human man next to the witch raises his hand slightly, as if he's in school asking a question. The witch gives him a withering, but fond, look, and he drops the hand. "That is, no offense, but... isn't that what you'd say that if you were?"

He has a point. She shrugs. "Dunno what I can say to convince you."

"What's your reason?"

She blinks. It's Adam, the former Antichrist, who has spoken. "I'm sorry?"

He's sitting in a rolling desk chair like it's a throne, the afternoon light making his curly hair glow. The effect is unsettling. "Why do you want to help?"

"I..." She doesn't answer right away. He's staring at her with a haughty sort of intensity, and she can't look away from his eyes. She takes a breath before launching into it, not because she needs air but because it gives her another second to collect her thoughts and she's always thought it gives the following words a bit more gravity. "I spent most of my time Downstairs, after... after the Fall. And it was... fine. Not good, obviously, it was terrible, but... it was what I had, so it was fine. And then about fifteen hundred years ago, I get my job up here. And it's way better than fine, up here. There's... there's sky, and weather, sunsets, trees. Animals that don't drool acid, rivers that aren't sulfur. And the humans are so... they're just so clever, aren't they? Making all sorts of things. And writing stories. Good and bad. Wonderful and terrible. I just... I like it." She feels like that wasn't coherent enough, like she's made a rambling mess of it all. "Er. I don't want it all to go down - or up - in flames, Earth. It's... well. It’s nice. I guess it's selfish, but, y'know. Demon."

"But it is true, isn't it?" Aziraphale says. He beams at her, and she feels, shockingly, pleased that he's pleased, and then quite unfortunately he claps a hand to her shoulder - the same one that had started healing in Hell but wasn't quite done yet.

She nearly falls over. Pain shoots down her arm and she lets out a choked wheeze, the ability to vocalize apparently punched out of her along with the ability to stand. In a fraction of a second Elstael is beside her, holding her up, and Aziraphale is apologizing profusely, hands fluttering about like a pair of agitated birds.

"It's fffffffine," she breathes, only the rough shape of the words and none of the voice behind them. At least, she hopes that's what comes out of her mouth - she's not too sure. "Just... not quite... hhhhhealed yet."

"Oh dear," he says, now twisting his hands together. "My dear, I'm so sorry. Healed from what?"

She takes a moment to compose herself and tilts her head questioningly toward Elstael. "Y'... didn't tell 'em?"

Elstael shakes their head. With a start, Kri realizes their hands are clasped around hers, fingers interlaced, both of Elstael's surrounding her own despite her black nails that she is convincing very hard right now not to be chitinous claws. It's warm and soft and... Well. Nice.

"After what happened with the Messiah, when I found Kri running away. She told me to smite her, and to tell Heaven that we had fought, to keep my cover." They grip her hand a little tighter. "’Just singe me a little or lop off an arm without killing me,’ I think you said."

Kri shrugs her uninjured shoulder. "Worked, didn't it?" Thankfully her voice has returned.

"Oh my," Aziraphale says. "That was... very dangerous."

"Not half," Crowley says, sounding a bit impressed.

"I figured it would be better to keep up appearances. Hell would believe I'd been caught by an angel, and Heaven could commend Elstael for nearly getting a demon."

"And it was quite a good idea," Aziraphale says. He smiles at her, still apologetically. "If we're going to do this, it will be invaluable to have inside information. Especially since Crowley and I, er, no longer do."

--

#text post #i... wrote something #quite a while ago actually #clearly not anything finished #idk just wanted to have it somewhere timestamped #and i'm trying to... Do More Art #so putting it out there is... a step #*hides* #*terror* #not tagging this with *the fandom* bc ppl found me on my last random text post lol #it's gotta be a hot tag rn so i can't even imagine how i showed up for them haha #which is cool - my posts are public obvs - but also kinda scary! #i'm being... perceived...

[quokkacore]

phenomena | s.jn

summary: the majority of your adult life you’ve been practically married to logic and science. until your superiors at the FBI assign you to work with special agent johnny suh on the so-called x-files project—cases that were never solved due to unexplained phenomena. as time goes by, and you chase case after case, you find yourself drifting further from logic… and closer to johnny. (part of the 90s love collab)

pairing: conspiracytheorist!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: x-files!au (with johnny as fox mulder and reader as dana scully), fbiagents!au, coworkers-to-lovers, slow burn, sci-fi, angst, fluff, comedy, crack-ish at times, fakmarriage!au at the end

warnings: language, murder, eating, blood, general violence, police presence (txf is fbi level copaganda but oh well), johnny is a low key dick initially, sexual references, general american ignorance, implied sexual harrassment in the workplace, mental hospitals, reader witnesses a distressing panic attack, guns, body image, referenced child/animal abuse, repressed memories, mentions of anti-semitism & nazism, christian allusions, occultism, mild gore, slight body horror, some 90s pop culture references, i am not !!! an fbi agent so there may be some inconsistencies, suggestive content but no actual smut, Karens being thirsty for johnny, johnny is a Single Man and is Kind of Gross, both reader and johnny get knocked unconscious Several Times

song recs: gorillaz - dirty harry // john mellencamp - martha say // elton john - whitewash county // arctic monkeys - all my own stunts // kesha - spaceship // the cranberries - dreams // exo - oasis // the cure - friday, i'm in love // billy joel - we didn't start the fire // david bowie - starman // phoebe bridgers - chinese satellite // tom petty - wildflowers // selena - bidi bidi bom bom // soda stereo - persiana americana // bruce springsteen - dancing in the dark // the cranberries - linger // bruce springsteen - human touch // r.e.m - it's the end of the world as we know it (and i feel fine) // david bowie - heroes (or just listen to the playlist i made instead)

word count: 34.3k (YOWZA u should prob read this on a browser)

a/n: a fic this long......never again

X-FILE 62-J: THE PINEWOOD PATTERN

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—08:00 hours, Monday, March 16th, 1992

The morning you met Johnny Suh, his glasses were crooked. It was two years after you'd started working for the FBI, and you were 28 years old. 

You'd spoken to your Division Chief—an older, balding man named Carson Brooks—the afternoon prior, just before you left home. He, along with two other men had asked you about the man in question. 

"Agent L/N, tell me. What do you know about an agent named John Suh?” 

You had furrowed your eyebrow, staring up at him. “John Suh? He had quite the reputation at the academy. Let's see… Oxford educated psychologist. He wrote a monograph on serial killers and the occult… helped the FBI catch Ezekiel Braun in 1988. He’s generally considered to be the best analyst of the violent crimes division. I’ve never met him personally. There’s a nickname for him around the division, though. They called him that in the academy, too." You had to hold back a chuckle, "Spooky Suh."

One of the men next to him nodded—a senior officer whose name you couldn't quite remember—before leaning forward. “It has come to our attention that he’s devoted himself to a project outside of the bureau mainstream. Agent L/N, are you familiar with the so-called X-Files project?”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, trying to recall where you’d heard the name. “From what I understand,” You said, looking up at the man, “They’re cases that are related to unexplained phenomena.”

Your division chief straightened his glasses. “Agent L/N, we’d like for you to assist Suh on these files. You are to write field reports and assess the validity of his work.”

You blinked, not letting your face crack. “...Am I to understand you want me to debunk the X-Files project, sir?”

Your eyes scanned the room. So far, the third man, the one smoking the cigarette had been the only one to not speak.

“Agent L/N,” Your division chief replied with a pursed smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “We expect you to make the proper scientific analyses required for these cases. We trust you won’t disappoint us and will be looking forward to seeing your reports. You are to meet with Agent Suh tomorrow morning.”

That had been the day before. Now, here you were, on your way down to the basement, which was apparently John Suh's natural habitat within the Bureau headquarters. The lighting was relatively low in the hallways, shelves upon shelves of cardboard archive boxes seemingly closing you in. When you finally reached the office door at the end of the hall, you rapped your knuckles against the wood twice.

“Sorry, no one down here except for the FBI’s most unwanted!” A deep, sardonic toned voice lamented. You made an amused face to yourself, before quickly composing yourself. 

Professionalism above all else, Y/N. First impressions matter.

So you took a deep breath before opening the door slowly. Your eyes scanned the room, widening slightly despite your mantras of professionalism. The man had his back to you, so he didn’t catch it, thankfully. He was too busy studying photographic slides on a lightbox on his desk, hunched over in concentration. 

But amongst those metal filing cabinets that were all that same atrocious shade of gray, the entire room was pretty much a mess—papers scattered across the desk and pictures tacked to the walls haphazardly to the point where it was hard to tell what color the wall he was sitting in front of was. Among other things, you caught newspaper clippings, pictures of bright beams of light igniting the night sky, a diagram of the human skeleton, and in the middle, a large poster. On it, a large UFO was hovering above a pine forest skyline, the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” printed in bold, white letters across the bottom.

The man in question turned in his swivel chair to face you. You took note of the crooked glasses propped up onto his round nose, wide eyes studying you up and down. The sleeves of his white button up were rolled up to his elbows, and his tie, just like his glasses, was crooked. Still, you mustered a curt smile, urging yourself to remain professional in spite of how handsome he was.     

"Agent Suh," You declared, holding out your hand, "I’m Y/N L/N. I've been assigned to work with you."

John shook your hand, eyeing you somewhat skeptically. "Agent L/N. I've heard a lot of things. So, who did you piss off to get stuck with this old nut?"

"Actually, I’m looking forward to working with you. Division chief Brooks has asked me to do an evaluation of your work ethic and the overall project, I’m hoping we can work well together."

He pursed his lips, obviously trying to hold back a laugh. Finally, he broke into a grin. "So, they want you to babysit."

You bit back a huff as he turned to look back at his slides. Well, yes, he was right in a way, but you weren't going to admit it. Not with the slightly condescending tone he'd taken with you. Running your tongue against your front teeth in annoyance, you did your best to remain cordial. You plastered your polite smile back onto your face and crossed your arms.

"If you have any doubt about my credentials—”

“You’re a medical doctor,” He said, pulling out a folder with a clear plastic front, “You teach at the academy, did your undergraduate degree in physics…”

He looked at the blue folder in his hands. “Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A new interpretation. Y/N L/N’s senior thesis, now there’s a credential: rewriting Einstein.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you bother to read it?” Your tone had a dangerous roll to it. Already you were starting to doubt how much you would enjoy this. 

“I did!” He stood up from the swivel chair, revealing to you just how tall he was. As he walked to one of the gray filing cabinets on the other side of the room, he turned his head and flashed you a crooked smile. “I really liked it, actually. It’s just in my line of work, the laws of physics don’t seem to apply.”

John walked back over to his desk, picking up some of the slides on the lightbox and popping them into a slide projector a few feet away. You stepped out of his way as he made his way to the light switch next to the door, engulfing the room in darkness except for the lightbox, which gave the room a dim, industrial white glow. Turning back to the projector, he pressed the on button, before he looked back at you. His face had turned serious, wide eyes peering at you in the dark.

“Maybe I can get your medical opinion on this.”

Turning your head to the first slide, your eyes settled on the body of a young woman lying amongst old leaves. She was in a white nightgown smudged in dirt, and her arms were spread out as if she were waiting for someone to embrace her.

“Oregon female,” John said, “Aged 21. No known cause of death. Autopsy tells us jack.”

He changed slides, and the image projected on the wall changed to a close up of skin, two small red dots puckered up about a few centimeters away from each other. “However, these were found on her lower back. Doctor L/N, can you ID these marks?”

Walking closer to the projection on the wall, you sighed softly in thought. “Needle punctures, maybe?” You asked, “An animal bite? Electrocution?” 

“The coroner wasn’t able to ID them either.” He pressed a button on the projector, and it whirred as it changed slides. This time, it was a figure of a chemical composition. You furrowed your eyebrow. 

“This was found in the surrounding tissue. How’s your chemistry?” He asked, sounding amused. You glanced at him in dislike, then at the composition, racking your head at the sight of so many cyclohexanes. 

“It’s organic… Is it some kind of synthetic protein?”

He didn’t answer, and your mouth fell open in confusion, shaking your head. “I… don’t know, what is it?”

John laughed. “Beats me! I’ve never seen it either. But it’s also been found in Amaranth, South Dakota…” He clicked the button on the projector. It changed to an image of a middle aged man laying face down in a ditch. He did it again, and a younger man appeared strewn in the middle of the desert, eyes glazed open. “...And again, in Verona, Nevada.”

“Do you have any theories?” You asked, squinting as to avoid looking at the glare of the projector, and instead stare at him. He made his way closer to you. The light of the projection caused the image to warp and distort, projected onto the right side of his face. 

“Oh, I have plenty of theories. What I want to know is why it’s bureau policy to claim these as unexplained phenomena when there’s clearly a pattern here.”

He sighed, before stepping closer to you. He wasn’t necessarily invading your personal space. But from this proximity, caught in the light of the projector you could make out the soft flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the soft curve of his lips. “So, doc,” He murmured, voice low and raspy, “Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

Oh boy, you thought, here we go. 

“Logically, I would have to say no. The energy capabilities required to travel through space, as well as the technology you're implying would exceed a spacecraft's—”

"Conventional wisdom," He said, raising his eyebrows. He crossed his arms, pointing at the projection. "Do you know that this girl in Oregon is the fourth person in her graduating class to pass away under suspicious circumstances?" 

 He shifted his weight to lean on one leg. “When there’s no logic, and there’s no convention, is it such a crime to turn to the fantastic for explanations?”

 You frowned. “She had to have died from something. Whether it was natural, then it’s possible the medical examiner missed something. If she was murdered, then maybe it was a cover-up, or a sloppy investigation.” 

Leaning your head forward towards him, you put your hands on your hips. “What I find fantastic is the idea that you would be willing to look anywhere except the realm of science for answers. The answers are there, you just have to be willing to look for them.”

    “And that’s why they put the I in FBI,” He quipped, sounding quite amused at his joke. He turned on the overhead lights, then made his way to sit down at his swivel chair. He leaned back against the black cushion. “So, L/N. You, me, a flight to Pinewood, Oregon, bright and early tomorrow at eight AM. How’s that sound?”

 You bit back a smile. John Suh was… quite the character, that was for sure. Smug. Intelligent. Maybe just a tiny bit off his rocker.

But you didn't really have much of a choice, and you were growing curious as well. 

 "Alright,” You conceded, “I’ll bite.”

 John grinned. “Awesome.”

You set your purse down next to the projector, before turning it off. “I’ll be right back,” You told him, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He nodded, turning back to the files next to the lightbox.

 “And John?” You leaned against the doorway, watching as he straightened his posture to look up at you, expectant of your words. His eyes, from behind those crooked, round rimmed glasses, were poised on your frame. 

“Yes?”

“Your glasses are crooked.” You turned to exit, smiling to yourself when you heard him move, and softly mumble, “Oh, shit.”

PINEWOOD, OREGON—11:32 hours, Tuesday, March 17th, 1992

The plane touched down with only the slightest bit of turbulence. John Suh was sitting right next to you, snoring softly as you pored over the four different medical reports. The reports of the first three victims—Kaya Tate, Jisung Park, and Alex Gallagher—were basically the same word for word, other than specific physical details of the victims, like hair color, height and weight. All of them were found in the woods and were estimated to have died somewhere between one and four in the morning. Possible causes of death included exposure and cardiac arrest, but there wasn’t enough evidence to list anything. The oddest part was that of the three of them, all of their pupils were shrunken. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

 When a person dies, what occurs next is called primary flaccidity. In this state, all of the muscles relax—their head might fall back as the neck loses strength, the jaw falls open, fingers loosen their grip. And the pupils should dilate. But here, they weren’t. Not in the slightest.

You frowned, looking over the first three reports again. There was no sign of red marks anywhere. At the end of all three medical reports, the same signature was seen: Aaron Choi, MD. 

Flicking through the medical report of the fourth victim—Kaya Tate—you looked over the similarities of the other autopsies, and the one unavoidable difference: those damned red markings John had shown you yesterday. With a sigh, you skimmed over the report one last time, before one final difference caught your eye at the very end. This report wasn’t signed by one Aaron Choi, MD. No, it was signed by Hank Rodrigo, MD.

You didn’t have time to think over it much as the pilot made the announcement that the plane would be landing soon. John jumped awake at the sound of his voice. His eyes cracked open, and he frowned as if he were upset at being woken up. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” You greeted when he gave you a sideways glance. 

“And here I was, hoping for a kiss to break the spell.” He laughed sleepily, but you frowned as you pulled the reports off of the tray. You didn’t answer as you put them away and put the tray back up in preparation for the landing.

John stretched his back, inhaling deeply before staring at you awkwardly. “...Sorry. I’m being inappropriate.”

You shook your head, but then smiled. “Thank you for apologizing. Some guys at the bureau can be real creeps.”

He frowned. “...You’re trained in self defense at the academy for a reason, y’know.”

Rolling your eyes, you zipped up your bag. Still, you couldn’t let go of the smile on your face. Still, you put some sarcasm into your tone when you next spoke. “Of course I am.”

When the plane landed, you picked up the rental car the bureau had provided, and put your suitcases in the trunk before getting in. John drove, popping in a cassette of his that played some rock song you didn’t know the name of. 

Martha say she don't need no stinking man making no decisions for her

She don't need his money, she don't need him between the sheets

She ain't gonna sleep on the edge of the bed for no stinking man...

“Kaya Tate’s medical report was signed by a different examiner,” You pointed out, even though you knew that he’d already realized that.

“And there it is,” He said, not taking his eyes off of the road. “Those marks are pretty hard to miss. If they all had similar circumstances in the autopsy, who’s to say the first three kids didn’t have the same markings? And why would Doctor Choi avoid putting that in the reports?”

For a moment, he looked at you, and raised an eyebrow. You mirrored his expression at his implication. “So, you think the medical examiner has something to do with the murders.”

“Maybe?” He glanced briefly in the rearview mirror. “He’s a person of interest. Not necessarily a suspect. I’ve arranged to exhume Alex Gallagher’s body. Maybe we can come to some conclusion of our own—”

He was interrupted by the sound of the song from his cassette distorting, static blaring in between the music and the sound of the vocalist’s voice.

At first, you thought it was something to do with the cassette… until the windows started rolling up and down of their own accord, and the lights on the dashboard started to flicker. You felt the car even swerve slightly, despite John’s firm hands on the wheel.

Within a matter of seconds he managed to pull over and put the car in park. As soon as it had started, it was over, but as John turned the motor off, he met your eyes. He looked just as perplexed as you did. 

“What just happened?”

He didn't answer, unbuckling his seat belt. As he got out of the car, you did the same thing, wondering what kind of failure could cause a car to go haywire like that. 

Wordlessly, you watched as John took a good, long look at his watch, before walking over to the trunk and popping it up. From his suitcase, he pulled out a can of spray paint. He pulled the cap off of it and leaned over, aiming at the asphalt. You raised your eyebrows.

"What are you—" 

The sound of the paint can interrupted your words. You watched as he sprayed a big X on the street, right in front of where he was standing. Your mouth remained slightly open, unsure of what to say. When he stood up straight, he placed the can back in his suitcase, and looked up at you. Slamming the trunk shut, the both of you exchanged stares: his blank as if vandalizing forest streets were a part of his day to day life, and yours somewhat perplexed. 

When the two of you got back into the car, it turned on with no issue. John's cassette started up again on the same song. Again, you exchanged a wordless stare, the both of you now equally unsure.

“Welcome to the Twilight Zone,” John muttered, putting the car in drive. You didn’t reply.

 Hi-de-hi-de-hi, brother,

Hi-de-hi-de-hey now, Martha...

Ten minutes later the two of you rolled into the cemetery. It was an uphill slope, a small field atop it, connecting to the woods. John drove until a small, yellow bulldozer caught your eye and you pointed it out. He parked as close as the road permitted, and the two of you exited the car, ready to head up the hill.

As the two of you pulled out your FBI badges, an officer came running up to you. He darted between tombstones and stopped in front of you, pursing his lips awkwardly. You both help up your badges. "Special agents Y/N L/N and John Suh," You said.

The officer nodded sheepishly. He seemed young and rather inexperienced. "Officer Mitch Swenson. The chief couldn't be here right now, ma'am."

"Oh?" John continued walking towards the grave, which was fully undug. A crew was in the process of using a pulley to lift the coffin out of the ground. "Couldn't, or didn't want to? He didn't seem very happy when I contacted him on the phone. Didn't even tell me his name."

Officer Swenson looked down. "I'm sorry to say that he's opposed to this intervention, sir."

"Unfortunately," You told him, "After so many unexplained deaths, we're obligated to involve ourselves. If he has an issue with our jurisdiction then he can take it up with—"

A loud snapping noise stopped you in your tracks, and your head turned just in time to see the ropes on the pulley snap, dropping the coffin. It quickly began tumbling downhill, towards you. You barely had time to step back. Before you could be trampled by a goddamn coffin on what was quickly becoming one of the strangest days of your life, you felt a strong hand grip your forearm and yank you back harshly. 

The coffin barrelled right into the back of a tombstone, cracking open ever so slightly. Your back collided with John's chest. Neck craning back to look at him, you realized both your chests were heaving in shock. He was staring at the small opening in the coffin.

You pulled away from him, charging towards the coffin. John and Officer Swenson did the same, as well as some from the lifting crew.

As soon as you got within five feet of the coffin, a putrid odor hit your nose and seemed to hit everyone else's. John's hand went to cover his nose. Officer Swenson turned green. You held back a gag.

Still, despite the heinous stench, you leaned forward, trying to get a good look inside. Fully expecting to see a decaying corpse, you squinted, trying to make out the shape of the face.

"Holy shit," You heard the young officer say off to your left. Your eyes widened, just as you made out some features of the cadaver.

"Make sure no one else sees this," John ordered someone, as you made out a snout and very thin arms. As your eyes widened, John turned to you. You turned your head to him, and he flashed you an awkward grin.

"...I'm guessing he was no student athlete," He joked, scratching the back of his head. You shook your head in disbelief, face frozen in shock.

"I… is that a—?"

CORONER'S OFFICE, PINEWOOD, OREGON — 14:48 hours, Tuesday, March 17th, 1992

"A chimpanzee."

You didn't give John's unsatisfied tone much of a second thought, continuing to ensure you had everything ready for your analysis.

"You think it's a chimpanzee," John said again a few seconds later, snapping a picture of the body, which was spread out on a metal table. 

"Or an orangutan," You replied, not looking up from your tools. Pulling out your tape recorder, you finally met his eyes. "I was thinking it might even be a bonobo, but it's too big. Mammalian, that's for sure."

"Y/N, we're in Oregon! Where would someone get a monkey—why would someone put a monkey in some dead kid's coffin?"

You shook your head. "John, you can't possibly think this is anything other than a sick joke, can you?"

He huffed, too engrossed in taking pictures of the body. He looked like he had just discovered sliced bread.

"This is amazing. It—it's unprecedented… I want a full report," He demanded, "Toxicology, x-rays, tissue samples, genetic testing, the works. We can get those tissue samples and x-rays done now, everything else we take back to DC." 

You laid a measuring tape next to the subject's body, before putting your hands on your hips. 

"You’re kidding," You said, glaring at him from the other side of the table, "Try telling Alex Gallagher's family that his body was replaced with an alien. You'd probably lose a few teeth doing it!" 

John lowered his camera, taking a deep breath. He thought for a few seconds before answering. "I'm not crazy, Y/N," He insisted, "I have the same doubts you do." 

Flexing your fingers to see if the surgical gloves fit adequately, you sighed. 

"Please leave for a moment," You mumbled, "I need to record my observations and I can't do that properly if you're flashing that camera in my face and talking about little green men." 

He frowned, not meeting your eyes. He looked like he wanted to protest, but he shook his head to himself as he turned around. Soon, he was out the door. 

During your analysis, you made several observations: the subject was 157 centimeters in length, and weighed 56 pounds. Long limbs and fingers, and large ocular caverns that suggested it belonged to the ape family, as you'd told John minutes ago. It was in an advanced state of decay and desiccation. 

When you turned the subject over, you couldn't help but look at the lower back. Lo and behold, there and ready to give you a headache, were two bumps. They were no longer red, tinged gray, same as the rest of the body, but they were there.

Only when the x-rays finally developed two hours later did you discover the cherry on top: a small metallic implant in the subject's nasal cavity, embedded in the skin, which was extracted and placed in a small glass vial. The vial was placed in your blazer pocket, which you'd removed to put on the PPE gown. 

When you were finally finished with the report, you put your blazer back on and discarded the PPE and surgical gloves. All you'd managed to do was give yourself a migraine at all of the oddities piling up in this case. When you got back to DC? A bubble bath was in order. With a very, very large glass of wine.

As you approached the door to the lobby, the voices of two men arguing got louder and louder. Rolling your eyes, you sighed at the feeling of your head pounding. One sounded angrier, the other significantly calmer. When your hand was on the knob, you realized who the calmer voice belonged to.

"Shit," You whispered to yourself, flinging open the door. A middle aged man yelling at John—who looked very blasé about the whole situation—was waving his finger in his face. Behind him stood Officer Swenson, another officer, and a young girl dressed in an oversized windbreaker and jeans, who looked like she wanted to evaporate into thin air. 

"You people think you can march in here and do whatever you want," The man growled, "I don't see why—"

"What's going on here?" You asked, stepping between the man and John. The man scoffed at you, eyeing you up and down. 

“Who are you?”

You pulled out your badge and flashed it to him. His scowl deepened. “Special Agent Y/N L/N, FBI. I’m Agent Suh's partner for this investigation. Now, what is going on? And who are you?”

The man’s face twisted in disdain at your authoritative tone. “I’m Doctor Aaron Choi, the county medical examiner. Now, the audacity of you and your partner—”

“Dad, please,” The girl exclaimed, sounding embarrassed, “Let’s just go home!”

 The man waved a hand in her direction, tone dismissive and angry. “Lia, be quiet. I’m talking. The audacity you two have to come here and interrupt our procedures—”

“Doctor Choi, this is the fourth unexplained death of a student from the Pinewood High class of ‘89,” John pointed out, “After the county was unable to come up with any conclusive evidence, the FBI was forced to become involved. I take it you weren’t informed of the exhumation and the analysis of Alex Gallagher’s body?”

Doctor Choi shook his head. “I’ve been away with my family. We just got back.”

That explains the different medical examiner on the latest autopsy, you realized. 

“Doctor Choi, I’m sorry you feel that way,” You said, “But it’s our obligation to come and investigate. Now, I’m sorry, but it’s getting late, and we have to get going. I can give you my cell phone number if it were to make you more comfortable, but—”

“No. That’s quite enough,” He snapped. He turned to the young girl, nodding his head at the door. “Lia, let’s go.”

The girl sighed, and met your eyes before she turned to follow after him. She looked desperate; you assumed it was because of the scene her father had caused. The two officers followed after them.

As the two of you watched them leave, you turned to John. He simply shrugged, looking done with the whole situation. “Talk about a warm welcome,” He grumbled. You glared at him. 

“Let’s just go,” You huffed, rubbing at a spot above your eyebrow, “I still need to get started on this report.”

The two of you exited the building, and John explained that tomorrow, he’d arranged a visit to a mental institution in the town over. That there were two more students of the class of ‘89 were staying. Both of them were reportedly a part of Alex Gallagher’s circle of friends.

 In your pocket, the vial holding the metal implant seemed heavier than it had been when you first extracted it.

ALOYSIUS GRANT MENTAL INSTITUTION, CRESTHILL, OREGON—10:47 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

The wing where Chenle Zhong and Nancy Goldstein were staying was relatively quiet. As the nurse explained their circumstances, Nancy remained glued to a book in her wheelchair. Next to her in his bed, Chenle lay perfectly still, lips parted slightly, eyes wide and unmoving. 

You were informed that Nancy had developed delusions and become extremely paranoid as a result of post-traumatic stress. Chenle was living through something called a living coma. He never moved, never spoke. The only indication you saw that he was still alive was the constant rise and fall of his chest. Both of them had been in an automotive crash in the autumn of 1989, and had been like this ever since. 

“Nancy,” The nurse said softly, “You have guests, can they speak with you?”

Nancy lifted her head, “I can’t,” She answered, shaking her head. “I’m reading to Lele right now.”

“Does… does he like it when you read to him?” John asked, and she nodded.

“It calms him down,” She said, “It distracts him from everything.”

You looked down, thinking about her words and what she must have gone through—Chenle as well. At the feet of Chenle’s bed, you noticed odd specks of… ash? It was sprinkled sparsely in front of the bed, on what was a seemingly pristine floor.

You wanted to pick it up, but didn’t want the nurse looking at you strangely. So you turned your attention back to the conversation between John and the nurse. He lowered his voice and leaned in towards her, as if he didn’t want Nancy to hear. “Would it be possible for us to run some medical tests on Ms. Goldstein?”

The thing was that Nancy did hear, and at the mention of medical tests, her large eyes nearly popped out of her head, and she started to tremble in the wheelchair. “N-no tests,” She pleaded, before throwing her book to the side and raising her voice, "No tests! You can't take me there again!"

She began to thrash in the wheelchair, hyperventilating and begging in between breaths to not go anywhere. She threw herself out of the wheelchair but was unable to stand, and instead remained on the floor, crying. 

"Nancy, sweetie, you're going to be fine," The nurse said gently, leaning down to placate the poor girl who was shaking her head. She looked up at the both of you. "Can you help me please?" 

John leaned down to gently assist the nurse in helping Nancy up, and you picked up the wheelchair, which had fallen onto its side. You gripped one of the back handles of the chair to steady it. Your other hand smudged along the ground to try and pick up some of the powder. As the pair helped her sit down, your eyes caught something. 

Nancy's shirt had ridden up during the ordeal, and there, along the small of her back, you saw them. The same marks that Kaya Tate, Jisung Park, and Alex Gallagher had. 

When Nancy refused to calm down, wailing and begging not to be taken back to wherever she thought you and John wanted to take her, the nurse ushered you out.

 "I'm sorry," She told you, "But you're upsetting my patients. If you absolutely need to come back, then do it some other day when she's calmed down." 

The two of you set off towards the exit down the stairs, your heels click-clacking quickly along the floor as you walked in front of John. 

He held open the exit door for you, and as soon as you were out the door and headed toward the parking lot, you whirled on him. 

"How did you know she would have those marks?" You asked, almost angry at him. John shrugged. 

"A hunch," Was all he answered.

"Dammit, Suh, cut the crap. What the hell is going on here?"

"What, so you can go off and write it in your little reports?" He fired back, raising his voice at you for the first time. Your head snapped back at the sudden disdain in his voice.

"I'm here to solve this case just the same as you are," You growled, "Now tell me the truth. I think I'm entitled to it."

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, scowling at you. He leaned closer to you and lowered his voice. "You want my honest opinion? Fine. I think those kids have been abducted by an alien force. I think that they run tests on those kids, which is why Nancy Goldstein freaked out, and why Alex's body and hers have those markings. That's what I think."

You tapped your heel along the sidewalk in frustration and thought. "John, do you realize how insane that sounds? I—Why, there's nothing to substantiate—"

"Nothing scientific to substantiate," He corrected.

"Science is all there is, John!" You shook your head. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. The  both of you knew that this conversation would lead nowhere. Looking down, you remembered the ash smudged onto the palm of your hand. 

"Look," You said, quieter now. "This was on the floor around Chenle Zhong's bed."

"'S that… ash?"

You nodded. "I know what you think, John. Let me tell you what I think. I think those kids might be involved in some sort of sacrifice of some sort. Think about it, they're always called into the woods. The medical examiner doesn't want us looking at the bodies. And now, ash."

John's eyes darted back and forth, considering the options. He walked over to the car, unlocking it so the both of you could enter. 

"We can head into the woods tonight," He offered finally. "That way, we can both look into our own hypotheses."

"Sounds good to me," You answered, "Tonight."

THE WOODS, PINEWOOD, OREGON—20:26 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

A few hours after sundown, the two of you drove to the edge of the woods, armed with flashlights and your handguns. You'd tied your hair back and changed into a dark blue windbreaker, along with sweatpants and running shoes. It was a bit windy, and you could see storm clouds rolling in.

"Stay close by," You'd told John. "And be quiet."

"Yes, mom," He sighed. You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to punch him in the arm. 

Once the two of you were out of the car, you split up, trying to stay within earshot of his footsteps. You spent about ten minutes wandering around, flashing your light around, taking slow steps as you scrounged for any hints. 

Above you, thunder rumbled, the occasional strike of lightning lighting up the sky for milliseconds. Leaning your head forward, you squinted in the dark. No way. 

The whole ground around you was covered in ash. If not the exact same ash as what was in front of Chenle's bed, it was very similar—sprinkled on top of the leaves and dirt. As you kneeled down to pick some up, your eyes widened at the same texture and pigment as the one of today. 

"What the fuck," You muttered under your breath, mind racing a mile a minute. These woods were creepy enough without the implication of a ritualistic cult, or close encounters of the third kind, or whatever John believed was happening. But now you had the possibility of a connection between these woods and two seriously disturbed kids.

A sudden mechanical rumbling made you snap your head up. You squinted, lifting your other hand to shield your eyes from the sudden brightness that lit up the trees. 

"John?" You asked when you heard footsteps. Your heart rate began to speed up, hand reaching for the gun tucked into your waistband. 

When you realized that the sound was coming from the direction of the light, you called his name out again. "John?"

A tall figure emerged from the light, and you soon realized what was pointed at you—a shotgun. Definitely not John Suh.

Not hesitating, you pulled out your gun. "Special agent Y/N L/N, FBI! Identify yourself!"

The figure only stopped until it was about ten feet away. You squinted, making out some familiar features. Surprisingly, you realized it was the officer who had been at the coroner's office with Doctor Choi. 

John came stumbling up to you, chest heaving. "Chief!" He sounded strangely enthusiastic. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"You're trespassing on private property," He announced, seemingly unamused by John's tone. 

"We are conducting an investigation," You countered, lowering your gun. 

"You are trespassing," He said adamantly, "Now get out, before I have you both arrested."

John glanced at you momentarily. You frowned as he shrugged, obviously wanting you to stand down. The staredown continued for a solid ten seconds before you groaned softly. Tucking your gun back into your waistband, you followed the chief out of the woods, right back to your car, which was right next to his.

As John drove away, you watched as the flashing police lights faded into the distance. "What's he doing out here when he's got a whole town to take care of?"

John shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows. "I don't know," He hummed in that deep voice of his, "But I don't like him one bit."

The two of you drove in relative silence after that. The storm finally came down, drops of rain cascading angrily onto the windshield. Thunder rolled overhead, and the lightning grew bright.

In the dim light, your eyes turned to watch John, hoping he wouldn't take notice. You watched him alternate his eyes between the road ahead and the rearview mirror every few seconds. Your eyes raked over his features—a strong brow bone, a round nose, lips that seemed to curve upwards in a natural smirk.

You looked back up at his eyes, and his own gaze glanced at the watch on his wrist before returning to the road.

"You're staring," He said, sounding like he’d caught you with a hand in the cookie jar. You felt the scoff leave your lips before you could catch it, your cheeks heating up.

"I am not—"

A flash of lightning lit up the sky, far brighter than any of the other strikes. Then, an odd sensation filled your body: for the briefest of moments you felt absolutely weightless, unable to feel the carseat beneath you. Then a moment later when the light faded, and the feeling disappeared.

The car rolled to a stop, the engine’s rumble dying. You frowned even though you were glad that you’d have a chance to change the subject. “What happened?”

Johnny looked at the lights on the dashboard, and pressed on the accelerator tentatively a few times. He raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “Uh… we lost power.”

He seemed calm enough. Until he glanced at his watch again. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he let out a single, excited laugh. “No fucking way,” He murmured, rushing to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Uh, John, where are you g—”

He was out of the car before you could finish your sentence, heading into the downpour. You groaned, unbuckling hastily and following him. Already, he was drenched, and within seconds you were too. He was walking towards something on the road, a few feet in front of the car. When he turned to look back at you, he looked like a preschooler who had just discovered Sesame Street. His fists pumped into the air, his eyes squeezed shut and he began to jump up and down.

“Fuckin’—I—WOO! WOO HOO!”

“For the love of god,” You grumbled, standing right next to him despite his loud cheering, you tried your hardest to make out what had gotten him so excited. When the next flash of lightning lit up the street, plus the lights of the car helping illuminate the road, you saw it: a big, bright, neon X. Almost the exact same place the car had started acting strange yesterday.

“We lost time!” He yelled over the sound of the downpour. "I looked at my watch before the flash! It was 9:02 then, now it’s 9:13! That’s eleven minutes—GONE!”

You shook your head, stepping away. You threw up your hands in confusion. “What—John, that’s not possible! You’re saying time disappeared, time can’t—it can’t just disappear! That’s not just crazy, it’s—i-it’s a universal invariant! It’s impossible!”

John shook his head at you, eyes wide in wonder. Right before he started walking back to the car, he let out one last gleeful laugh. “Not in this zip code!”

Much to your displeasure, your headache returned soon after. You were more than content to let John ramble on while you zoned out, rubbing your forehead. What little you picked up was that people who claimed to be abductees always mentioned a bright flash of light and losing time, anywhere from five minutes to several hours.

You weren’t sure what to think at this point. You had half a mind to drive John to the Aloysius Grant Mental Institution and leave him there with Chenle and Nancy.

When you got back to the hotel, you ran straight to your room. When you tried flickering on the light, you found that it wouldn’t turn on. With a sigh, you realized the storm had to have blown the power out. Peeling off your wet clothes before you did anything else, you stripped to your underwear before pulling on your bathrobe. Shivering, you scrounged in the darkness of the room for anything, a flashlight, some candles.

Surprisingly, they did have a candle, a holder and some matches. As you lit it, and went over your bedtime routine (yes, you were a grown woman going to bed at 9:30 PM, you were tired), you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling settling in your stomach. Everything felt so off here, and there were so many things you couldn’t explain.

As much as John wanted to convince you, he couldn’t explain them either. The whole situation felt bizarre in a dreadful way. As you marched into the bathroom for a quick shower, you tried to reassure yourself everything would connect eventually.

When you took off the bathrobe, your hand went to rub at your lower back. The stiff mattress wasn’t doing you any favors. You let your eyes flutter shut, fingers rubbing at the muscle below your skin.

Until your fingers brushed over something that you knew hadn’t been there before. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your back to the mirror, craning your neck to see. Your fingers ached to touch the spot again, but in your sudden alarm, your fingers began to shake.

There. At the small of your back, just above the waistband of your underwear, there they were. Two bumps. Just like Nancy’s. Just like Alex’s. Just like Kaya’s.

You didn’t know what overtook you. All of a sudden, you were putting your bathrobe back on and strutting stiffly out of your room. Before you knew it, you were knocking insistently on John’s door.

You didn’t stop until a very confused looking John opened up, holding a candle. “I—”

“I need to show you something,” You said shakily. His demeanor changed instantly when he saw your frantic state. He nodded wordlessly, widening the door and stepping to the side. Once the door was closed, you faced him, before untying the robe. His eyes widened slightly despite your shaking hands, and the tips of his ears turned red.

“Woah, at least take me out to dinner first—”

“Johnny, shut up!”

He froze at your tone, your slip up—calling him Johnny instead of John. You were too distressed to care, tossing the robe to the floor before turning, trying to poke at the marks on your back.

“What are they?” You asked, and John reached out a hand as if to placate you.

“Hey, hey,” He murmured, “Deep breaths. Can I get a closer look?”

Nodding, and trying to do what he said, you let him step closer, before kneeling. Tentatively, he ghosted a hand over the marks. You tried to ignore the goosebumps, shivering from what you assumed was the cold.

“What are they?” You repeated. “John—”

He spun you around, putting a gentle hand on your hip. You peered down at him, panting softly. “It’s okay,” He said softly, “They’re just mosquito bites.”

Your eyes fluttered shut in relief, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady your wobbling knees. “You’re sure?” You asked, looking down at him.

He nodded, amber eyes staring up at you. You were suddenly hyper aware of his hand on your hip, unable to break his gaze. He cleared his throat, standing up but not stepping away from you. “Yeah, I got some out there too. I’m positive.”

You put the bathrobe back on, then crossed your arms. “I need to sit down,” You mumbled. He gestured to his bed, sitting on the chair next to it. You raised an eyebrow, not wanting to impose. He shook his head, setting down the candle on the table.

“You’re shaking,” He said, “Go ahead.”

Inhaling deeply, you tried to compose yourself. Your hand rubbed at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling tense. You chewed on your lip, wondering if you should ask the question itching to come out.

“John?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. He nodded, eyes earnest.

“Yeah?”

“How did you… Why are you so interested in this stuff?”

His eyes lowered, rubbing his palms together slowly. He took a deep breath, resting his elbows on his thighs. Finally, he sighed.

“I was twelve when it happened,” He whispered. His gaze turned solemn, almost angry. “My little sister, Maggie, went missing in the middle of the night. Just… disappeared, like she vanished into thin air. No note, no phone calls, no discernible trail or evidence at all. Gone, just like that. How does an eight year old girl disappear without a trace?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, not answering. Outside, the rain had stopped, but John’s eyes were a storm of their own, several emotions swimming around in pools of golden brown.

“It tore my family apart. My parents got divorced, everyone else refused to talk about it. There weren’t any facts to confront, nothing to give anyone closure, and the search just stopped.”

“What did you do?” You asked softly. He shrugged, pursing his lips.

“Eventually, I ran away to England. Came back, got recruited by the bureau.” He offered a sardonic smile, no joy behind it. “Apparently, I have a natural aptitude for applying behavioral models to criminal cases. My success allowed me a certain amount of freedom to pursue my own interests. That’s when I found the x-files.”

“On accident?” You leaned to lay down on your side, propping your head up with one hand. He nodded.

“At first, it looked like a dump for UFO sightings, cryptids, alien abductions. Real Hollywood kind of stuff. But… I was fascinated by it all, I read all the cases I could get my hands on. Hundreds of them, Y/N. All the paranormal phenomena, the occult, and then…” He sighed, lowering his head.

“What?” You leaned toward him, trying to read his face in the dark.

“There’s… classified government information I’ve been trying to get my hands on. Someone keeps blocking my access.” He looked to the side, palms still rubbing together. “The only reason I’ve been allowed to continue my work is because I've made connections in congress.”

You shook your head, “I don’t understand, are they afraid you’ll leak this information?”

When he met your gaze, the anger had returned, now far less subdued. “You’re a part of that agenda,” He murmured, “You would know.”

Your mouth dropped open slightly, and you shook your head before scooching closer to him. “I’m not a part of any agenda,” You answered. “You need to trust me.”

He sighed, before standing up to move onto your bed, leaning very close to you. The usually playful glow in his eyes was nowhere to be seen. “I’m telling you this, Y/N, because you need to know. In my... research, I’ve worked very closely with a man named Hans Kruger. He’s taken me through deep regression hypnosis, and through my repressed memories I’ve been able to return to that night my sister disappeared. I remember a very bright light outside and a presence in the room, and the sensation of being paralyzed, unable to answer her cries for help. Listen to me, Y/N, this thing exists.”

“But how do you know—”

“The government knows! And I gotta know what they’re protecting.” He leaned even closer to you, face inches away from yours. “Nothing else matters to me, and this is as close as I’ve ever—”

   The ringing of the telephone made the both of you jump away from each other, and John stood to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

   He made a face as the person on the other side answered. “What? Who is this? Who is—”

   Pulling the phone away from his ear, he looked at you. He seemed confused, alarmed. “That was a woman,” He said, putting the phone back on the housing, “Who told me that Nancy Goldstein is dead.”

 You frowned. “The girl in the wheelchair?”

 HIGHWAY 227, PINEWOOD, OREGON—23:11 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

 Quickly, the two of you dressed. The crash wasn’t hard to find in such a small town. Surrounded by witnesses and two police cars, a large semi truck was stopped in the middle of the road. Once there you produced your badges to get past the police cars. John went off to ask one of the cops questions about the accident, and you walked over to the body, which was draped over with a white cloth.

 Right next to it, a man, who you assumed was the driver, was being questioned. Showing the officer next to the body your badge, you crouched down to peel back the cloth covering the body.     

Poor Nancy Goldstein, wet with rain and blood, lay strewn in the road. A dribble of drying blood was running down her mouth. Her once white and purple polka dotted hospital gown was tinged with red, brown and gray. You sighed in sympathy. But your eyes travelled down at the watch she had on, and the sympathy made way into confusion. The hands had stopped, right at 9:02.

You took a deep breath when you recognized the coincidence. That's all it had to be, right? A coincidence?

 "You said she just ran out in front of you?" The officer speaking to the man asked.

"Yes, officer," He answered, "Just came charging out from the trees and right into the truck."

Nancy Goldstein, running. Not even walking, no, full on running. You stared at the body, eyes travelling to her legs. Somehow, they were specked with flecks of dirt, mud and small wood chips. It was consistent with someone moving through a wet, muddy area while barefoot. You swallowed anxiously, trying to figure out what was going on in this town.

 When you got into the car with John, you raised an eyebrow at him, getting ready to speak. Before you could, however, his cell phone rang. He pulled out the device and answered the call with a tired, "Suh. Who am I speaking to?"

You watched as his face turned confused. "What?"

 You couldn't hear what he was told, but when his face twisted into disbelief, and then anger, you knew it couldn't be anything good. "Of course. We'll be there as soon as possible," He said, tight-lipped.

 When he hung up, he immediately started the car. He didn't meet your eyes. "Fuck!" He growled, causing you to jump.

 "What?" Your eyes widened at his sudden outburst, barely having time to buckle your seatbelt before he sped away. "John, what happened—"

"Fuck if I know!" He snapped at you, before shaking his head and sighing.

 "There was a fire at the hotel." His tone was softer now. Your stomach sank. "Our rooms were the ones that were most affected."

"You've gotta be kidding," You sighed. He didn't answer, simply kept his eyes on the road.Only when the two of you got there did you realize just how bad the situation was. The fire department was there, hosing down the inside of your room. A crowd had come to watch the firemen work.

"There goes my computer!" You groaned. John kicked the car door.

"Fuck! The x-rays and pictures!" He seemed just about ready to explode.

Your eyes drifted back to the blinding, orange glow of the fire, crossing your arms in frustration, exhaustion.

Suddenly, a tap on your shoulder caused you to turn. You were met face to face with a familiar looking young girl in a bright blue denim jacket. She looked just about on the verge of tears.

 "John," You called, not looking away from her. When he saw the girl, he came up to the two of you.

 He raised a finger at her. "You're Do—"

 "My name is Lia Choi," She declared, voice wobbly, "You have to protect me."

 You quickly ushered Lia into the back of the car. When you closed the door, John raised an eyebrow at you. "She might know something," He murmured.

 "I know," You answered. "She seems terrified."

 He nodded. "You hungry?"

  "Um… yeah, why?"

  "I'm starving," He admitted, gnawing on his lips. "Let's get something to eat and question her there."

 "How the hell are you thinking about food at a time like this?"

He raised an eyebrow, making a face. "What, and you aren't?"

You rolled your eyes, but didn't disagree.

 The car ride took about ten minutes, and you pulled into the small diner with little to no issue. By then, it was a little past midnight, so it was starting to empty out. It had started raining again. You sat next to Lia, as she seemed somewhat more intimidated by John. He paid for some burgers and fries for the three of you, and then Lia finally spoke.

"I… There's something in the woods."

You exchanged glances with John, who rested his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers. "What do you mean, something in the woods, Miss Choi?"

 The young girl shook her head, looking sheepish. "Please, just call me Lia," She said.

 Taking a deep breath, you flashed him a look that said let me try. "Lia, do you know that there's something in the woods, or is it just a feeling?"

 She stared at the table, looking for words. "I've never actually… seen anything. Not really. But I… I have these dreams. They're not like normal dreams, I-I have no idea how to explain it, but they just feel so… wrong. It's like my body's vibrating the entire time, a-and when I wake up, I'm there. In the woods. Every time. They—they've started happening more and more, and I don't know what to do, I-I'm just so—"

 "Woah, slow down there, kid," John said, holding up his hands. She'd started rambling, and it didn't take a genius to say that she was on the verge of tears. His dark eyes looked gentle, sympathetic. "Deep breath, Lia."

She let her eyes close, breathing slowly. "I'm sorry," She mumbled. "I just don't know what to do anymore."

Looking at John again, you spoke up. "We understand," You answered softly, "Can we ask you some more questions?"

 As she nodded, the one waitress working the place, who looked one strong gust of wind from falling over, set down your three plates. Sticking a fry into your mouth once the waitress left, you met eyes with the young girl.

"You said, 'I've never seen anything, not really.' What do you mean by that?"

Lia poked at her fries, not seeming that interested in the food. She pursed her lips, before sighing. "I… We saw something, once. I think. My friends were all out there—celebrating graduation. It was… maybe 11:30? I-I can't really remember. But we saw a bright light, and then this huge thing flew over us. When it was gone… Kaya checked her watch. It couldn't have been more than ten seconds after, but her watch said it was almost 2 AM, and then Chenle checked his watch, and so did Jisung, and… they all said the same thing.

"I didn't think much of it. I tried not to. I thought we just missed the time going by, somehow. But then Nancy and Chenle got into the crash, and then Kaya turned up dead in the woods… Then Jisung, and now Alex…" She shook her head, blinking back tears. "It can't all be a coincidence."

"How old were you when that happened, Lia?"

 "I was 17. I'm turning 21 in June."

John stared at her for a long time. "...And why did you decide to call me when you heard about Nancy's death?"

Oh?

You raised an eyebrow to look at Lia, who looked down. "They called my dad about it, and I know that Nancy's death has to do with whatever's in the woods. M-my dad, he… He keeps telling me he can keep me safe. But I don't think he can."

"So you called us?"

She nodded, not looking up at either of you. John and you exchanged a glance.

"Lia," You asked lowly, "Do you think your father—"

Your words died when blood began to spew from the girl's nose, your eyes widening and John's expression growing alarmed. He reached for the napkins, handing them to you to hand her quickly. Her eyes shut and her brow furrowed, obviously distressed. John pursed his lips.

  "Does this normally h—"

 "Lia Choi."

The three of you turned your heads to see Aaron Choi and the police chief standing next to each other, glaring at you and John.

Dr. Choi walked over to Lia, handing her another napkin. "Sweetheart, come on, let's go home."

John narrowed his eyes. "I don't think she wants to leave."

"I don't give a shit about what you think," The man snapped. He turned back to Lia, "Let's go home. You'll be safe there. Remember, I said that Chief Zhong and I would keep you safe—"

You exchanged a glance with John. You could see the gears turning in his head. Skywalker moment. "You’re Chenle Zhong's father?"

The chief scowled at him. "You stay away from my boy. He has no business in any of this."

Dr. Choi managed to pull away, with minimal protest from Lia. She managed to give the two of you one last apologetic glance before being pushed out the front door by your father.

"You gotta love this place," John grumbled, reaching for Lia's plate, "Every day's like Halloween."

"They know." You were sure of it. "Choi's been hiding evidence from those medical reports, and Zhong might just have enough authority around here to get access to our rooms to set them on fire."

"Why would they want to destroy evidence?" John asked, but it wasn't really a question. It sounded more like a parent trying to get their child to figure out something obvious on a math problem. "What could they possibly want with that corpse?"

You looked down at the table, heart pounding suddenly. When you met his eyes again, they were burning with curiosity and determination.

"Makes you wonder what's in those other two graves, huh?"

PINEWOOD MEMORIAL CEMETERY, PINEWOOD, OREGON—01:26 hours, Thursday, March 19th, 1992

Getting into the cemetery was easy. Finding the graves, with only your flashlights in the pouring rain, was a lot harder. You pored over different headstones for almost forty minutes, until John called your name.

"Did you find them?" You asked, turning to him. He was scowling down at the headstones. You didn't understand why… until you looked down to see the dirt piled up, and the two holes in the ground.

"Empty," He groaned.

"What is going on here?" You cried. John stared at the hole in the ground, before a look of epiphany dawned on his face. He turned to you, slowly.

"I think I know who did it."

You looked to the sides in thought. "Who? The chief?"

John shook his head, mouth tipping open. You leaned forward, hoping to hear his words better over the rain.

He chewed nervously on his bottom lip. "The chief's son."

When the words registered, you leaned away. All the fight in you seemed to deflate, and your face twisted into a confused mess.

"What?"

He nodded, and you raised your eyebrows. "Chenle Zhong? The boy in the hospital. The boy who's been in a goddamn coma since 1989. That Chenle Zhong? He somehow got here, dug up these graves, and is somehow responsible for the murders of four different kids?"

John's eyes fell shut, and he took a deep breath. "Nancy Goldstein was wheelchair bound but ran in front of a car, it's not entirely impossible. All of this fits a profile of alien abduction. She was killed around 9—the same time we lost time in the car."

"A profile." You crossed your arms, trying to stop the shivering racking your body. March showers in the Pacific Northwest—you wouldn’t be surprised if all of this was just a delusion induced by hypothermia.

"Look, something happened during those 10 minutes," He insisted, "Time, as we know it, stopped, and it has something to do with the forest."

You shook your head in disbelief, unable to hold back your shocked sigh. All you could do was stare, watching as John's expression hardened.

"You think I'm crazy," He murmured defeatedly, "Just like everyone else does."

He turned on his heel, starting to walk away, when a soft scoff caused him to turn back. "What?"

You wore a smile of disbelief. "The hands of Nancy Goldstein's watch stopped at 9:02," You admitted, looking up at the sky before meeting his gaze. "I made a mental note of it because of how insane the coincidence was. But…"

"The forest is controlling the kids," John said with a nod. He sounded more hopeful now, as he took a step closer. "It summons them here!"

"A-and the marks are…"

"The remainders of some sort of experiment. They put that weird chemical into the bodies—"

"Which leads to genetic mutations, like the one we saw in Alex Gallagher’s body!"

John nodded, a hopeful grin spreading across his features, the rain causing his hair to fall into his eyes. "And the woods summoned Nancy Goldstein here tonight, but the one who brought her was—"

"Chenle Zhong," You gasped. Meeting eyes with John, the two of you exchanged surprised, awed, slack jawed smiles, before promptly bursting into giggles at how silly it all sounded, the sheer absurdity of it all. Like the plot of some crappy Fox TV show.

"This—Johnny, this is insane!"

"That’s just how all the x-files work!" He exclaimed between laughter, "This isn't even half of it!"

That did it for you. The idea that there had to be something even stranger, something that paled in comparison to this. You had to reach out for his shoulder to stop yourself from falling, bending over and clutching your stomach to the point of tears. John’s laughter never let up either, not until the two of you were panting, out of breath from cackling so hard.

"I can't believe any of this," You sighed, shaking your head once more.

"It doesn't matter. As long as we're on the same page," John said with a shrug, "It'll make things a whole lot easier. Now, let's get back to the car—"

A high pitched scream filled the air, and the two of you locked eyes before darting in its direction.

Right into the forest.

Mud squelched beneath your shoes as the two of you ran. It was damn near impossible to see anything with the rain and the darkness of night, the way your flashlights swung back and forth with your running.

Your light reflected onto a piece of black metal, causing the two of you to slow down. John flashed his own light side to side, before landing on the white door of the car, the crest emblazoned on it: PINEWOOD POLICE DEPARTMENT. You sighed at the revelation, turning slightly.

"Shit," He muttered, "Do you think—?"

"John." You took a step to the side, focusing your light onto something on the ground. "Look."

When he turned his head to look at what you were seeing, you heard him inhale sharply.

Dr. Choi's body lay strewn on the muddy ground, blood streaking down his temple. You couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

Another scream pierced the air, the sound distinctly female. You exchanged a brief glance with John, before nodding in the direction the noise came from. "You go! I'll check his vitals."

"Be careful," He warned before darting off. You knelt on the ground, reaching out to feel for a pulse over the carotid artery. You let your eyes fall shut in relief when you found one a few seconds later. All you needed to do now was assess his injury.

But they snapped open when the mud squelched behind you, and when you turned your head, you saw a flash of black and beige. A loud thwack! cracked against the side of your head, and you fell to the ground, vision turning dark.

When you came to, you weren't sure how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been too long. It was still dark, and while the rain had calmed, it wasn't over yet. Sluggishly,  you reached for the flashlight, and struggled to stand.

Stumbling, you tried to surmise where the noise was coming from, but the world felt like it was spinning. You were confused, disoriented, that the sudden brightness knocked you on your ass, quite literally.

Brightness?

White, seemingly industrial light lit up the forest so suddenly that you reeled back in surprise, falling into the mud. You blinked dazedly. If this were a Loony Tunes short, there would be little Tweety birds flying around your head right about now.

Still, you knew you needed to get up. So you did, still stumbling as if someone had spun you around to hit a piñata, and carried forward. The shouting had stopped now.

In the distance, where the light was the brightest, you could hear the shouting. One of the voices was distinctly John's, but as you got closer, it stopped.

And by the time you got into the clearing? The light disappeared, and so did the rain. Gone at the same time.

There were three men standing in the clearing, seemingly in a triangle. John's back was turned to you. In front of him? Someone was lying on the floor (had you not been so dizzy, you would have recognized her as Lia), and…

"Chenle?" The police chief asked, voice shaking. Your eyes turned to the young man, whose dark eyes were wide in confusion and fear. He was barefoot, clad only in a pair of gray sweatpants.

"...Dad?" He asked as Chief Zhong walked to him, before crushing the young man in a hug.

"J-John?" Your voice was small. The man in question turned to you, eyes widening at your state. He stepped towards you, face full of concern. When you buckled, he gripped you by your forearms.

"Y/N, are you alright?"

"Th-there was a light," You murmured, "It was so…"

He nodded, smiling sympathetically. "I know," He said, "But I think you have a concussion."

"Uh…" You stared at him blearily. "...You're really strong."

He held back a snicker. "Am I now?"

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—10:04 hours, Wednesday, March 25th, 1992

After a stop to the emergency room, a minor concussion diagnosis, a flight home, a few days of bed rest and finally that bubble bath (sans the wine, unfortunately), you were finally allowed to present your findings to your superiors, in the report you'd written in the past few days (you were advised to rest over the weekend, and you did just that and wrote the report all Tuesday).

You marched into that office, John already sitting in one of the two seats in front of the desk. He didn't speak while you presented your findings. Again, Chief Brooks was accompanied by the same two men.

"And what of the boy?" Division Chief Brooks asked, "Chenle… Zhang, you said?"

"Zhong," You and John corrected in unison, exchanging a sheepish glance when you both realized what happened.

"He's in custody. So are his father and Doctor Aaron Choi. He claims to not have remembered anything."

"I understand you and Chief Zhong had an exchange in the woods?" The older man asked, staring at John.

He nodded. "Yes, sir. I asked him what the need was to take the Chois to the woods, he seemed desperate—said that if it got his son back, then he'd do it."

"So, what, are we to believe all of this—the abductions and the mutations and the mind control without any concrete evidence?" The second officer asked.

"There was an x-ray of Chenle’s that revealed a small piece of metal lodged in his nose, just like Agent L/N's report mentioned with—"

"The Gallagher boy's implant, yes. But that could be anything, Agent Suh. It hasn't been surgically removed so we can't verify what it is."

John clenched his jaw. "But—"

"Agent Suh, with no evidence of the implant existing we simply cannot continue to waste bureau resources," The chief explained, "The fact of the matter is the original implant, as well as your other evidence, was destroyed in that fire and—"

"What if it wasn't, though?" You asked.

It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room. All four men's eyes snapped up to look at you. John’s eyes were wide in shock.

You met eyes with him briefly as you reached into your blazer pocket, placing the small vial holding the implant onto the table.

"None of the tests I ran on the implant were able to reveal what kind of metal it is," You sighed, "It all came back as inconclusive."

"I—" For the first time, the third agent spoke for the first time. "How did you manage to salvage it?"

Tilting your head back and forth, you tried to sound professional. "I kept it… on my person at all times after I extracted it. I felt it was too important to lose."

The three men exchanged a silent conversation with their eyes. You looked at John, whose expression towards you had shifted from shock to awe. You offered him a sly smile.

"Well, then." Division Chief Brooks sounded frustrated—like a father allowing his children ice cream after being worn down by them. "Considering this… new piece of evidence, I—I suppose I could authorize the continuation of the project."

You breathed a sigh of relief. John’s shoulders sagged.

"However, Agent L/N, I will expect your reports on every single one of these cases within three days of them being closed, unless medically justified. Failure to do so will result in the termination of the project."

"Understood, sir," You said.

The third man lit a cigarette, before pointing to the vial on the table. "That implant will be kept with us, it's evidence now. Any and all evidence will be handed over to us," He ordered, taking a drag.

You nodded, but something told you John wouldn't approve. He didn't say anything, but you knew he'd have something to say sooner or later.

"You're both dismissed," Division Chief Brooks told you both.

Once you were out of the office and out of earshot, John stopped in the middle of the hallway. He put his hands on his hips and stared at you.

"I—That was… Wow. Y/N, how did you even do that?"

"Honestly?" You bit back a grin before lowering your voice. "...I hid it in my sports bra."

He broke out into a shocked smile. "In your—amazing. Y/N, you’re a genius."

"Am I now?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. You started down the hallway again, and he followed. "Thank you," He mumbled.

With a wave of your hand, you shook your head. "I'm just doing my job, y’know? Plus, I enjoyed working with you, John. I think we make a... decent team."

He looked down at his feet, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Well," He said, "If we are going to keep working together, can I ask you to do something?"

"Sure," You replied. By now, you were headed down the basement steps.

"Just… call me Johnny. John feels too… formal."

"Johnny," You sounded the name out, before smiling. "Yeah, it suits you better."

X-FILE 144-A: THE BELDAM'S GLENN BLOOD RITUALS

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE EVERETT TURNPIKE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—07:32 hours, Thursday, February 11th, 1993

"Brief me again on this case?" Johnny sighed as he drove ahead, "I was too tired when you explained on the flight here."

You nodded, rubbing your eyes and putting on your glasses. Outside, rain hit the roof of the car, and the sky was that bluish gray tinge of an early morning drizzle. That, paired with the soft guitar from the radio along with Robert Smith's voice made for gentle ambience.

I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love...

 Pulling out the folder from your bag. Truth be told, you were tired too—you'd been called just before 3 in the morning by someone at the bureau telling you you'd been assigned to work a murder case in Beldam's Glenn, New Hampshire. A fairly small town, less than 10,000 people.

You'd had an hour to pack some clothes, then take a taxi to the bureau to grab some things from the office and pick up the file briefing the incident. Then, just before four you arrived at Reagan International, where you met a seemingly bedraggled Johnny. His suit was a bit wrinkly and there were dark circles rimming his eyes.

By now, you'd been working with Johnny for almost a year. You'd learned in that time that he did not enjoy waking up before 5 AM. 

"Good morning," You'd greeted, and he shook his head.

"It's not morning yet, and it certainly isn't gonna be a good one," He'd grumbled in response. 

"Okay, Oscar the Grouch." 

Now, in the car, flicking through the folder, you read out loud the information. A fifteen year old boy identified as Mark Lee had been found dead in the woods, near an area rumored to be where satanic cults practiced blood magic. His eyes and heart missing, torn clean out.

"...Ouch," Johnny muttered, stifling a yawn.

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Ouch."

"Any witnesses or anything?" 

"No," You mumbled, reading over more details. One in particular caught in your eye. "Huh… Additionally, animal tracks in the form of hooves, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, were found leading to Lee’s body."

Johnny tilted his head. "Hooves?"

You hummed in confirmation.

He raised his eyebrows, facing you for a second before turning his attention back to the road. His eyes were wide. Somehow, you already knew what he was going to say. "Do you think there's a small possibility—"

"No." 

Johnny huffed. "Oh, come on! Y/N, humans are innately spiritual beings. Is it so crazy to think that just maybe a creature akin to a demon could exist?"

"I don't know, Johnny. Maybe there is. But I think now that the middle ages are over and we have more logical explanations for things like this, we shouldn't immediately jump to conclusions."

For a long time, he didn’t speak. Another thing you learned during your time with Johnny was that while it was relatively easy to smother his wild conclusions during calmer discussions, it was damn near impossible to get him to let go of them completely. You knew he'd mention it again later, but for now, you were content to just drive like this with him. You were… comfortable with Johnny. 

He had a sort of dry wit that, paired with his suave persona, made him incredibly charismatic. Once you got to know him better, it surprised you that no one around your department of the bureau really liked him.

Dressed up to the eyes

It's a wonderful surprise

To see your shoes and your spirits rise...

He shrugged. "Maybe you're right. Look, there are the cop cars."

Johnny pulled over on the side of the road, one man holding an umbrella seemingly waiting for you both. You looked at the man in the driver's seat, and he nodded toward the back seat. "There's an umbrella in the back."

"Thanks," You said, grabbing the thing. You both stepped out of the car, tugging the vinyl umbrella open. You did a once over of the officer—sheriff, actually, once you saw the badge on his chest. Johnny stood behind you and grabbed the small umbrella from you, so that he could fit under it.

"You're the FBI guys?" The sheriff asked. The two of you pulled out your badges, presenting yourselves. He offered a smile, but it was obvious the middle-aged man was shaken up.

"My name is Bill McNamara," He said, beginning to walk towards the trees. The two of you followed. "Thank you for coming on such short notice." 

He led you to a spot crowded by a few more officers scattered across the space, a white sheet hiding the body, a few feet away from a large, mossy cracked tree stump, so wide it was probably older than 100 years when it fell.

"Is this Mark Lee?" Johnny asked, and Sheriff McNamara nodded. Another officer peeled the sheet back. The poor boy was, in fact, missing his eyes, and there was a large hole in his chest. Even after several years as an MD and an FBI agent, corpses still filled you with dread.

Johnny, in his proximity from behind, nudged you slightly and pointed to the ground next to the boy. 

"So," You said, turning your attention back to the officer once you noticed the hoof tracks, "Have there been any reports of missing animals in the area? Cows, sheep?"

"...Goats?" Johnny added. You nodded stiffly. Sheriff McNamara shook his head. When he spoke, he seemed resolute.

"They say this area is popular for blood rituals, witch's magic. Now, these rumors have been around for years—since I was a kid, actually."

"Any basis to those rumors?" You asked. The Sheriff gave you a look. 

"Agent L/N, just look at the body!"

"Lots of homicides involve victim desecration," You pointed out, "Is there anything else that might point to that?"

The sheriff put his free hand on his hip. "I know he and his friends listen to that disgusting devil's music."

"I didn't like Madonna's latest album either, but I don’t think it's bad enough to call it that," Johnny mumbled sarcastically. You gave him a subtle elbow in the ribs, flashing him a dirty look. The sheriff didn't seem to notice his banter.

"No, I'm talking about that heavy metal stuff. It takes root in our children, poisoning their minds."

He led you over towards the tree stump. Johnny took a more serious approach. "Have Mark Lee or any of his friends ever been spotted at any of these supposed rituals?"

"More rumors," You muttered. The sheriff shook his head, stopping in front of the stump. 

"Not that I know of," He said, before gesturing at the stump, "This is allegedly their altar. What do you think?"

Johnny's seriousness seemed to only last in short bursts, because he fired back with, "Honestly? With a few rounds of sandpaper and some cans of shellac, it'd make a pretty nice coffee table."

The sheriff replied, "Oh… Uh… Well, from the looks of this wax on it, it was probably being used when he died."

You rolled your eyes, turning your head to the side in embarrassment. But then a flash of white, and translucent pale yellow on the ground caught your eyes.

"Do you know if Lee was out here with anyone?" Johnny asked, not saying anything as you stepped out from under the umbrella. You heard the sheriff say, "We presume he was alone."

"You sure?" You asked, picking up the library card, and the piece of wet paper. "This Franklin Pierce High library card belongs to… Haechan Lee. And the paper here is torn at the stamp so that it doesn't say which library it's from, but it's safe to say that it's from there. The title at the top is torn, too, but it says '...In America'."

You stepped back under the umbrella, raising an eyebrow as you handed them to him. "I'm surprised your people missed this."

The sheriff balked, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I'm sorry, Agent L/N," He murmured, "I'll admit, we're all a bit… shaken up here. This isn't something that we've ever dealt with, which is why I called the FBI. I'll have my men escort you to Franklin Pierce. That kid, Donghyuck Lee… He's Mark’s best friend. He's most likely there."

The sheriff stalked off, and you raised an eyebrow at Johnny before lowering your voice. "Better hide your Metallica albums… I could barely take him seriously."

He shrugged. "Well, the body's clearly displayed in a ceremonial manner. Plus, those goat tracks are highly unusual, Y/N." 

"I was under the impression he made you skeptical once he started speaking," You hummed, crossing your arms. He shook his head.

"I didn't wanna feed his imagination. Poor guy's clearly overwhelmed."

"I think he fed your imagination, Johnny. This is nothing but some murderer taking advantage of local folklore. I mean, there's nothing that odd about—"

The sound of slapping and bouncing against the vinyl of the umbrella caused you to jump back, crashing into Johnny's chest. Your shoulders tensed up as Johnny dropped the umbrella and let out a startled, "What the—"

You caught the umbrella as it fell from his hands, but it was too late for him. Something large, wet and brownish green hit him in the forehead before landing on the ground and flopping away. 

Your mouth dropped open and you met Johnny's equally shocked expression as you both registered the multitude of toads raining down on you. 

A few seconds later and it stopped, but now the ground was covered in toads, now jumping away in different directions. Neither you nor Johnny spoke for a good fifteen seconds, until he wiped his forehead free of… mucus. Your shoulders dropped slowly when he finally spoke.

"So… wanna get coffee before we head over to the school?"

Your face dropped from confusion to disbelief. "Johnny, toads just fell from the sky."

"Yeah, but I still want coffee."

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—09:04 hours, Thursday February 11th, 1993

Coffee on the table, you sat at a desk situated in the school office. Your laptop, the case file and a copy of today's newspaper were laying on top of it. A few feet away from you, the school psychologist and the secretary you'd borrowed the desk from were speaking to each other. You paid them no mind, looking over the file as you typed up your preliminary report.

You continued typing until the door opened, Johnny stomping in tugging a scrawny looking teenage boy—who was most likely Haechan Lee—by the upper arm. Two girls followed meekly behind, as well as a middle-aged woman, who you assumed was a teacher. All three of the kids seemed to be on the verge of tears. You raised an eyebrow at the sight. Johnny looked pissed off, and he asked the psychologist in a clipped tone, "Hey, Doyoung, could Agent L/N and I use your office to talk to the kids?"

Doyoung looked at the boy in Johnny's grip, then at the secretary, then you, before he nodded. Johnny opened the door and made a motion for the kids to go inside. "Sit down at that table. Don't speak unless spoken to," He ordered, tone stern. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek at his voice as you stood. What had gotten into him?

You pulled him away from the doorway, lowering your voice. "You good?"

Johnny sent the boy a glare before sighing. "Kid tried jumping out the window in front of the entire class to escape. I'll calm down. Just pisses me off that he thought something that stupid would work."

You bit back a smile, patting him on the shoulder. "Pull it together, Suh. He can't get away like this."

Johnny nodded, looking down at you warmly. "Ooh, last name. I'm in trouble."

"Shut up," You huffed, only half-joking. You were about to turn when you remembered something you'd read from the cover of the newspaper.

"By the way," You murmured, "National Weather Service reported tornadoes in northern Massachusetts early this morning. The toads probably got picked up from the winds."

Johnny sighed, before walking into the psychologist's office.

He turned to the woman. "Mrs. Walker, we'll take it from here, go on back to the other kids in your class."

"Are you sure?" She asked, pushing a black, stray hair back into her tight bun. Johnny nodded.

"The one day I'm called in to sub and all of this happens," She muttered to herself. 

You spared a glance at the middle-aged woman, giving her a polite smile. She did the same, and you followed behind Johnny, pulling out your tape recorder from your pocket and closing the door behind you. 

Johnny crossed his arms and leaned against the door, you standing in front of the table and setting the tape recorder on the table. 

"This is going to be recorded," You told them. None of them protested, so you hit the record button.

"So, let's get this out of the way," Johnny began, "None of you are under arrest. We just want to ask you some questions. First, I want you to state your names for the record. Understood?" 

They all nodded, and they introduced themselves: the dark haired, tan boy was in fact Donghyuck Lee, the shorter curly haired girl was named Amy Espinoza, and the taller redheaded girl was named Phoebe Howard. 

The questions were basic and thus, so were the answers. Donghyuck and Mark were childhood best friends, but not related. Mark introduced Amy to him with Phoebe's help. Donghyuck took the book Witch Hunt: A History of The Occult in America out because he and Mark wanted to make the whole thing seem legit. When asked why they really wanted to go out there, Donghyuck looked down. He held his hands together between his thighs.

"We wanted to… you know."

"We really don't," You said, raising an eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to sink into the earth then and there.

"Mark and I had a bet that whoever got past second base with the girlsfirst  would do the other's biology homework for the rest of the year."

Amy nudged Phoebe. "Told you," She grumbled quietly. Phoebe glared at her. 

You continued the interrogation. The incantation taken from the book was apparently one meant to summon Azazel. They'd gone out there just before midnight because the book said that was the best time. 

Donghyuck insisted they didn't kill him. "I'll let you search my car and everything, that's how we got there."

"Did you see what happened?"

Phoebe took a shaky breath, before burying her face in her hands. Amy nodded. "...We did. We ran but it had already… gotten to Martin."

You and Johnny exchanged a glance. "It?" You asked. 

Donghyuck nodded. "Lady, you're gonna think we're bullshitting you—"

"Language," You and Johnny scolded in unison. Donghyuck at least had the audacity to look embarrassed. 

"We got out there," Amy continued, "Martin lit a candle on the stump and did the incantation. The wind… changed. It suddenly got a lot colder and we started hearing… I don't even know."

"It sounded like, I guess what you would call speaking in tongues," Donghyuck said. "And then suddenly, there was this thing a few feet away from us. Maybe over six feet tall, and at first I thought it was a goat, but… it wasn't."

"What did it look like?"

Phoebe cried even harder, and the other two exchanged a weary glance. "It had… glowing orange eyes, and long dark hair." Amy shuddered. "It looked like it had goat legs, but a human torso. It was like…"

"It had a… a woman’s chest," Donghyuck mumbled. Your eyes landed on Phoebe, who seemed to be extremely upset. You exchanged a glance with Johnny. He seemed to understand what you were saying, and nodded wordlessly.

"Phoebe, are you alright?" You asked, feeling that something was up. She was shaking like a leaf. With a sigh, you turned the recorder off, and pointed at Amy and Donghyuck. "Both of you, wait outside on that chair. Don't move."

The two of them left, and you nodded at Johnny to sit next to you. 

"Phoebe," Johnny said softly, "Is there something going on that the other two don't know?"

She wiped her eyes, lip wobbling. You put a hand on his shoulder, taking over. "No, there isn't," She mumbled, "I'm just… this whole thing's freaked me out."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, and you sighed. She didn't sound very convincing. Something wasn't right here. Still, you knew it would be hard to get anything out of her when she was so upset.

"Alright. You—you're free to go." You took a deep breath, hesitating before you spoke again. 

"...But if you do want to tell us anything, you can come to us and we can—we'll speak off the record, if it makes you feel better."

Johnny frowned. "I think maybe—"

You flashed him a strong glare, cutting him off, before turning back to Phoebe. She sniffled, eyes darting between the two of you. When she settled on you, she allowed herself to relax a little bit more than when she'd been looking at Johnny. She nodded wordlessly, fiddling with a silver charm bracelet on her left wrist, and you gestured towards the door. "Go wash your face, drink some water. Tell your friends they're free to go. 'Kay?"

She gave a small smile at your gentler tone. Once she was gone, Johnny was on you. "We could have pressed her further. Why did you even offer to go off the record if we haven't ruled her off as a suspect, that's breaking bureau protocol—" 

"We'll talk about this later," You answered as you stood. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the three teenagers leave.

He lowered his voice as you opened the door. "Y/N, I can't believe—"

"You're letting them go?" The secretary—Beatrice, you believed was her name—asked, glaring at you. Her coiffed blonde bob bounced as she shook her head disapprovingly. Immediately, Johnny straightened. 

"There's not enough evidence to keep them here," He said, "Besides, they're minors. It's always tricky with them."

"It's so obvious that they did it." Doyoung crossed his arms, "They've clearly been influenced by all that stuff on MTV."

You sighed. "The FBI recently concluded a years long study researching any correlation between homicides and media consumption and found that it only occurs in 0.01% of cases. If there were any it would mean thousands of people murdering tens of thousands of other people. It'd be the biggest conspiracy in human history."

Doyoung scoffed, giving you a mocking glance. "Yeah, and J. Edgar Hoover never admitted the existence of the mafia. Really trustworthy source, the FBI."

Johnny barely contained his scoff. He glowered at Doyoung as he gently pushed your upper back towards the door. 

"Our investigation is ongoing."

ROSE GARDEN HOTEL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—19:57 hours, Thursday, February 11th, 1993

Johnny's door opened to a sight of you, no makeup, in sweatpants and hair tied up. You took in his appearance. He had on a similar pair of sweatpants, and a white t-shirt. His hair was pushed back, and he was wearing his reading glasses. 

"What's up?" He asked, letting you in. 

"I found something," You murmured, holding up your laptop as he closed the door. You sat at the foot of the bed, and he sat next to you. You opened the laptop, green text flashing onto the screen. His shoulder brushed yours due to the proximity. 

"'The grisly discovery of a young boy's mutilated body in the woods in the early morning has local law enforcement worried about the organization of conspiratorial dark forces.'"

He nodded. "Okay, is that from this morning's newspaper?"

You didn't answer, but rather read another quote from the article. "'The Jew is known to sacrifice teenagers and remove their organs during their religious rituals.' This is from a Nazi newspaper, from 1934. I found another similar case from 1967, where they pinned it on LSD users. The details are always the same, they just fill in the blanks with whoever was being persecuted at the time."

Johnny met your eyes. "And this time, it's occultists."

"Maybe this is some hidden organization, but I'm not sure. But something's just… not right. I have a bad feeling." 

"Something to do with that girl?"

You nodded. "Is there anything you picked up? Something I might not have noticed?"

He chewed on his lip. "Now that you mention it, I did notice something a few minutes ago, but it doesn't have to do with her. Come on."

He stood, and you set the laptop down on the bed before following him to the bathroom door, where he flicked the light on.

"So, we're in the northern hemisphere." He marched to the sink, leaning over it.

You leaned against the doorframe. "Last time I checked, yes."

He pressed the plug into the sink drain, before turning on the faucet. "The Coriolis Effect dictates that due to the Earth's rotation, water should swirl clockwise, right?"

You nodded, having an idea of where this is going. He motioned for you to come closer. He turned off the faucet. By now, some water had filled the sink just enough. He removed the plug, and you watched as the water went down, whirlpool swirling counterclockwise. 

"Johnny—"

"Something is here, Y/N. It's strong enough to affect this, then who knows—"

"Johnny, the Coriolis Effect works on storms and large bodies of water. Sinks and bathtubs usually don't fall under—"

He groaned, tipping his head back. "Of course," He grumbled, "It's been like this since day one."

You squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. Yes, in your time working with Johnny, you'd seen some truly unexplainable things. A pyromaniac that could light things on fire with his mind, a prehistoric parasite that turned its host violent, a serial killer that entered houses by squeezing his body through impossibly small spaces like an octopus. 

But still, you always had your doubts. "Johnny, once cases are over and we have our explanations, and I've seen things for myself, have I ever not believed you—"

"You don't trust me during these cases, Y/N, that's what matters! It's always been like this, I'm always right, but you never believe me, you go off and write your little notes about me like I'm some field experiment—"

You frowned and crossed your arms. "Johnny—"

"Have I ever gotten anything wrong? 90% of the time, my conclusions are the correct ones—"

"We come to those conclusions together! Don't start taking credit for them now."

"Oh, so you believe it only when your name is also on the report, huh?"

"Don't twist my words, Johnny. You know what I mean. I believe my conclusions first, and then I listen to yours and based on circumstantial evidence and once I discard all logical scientific explanations, then I turn to the extraordinary. I don't jump to conclusions like you do!"

"Why can't you be a good friend for once and fucking listen to me—"

"Because I'm not your friend, Johnny! I'm your fucking coworker!"

The silence that filled the room once you were done was deafening. It was only then that you realized how loud you'd gotten. The shocked disappointment in Johnny's eyes seemed to be even louder, though. 

Immediately, you realized your mistake. Yes, you'd grown close to him, but that was necessary for working well on these assignments. Keeping your work life and your personal life separate was paramount for you. Evidently, Johnny didn't feel the same, and as a result, you'd hurt him.

For a long time, no one said anything. Simply staring at each other, small space ripe with tension. Your eyes softened when he looked away from you, leaning his back against the counter. You took a step closer, until he was right in front of you.

"Johnny, I—"

"Can you get out, please?"

You stared at him for a few moments, trying to think of something to say. 

Ultimately, you didn't. You took a deep sigh, and grabbed your laptop on the way out.

Being an FBI meant you had little to no personal time, working pretty much 7 days a week and being on call for anything at any time, in any part of the country. You knew that when you started your training.

You'd entered with a statement and left with a question. Could you really call Johnny a friend? You really only saw him during work. You didn’t meet outside of it—but considering how much you worked, always on call and spending nights holed up with him in hotel rooms or in your office going over evidence of different cases, at what point did you start spending more time at work than at your day to day life?

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—10:11 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

You were looking between the notes you’d scribbled down on a small notepad using a pen you’d stolen from Johnny the day before. It was while you were transferring them to the report on your computer that you jumped in your seat when the office door burst open. Mrs. Walker guided a sniffling Phoebe Howard into the room. Johnny, who had been speaking to Doyoung to ask him about other students, turned his head. 

Doyoung held up a hand, to which Johnny nodded, and the shorter man walked over to the two of them. "Phoebe, are you alright?"

She shook her head, breaking into tears again, unable to speak. Doyoung turned to Mrs. Walker, who simply patted her head. "Lab project," She murmured, "They had to dissect pig embryos. She just… broke down. I've seen it happen before. Some kids are just more sensitive than others."

"No, no, it's not that," Phoebe blubbered, "Can I…"

Despite everything that had happened last night, when you looked at Johnny, you saw he'd done the same. A tense, knowing stare was shared between the two of you, and then Phoebe spoke.

"Can I speak to Agent L/N please?"

Your head snapped to her when she said your name. You stood, and nodded.

You lead her out the door while ignoring Doyoung’s frown and Mrs. Walker's confused look. Johnny followed behind at a distance. 

The three of you went out the door, to the outdoor lunch tables. You had Phoebe sit down, Johnny and you remained standing. 

"What is it you wanted to talk about, Phoebe?" You said gently.

She took a shaky breath, rubbing her hands together. "So… Do you know who my stepdad is?"

Thinking back to when you'd made a basic profile on the three kids yesterday afternoon, you nodded. "He's the gym coach here, right? Grant Howard?"

She nodded. "So… he married my mom when I was 6. And he adopted me when I was 8. One year after that my mom got a new job, a-and she started travelling a lot, y'know? So I was alone with him a lot more. I-I don't know when it started, but…"

The sinking feeling in your chest grew as she started to cry again.

"S-sometimes when she wasn't here, h-he would invite people over. They'd come i-in with these red cloaks and they—would bring small animals. Kittens a-and puppies, birds sometimes… They would take me down to the basement, to a room where the walls are painted red and there's this dirt floor, and they would—they would stand in a circle and sing and they would give m-me knives, o-or screwdrivers and…"

You sat down next to her, rubbing her shoulder as she let out a gut-wrenching cry. Looking at Johnny, the hand that wasn't in his trench coat pocket was balled into a fist. He was looking down, eyebrows furrowed.

"I didn't want to!" She wailed, "They would hurt me if I didn't, they said they would hurt my mom if I said anything! I had to be the one to kill the animals and then they w-would drink the blood—I don't know how I blocked it out or why I never remembered it until Mrs. Walker put the—the pig on the table, and I… I… I just…"

"It's okay, honey," You murmured, nodding. She buried her head into your shoulder, sobbing freely, and you rubbed her back to soothe her. 

Again, you looked at Johnny, who didn't look at you. You realized just how difficult it would be to keep this off the record—this was something that involved a child being abused, you couldn’t let her go home to a dangerous situation. 

This just got a whole lot more complicated. 

HOWARD RESIDENCE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—15:49 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

Phoebe was to remain at school. Donghyuck and Amy would pick her up, and she would spend the night with Amy. She wouldn't be going home until the situation was thoroughly investigated. She'd been left with Doyoung, who would speak to her as a mandated reporter, and would later go back to attempt to finish the project. You left her your number in case she needed to speak to you again. 

You'd spoken to Mrs. Walker as her final class was out, just before you and Johnny left. The lab was spacious. A large python lay sleeping in a glass case in the corner of the room. The space was ripe with the smell of blood, which didn't surprise you, given the amount of pig embryos she was having her students dissect all day long.

The woman had a soft voice, and seemed very sympathetic to Phoebe's struggle. "I absolutely understand, I might have her do something else for her grade, but I'm afraid I might not be able to find any other activity on such short notice."

You nodded, sighing. "Of course. Thank you for considering, regardless." 

Your eyes fell to her desk, where a small basket of random items glinted with a small charm bracelet, the same bracelet you'd seen on—

"Ah, the students usually ask me to hold onto their things when we get messy like this," She said with a smile when she noticed where you were looking. "You said you're a doctor, so you understand, right?"

"Oh, yes. I can't really wear anything at all," You said with a soft chuckle.

"Not even a ring? Oh, your husband must be disappointed." 

You felt your face heat up, scratching your neck awkwardly. "I'm not married."

She smiled. “Oh, good for you then. It’s literal hell. And, you get to ogle your partner all day.”

You choked on your spit, coughing awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

She laughed, waving her hands, “Oh, Agent L/N, don’t be so modest. You can’t deny that Agent Suh is an absolute dish. Why, if I were 25 years younger… oh my, the things I would—”

“I really must be going, Mrs. Walker,” You insisted quickly. “I��ll contact you should I have any other questions for you."

“Could I have your phone number, in case anything comes up? I-I’ll admit, this whole situation has frightened me a bit.”

You nodded sympathetically, ignoring how uncomfortable you’d felt a moment ago. Pulling out Johnny's pen and your notepad, and you jotted down your number there.

“Y/N?” A knock sounded, and Johnny popped his head in the door. “We need to go.”

“Yeah, I know,” You replied, tucking the notepad back into your pocket. You bid Mrs. Walker goodbye, and off you went, kitten heels clacking as you went.

As for your time with Johnny? The entire ride there was tense.

“Were you expecting that?” He asked a few minutes into the ride. You raised an eyebrow.

“The secret cult that forced a nine year old girl to murder puppies and kittens?” You answered in a clipped tone, “No, John. I can’t say I was.”

He hummed. "Okay… no tape recorder today?"

"I forgot it. Left it at the hotel."

He nodded, and that was that. 

Her mother and adoptive stepfather were, to say the least, shocked at their daughter's confession. You spoke to the girl's mother in the living room, Johnny spoke to her father. Mrs. Howard, whom Phoebe had insisted had never said anything was beside herself, crying as she spoke to you.

“Mrs. Howard, you’re absolutely sure you’ve never witnessed any violent behavior from your husband?”

She nodded, sniffling. “He’s always treated me and Phoebe very kindly. In front of me, at least.”

You hummed, looking down at the carpeted floor. “You said this is your husband's house, and he’s lived here longer than you have? Have you been in all parts of the house? Is there maybe an area a guest might not know about?”

She looked up at the ceiling in thought. “After hearing what Phoebe told you both, it made me realize that I’d never been in the basement. Grant’s always said that was his woodworking space, and he didn’t want anyone in there.”

With a nod, you looked at her. “Could my partner and I maybe take a look at--” 

A commotion from the kitchen cut you off.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING OF THE SORT! I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ACCUSING ME OF, SUH!”

You shot up, and so did Mrs. Howard, just in time to see Grant Howard push Johnny into the cabinet. Your training kicked in, and you stepped between the two, holding up your hands to placate the man. 

“Calm down, now,” You growled, dangerously low, “Or I will place you under arrest for assault of an officer.” 

“Grant,” Mrs. Howard called, “Breathe.”

“Leave, both of you! If you want to see my basement, get a damn warrant and you’ll see there’s nothing down there!”

You tugged Johnny away by the wrist, leaving out the front door. “What happened?” 

Johnny shook his head in aggravation. “I asked to see the basement, said that it would clear my suspicions of him. He said he didn’t hurt Phoebe, and I said I didn’t believe him. Then he snapped, grabbed me by the collar and shook me.”

He unlocked the car. “Should we try and get that warrant?”

You got into the passenger seat, shrugging. “I can do it.”

Johnny nodded. “Hopefully we’ll find—”

A ringing from Johnny’s phone caught him off guard. He fished the phone out from his pocket, answering, “Suh.”

“Sheriff, what’s going on?”

You could hear him through the speaker, and you didn't like what you heard. 

"We'll be there right away," Johnny said, face turning serious.

ROOM 471, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—17:37 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

"You're saying she just… had a seizure?"

"I was sitting at the desk, and she was about halfway through the dissection when she just… collapsed on the floor," Mrs. Walker said, voice trembling, "She was shaking and her eyes were rolled up into her head… Agent L/N, it was terrifying."

You sighed and looked at Johnny, who was speaking with the sheriff. When you looked back at Mrs. Walker, she was shaking her head. "I feel a dark force is among us, Agent L/N," She murmured, putting a hand on her chest, "So many horrible things in such a short span of time."

"Agent Suh and I are working hard to solve the case, Mrs. Walker. I promise we're doing our best."

"Y/N," Johnny called, "We gotta go."

You bid the older woman goodbye, and she gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Once you were out the door with Johnny, your voice lowered. "What do you got?"

"Not a lot. The Howards have been notified, but Grant Howard isn't being allowed into her hospital room."

"Who called the police?"

"Clinton."

"Clinton?" 

He shook his head, grimacing to himself. "Shit, sorry. Beatrice Pratt. The secretary." 

You stared at him. "Pratt and Clinton don't sound alike at all."

"Well, yeah, but…" He scratched his head and lowered his voice. "The pantsuit and the bob remind me of the first lady."

You frowned. "I wear pantsuits all the time."

"Yeah, but you don't look like Hillary Clinton."

You sighed. You didn’t have time for this, especially when he was still mad at you. "Okay. Sure, whatever. I talked to Walker. I… I'm not so sure about her."

Johnny tilted his head. "Why not?"

"I don't know. I don't have a lot to go off of, but it seems just a little bit odd that she shows up the morning of Mark Lee's death, replacing a man who apparently hasn't missed a day in a fifteen year career."

"Maybe he had an emergency. Happens to everyone."

"Johnny, he contracted flesh eating bacteria. Does that sound like something that happens to everyone?"

He didn't answer. Obviously, he hadn’t been expecting that. "Ohhh-kay, then. Let's do this. The sheriff said that the warrant should be ready within a few hours. Howard would probably beat my ass if he sees me again, so you check out that basement, and I can do the background check on Walker. Sound good?"

"Actually, I don't think you'll need a warrant."

The two of you turned, stunned, to see Grant Howard standing in front of you both. His eyes were rimmed red and he was clearly restless, shifting his weight onto his legs constantly. 

"Agent L/N, I'll show you the basement."

HOWARD RESIDENCE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—18:09 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

"My entire life," The man said, sounding tired, "I was taught that humans are no better, no worse than animals. Do what thou willst, rather than do unto others." 

He pulled open the basement door, gesturing for you to go first. Immediately, you were on edge. If you had your back turned he could easily push you down the stairs or hit you in the head.

"You go down first," You ordered. He nodded understandingly. "You were saying?""My family has kept this religion for seven generations. My great, great, great, great grandfather was born in 1777, Agent L/N, and he was the one who brought us into it. We've been keeping it alive since, with two other families. It kept us in good health, we had no money problems."

When the two of you got to the bottom of the stairs, he turned the light on and you realized Mrs. Howard had been right, it did look like a normal woodworking space. Until Mr. Howard pulled a rug up from the ground to reveal a hatch, which he pulled up to reveal another set of stairs.

"I was raised to believe that Christianity was synonymous with hypocrisy. And for years, I believed that." He led you down this pair of stairs again, where he lit his flashlight. The room was a bit smaller than the basement but still large enough to keep a large group of people like Phoebe had said. Also identical to her story were the red walls and the dirt floor.

 "Believed?"

"Believed," He confirmed. "I believed until I saw it in my own religion as well, not even an hour ago. When I got to the school to gather my things and was met by the heads of the other 2 families, asking me to pin the murder of Mark Lee on my own daughter. That if she were permanently affected by what just happened, we could get away with all of it. That was when I knew that I was better than an animal. I need to keep Phoebe and Linda safe."

"So one of you did murder Lee," You murmured, trying to get a solid confession. However, he shook his head. "I didn't. The others insist they didn't either." 

"Who did, then?"

He sighed. "Agent L/N, you have to understand, I'm trained in these arts so I know when there’s a difference somewhere. Something is here. Something bad."

 You frowned. "Alright. Did you or did you not abuse your daughter?"

"I never laid a hand on her. The others, however… they wanted to make sure she would stay quiet through fear, and they wouldn't listen to me. We have a ritual that blocks out memories, every time we would perform that ritual when we were done. The plan was to reveal the memories when she turned 18, and then allow her to join or reject the religion. It's a rite of passage."

"Why even use Phoebe in the first place?"

He shook his head. "The magic of an innocent soul is a powerful thing. It's one of the most powerful things we could ever use in our magic. That's also why we used those sacrifices. She was the youngest of all of our children. The others were all past 11 at that age."

With a sigh, you led him up back to the main basement. "Would you be willing to give me a written statement of who the heads of these families are?"

He nodded. "Of course. I just want my daughter and my wife to be safe. They believe that whatever's here wants a sacrifice. That it took Mark Lee as a warning to us, and unless it gets a sacrifice from us…"

"It'll strike again," You finished."And it won't stop." He sounded desperate. You found your notepad, but the pen was nowhere to be found. "Do you have a—"

Your cellphone ringing interrupted you. You groaned quietly, scooping it from your pocket. "Hello?"

"Y/N?" You heard Johnny's voice say. His tone was urgent. There was a faint crackle of static, but as you listened it began to get louder. "I'm at the school. You need to hurry, Y/N, there's something—!"

The static overpowered the sound of his voice, and then the call dropped. "Johnny? Johnny! Hello?"

Your heart dropped, and you tucked the phone and the notepad into your pocket. "I need to go. My partner's in trouble."

"I'll go with you," He offered.

You shook your head. "No. You're under arrest."

"What? But—"

"You just admitted to animal abuse, your complicity in child abuse and conspiracy. If I take you to the school, how do I know you won't take the other two and bolt?" You snapped. "Against that beam, there.

Pulling out some handcuffs, you forced him against the side of the stairs, where you handcuffed him to the railing. "I'll come back for you later," You growled, "Don't move."

Rushing up the stairs, and out the door, into the rain, you ran towards the car. Johnny needed you. 

Your friend needed you.

FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—18:30 hours, February 12th, 1993

You burst into the school, trying to keep calm despite the horrid feeling in your gut. You eyed the office, which was right next to the main entrance. The lights were on, you could see your laptop was on. But the seat was empty, and so was the rest of the office, or so it seemed to be from where you were standing. Taking a deep breath, you pulled out your gun, and entered the office slowly. 

"Hello?" You called, looking into the window of Doyoung’s office. Empty. The principal's office? Empty. Your mouth felt dry. 

Where was Johnny?

"Y/N?"

In a moment your professors at the academy would've been ashamed to see, you shrieked, and turned the gun in the direction the voice came from. But when you realized it was Johnny with a styrofoam coffee cup, whose eyes had gone wide at the sight of the gun pointed at him, you lowered it.

"Don't fucking scare me like that," You muttered as you tucked the gun into its holster. A second later, you raced forward, engulfing him in a hug as you realized that he was okay.

"Y/N? What's… going on?"

You pulled away once it registered what you'd done. "Sorry," You mumbled. "What happened? Where did the thing go?"

"Y/N, what are you talking about?"

You shook your head in confusion. "You called me. You said you were in danger. My heart fell out of my ass, Johnny, what happened?"

Johnny's face contorted at your statement. "Huh? Y/N, I never even touched my phone. I was running the background check on Walker—who, by the way, is pretty much clear in the system. But… I don't know."

Staring at him, you put your hands on your hips. "Johnny, I heard your… never mind. We have to go. Howard confessed."

His eyebrows shot up. "He did it?"

"No, but he admitted to conspiracy and has names. Come on, we have to go."

For the millionth time today, you made your way from the school to the Howard residence, where you found the door was still open. As you opened the door to the basement, you looked at him.

"He's down here."Johnny turned on his flashlight, and you followed him down the steps. The room was eerily quiet, and when Johnny flashed the light at where you said he was, it was empty.You huffed at the sight of the empty handcuffs. How had he slipped out of them?

"Y/N," Johnny said, flashing the light a few feet away, "Look."

You turned to see what he was pointing at. Your eyes widened at the sight of bones, tinged pink with the small chunks of meat still attached to it.

"Do you think it might be some kind of acid?" You asked, and Johnny shook his head.

"There's no sign of a reaction on the floor," He answered, flashing the light around the basement floor. He stopped a few feet away. You felt yourself grow even more confused.

"Is that—?

""Snakeskin," Johnny whispered, "...There's a python in Walker's class."

"B-but, that's not possible," You muttered, "It would take a snake hours to consume a grown man, and weeks to digest it!"

Johnny grabbed your wrist, shaking his head at your rambling. "C'mon, Einstein," He told you, "We gotta go pay Walker a visit."

ROOM 471, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—19:01 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The school was a lot darker than when it had been when you had been there previously. Seeing the halls, which you'd grown used to being full and lit up, suddenly so dark and empty made you uneasy.

 It was raining a lot harder now. The sound of the rain pelting the roof made it harder to listen for anything. When you got to Walker's room, it was also dark. She said she'd be here until eight grading papers, but the room was empty. There were some broken beakers on one of the lab tables, and when you really strained your ears to listen, the sound of soft yet strained breathing could be heard behind the desk. 

"Mrs. Walker?" You called, slowly walking towards the desk. Johnny tried the light, but to no avail. The rain must have knocked it out.

The woman was on the floor, nose bleeding and leg bent at an angle at which legs weren't meant to bend at all. She seemed to have been hit in the head, a sizable lump protruding from her temple.

"Th-the snake—" She mumbled, "They took the snake—He hit me,"

"Who, Mrs. Walker, who?"

"Kim," She spat out, "Pratt. I think they—think they killed that boy."

Doyoung and Beatrice. You and Johnny exchanged glances, and you remembered what Grant had said.

"Did you see where they went, Mrs. Walker?" Johnny asked. She blinked hazily.

"Said something about the conference room," She muttered.

"We'll call paramedics for you, okay?" You stood, trying to reassure her gently. "You'll be fine."

Johnny had already picked up the phone. Thunder crackled overhead as he dialed the number, but you could hear the busy tone all the way from where you were standing

."Damn storm is jamming the signal," He said, "Y/N, we gotta go, now."

"Johnny, what about—"

"Y/N," He growled, "Now."

Something about his tone set you off, and you did as he said. He immediately shut the door, and sped up his steps down the hall. 

"What was that about?" You asked, turning on your flashlight and trying to keep up with his pace. 

"Y/N, do you have that pen you borrowed from me yesterday?" He asked, not slowing down. Thunder rumbled overhead.

"What?" He had a point, probably. He always did when he got like this. "No, I dropped it I think."

"The pen was on Walker's desk. Next to the phone. Next to Phoebe's bracelet. It was my pen."

You inhaled sharply as Johnny tugged the door to the conference room open. "What are you implying?"

"Walker was clear in the system. But when I was talking to the principal yesterday, she couldn't even remember hiring her. What are the odds that a woman pops up out of nowhere the same day a murder happens?"

You pulled a filing cabinet open, looking through random folders. "Okay, yes, we agree. But what if—"

"Y/N, did you not see how tall she was?"

You shook your head, turning to pull out some papers from a file. "Sure, she's a bit taller than average, but she's shorter than you—"

"She's slouching to look smaller. Trust me, I did that when I was younger. If she stood up straight, she would be taller than me. Donghyuck said the thing that grabbed Mark was tall, had female breasts, and had dark hair. She fits the profile."

You sighed. "I mean, maybe you—"

A thud! and a groan from Johnny had you turning your head. Your flashlight landed on Johnny, on the ground, unconscious. Your body turned cold. 

"Johnny—?"

But then you felt something hit you in the back of the head, and everything went dark. 

Your eyes cracked open at the sensation of being dragged, and as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you realized two things. 

One, you arms and legs were bound, and there was a gag placed in your mouth. You craned your head, and Johnny was in the same situation as you, only he was still unconscious. 

And two, you were being dragged by Hillary Clinton. 

Shit, no. Maybe you'd hit your head harder than expected. Your vision cleared up further, and you realized it wasn't, in fact, Hillary Clinton, but rather Beatrice Pratt. Doyoung was dragging Johnny, and then you realized what was going on. 

These were the others that Grant Howard had been referring to. They seemingly hadn't realized you were awake yet. You were in the school gymnasium, headed towards a doorway in the corner. The room was dark, occasionally lit by flashes of lightning.

"—The showers, right?" Doyoung asked, sounding out of breath. Beatrice huffed. 

"Yes. The blood will get washed away there."

You couldn’t move your hands, no matter how much you squirmed. Your eyes looked at Johnny, who was beginning to stir. His brows furrowed, mouth trying to form words. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” Doyoung hummed, disdain dripping from his voice, “Lovely.”

Johnny’s eyes cracked open, immediately glaring at Doyoung, who chuckled. “Please. I’m terrified.”

“Doyoung, shut up,” Beatrice snapped. “Open the door.”

Doyoung let Johnny’s legs fall onto the floor. Johnny groaned in discomfort as Doyoung opened the door, propping it open with something.

He approached Johnny again, but before he picked him up to drag him further, he landed a swift kick to Johnny’s gut. Johnny let out a muffled moan in pain, and you thrashed against your restraints.

“You just had to come and ruin everything, huh? This is a once in a century opportunity, and you--” He proceeded to kick Johnny again, over and over, “Just--won’t--quit.”

“Doyoung!” Beatrice snapped. “We don’t have time for this. Don’t you sense it getting angrier? If we don’t sacrifice them now, it’ll take us like it took Grant.”

Doyoung turned to her, breathing heavily through his nose. “Fine,” He bit out.

They dragged you into the bathrooms, leading you to the showers, where they dumped you both next to each other. You rolled onto your side to look at Johnny, whose eyes were screwed shut in pain. His breathing was labored. 

You squirmed again, trying to free yourself as the shower roared to life. Curling in on yourself as cold water soaked your body, you tried to think of a way to save both Johnny and yourself. Doyoung and Beatrice pulled out large daggers from their  coat pockets, and raised their arms to the sky. They began chanting in latin, but the roar of water, the shock of the cold temperature, and the panic beginning to set in caused the words to blur together. 

This was it. You and Johnny were going to die. 

Until the two of them crumpled on top of you. You jumped as Doyoung’s weight toppled onto you, eyes squeezing shut in pain. His elbow had landed on your stomach. For a moment, as you lay there reeling in pain, and you wondered if this was a part of the ritual. But then…

"Agent L/N?" Your eyes shot open, and you met eyes with Amy Espinoza. She managed an awkward attempt at a polite smile, fiddling with what she was holding in her hands. Your eyes widened when you registered the shotgun. A flashlight was duct-taped haphazardly to the barrel, probably so that she could see wherever she was aiming.

"Mmh-hffpnffh?" You couldn't stop yourself from trying to speak, unable to contain your surprise. 

A second set of hands turned off the shower, and you craned your neck to see Donghyuck Lee, holding an old baseball bat underneath his armpit. He pulled Beatrice off of Johnny, making a disgusted face. "I always knew there was something up with her," He grumbled, "She never laughed at my jokes."

"Yeah, 'cause you're annoying as shit," Amy countered, pushing Doyoung to the side. "Can you guys sit up?"

She untied your hands, and you got to work on untying your feet before pulling the gag off of your mouth. 

"What are you two doing here?" Johnny asked, voice raspy and out of breath. 

You stood up, wiping water off of your face. "Where did you get that gun?"

 "Oh." Amy suddenly sounded embarrassed. "I, uh… Stole it from my dad?

"Donghyuck helped Johnny stand. "We went to visit Phoebe in the hospital, Mr. Suh—"

"Agent Suh," Johnny corrected, bringing a hand to his stomach. "Whatever. Anyway, we went to visit and once she woke up she told us something… not good."

"Mrs. Walker is the thing," Amy said. "Phoebe said she was dissecting the pig and she saw her grab the bracelet she'd given her—"

"And she did something and her eyes turned orange, like the thing we saw in the woods!" Amy continued. "The officer that was there didn't believe her, but we did."

"So we decided to take matters into our own hands," Donghyuck said. "She killed our best friend, so we thought—"

"That coming to your school with a shotgun and a wooden baseball bat, to kill a demon was the best course of action?" You didn't sound amused, and the two of them exchanged a look.

Amy looked down. "Well… when you put it like that…"

"It doesn't matter," Johnny said. "You kids need to go home now. It's not safe for either of you." 

"Like hell we're going anywhere! We were able to save you guys, so—"

“You kids got lucky this one time," You pointed out, sounding stern, "Agent Suh and I are trained for dangerous situations like this. You two aren't, and we certainly aren't about to expose you kids to one. Go home."

You searched your pockets, not finding your gun. You crouched to look through Doyoung and Beatrice's pockets, handing Johnny's gun to him and putting your gun back into your holster.

"But—"

A large crack of thunder startled you all, and the ground seemed to rumble as it did. Johnny looked past you and the kids, at the end of the shower hallway, and inhaled sharply.

"Oh, that's so much worse than Hillary Clinton," He mumbled. You didn't even see what he meant, but in that split second something in you took over. You pulled Donghyuck behind you, Johnny grabbing Amy and doing the same. 

At the same time, Amy aimed the gun to where Johnny had been looking, the light landing on...

Donghyuck gasped. "Holy shit."

It was like exactly what Donghyuck had said, except worse. Glowing, orange eyes, goat legs, stringy black hair. Johnny was right—standing like this, she was much taller than him. Her jaw was unhinged, open impossibly wide. She was panting heavily, hobbling slowly towards you. 

You and Johnny pulled out your guns, shooting instantly. One hit her in the shoulder, the other in the stomach. Her jaw opened even further, and a blood curdling screech echoed throughout the tiled room. 

Then she broke out into a run. 

You forced yourself to stand still, shooting another round before she jumped over you. Out of the corner of your eye, Donghyuck swung the bat, hitting her in the leg, causing her to fall face first to the ground.

 Taking that advantage, Johnny fired another round into her back. She shrieked again, and you and Johnny took the opportunity to run out the door, pushing the kids with you.

"Go! Both of you, now," You ordered once you were in the gym again. They shook their heads. Donghyuck held up his bat.

"We're not leaving without—"

"Donghyuck, this isn't a movie," Johnny insisted, "Now go!"

 Amy grabbed his arm. "Hyuck, they're right, we have to—LOOK OUT!"

You turned to see what had once been Mrs. Walker stick its head out of the doorway. Amy was able to fire one last shot into it, with her shotgun. You didn’t see where it hit—the door shut and you heard one final wail. 

A few moments later, the lights flickered on. You stood there, clothes dripping onto the hardwood floor for a good minute or so, until you looked at Johnny, who wore a pained grimace. "I can check," You told him. "Stay here with the kids." 

"You sure?" He asked. You nodded, holding out your gun and slowly making your way towards the door. You spared the odd trio one final glance. 

Johnny—soaking wet hair falling into his eyes—was standing in front of them, aiming his gun at the door. Donghyuck was holding his bat up, Amy's MacGyver-esque flashlight gun making you squint.

Then, you opened the door. You could feel your heart hammering a mile a minute. Very slowly, you scanned the room. You stopped when you glanced at the showerhead Beatrice and Doyoung had placed you under—the same one they should have been under, knocked unconscious. You swallowed a lump in your throat. 

Because they weren’t there, and neither was Mrs. Walker. What you did see, however, were two large streak of blood dragged up the wall and to a window, staining the green tiles.

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—20:47 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The four of you made your way back to the main building on high alert. The rain seemed to have stopped once the thing was gone. Amazingly, there wasn't even a cloud in the sky. Even the air felt different—cleaner.

Shockingly, this time when Johnny tried the phone again, it worked. In order, he called the sheriff, who had no issue believing the ordeal you had gone through. Then the principal, who was incredibly confused as to how four of her teachers could vanish in one night.

 And then, you turned to the kids and gestured to the phone. "Alright, your turn now. Call your parents, both of you."

If they were more afraid of the murderous hellspawn they'd just helped you fight off, it didn't show. "Please just let us go now, Agent L/N," Donghyuck pleaded, "My mom will never let me leave my house again after this."

Amy shook her head. "My dad's gonna kill me if he finds out I stole the gun again."

Johnny made a face. "Again?"

She turned even paler when she realized her screw up. "I'm not going to omit witnesses from a report because you'll get grounded," You told them. "You're good kids, with good intentions. You just lost someone and had another friend go through something traumatic, we get that. But what you did tonight was incredibly dangerous, reckless, and—and—"

"Stupid?" Johnny offered.

"Johnny!" You snapped, lowering your voice. He shrugged.

You sighed, trying to get them to understand. "Alright, listen. There's a Yellow Pages over on that desk. If you don't call them, I will, or the sheriff will. Which would scare your parents less, huh? Getting a call from their kids, from the sheriff's department, or from the goddamn federal bureau of investigation?"

If they didn't get it before, they definitely understood now. Amy took the fall first, telling her dad she'd brought her car to the school, had gotten into trouble, and needed him to come by to talk to the police. She left out the gun, much to your amusement.

While Donghyuck did the same, you pulled Johnny into the hallway to speak to him.

"Are you okay?" You asked, "Doyoung seemed to kick you pretty hard." 

"I'll take a few days off once we get back to DC, I'll be fine," He murmured. He leaned against the wall and winced.

You nodded, but weren't sure how to respond. Finally, you spoke again.

"Look, about last night," You said softly, and he looked up in thought. 

"What about it?" He didn't seem to want to meet your eyes.

You took a step forward. "Johnny, other than when we first met, have I ever treated you like you were crazy?" 

Your voice was quieter now, gentler in its approach. He looked to the side, crossing his arms. "...No."

You shrugged, before sighing. "It's not that I don't trust you. I have my scientific conclusions. You have yours. Every time I see something I can't explain I try to explain it with what I do know. Tonight was… insane, and you were right. But honestly? It just reinforced my wanting to go the scientific route every time we have a case."

He frowned. "Why? You saw Walker."

"Exactly." You crossed your arms. "If I went into every single case, expecting to see that or something even worse? God. I… I don't know how you do it, John."

He smiled, but still didn't meet your eyes. "I didn't mean what I said last night either. Y'know… that. Or at least, I didn't realize I didn't mean it until today. I… I care about you, Johnny. I really do. You're smart, and you're really funny, and you give me perspectives I wouldn't consider otherwise."

He looked at you, and you put a hand on his upper arm. "I'm glad I have a friend like you to work with," You admitted, "And I'm glad you're okay."

His smile grew, and he let out a chuckle. "There's no one else in the bureau I would rather be murdered by Hillary Clinton with," He said, with the most endearing tone possible. You burst into laughter, Johnny joining you. He stepped closer, pulling you into a hug as you continued to laugh. Your eyes shut, and despite Johnny's cold, damp clothes pressing against your cold, damp clothes, it still warmed your chest. The two of you stood together for a while, enjoying each other's embrace. His chin rested on your head, and you sighed happily. Johnny gave good hugs.

"Uhh, Agent Suh?"

Johnny and you broke away immediately. Johnny cleared his throat."Uhh, yes, Donghyuck?"Amy and Donghyuck exchanged a glance from the office doorway. "Uh, my mom said she'll be here soon. A-and I saw some police lights across the street, so…"

"Oh." Johnny straightened his tie. "Thank you."

A few seconds later, the sound of sirens came into proximity. You took a look at these two kids, and despite the stress they'd caused you, you felt an odd fondness in your heart. 

“Come on, you two," Johnny murmured, "Time to go."

X-FILE 229-B: THE SAN CEFERINO SHIFTER

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—07:08 hours, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

On this particular summer morning, you were enjoying the air conditioner for as long as you could wait. You'd be flying to San Ceferino, California, twenty minutes outside of San Francisco. 

The assignment was at a gated community where three women had been found dead within the span of three weeks. You and Johnny would be sent in to investigate due to a strange, unidentifiable residue being found on the bodies. A local detective had contacted the bureau for help.

The kicker? For some reason, due to some sensitivities of having their community "invaded" the head of the community had requested you be placed undercover.

So what was the bureau's idea? "Moving" you and Johnny into the community, posing as a newlywed couple. 

Yikes.

This seemed like a bad idea to you, but you didn't say anything. Because if you spoke up to your superiors, they'd ask why, and you'd be forced to explain. 

"I got the flight tickets and our fake profiles!" Johnny entered your shared office, causing you to look up from the case file.

"Oh, nice. Who are we?"

He curled his lip, making a face. "Whoever makes up these names should be demoted, I swear to god. My name is Fox. Fox Kang. Who the hell names their kid Fox—"

You stifled a laugh as you grabbed the file from him, flipping to yours. Dana Baker. A bit ordinary, but the more inconspicuous, the better, you figured. 

"God, I kind of don't want to go," You hummed, "It's hot enough as it is here in Washington. I don't wanna imagine the California heat."

"Well, suck it up," He said, but he didn't sound dismissive. "We're leaving in three hours. We still have to pick up our undercover wardrobe and get to the airport, y'know?"

Frowning at the profile, you nodded half-heartedly. It stated that your backstory was that of college sweethearts at Cornell in the 80s. He was class of 1984, you of 1986. You were moving to California two months after getting married, because "Fox" got a job offer just outside of San Francisco. 

"You're staring at that paper like you're Nancy Kerrigan and it just broke your knee," Johnny pointed out, "You okay?"

"Huh?" You looked at him, swallowing. "Oh… yeah. I'm fine. I'm just a bit… unsure about the whole marriage thing." 

Johnny shrugged, offering an amused smile. "Really, Y/N. We've been working together for two years and you still find me that unbearable?"

You laughed, standing and circling your desk to stand in front of him. "No, not at all. I'm just not the best when it comes to undercover work."

Johnny leaned against the desk, smiling sympathetically. "Well, I'm no Tom Hanks either. But if you think about it, we spend all our time together anyway. It's not that big of a stretch to say we might as well be."

"We definitely argue like one," You fired back. You both laughed, simply staring at each other in silence once it quieted down. Johnny's eyes studied you up and down, dark eyes warm. He was wearing his glasses today. 

You wondered if he was judging your outfit, because he did that sometimes with other people. Apparently, before he became interested in criminal psychology he'd wanted to become a fashion designer, or so he told you. Six months later after he'd told you that and you still weren't sure if he was joking or not.

"What are you looking at?" You asked. He shook his head. 

"...Nothing. Let's get going?"

The two of you picked up your faux suitcases—the bureau had a department full of fake clothes for agents going undercover needing to fit a certain persona. The two of you were nothing close to the white picket fence suburban life, so you were better off picking up some fake clothes.

You laughed when you saw the first outfit Johnny had been given. A pastel yellow LaCoste polo shirt, and grayish blue dress shorts. He glowered at you when he saw your face.

"Oh, yeah, very funny."

Your outfit wasn't much better. High rise, light wash jeans and another polo, this one bright red, a pair of dark red casual loafers to match. Johnny didn't laugh, but it was clear he was trying not to.

You decided to sleep on the plane. There wasn't a lot to look over, as you'd received the file the night before. By now, you knew the drill. 

You dreamt you were back in that hotel room in Oregon. Johnny was kneeling beneath you, but you still hadn't taken your robe off. He was saying something, but you couldn't understand what. His eyes were full of a warm emotion that you couldn't quite place.

Until he raised his arms to try and remove the robe. This time, when he spoke, you could hear him clearly. "This is what you wanted me to do, right?"

Your hands grabbed his. "What? Johnny, I… Well…" 

He stood, face impossibly close to yours. There was an odd smile on his face. "Don't worry," He murmured. "I want to, too."

Slowly, your hands let go of his and he began to pull off the robe. You didn’t protest. When you were bare, his hands slid to the skin of your waist, and he pulled you against him. His forehead pressed against yours.

"Johnny, are you sure?"

"Y/N," He said with a smile, "We are beginning our descent into LAX. Please put on your seatbelts and put up your trays."

You jumped awake in your seat, eyes impossibly wide. A laugh from beside you caused you to turn your head. Johnny was giggling into his palm. 

"What?" You asked, voice raspy from sleeping. 

"Oh my god, that was beautiful," He declared, "You were sleeping so peacefully and then, oh my god, that was hilarious."

"Ha, ha, ha." Your tone was devoid of any emotion. You rubbed your eyes, yawning slightly. "What time is it, here?"

"Three hour time difference. It's one PM." 

You nodded. And you still had a six hour car ride. Lovely. 

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE I-5, CALIFORNIA—15:22, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

"Couldn't they have just flown us to San Francisco and have us drive from there?" Johnny complained after being cut off by yet another car. 

You sighed. "Budget cuts, I guess. We're not infiltrating the mafia, or taking down human trafficking rings."

"Yeah, we just fight the boogeyman and the little green men," He agreed. You laughed. 

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we hadn't gotten assigned together?" He sounded wistful, not taking his eyes off of the road. 

"I don't know." You picked at a loose thread on your jeans. "I would probably still be teaching at the academy. I think Brooks was considering placing you with Jung if I wasn't up for it."

"Jaehyun Jung?" He turned his head, making a face. "Really? He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," You insisted, "He just thinks like me, science before all, except… less nice about it."

"You sure?" He asked, fiddling with the radio, "Every time we're in a room together, I catch him staring at me like he's trying to shoot lasers into my head, the prick."

You shrugged. "He's nice to me."

"That's just 'cause he's trying to get into your pants."

You hummed. Jaehyun was pretty handsome. "Would that be such a bad thing?" 

He coughed, shrugging. "Well, it's your love life. You do you."

The air turned awkward. Johnny fiddled with the radio, but in this particular stretch of the interstate, all that came up was a Latin beats radio. Trumpets, and soft snare drums filled the car. You immediately recognized Selena's Bidi Bidi Bom Bom, a song about a girl realizing her heart went crazy whenever her lover passed by—while you didn’t listen to a lot of Latin music, you had a friend who did and always played this song when you met up.

Me tiemblan hasta las piernas

Y el corazon igual

Se emociona, ya no razona

No lo puedo controlar

"Oh, I hate this song," Johnny mumbled, reaching to turn the radio off.

"No, wait! I like it." You pushed his hand away. He groaned, but didn't turn it off. 

Y me canta así, me canta así…

Bidi bidi bom bom, bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

So, the two of you continued on listening to Selena, Johnny silently pouting. 

"So, what were you dreaming about on the plane?"

"Huh?" You cleared your throat.

"Yeah, you said my name in your sleep."

You shifted in your seat. "Oh… Um. I can't even remember."

He hummed, but didn't say anything. The drive continued on, both of you alternating between discussing mundane things and the case. All of them had been found in their homes, with no sign of a struggle—which suggested they knew their assailant. They'd all been strangled to death. No odd fingerprints could be recovered from the crime scenes. 

The first victim lived alone. The other two's husbands had solid alibis that were confirmed by the police. 

Which meant that it had to be someone in the neighborhood. There was reportedly a strong sense of community there, which was part of why the bureau had you going undercover. 

Around six, the two of you rolled into San Francisco, for a brief stop to talk to the detective who had contacted the bureau, a woman named Wendy Son. 

The two of you rolled into the precinct, and upon showing your badges, were prompted to the woman’s office. She had her light brown hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing a black pantsuit similar to what you would wear, had you not been dressed like a soccer mom.

"Oh, thank you for coming," She said once you sat down. "I have some extra material here that I wasn't able to fax you."

She pulled out a folder, setting it in front of you on the desk. Johnny opened it to reveal more images you hadn't initially seen. 

"We sent the sample to Los Angeles because their laboratory has a higher capacity," She told you both, "They still weren't able to identify it, but apparently it apparently has an a mild tranquilizing enzyme. That might also be why there wasn't much of a struggle." 

Johnny hummed. "There aren't any cameras in San Ceferino, are there?" 

Detective Son shook her head. "Only around the perimeter and the gates." 

"Maybe there's something there," You said, "Could we have access to those tapes?"

She looked back down at the pictures. "I could certainly get it to you by tomorrow afternoon, though. Come in past two and I should have it by then."

Johnny nodded and smiled at her. "That would be great, thank you." 

She smiled, and you'd have to be blind to not notice the blush on her face. She handed him the keys to the house that the heads of the community had arranged to have semi-furnished ahead of your arrival. The rest would be arriving tomorrow in the morning, during which time you would go through the motions of being a newlywed couple moving into their “forever home”.

Johnny apparently was blind, though. He didn't say anything about it once you were both back in the car. You couldn't really blame her. 

Johnny was… well, he was Johnny. He was incredibly handsome, and funny. Any reasonable person interested in men would find him attractive. 

"Detective Son likes you," You told him as you were getting onto the road that led to San Ceferino.

"Does she?" He answered, smiling smugly. "She's pretty."

You don't know why that ignited something in you. "You think so?"

He nodded. "She seems nice. But I'm not interested."

The odd sensation in your chest simmered down. "No?"

"Not really. I'm not interested in something long distance. Plus, I work too much to have a relationship."

You nodded. "Yeah. I understand."

You arrived as the sun was setting, around seven. The two of you pulled into the gate to the place, where you introduced yourselves with your fake names to the guard. He checked his roster of approved people and let you both in. 

San Ceferino consisted of four different cul de sacs, each house practically identical. The house you would be staying in was towards the end of the second one. The house was a pale pastel yellow, orange rays of the sunset making it seem a deeper color. Your car rolled into “your” driveway, and with a sigh of relief, Johnny turned the car off. 

“I’m so tired,” He groaned, “Should we try and introduce ourselves today or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” You said, letting your head fall back against the headrest, “These people are probably all having dinner or something, it’d be weird for us to do that now.”

He nodded, and got out of the car to open the trunk. You got out to grab your suitcase, and as you were getting out you realized that just maybe the universe disagreed with your decision to wait to meet others around the neighborhood.

A woman was crossing the street. She seemed a bit older than you both but was still dressed almost identically. You walked over to Johnny, who had his back turned, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Fox,” You mumbled, “We’ve got company.”

He turned, and upon spotting the woman flashed a comically fake smile. You offered the friendliest smile you could muster, but the way her eyes lit up when doing a once over of Johnny and then drooping in disappointment once she spotted you. If she thought she was subtle, she was dead wrong.

“Hi,” She said, impossibly enthusiastic, “I’m Anne Morrison. I’m the head of the Homeowners Association.”

You nodded in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you,” You said, holding out your hand, “I’m Dana. This is… my husband, Fox.”

“Fox,” She repeated, turning to look at Johnny, “That’s a lovely name. So, what brings you two to San Ceferino?”

“Oh, I got a job offer in San Francisco a few months ago,” Johnny answered. He was good, you decided. “We looked at some houses in the city, but it’s so busy there, you know? We were living in Maryland, so the transition between small town and big city… it’s not for us.”

She nodded, eyes wide. “I absolutely understand. My ex-husband wanted to move to the city now that our kids are in college. I don’t enjoy any of the hustle and bustle, really.” She chuckled, “So guess who got the house in the divorce!”

You and Johnny exchanged a glance, then laughed as if it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. “Oh, my goodness,” You wheezed, clutching your hand in your chest, “I can imagine!”

“So, what do you two do?”

“I’m an architect,” Johnny said.

“I’m a publicist.” You scratched at your cheek when you felt a mosquito try to land. Her eyes zeroed in on your hand.

“You two are married, right?” She asked, “How come you’re not wearing your rings?”

You froze. Did the bureau even have fake jewelry? Why didn’t either of you think of that detail?

“Oh,” Johnny shrugged, coming to the rescue. “It’s so stressful having to take everything on and off at the airport, so we decided not to wear them today. Right, honey?”

He wrapped his hand around your waist, and you nodded. “I never wear jewelry when I’m on a plane. Too much hassle.”

She nodded, mouth slightly agape. “Oh, I see.”

Johny cleared his throat. “What do you work as?”

She grinned. “I’m a chemist.”

“I hated chemistry in high school,” Johnny groaned jokingly. Anne apparently thought this was hilarious, swatting his arm. He laughed again, but it was empty, awkward. You leaned your head against his shoulder in hopes that she'd get the message. 

“Well, Anne, it was lovely meeting you,” You declared, “But we’ve been awake since five in the morning travelling. We’re exhausted, we really should be getting inside.”

Anne sighed, eyes turning away from studying Johnny’s face to you. “Oh, go ahead. You two must be so tired.”

Johnny nodded, pursing his lips. “We’ll speak soon?”

She smiled. “There’s an HOA meeting on Friday night at another member's house. You should come and see what we’re all about, consider joining.”

"Swing by tomorrow!" You grinned, "You can tell us the details then."

"Of course, of course. Well, I'll leave you two to it. It was nice meeting you, Dana." She raked her eyes over Johnny one more time, "...Fox."

When she was out of earshot, Johnny pulled the suitcases out of the trunk and scrunched up his nose. "That was... awkward."

Your hand pulled up the extendable handle of the suitcase, looking back at her to see her close the door to her house, which was at the very end of the cul de sac. 

You looked back at him. "So, a chemist. And she's involved with the community, everyone probably knows who she is."

He shrugged before closing the trunk. "Let's keep an eye on her. She gives me the creeps."

The two of you made sure the car was locked before making your way towards the front door. He fiddled with the keys

"She might even have a motive," He said, as you stepped inside. "Ah, c'mon, aren't you gonna let me carry you over the threshold?"

"Not the time," You said, picking up your suitcase to carry it to the bedroom. "We were talking about a motive. Evidently, she likes looking at… married men. If it's her, she might be doing it out of jealousy."

"Exactly," He agreed, following you up the stairs. "Maybe there's something else at play—jealousy or something. how old were the other victims?" 

"Between 25 and 35. She didn't say how old she was, did she?" You rolled into the bedroom, sitting on the bed and immediately flopping down onto it. Johnny rolled past your room, looking for the separate bed the bureau had said would be there as well.

"Finally," You sighed with a smile. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stifled a yawn. For a second, you considered falling asleep just like this, uncomfortable jeans be damned. 

"Y/N?" 

You cracked your eyes open, frowning at Johnny who was standing in the doorway. "What?" 

"There's only one bed."

You almost stopped breathing for a moment. "Huh?" 

He shuffled on his feet. "There's only one bed," He said, speaking slower.

"What do you mean there's only one bed?" You sat up.

Johnny sighed. "I mean there's only one bed." 

"But the bureau said—"

"Well, the bureau lied," He interrupted, "Because there's no other bed."

You  crossed your arms. "I could take the couch."

"That's supposed to get here tomorrow." 

"Oh," You frowned. What were you going to do? 

"I mean, I could sleep on the floor," You said, "So that way we don't have to sleep, you know…"

"Together?" He offered.

"In the same bed," You corrected, turning your face. It felt hot all of a sudden. 

"No, I couldn't do that to you." He set his suitcase next to yours, then sat next to you. "The bed seems big enough. I'm sure we'll be fine."

You were too tired to argue further. "Sure…" You didn't sound too convinced. 

"Great," He sighed, "I just gotta tell you. I snore a bit."

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—08:43 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

That night, surprisingly, you slept like a baby. You initially thought you'd overthink it all with Johnny lying right next to you but… it was comforting, knowing he was there. You hadn't slept next to anyone since you were 26.

Life as an FBI agent was demanding. Because of this, you'd given up on the idea of having a meaningful relationship ages ago. And due to the nature of your work, it was easy to throw yourself into it to drown out the desire to have someone to come home to. The fact that whenever you did get free time, if you spent too much of it alone… 

But now, lying awake in the morning, seeing Johnny's sleeping face curled up into his pillow… You remembered. 

He looked peaceful. Even at 33, like this he barely looked a day past 27. You could make out the details on his face, old acne scars and the occasional mole. The smile lines along his cheeks and the corners of his eyes… maybe in another lifetime, another universe, you could have gotten used to—

No. You shot up, heading towards the en suite to go to the bathroom. You were still sleepy, that was all. The time difference between Washington and California was having second effects. 

You pulled down your pants, blinking sleepily, and promptly had a heart attack when you sat down. Your knees barely missed your nose, your stomach dropped, and a shriek tumbled out of your lips before you could even register what was happening. 

Standing, now wide awake, you had half a mind to pull up your pants as Johnny tumbled into the bathroom, eyes wide in alarm.

"What happened?" He asked, voice raspy from disuse. You didn’t answer, but instead stared at the offending lifted toilet seat until he got the message. 

"Oh…" His face turned awkward, lips tilting from side to side. "I got up a few hours ago. I must have forgotten to put it back down, sorry." 

You didn't answer, yawning instead. He shrugged. "I've never… lived with another woman before, so…"

"Never?"

His eyes looked down. "...Never."

"Not even with that ex-girlfriend from Oxford you told me about?"

"Mary? No."

You held back an amused grin. "Johnny, when was the last time you even went on a date?" 

He pursed his lips. "I… am starving. Do you want me to go to the supermarket to pick something up for breakfast?"

You blinked, putting your hands on your hips. 

"...Breakfast sounds great."

Johnny promptly changed and left while you got into the shower. Once you were out, you brushed your teeth, did your general morning routine and waited for the car to roll back into the driveway, doing a quick background check on Anne in the meantime. 

No criminal record whatsoever, but that didn't automatically discard her from your list. Mostly because she was the only one on it, so far. 

Johnny rolled back into the driveway just before 9:20. You helped him take the bags into the kitchen, when he said, "Think fast!" and tossed you a small box.

"What's this?" You asked, opening the box. You sputtered at the sight: two simple gold bands. He looked at you like you were a moron.

"Wedding rings," He said, plucking one of the rings out from the box, "Hopefully so Anne lays off."

"You didn't have to go out and buy actual—"

"It's fake gold." He waved his hand dismissively, sitting down at the island and slathering an ungodly amount of cream cheese across a bagel. 

You settled on some coffee after hesitating to put on the ring. As you were finishing up, a knock at the door caught your attention. You looked at him, and he shrugged. "Moving van won't be here till 10:30."

So, you sighed, but still headed to the door. Johnny followed behind, second bagel in hand. When you swung the door open, you were met with Anne and a man you hadn't met yet. A wide Cheshire grin was plastered onto her face.

"Dana, hi!" She greeted. Her eyes landed on Johnny. "Good morning, Fox."

"Morning, Anne," You said with a nod, catching her attention again. You turned your eyes onto the man and held out your hand. "Hi, I'm Dana."

He shook your hand with a friendly smile. "My name's Scott Hernandez. I'm on the HOA board."

Johnny walked up to the door, putting a hand on your shoulder. "I'm Fox," He said, face speckled with crumbs and mouth full of food. You wanted to crawl into a hole.

"Hey, man," Scott said, eyeing Johnny, "Uh… Welcome to the neighborhood!"

"So," Anne asked, eyes raking over Johnny's chest, "How was the first night?"

Johnny swallowed his bagel before speaking. "It was lovely. We just snuggled up together and slept like little baby cats." He turned to you, eyes warm. "Isn't that right, honey bunch?"

Your neck snapped to look at him, holding back a look of disgust. "That's right…" You racked your brain for something sweet to call him and a moment later came up with, "...Poopy head."

Poopy head? Nice one, L/N.

Johnny’s smile faltered for a second, but neither Scott nor Anne seemed to notice. You flashed them both a bright grin. "So! Would you like to come in?"

Scott and Anne nodded. "That'd be great, thanks," He said. You led them into the dining room, where Johnny managed an awkward laugh. "Sorry it's such a mess, we just got up about an hour ago and I immediately went to the supermarket."

"Oh, don't worry, Fox," Scott hummed, sitting at the island, "Moving is so stressful. Especially with…"

Anne flashed him a dirty look. You raised an eyebrow at the interaction. "With what?" You asked, tilting your head as you feigned innocence. Anne sighed, shaking her head.

"Three women have been… murdered over the past few weeks." Scott looked down. "Police haven't been able to catch who's responsible."

"That's horrible," Johnny murmured, standing next to you. "Did you know them?"

"We know everyone because of our HOA responsibilities," Scott answered, "I wasn't that close to any of them, but they were all very nice women. It's awful, what happened to them. You knew Yolanda, didn't you, Anne?"

She nodded, eyes glassy. "Her son and mine used to play together. She was such a nice woman. Lovely family, too. It just breaks my heart." 

"I'm sorry for your loss," You told her. She offered a sad smile.

"But what, is it someone from the community or what?"

Anne shrugged, eyes full of concern. "The police don't really know, but it would make sense if they were from the community—"

"It couldn't possibly be someone living here," Scott huffed, "Everyone knows everyone, why would someone want to—"

"Scott is just in denial," Anne said, waving her hand. "Did you two really not know?"

"Not at all," Johnny replied, eyes wide with fake worry, "These past few weeks have been so hectic we barely had time to sit down. Right, honey?"

You groaned, partially putting up an act and partially in disgust at the name. "It's been a nightmare!" 

You made up some problems, like a crappy travel agency, yard sales, things going missing, stuff like that. Johnny occasionally chimed in, embellishing your stories. Occasionally, Anne or Scott would ask a question, and Johnny would answer with something he pulled out of his ass. 

"So that's why Fox isn't allowed coffee, anymore," You said a few minutes later, rolling your eyes. Scott was cackling, Anne giggling into her palm. Johnny glared at you, but there was no malice behind it. 

"But anyway, I'm guessing you two didn't come here to hear about how anxious I get with caffeine." Johnny turned to the pair. "What brings you to the... Kang-Baker residence?"

"Oh, we came to talk to you about joining the Homeowner's Association," Anne explained, "Not everyone in the neighborhood is a part of it, but it's very convenient to join." 

They laid down the basics, and as they talked, you realized just how much you appreciated living in an apartment rather than a house. Yes, it was a bit small at times, definitely not as idyllic, but 300 dollars as an initiation fee, and monthly payments of 150 dollars? You had half a mind to call the bureau and tell them that the real crime was the extortion from the Homeowner's Association. 

You didn't really see any advantages—probably because you didn't even own this house and wouldn't have to worry about selling it later. It just sounded like a nightmare. What did they mean you could only paint your doors pastel colors if you joined?

When they finally left, you looked at Johnny. "Maybe I'm not cut out for the American dream after all. That HOA stuff sounds even worse than the time we got attacked by the flesh eating virus."

He held back a laugh. "That bad, huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, this is much more irritating. The moving van will be here any second, come on, let's go."

127TH PRECINCT, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—14:29 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

After unloading the furniture boxes (empty boxes with nothing really in them), you and Johnny settled on lunch—some crappy junk food—and drove all the way to the police station where Detective Son worked. 

"What did you think about that Scott guy?" You asked Johnny, who shrugged. 

"Seemed nice enough. We'd have to look into him too, since he's also involved in the community."

You nodded. "I'll run a background check once we get h—back to the house."

He glanced at you, but said nothing. "...What are you doing once this is over?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What, once we get back to DC?"

He nodded. "Well, yeah."

You stared ahead at the car in front of you. "Oh, well… I'm not sure. Probably finish writing that stupid report for Brooks and then curl up on my couch, watch some movies, drink some wine. I don't know."

He snickered. "What, and watch Pretty Woman for the 700th time?"

Smacking him in the shoulder lightly, you huffed. "Which is no better than watching Full Metal Jacket 700 times, and you know it, Johnny Suh."

He shrugged. "Well, if sex on a piano is what does it for you then who am I to judge?"

"Shut up." You rolled down the window, the heat too much to handle. 

When you finally got to see Detective Son again, she handed you the cassette and made her way towards the door. When she spoke, she looked only at you. "I'm actually headed out to check out another call we got just now," She explained, "But feel free to use the VCR in my office to look it all over."

She left, not even looking Johnny in the eye. You turned to Johnny, who was wide-eyed. 

"And you said she likes me."

In her office, you went over several days' worth of sped up hours of footage of six different camera angles. By the third hour of watching sped up, grainy footage, Johnny huffed. "I don't think we'll get anything," He said, "Especially considering the killer didn't even need to break their way in—"

"Hold on, hold on." You shook your head, eyes zeroing in on a dark shape in one of the cameras. You walked up to the VCR machine and hit the rewind button.

"Watch camera six."

He narrowed his eyes, fixing his glasses as he watched the dark shape run out from the treeline and up the wall, then out of the camera's view—presumably inside the community. You rewinded one last time, pausing just as it leaped onto the wall.

"There."

"That's too big to be a cat," He murmured, standing to get a closer look at the grainy black and white still image, "Right?"

"Could be a big cat—bobcat or a lynx, maybe, but…"

"It's movements are too… jerky for it to be a cat."

You hesitated, before nodding. 

"Could this be the thing we're looking for?" Johnny asked, and you crossed your arms, giving the dark blob a skeptical look.

"Looks like we have some digging to do."

One more hour of poring over the footage, plus another hour of looking at the archives of the police department turned up nothing on big cats in the area. There'd been no calls to 911 to report big cats in the neighborhood, and looking over the tape again showed nothing else, not even the thing leaving.

Which made Johnny’s theory that it was still there weigh even more.

By 7:30PM or so, Detective Son had returned. "I brought coffee," She said, entering the small space, "Find anything?"

You shrugged. Johnny looked at her. "We saw a weird blob go inside. It never came out and we couldn't figure out what it was."

She frowned. "There haven't been any reports of wild animals there in years. Not since that huge military base opened up."

Johnny's eyebrows knit together. "Army base?"

She nodded. "Fort Talbot. It's about fifteen minutes west of San Ceferino. There aren't a lot of roads that lead to it, they're pretty private."

You locked eyes with Johnny, who was probably thinking the same thing as you. Military base? That was new.

 “I don’t suppose you could take us to see it?”

She shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, we could try, but there’s a fence around the perimeter about a mile or two away from the actual base. They’re not gonna let you in.”

“No, we’re not military,” You sighed. “But thank you for telling us about that.”

SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—20:44 hours, Thursday, February 12th, 1993

When the car rolled into the driveway, the two of you had found that Anne was at your front door. You shot each other a quizzical look when she turned at the sight of your headlights. “What’s the cougar doing here?” He sighed, and you elbowed him.

“Hush. Be nice.”

She reached the car once you’d both stepped out. “Oh, I was wondering where you two were! I wanted to invite you over to have dinner. The spinach quiche I made was a bit too big for just me!”

At the mention of the meal, your stomach panged in hunger. All you’d had since you left the house was that coffee Wendy had given you. Plus…

Johnny seemed to read your mind. “We’re starving. Quiche sounds great, thanks so much, Anne.”

She beamed at his praise. “Oh, come on! Wouldn’t want it to get cold.”

Anne took the both of you into her house, leading you to the dinner table where she’d already set up spots for the both of you. “It’s not too much, is it? I’m sorry if I’m being overbearing. I really do want you to ease into the neighborhood, and plus, living in this big old empty house gets… lonely.”

As you sat down, you frowned in sympathy. You watched as she began to slice the quiche for you both. “Don’t worry, Anne. I understand where you’re coming from. It’s so lonely in my—or, it was so lonely in my apartment before Fox and I met. Sure, you can distract yourself during the day with all of the stuff you have to do, but at the end of the day you come home to… nothing.”

She handed Johnny a plate, and he took it. “There you go, Fox.”

He smiled, handing the plate to you. “Thank you.”

Her eyes followed his hand, and blinked when she spotted the ring on his hand. “Oh, I see you have your rings now.”

Johnny’s smile grew into a grin, as he held out his hand, flashing the band around his ring finger. You did the same. “No more pesky metal detectors,” He declared, “So why not?”

Anne nodded, eyes lowered. She handed him another plate, then served herself. And then, finally, you all started eating. It occurred to you as you took your first bite that if she was she easily could have laced the food with whatever was in those women’s systems when they died. But that would be too different from the killer’s modus operandi. They only went for women and they killed them in their home. Autopsies didn’t find anything recent in their stomachs at the time of death, so you concluded to take a bite. 

Besides, it smelled good. If you were going to die, then it would be nice to die by the hands of some good quiche.

“So,” You began, “You said your kids were off at college?” 

She nodded, digging around her food with a fork. “My oldest is in grad school at USC. He’s currently in South America doing research on bats, or something, I really can’t remember. My second is off backpacking for the summer, she’s graduating from UCLA next year, and my youngest left for college two years ago. He managed to get a full scholarship to Duke, can you believe it?”

You smiled, nodding. “Wow, that’s impressive.” 

She sounded proud, but there was a sadness behind her gaze. “It’s hard, it really is. Especially trying not to worry. They rarely call and only come home during the holidays. Drives me up the wall not knowing what my kids are up to!”

Johnny laughed. “My mom was the same when I went to college. My freshman year she called me once every day. My roommates always made fun of me for it.”

She chuckled. “Oh, that’s how all moms are,” She turned to you, “I imagine it’ll be the same when you two have kids.”

You almost choked on the food in your mouth at her words. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Johnny go white. Somehow, you managed to hold it back, hitting your chest lightly as the food made its way down. “Oh, well… it’s a bit early for that, I think.”

“We only got married six months ago…” Johnny murmured awkwardly. 

“Oh, I totally get it,” She said, “But, y´know, accidents happen. Especially when you’re still in the honeymoon phase after the wedding. I had my first less than a year after we were married, we weren’t even trying!”

You chewed on your lip. “Well, if something happens…” You met eyes with Johnny, whose gaze was unreadable, “Something happens.”

Not looking away, Johnny licked his lips subtly, before picking up a napkin. Anne didn’t notice, surprisingly, and seemed satisfied with your answer.

You ate a little bit more, when Anne asked, “So, tell me, how did you two meet?”

Remembering the file, Johnny perked up. “We met at a party in college. I was in my junior year, I think? Right, honey?”

You shook your head. “Your senior year,” You corrected, “Because I was in my sophomore year. I remember it like it was yesterday. He came up to me and was wearing this horrible button up shirt—”

“You ended up stealing it from me!” He joked, and you held up your index finger.

 “I use it to sleep. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that in public. Much less to attract a mate.”

Anne cackled, and the two of you laughed too. Again, you managed to make up a story: he was drunk and accidentally spilled some punch on your pants. He’d tried to help you by washing it in the bathroom but only made it worse.

“When I got back to my dorm, it was around three in the morning, my leg was sticky and I was miserable, but we ran into each other a few days later and he was very apologetic about the whole thing.”

“I was mortified,” He said, “I mean, here’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life and I managed to screw it up by ruining her pants. I was so sure I’d screwed up.”

Anne raised her eyebrows. “So, you knew from the start that you liked her?”

Johnny’s eyes landed on you again, turning wistful. He leaned over and grabbed your free hand. “The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.”

You tried to smile, but suddenly your chest felt like it was caving in on yourself. You let your hand rest in his for a moment, before pulling away. “Oh, Fox. Don’t get all sentimental on me now.”

Clearing your throat, you didn’t miss the way Johnny’s eyes fell slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, where’s your bathroom?”

She pointed up. “Upstairs to the right.”

This was your chance to get some dirt on her, and put some space between you and Johnny. As you walked away, you touched a hand to your cheek and it came away burning. 

“Get it together,” You muttered to yourself.

The quick search yielded nothing. She had nothing in her drawers, all of the papers on her desk were related to her work at a hair care company. You always could have missed something though. You couldn’t take more than a few minutes, you certainly couldn’t risk her coming up to check on you and finding you sifting through her work documents.

Before you came down, you did your best to leave everything as you found it before heading back downstairs. 

When you sat back down at the table, things were a bit more tense. You sensed it immediately. “Everything alright?”

“...Yeah,” Johnny mumbled. 

“Fox and I were just talking about how… difficult marriage can be.”

You nodded, wondering if that was all that had happened. “Oh, it’s no walk in the park, that’s for sure.”

The rest of the dinner was not as lively. There were more awkward silences, more lulls in the conversation, less laughs. When you finally left, his elbow intertwined in yours, you looked at him. “What happened while I was gone?”

He shook his head as you both crossed the street. “I don’t like her,” He told you in a hushed voice, “She started talking about how it won’t be like this forever and it’s only fun now because we just got married or whatever.”

“What, was she trying to open something up between you and her?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t exactly been subtle, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was.”

The two of you marched up into your house, and while Johnny was showering you did a background check on Scott Hernandez. Nothing also. A perfectly ordinary citizen, no criminal record at all. 

Then, it was your turn to shower. As you did, you couldn’t help but think back to Anne’s words. The whole situation, feigning domesticity was proving to be bad for you: you couldn’t help but imagine a small child with his wide eyes and your nose, his lanky limbs and your hands. 

The amount of time you put into your work made you fully aware that it would make having children difficult. Truth be told, you hadn’t really put much thought into settling down. The right person had never been there.

But what if he had? What if he’d been by your side for the past three years?

He had to be putting on an act when he’d said it.

The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.

Thinking back to the moment you’d first met him, and he’d come across as slightly patronizing and dismissive of your conclusions. But thinking about when he’d first turned to look at you, that particular morning in 1992…

You turned off the shower. Alone time wasn’t doing you any good, either.

When you emerged from the shower, you sighed as your eyes landed on the toilet seat, which was lifted. You set it back down with a huff before getting dressed.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom in your pajamas, toweling your hair, your eyes fell to the pile of dirty clothes on the bed. “Please don’t put your sweaty clothes, where I have to sleep,” You told him, tossing the clothes into his face. He let out a soft groan, picking them up. 

“Oh, come on,” He grumbled, “They don’t even smell that bad.”

After he set them off somewhere (you didn’t see where as you were shutting your laptop off), he sat back down on the bed, leaving a space open for you. "So, what if we looked into Scott tomorrow?"

“That sounds like a good idea. Tomorrow night there’s that HOA thing we need to go to. We might be able to pick up some more stuff there.”

He nodded, and as you stood in front of the bed he waggled his eyebrows and patted the spot next to you. “Come on, Dana,” He murmured sarcastically, “We’re married now.”

You didn’t smile. He took that as a sign to continue. 

“Plus, if something happens, something happens.”

You grabbed a pillow and flung it into his face. “You’re the worst,” You grumbled. He laughed, but it was muffled from the pillow.

Slowly but surely, you realized with the sound of his laughter, this feeling was soon going to become something you couldn’t ignore.

HERNANDEZ RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—09:02 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the door opened, Scott Hernandez had a welcoming smile on his face. “Dana,” He said, “Good morning. Did you need anything?”

“Oh, I just wanted to ask if there was an official guidebook or anything for the HOA? Fox and I are still considering joining, but we’d need to go over everything.” You scratched at the cardigan you were wearing. Why did the bureau have to give you something so thick and scratchy when they knew you were coming to California in the middle of July?

“Come in! I’m sure I have a rulebook. Plus, if you have any other questions you could always just come over.”

He led you up the stairs. “I keep all of my stuff in the office,” He explained, “That way my kids don’t mess it all up.”

You offered a soft laugh. “Oh, you have kids?”

“Yep.” His voice was warm. “Two kids, a nine year old and a six year old. They’re not here right now, though. My wife took them up to Washington to see their grandparents.”

“Ah, that’s sweet.” As he led you into the office, your eyes studied the room. A picture frame behind him of a professional family portrait, a houseplant in the corner a big clunky computer on top of the desk, and a cabinet pushed to the side of the room.

Your eyes fell onto the things placed on top of the cabinet, a stapler and some other office supplies. But when your eyes caught a different type of metal that wasn’t the standard gray color, you focused on it. A small medallion, decorated with a ribbon. When you recognized the logo, your eyes widened slightly.

“You’re military?” 

His eyes turned to you, eyebrows raised. Then he looked to the side. “Oh… no. My brother was. He passed away in the Gulf War.”

You looked down, but something about his tone didn’t sound quite authentic. “I’m sorry for your loss,” You answered anyway. 

The silence hung overhead for a few moments, before he pulled out a small booklet. “Here’s a copy of the rulebook.” He held it up, waving it back and forth, “This has pretty much everything.”

“Oh, really?” You straightened your posture, feigning a smile. When he handed it to you, your smile grew bigger as you looked down at the small book. “I’ll be sure to show Fox when he gets home. I really appreciate it, Scott.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t mention it. If you need anything else, just come on over. I work from home, so I’m here pretty much all day.”

Scott studied your face, and a second later you looked away. “So, I should get going,” You murmured. “I’ll see you tonight? I don’t think nor you nor Anne said where it would be.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Here, actually! Tonight, at 7.” 

“Great,” You answered, “I’ll see you tonight.”

When you got back to the house, you walked to the office, where Johnny was waiting. “Hernandez has military links.”

His head shot up. “He does?” 

“There was a military medallion on his cabinet in his office. He looked like he was gonna piss himself when I asked about it.”

“And what did he say?”

“Said his brother was a Gulf War veteran. I didn’t believe him for a second.”

“So could he be our guy?”

You took a deep breath. “Honestly? I don’t know. I could try to look through his office tonight at the HOA thing.”

“You?” He shook his head vehemently. “You fit his profile. All of his victims were around your age. You’re not going somewhere you could be alone with him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then what?” 

He looked at you as if you were dumb. “I’ll go.”

“But—”

“No.” His gaze turned stern, before walking all the way up to you. He put his hands up on your shoulders. “Y/N, he could kill you.”

“Has that ever stopped me before?” You asked, tilting your head. “Johnny, it’s in the job description to deal with people who could kill me. What’s so different now?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide, urgent, and his face was inches away. You shook your head, trying to prompt him to speak. “What?” 

Johnny pursed his lips, studying your face. And then, finally he shook his head. “Nothing.” 

He stepped away, and left the office, leaving you speechless. You leaned against the desk thinking about what just happened.

For the rest of the day, he was relatively distant. During lunch—you went out to buy some sandwiches—and he barely said thank you, before you ate in tense silence. You could only wait until 7 o’clock rolled around. In the meantime, you placed a call to Detective Son, telling her to look into Scott Hernandez and his family. You typed up the rest of your preliminary report, and then all you could do was wait. 

When five thirty rolled around, you started to get ready. You took only about five minutes, before stepping out, fully dressed. When you stepped out of the bathroom, Johnny had his back turned to you. It was almost as if he hadn’t noticed you were right behind him, because he was humming softly to himself, tapping his foot to a non audible melody. You could hear him humming it though, and after a few seconds of listening. you were able to recognize the song.

He froze when he heard your giggling. “What?” He asked, turning his head.

“Is… is that Bidi Bidi Bom Bom?” You asked, leaning against the wall. He straightened his posture before shuffling on his feet. 

“...No.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “Sure, it isn’t.”

He raised his eyebrow, but it wasn’t as serious as he had been before. And when you spoke again, his mouth grew into a crooked smile. 

“You like Selena,” You sing-songed. 

“Alright, enough. We’ve got a job to do.” He was biting back a laugh. You knew him too much to believe the opposite. 

When the two of you finally walked the few houses towards Scott’s house, he held out his arm for you to hold onto. Taking a deep breath, your hand hesitated before it grabbed onto him. Approaching the house, you could tell that it was alive with a lot of people on the inside. You wouldn’t necessarily say it was overflowing, but you could tell it was definitely close to filling up. 

“Let’s go?” He asked, and you nodded. He led you to the front door, where he rang the doorbell before the two of you waited. 

A minute or so later, Scott opened the door with a grin. 

“Hey, you two! You’re just in time.”

You put on your best smiles. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Johnny sighed. You didn’t miss the tense undertone in his words.

The two of you made your way into the room. Across the room you heard someone call for you both. You held back a groan. You really didn’t need this right now. 

“Hey, over here!” Anne called, beckoning you over. Johnny heaved the sigh of a man ready to end it all, and then you both made your way to her and her group. All of them seemed to be the same age as her. 

“Ladies, these are our new neighbors I was telling you about.” She pointed at the both of you .”This is Dana Baker, and this is Fox… the architect.”

Oh boy. 

And the talking began. You and Johnny having to rehash the same details over and over again. It felt like having to navigate a minefield. You had to recall all of the lies you’d told Anne and Scott, this time in front of an audience of women very clearly ogling the man who they fully believed was your husband. 

You made idle chit-chat after that, but eventually, about twenty minutes had passed until they sat everyone down. The living room was full of grown ups, including a few young children. The thought of everyone being in such close proximity to someone, something that could hurt them all the way it had hurt those other women.

It was easy to tune them all out. It was then that you realized that suburban life would never really be for you. This was all so dull and monotone. You were sure that if you had decided to actually go into the medical field and settled down… you would probably lose your mind. 

They went over some things you didn’t pay attention to: lawns and whatnot. It was so tiring you had to stifle a yawn on more than one occasion. Anne was going on about some infraction that didn’t even sound that bad to you, when it occurred to you to slip away, Johnny be damned. 

You patted Scott on the shoulder as Anne went on. “Where’s the bathroom?”

He nodded back once, “Upstairs. Green door. We’re almost done, though, are you sure you can’t wait a little longer?”

“I had the genius idea to drink two whole bottles of water before we left,” You murmured so as to not make too much of a scene, “I really don’t think I can.”

He sighed, before nodding. “Go ahead.”

Gotcha. You slipped up, sparing Johnny a glance. He was glaring at you. If looks could kill, you didn’t even want to know where you’d end up going. You made your way up the stairs, remembering the way to the office from this morning. You slipped into the office, making your way to the cabinet. The medallion was gone, which made you wonder why he had done so. 

As you shuffled through the drawers of the cabinet and came up with nothing, you had to remind yourself to keep count of how long you’d been up here. You moved on to the desk, shuffling through the papers on the desk and then the ones on the drawer. In the first drawer, you found an ID: Alma Hernandez, Lazarus Programming.

In the second drawer, nothing. 

In the third and bottom drawer, you found something: a pair of dogtags. Neither of them said Hernandez. Instead, they read Simon Walsh. 

Simon Walsh? That was new. You stashed them back into the drawer, suddenly remembering how long you’d been up here. Probably a bit over five minutes. As you made your way back down to the living room, you ran into Johnny. 

“Hey,” He said, “I was just coming to look for you.”

He looked disappointed, bordering on anger. In the small space, you could feel his proximity. You couldn’t help but shake your head.

“I had to take the chance. I wasn’t sure if there would be a chance after this.”

He sighed. “I can’t believe you. Come on, they’re serving pizza.”

You laughed, letting him grab your hand as he led you back into the living room, where you two ate a few slices of pizza. Enough to feel satisfied, but not enough to feel too full. In theory, if you had to make a detainment or worse, have a confrontation then it’d be a bad idea to have stomach cramps. 

You two kept to yourselves, occasionally speaking to other couples who introduced themselves to you. Once you’d finished gorging yourselves on the food, he kept his hand around your waist the entire time. It was a gentle touch, but comforting. You couldn’t help but feel tense.

“After we get home, I’ll tell you all the details I saw.” You looked up to see his face, watching you tentatively. 

“Alright,” He murmured, leaning closer to your face, “But I wanna talk about something together first.”

Raising an eyebrow, you leaned away from him. “What, are you okay?”

Johnny nodded, smile reassuringly. “Yeah. I just realized something earlier today.” 

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—21:17 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the two of you left, Anne had bid you both goodbye. She’d said Scott had gone to bed with a headache, which made you feel a bit uneasy. The entire way home, Johnny kept himself relatively close. The entire way home, he was silent. It wasn’t until the both of you were inside of the house that he leaned against the front door. As he led you to the couch )which had finally arrived), you tried to remember all of the details you’d seen as you looked through Scott’s office.

When he sat you down, you placed both hands in your lap. He scratched at his shoulder, before meeting your eyes.

“Simon Walsh.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened at the same time his had. “What?” You asked, shaking your head. You were suddenly aware of everything going on. You were in an ongoing murder investigation. It was quite possibly linked to a very secretive military base. Three women had been murdered. A fourth would be soon if you didn’t hurry.

“Johnny, I don’t think…”

“No, please. Just a few minutes, okay? I’ve been dealing with this for years. I need to get this out of my system and then we can talk about this back in DC. Please, Y/N.”

Your gut felt heavy at the same time your heart felt incredibly light. It was by far one of the strangest sensations you’d ever felt. Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded. 

“Alright, John. Five minutes. Then we talk about what I found.”

He nodded with a small smile. Gently, Johnny grabbed your hands, rubbing the knuckles with his thumbs. He was silent for a while, tilting his head back and forth as he tried to figure out what to say. 

“What I said last night at Anne’s. I meant it. That first time I saw you, I… I knew. I knew we didn’t get along initially, but I just had this feeling in my chest. You were so smart, and eventually we realized how much we clicked…”

He looked up, leaning closer. You swallowed softly as his eyes met yours again. He managed a soft chuckle. “Y/N, I tried to hold it away. But it got stronger every single day. You understand me. Even though we push back against each other, you don’t think I’m crazy. You take them into consideration and don’t brush them off. I really appreciate that. I look at you and… I’m home.”

Looking to the side, you sighed. “Johnny, I really don’t think this is appropriate. Especially not right now—”

"Y/N, I know what your dream on the plane was about."

You inhaled sharply, alarmed gaze meeting his own. His eyes had turned soft, warm. You knew you had to push him away. The name Simon Walsh was on loop in your head, but you couldn’t find it in you to push him away.

“What?”

“I heard you moan my name,” He sighed, “Trust me, Y/N, I know what I heard.”

He leaned even closer, cupping your face. You could feel his breath puffing softly onto your skin. His eyes were knowing as his voice dropped to a whisper. 

“You want me too, don’t you?”

When his lips met yours, you couldn’t find it in you to pull away. He pulled you closer, and your arms found their way to wrap themselves around your neck. His lips were soft, but demanding. You could tell he’d been waiting for this a long, long time. 

You don’t know when he laid you down onto the couch, but honestly… you didn’t really mind. Johnny was warm, comfortable. And yes, July in California was hot, humid, but… up until Johnny put his hands on you, you’d never realized how cold you’d been, even before your arrival here.

He deepened the kiss, hands sliding down to your waist. They toyed with the hem of your blouse, humming against your lips. You gasped against him, hands sliding into his gelled hair.

Your eyes snapped open. Johnny never used this much gel in his hair.

Two things happened in the next two seconds. You pushed Johnny off. Johnny would never prioritize his feelings like this over a case. You hadn’t seen Scott as you left. All of this pretending, playing house had gotten to you. You were in real danger now.

The other thing that happened? Johnny burst through the door, wearing clothes he hadn’t been wearing when you first left. He was panting heavily. There was a bruise on his cheek and his wrists were red.

You backed away from Not Johnny, who turned to you, gaze now furious. A wave of nausea passed over you, breathing heavily. Whatever Not Johnny had in his system, he had passed onto you with his spit, and you could feel it settling into your system. You looked up at Johnny, before pulling out your gun. Taking a deep breath, you looked at your work partner, closest confidante, love of your life.

“I had a feeling,” You mumbled, realizing how the sinking feeling in your stomach was actually dread.

Stumbling, you heard Not Johnny let out a ghastly screech. You fired your gun at him before passing out. 

SAN FRANCISCO METROPOLITAN, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—10:39 hours, Saturday, July 14th, 1994

The room smelled sterile. You knew this smell. You’d lived it for several years before in medical school rotations. This had to be a hospital, you realized. Slowly, you let your eyes open. You let out a soft groan at the discomfort of having been stuck in one position for so long.

“You awake?” A deep, familiar voice asked. Your vision was blurry, but you could still recognize it was Johnny. His eyes were rimmed red from exhaustion, but he looked relieved. 

“No. I died, actually.” Your voice was raspy. Johnny scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible,” He mumbled, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“What even happened after I passed out?”

Johnny took a second to gather his thoughts before speaking. “You hit him in the face. It wasn’t pretty. He freaked out a bit, and then he took off. I couldn't catch him. Called Son, she came in with the precinct and they looked through Hernandez's house."

His gaze turned somber as you sat up with a soft huff. Your muscles were stiff.

"They found the real Scott Hernandez, his two kids and his wife, in their basement. Autopsies are being performed today, but it looks like they've been dead a few weeks."

Your eyes shut. Two kids, a man, and another woman. Seven victims total.

"And that thing is still out there," You mumbled, "If only I hadn't been so stupid—"

Johnny put his hand on yours. "Don't say that. Even if you hadn't gotten knocked out, he would still be way too much for just the two of us to handle. Y/N, you shot him in the face and it barely stopped him. He wasn't human anymore."

You shook your head, burying your head in your hands. "Still… I know you, Johnny. I should have seen the signs, but he was so—somehow he knew everything—"

"It's something to do with touch," He said with a nod, "He knocked me to the ground and locked me in a closet before he found you. I was a bit out of it, but I remember he touched my wrist for a few seconds and then he turned into me. My head still hurts, too. Maybe he can also copy some memories from the people he touches long enough."

When you didn't answer, he grabbed your face. He looked desperate. "Y/N, you're only human. I would have fallen for it too."

"I fell for it because he told me exactly what I wanted to hear," You whispered, feeling tears spring to your eyes, seemingly out of nowhere, "He played me like a fucking fiddle and I fell for it."

His thumb brushed away a tear. "Don't think about the what-ifs, Y/N. It's already happened, and now we need to focus on what's gonna happen next. We need to find a way into Fort Talbot. Somehow. Turn your report into the bureau and we can figure it out from there. There’s something going on there. Human experimentation on soldiers, or something."

"We're never gonna get clearance to search a military base, Johnny. It's impossible."

He shook his head. "Y/N, if you were able to convince Brooks to let me, Spooky Suh, FBI's most unwanted? keep running around hunting ghosts and aliens and Bigfoot all over the country, you can figure out a way to get access in there. I know you can."

You were shaking now. "We won't be safe if we do. You think the military won't retaliate? We'd be dead, Johnny," Your words were garbled and your voice wouldn't stop cracking, "There has to be another way."

He shook you gently, shaking his head. "Dammit, Y/N, I can't do this without you."

"They placed me with you for a reason, Johnny," You snapped, "To debunk your work, to reign you in and shut you down—"

"But you saved me," He insisted, "You did exactly the opposite. And as a result we kept working together, and you kept me honest. You… you've made me a whole person."

He rubbed his face with his hand, pushing a strand of dark hair out of his eye. "Y/N, as frustrating as it's been sometimes working with you, your stupud science and rationalism have saved me a thousand times over. I owe you everything. Y/N, you owe me nothing."

His forehead brushed yours, and his eyes fluttered shut. "I can't do this without you," He murmured. And despite the fact that you knew that this was your Johnny, you shook your head. The deja vu was making your head spin. 

"Tell me something the real Johnny would know," You whispered, putting a hand on your chest.

He thought for a second, before sighing. "I had three moments when I realized I was in love with you. When you first walked into my office that morning, I had a feeling," He said, voice full of conviction, "It grew into something concrete when you told me my glasses were crooked. And the moment I knew—I mean, I already knew from that first moment but this was when it truly hit me—was when you told me you'd kept that stupid fucking nasal implant in your sports bra so that you wouldn't lose it."

He laughed warmly, obviously thinking back to the moment. "No one else has ever believed me the way you do. And I doubt anyone else ever will. You're my one in…" He looked to the side, trying to remember the number, "Five billion."

Your hand came up to caress his face. He seemed to melt against your touch. 

This time, when your lips met, everything felt right, despite the feeling that the world was crumbling around you. His hands squeezed your face gently, as if you were about to disappear. When your hands slid into his hair, it felt slightly sweaty still, but it wasn't tacky with gel. 

This was your Johnny. You knew it with your entire being.

Yes, Johnny was sarcastic, stubborn, eccentric and had low impulse control. But he was also highly intelligent, empathetic, hilarious and yes, you could now admit that he was the most beautiful human you'd ever seen in your 30 years on this planet. 

If it had to be him and you against the world, so be it. The truth was out there. You and Johnny would just have to be the ones chasing it.

taglist: @doderyscoffee​ @always-wishing-for-rain​

#kwritersworldnet #johnny seo x reader #johnny suh x reader #nct scenarios #nct x reader #johnny angst #johnny fluff #kpop angst #kpop scenarios #kpop au #nct au #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 scenarios #IM FINALLY DONE THIS IS SO OVERDUE #god im so happy sdhskdjsh

[diaphragmjellyfish]

Careful

So after I wrote that last Paul fic involving vaginismus, I got quite a few messages saying how much it meant to some of you and I just want to say how much it warms my heart to bring others joy or comfort through my writing. Like I’ve been telling a lot of you, fan fictions are amazing. I love them. But they’re not always realistic, and that can be damaging to people who think sex is supposed to go a certain way and then blame themselves when it’s not like that. We’re all different, and everyone deserves to have a partner that cares about your well-being and pleasure. Don’t settle for less. 

Seth Clearwater x vaginismus!reader smut 

(Seth is 18+ in this)

Being with Seth Clearwater was, in a word, magical. He truly was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for. He was always there for you when you were upset or having anxiety, always made you smile and laugh, got you cute little presents or sometimes cool rocks that he found on patrol, and was super physically affectionate. Hugs, kisses, cuddles, hickeys, hand-holding. Y’all were the poster children for PDA. It made you nervous when you first started dating, because you thought he would want to get intimate right away. You knew that if you told him you didn’t want to have sex right away, he would be more than understanding. That’s just the kind of person he was. But you feared that holding off on intimacy would damage your relationship. Seth’s love language was physical touch. Yours was too, so stopping things every time it got too heated was a big roadblock in the relationship. Or so you thought. 

The day came where you had to tell Seth about your vaginismus. He had asked tons of questions before letting you know how he felt about it all. What causes it? What does it feel like? How does the physical therapy work? Is there anything I can do to help? Once you explained the logistics of it all, you guys could start to be more open and honest about what you were comfortable with doing. It turns out, he thought you just didn’t want to be intimate with him. He thought you were only sticking around because of the imprint bond. Once you explained that yes, you definitely really really want to have sex with him, you just can’t right now, he was all smiles and wanted to try all kinds of stuff that didn’t involve penetration. You guys would have super open conversations about what he could and couldn’t do to you, and started experimenting with the things you were comfortable with. Let’s just say, Seth became an absolute master in the art of oral sex. For a while, it was all he could do, so he did it. A lot. I mean, you’d have to physically pull him away sometimes when it got too sensitive. He loved knowing that he could make you feel so much pleasure. It made him feel needed. Wanted. And of course you returned the favor. 

You guys definitely have the foreplay routine down pat. Seth was almost always there when it came time for you to dilate every day. He would sit next to you, hold your hand, kiss you, or just talk to you about his day. Whatever you wanted, and whatever would distract you. He was so supportive, that when the day finally came that you wanted to try having penetrative sex with him, he said no. He didn’t think you had been using the biggest dilator long enough. What if he hurt you? What if you just didn’t like it? What if what if what if….. 

But you had been waiting long enough. His support honestly turned you on. Every day when he would sit there while you did your therapy, you wanted to jump his bones for being so. Damn. sweet. No guy had ever cared about you to the point of withholding from sex for you. They always just let you put up with the pain. Not Seth. 

“But baby, what if it hurts you?” he voiced. 

“Then we can stop and try again another time.” 

“But what if-”

“Seth,” you cut him off. “I know my body. Believe me, I’ve had to pay attention to it every day for the past year and a half while I did my exercises. I’m ready. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, but don’t say no because of me. I want to try.” You sounded so soft and adorable while you said the last part that he nearly melted through the floor. Here he was, with the most beautiful girl on the planet all but begging him to have sex with her, and he was hesitating. That’s what love made you do. 

“Ok, we can try. But you have to promise, I mean really promise, that the second it starts to feel anything but good, you’ll tell me.” His voice was laced with concern. 

“I promise,” you said with so much confidence that he had to believe you. 

“Alright. So we’re doing this. Did you want to… try it like, now?” The poor boy was a blushing mess right now. You just nodded your head and smiled. “Okay. Cool. Yeah, that’s cool. We can do it now. I’m totally down with that.” You knew based off of the way he was acting that you were going to have to make the first move, so you walked up, grabbed his face between your hands, and kissed him.

 He seemed stiff, so you pulled away and said, “Everything ok?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah. Everything is perfect. I just… do you want to go to my room?” Again, you just nodded, and let him take your hand and lead you into his bedroom, closing the door behind you guys. Jeez, he seemed more nervous than you were. You sat down on the middle of his bed, and reached your arms out and did grabby-hands until he laughed and joined you, lying you down and hovering over you. He kissed you sweetly, giving you every opportunity to say stop. You didn’t, but instead threaded your fingers up through his inky hair and pulled him closer to you. He took this as a green light to deepen the kiss, and brush his tongue up against your own. You guys continued kissing for a while since this was comfortable territory for you both. He eventually started moving his hands under your shirt, first massaging your stomach with his thumb and then moving up. He pulled back from you suddenly, eyes wide. “No bra?” 

“Nope. I didn’t want anything to get in the way today,” you smirked and slid your hands over his shoulders. He had a look of awe on his face as he pulled the hem of your shirt up. You sat up and took it off, throwing it to the floor. Okay, yeah, so you were eager. You’d never enjoyed sex before and you thought you actually might for the first time. It was exciting. 

As you laid back down, his eyes never left yours. He came back down for another kiss before trailing his mouth down your jaw, suckling at your neck for a few minutes before it was covered in faint red marks, and moved down to your breasts. Seth had always worshipped your chest. It was one of his favorite parts of your body. The size, the shape, the feel, were all beyond perfect to him. You gasped as he took a nipple into his mouth, your back arching up into him. He brought his hand up to massage your other breast while his tongue continued swirling around the first one. You closed your eyes and tipped your head back, just relaxing into the feeling and letting your muscles be at ease. He sat up for a second, which was far too long, to take his shirt off, and you opened your eyes to admire his sculpted body. You would have loved him even if he wasn’t a shapeshifting beast, but damn, the muscles that came with were such a nice bonus. And they weren’t just for show. You never told him this, but whenever he picked you up so easily or carried you around or pushed you up against a wall, you got beyond turned on. You always wondered what it would be like to have him actually get rough with you, but that would be for another time. 

Once Seth thought your boobs had been shown enough attention, he slid his hand back down to your stomach, and then lower. He fiddled with the waistband of your jeans before popping the button at the front and dragging the zipper down torturously slow. You felt so hot at this point that you thought you would climb out of your skin if he didn’t touch you properly soon. You raised your hips in a silent signal for him to take them off, but he was too distracted by the feeling of your soft skin to notice. 

“Seth,” you whispered. He looked up at you, hand already stilling in case you wanted to stop. 

“What’s wrong?” he panicked. 

“Nothing is wrong. Can you help me take these off?” His eyes widened at this, and then he smiled. He sat up on his knees, gripping the waistband of your jeans on either side of you, and you raised your hips as he pulled them down slowly, admiring your legs as each inch of them was revealed. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the lacey g-string you were wearing, which you had bought specially for this moment. You never really cared about wearing cute underwear before since it would always end up on the floor anyways, but this was a big day. At least you hoped it would be. So you wanted to wear something cute, and boy did Seth appreciate it. 

Once your jeans were all the way off, he gave a low whistle and said, “damn. My girlfriend is the most beautiful woman alive. How did I get so lucky?” 

You hit his shoulder and looked away blushing at this. And then… oh, then. 

Your sexy werewolf boyfriend lay down on his stomach in between your thighs, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, and gave you a smirk that could only be described as savagely canine. He kissed the insides of your thighs, nipping here and there before soothing with his tongue, inching closer and closer to where you really wanted him to be. He liked to take his time with this part. He flattened his tongue and gave your center a broad lick over your panties, eliciting a small gasp. He did this several more times until your hips were writhing and grinding, desperate for more friction. He reached under you, gripping the fabric of your underwear before all but ripping them off you. 

“Hey, easy. Those were expensive,” you haphazardly pointed, too lost in the moment to really care. 

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he spoke lowly into your center right before diving in and wrapping his lips around you, sucking and kneading with his tongue. You gave a small moan, fingers once again tangling in his hair. He kept this up, alternating between firm licks and small sucks, his tongue constantly flicking that perfect spot. Seth heard in Paul’s head through the mind link once that porn wasn’t accurate at all to what women actually got off on. You were supposed to pick 2, maybe 3 key moves and do those until she was close, and then just keep doing exactly that until she came. Women are about consistency and rhythm, so if you change it up, they have to start all over. This advice had not failed him yet. Had not failed either of you, and you could have kissed Paul if you found out that that’s where Seth had gotten this tip. Fifteen delicious minutes later and you were teetering on the edge. You used to be insecure about how long you took to finish, but Seth had always reassured you that he just wanted you to feel good, and he would spend all day between your legs if he could. You were right there, legs shaking and eyes screwed shut, but couldn’t quite get that knot in your stomach to unravel. Seth pulled away, sensing your impatience, and knew you needed a little push. He got up and opened your bedside table, pulling out the large bottle of lube that you used for dilating, slathering his middle finger in it, and laid back down between your legs. 

You knew what he was going to do, and trusted him enough to be careful, so you lie back and relax, knowing he would get you there no matter what. He dove back in with his lips, tongue flicking and rubbing for another few seconds before positioning his finger at your entrance, swirling it around to distribute the lube. He looked up at you, knowing you liked to guide his hand at first to make sure you were comfortable. You grabbed his hand, sliding his finger in slowly, inch by inch. You were pretty worked up at this point, so it didn’t take very long before his finger way fully inside you. He stilled his hand, waiting for you to give the all-clear, still sucking at your clit like a starving man. You tugged at his hair, shifting your hips against his hand, which he knew to be the cue to start moving. You didn’t much like the in-out feeling of being fingered. You preferred the pressure of him pressing on certain spots. He twisted his finger slowly so that his palm was facing upward, and began to stroke your top wall, making you shudder. 

This was going to push you over that edge. Several minutes of consistency, pressure, and suction had you cumming hard, grinding on his face and moaning his name loudly. When you came down, Seth was still going, though more gently since he knew how sensitive you got post-orgasm. You had to whine and tug on his hair to get him to take his mouth off you, his finger stilling but remaining inside. 

“Wow,” you breathed, eyes closed in a haze.

“Wow yourself, Gorgeous,” he winked at you. You made a move to reach down and grab him through his sweatpants, but Seth was quick to pull your hand away. “This is about you tonight,” he said with total sincerity. You wanted to argue that it was about both of you, but you knew he had his mind set on taking care of you, so you decided to let him. “You ready to try, baby?” 

“Hell yes,” you laughed, sitting up. “Maybe I could start on top? That’s how I dilate and I could control it better that way.” 

“I was just about to say the same thing,” he teased back. He moved to lie back against the headboard after taking his pants off as you kneeled on the edge of the bed, grabbing the bottle of lube. While you were turned away from him, he brought his hand to a cheeky slap on your ass, catching you by surprise. 

“Hey!” You squealed and then giggled, turning to give him a playful glare. 

“I couldn’t resist! It was right there,” He said, holding his hands up in surrender. 

You simply rolled your eyes at this, grabbing a condom from the bedside table as well. You turned to him, still kneeling, and handed him the condom, which he ripped open with his teeth (and it was so hot). He slowly rolled it onto his rock hard dick, keeping a hand around the base as he looked up at you. “You absolutely sure about this?” he questioned. 

“Yes Seth. I really want to.” 

With this, you climbed up to straddle his lap, squirting generous amounts of lube onto him and spreading it around with your hand. You knelt up, positioning him at your entrance after throwing the lube on the floor. He sat straight up, hands going around your waist, one reaching up behind you to cradle your head. He gave you a passionate kiss as you lowered slightly, letting the tip of him find its way in. You stopped here, doing some deep breathing as Seth stared intently at your face, looking for any signs of discomfort. Seth was slightly smaller than your largest dilator, but what had you slightly concerned was the friction. The in-out-in-out factor usually caused you pain when you tried bouncing on your dilators. You would just have to keep the lube on stand-by and remember to breathe with your stomach. 

When you were sure you would be ok, you lowered more, sinking down an inch with every exhale. Seth lovingly rubbed your back, hand petting your hair as he waited patiently for you to adjust. You felt unbelievable around him, but he didn’t want to express too much pleasure, fearful that you would put up with any pain for his benefit. He settled for nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, holding you as close as he physically could. You lightly scratched at his shoulders, holding on for dear life. You had to stop for a moment at the half-way point, trying your best to control your pelvic muscles and picturing a flower bud opening in your mind. Slowly, you lowered another inch, and then another, and another, until you could feel his thighs touch you. At this, you sat down fully on his lap, his cock sheathed fully inside of you. 

I need a minute you thought. This was a lot. Silicone dilators were one thing, but to have your boyfriend inside you like this was completely different. He was warm, hot even, and you could feel his pulse, feel the throb in his veins. The twitch of him deep inside you. 

“Fuck,” Seth gasped quietly, as if he didn’t want you to hear. 

“Feels good?” you questioned. 

“Mm-hmm. Are you okay?” He asked right back, face still buried in your neck. 

“I think so. Just give me a second.” 

“Take all the time you need, baby. Do you want me to touch you?” His hand came over from your back and he grazed your lower stomach with his knuckles. 

“No. Too much,” was all the answer he needed before he wrapped his arm around your back once again, massaging your skin soothingly. This was going on too long, you thought. Seth was probably dying right now. You didn’t want him to suffer, so you lifted your hips a couple inches, sinking back down on him. You felt a stinging sensation at your entrance, but ignored it. Before you could lift your hips again, Seth grabbed your waist in a vice-like grip, still holding you against him but stopping all movement. 

“Don’t you dare,” he spoke softly yet firmly. “I can feel how tense your muscles are right now. Relax and then you can try again.” You wanted to cry at this. He was getting frustrated. He was going to break up with you! But you silenced those negative comments and realized he was right. So you took some deep breaths again, focusing on the pressure of his tip deep in your walls, the feel of his fingers grazing your back, his other hand playing with your hair. You closed your eyes and focused only on the sensations. “There you go, Sweetheart,” he said as he felt you relax around him. Instead of going straight up and down this time, you ground your hips against his, making circles on top of him. And it felt… good? Jesus. For the first time in your life, sex wasn’t hurting. It still felt a little tight and stiff, but it didn’t hurt. So you kept at it. Your breathing picked up at the sensation, along with the exertion of kneeling for so long. Seth pulled his face out of your neck and used the hand that was petting your hair to pull you into a passionate kiss. You guys made out as you continued to circle your hips, both of your breathing labored. Seth gripped your ass in one of his hands, helping control your movements as your legs began to shake. 

“You getting tired, baby?” he questioned, even though he could see that you were. You just nodded, slowing down a little. “Do you want to try a different position? Maybe one where I could do some work?” You wanted to, but were nervous. The trust you had for Seth was absolute, but what other position could work? 

“Like what?” you questioned hesitantly.

He thought for a moment, hands stilling your hips, before he cracked a smile. “I have an idea. Here,” he spoke as he shifted you both further down the bed and laid back so he was flat on his back, you still on top of him. He brought you down so you were stomach to stomach, hands going to the small of your back, and planted his feet on the bed. He held you close as he lightly thrusted up into you. 

“Oh,” you breathed a moan. This felt really good. Being on top and controlling the movement had been good to adjust, but having Seth fuck up into you like this was another level of pleasure. He barely thrusted, but still hit the right spots. And you could still easily lift your hips to pull away if it started to hurt. 

“Good?” he whispered.

“Mm-hmm. Oh my God,” you whispered to yourself, reaching up with one hand to grab the headboard. You thought you heard him breath a laugh, but were too lost in the moment to pay much attention to anything but Seth’s movements. He kept a steady pace of small thrusts, going slowly, never questioning the pace or pushing your limits. After a while, you started to push your hips back against his as he went into you. 

“You want to try going a little faster, Sweetheart?” he questioned gently. 

“Yes,” you said with half-lidded eyes as you looked right into Seth’s coffee-colored irises. 

He brought himself out a little further at this, pushing back into you slightly faster than before, and hitting that perfect soft spot inside you that had your toes curl. You released a real moan this time, and Seth swore he could have cum from that sound alone. He kept this pace up, not daring to go any faster since you both were already enjoying it so much and he didn’t want to risk ruining the moment with pain. For the first time in your life, you felt actual pleasure from penetration, and you wanted more. You wanted to cum, and you felt like you actually could. With this realization, you brought one of your hands down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles on it that had your moans go up in pitch. 

Seth grabbed your hand, putting it back on his chest as he reached down and began rubbing you with his own fingers and cockily stating, “That’s my job.” You felt your eyes roll back in your head at this, and it was the hottest thing Seth had ever seen. You felt a knot begin to form in your stomach, tightening faster than it ever had before. After just a couple more minutes of this, you moan “Oh, Seth. I think I’m gonna cum.” Of course this only spurred him on to keep going. Consistency, he reminded himself. Don’t change a thing. And he didn’t, not until you were seeing stars, trembling on top of him and screaming his name as your climax crashed into you like a wave. You had to rip his hand off your dripping center when the sensations became too much, and he stilled inside of you. 

“Did you finish?” you questioned him once you came down, confused. If he had, it had sure been subtle. 

“No, but I didn’t know if you were okay to keep going. You seem pretty sensitive right now.” 

“Seth, I want you to cum too. Just… do you think you could like, not take a while? Like, could you finish in the next couple minutes? I’m okay now but I don’t want to push it.” 

“Baby, I can finish in the next 30 seconds after looking at your face while you came like that.” You blushed deeply at this, breath picking back up again as he continued to gently thrust into you. He screwed his eyes shut after a couple thrusts, losing rhythm in his hips as he spilled into the condom with a growl and relaxed underneath you. “Fuck,” was all he said. 

You laughed. “Yeah, fuck.” 

He let you sit up and pull off of him at your own pace before dismounting and moving to walk to the bathroom. 

“Wait! Wait,” he almost yelled, startling you half to death as he sat up, removed and tied off the condom, and hopped off the bed to throw it away. “This is the part where you let me clean you up and take care of you.” 

“You just did take care of me, Seth,” which made him giggle. 

“Not like that silly goose! Just stay there.” He joked as he made his way into the bathroom, coming out with a damp towel. “Spread ‘em,” he motioned towards your legs. You laughed deeply, obliging. He was ultra gentle as he wiped the lube off the insides of your thighs, kissing your knees as he finished. Then, he threw the towel into the hamper and retrieved his softest sweatshirt and placed it over your head as you moved your arms into the sleeves. “And now, we cuddle.” He looked so damn pleased with himself. 

You laid your head on Seth’s warm chest, his arms coming to wrap around your waist. You two stayed like this for a while, just soaking in the details of what just happened. You did it. You had sex with your boyfriend. Actual penetrative sex, and it didn’t hurt. 

As if reading your mind, Seth spoke. “I’m so proud of you.” 

#twilight #twilight smut #seth clearwater #seth clearwater x reader #seth x reader #vaginismus #dilating #booboo stewart #paul lahote #embry call #wolf pack #sam uley #jacob black #jared cameron

[honeypiehotchner]

winter love (all i want for Christmas is you) -- Hotch x Fem!Reader

Hi hi hi!! I have literally been writing this on and off since September, and now I finally get to share it!! A few quick things: this fic has very much Hallmark vibes but does have a good dose of angst too; for the sake of this fic, Aaron was born and raised in Virginia; and Jack was never born (sorry buddy!).

I listened to Michael Bublé’s songs “All I Want for Christmas Is You” and “Cold December Night” a lot while writing this, so feel free to play those while you read! xx.

(The gif is from google because once again, my gif search is broken on here because apparently this post is too long?? Rip me)

Summary: You’ve returned back to your hometown after leaving to get your education, but you didn’t expect to run into your childhood best friend (and first love). 

Word count: 9.4k

HOTCH MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

If you told yourself a few months ago that you’d be moving back to Virginia, you would’ve scoffed and probably laughed -- loudly. Your mom, on the other hand, would’ve been elated, and swore she knew it.

Like she’s doing now.

“I’m just so excited to have you home again,” she gushes, helping you carry boxes of your clothes up to your old childhood room.

The room needs some work, like taking down all these embarrassing posters and changing the sheets to something not so cringe-worthy (thankfully, it’s a full-size bed instead of the old twin you grew up sleeping on). But it’ll be fine for the time being. It’s not like you’re going to find an apartment right before Christmas, or that you even want to. It’s been a while since you’ve spent a full Christmas season with your mom.

You’ve been studying out of state for the past six years, working to get your masters and doctorate degrees — which you’ve completed. But now you need a job and a new start, which is why you decided to come home.

You’ve missed Virginia a lot more than you’ll admit. It’s hard not to miss your hometown when you’re gone from it for so long.

“We need a Christmas tree,” you say, as you come back down the stairs. “Christmas is next week, how do you not have a tree up yet?”

“I wasn’t going to get one without you,” your mom says like the fact should’ve been obvious to you.

You laugh as you plop down next to her on the couch. “I know. We should go tomorrow.”

“Whenever you want to,” she smiles, squeezing your arm. “Have you been to your coffee shop yet?”

“My coffee shop?” You raise an eyebrow. “Since when has it been mine?”

“Since you practically lived there during high school,” your mom counters.

She has a point. “Well, no, I haven’t. I just got here.”

“You should go.”

You raise both eyebrows this time, turning your entire body to face her. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you trying to get me to go back there?”

“Why don’t you want to?”

You give her a look. “You know why.”

“I don’t.”

She does. She knows exactly what happened there.

“I’m not repeating it,” you mutter. “And I’ll be finding a new coffee shop, thank you very much.”

“Oh, you can’t let one bad experience stop you from going there!”

“So you do remember!”

“How could I forget? When you were a wreck for months after. I still never forgave him for that, you know.”

You shake your head, settling back against the couch pillows. “It’s been long enough now that I think forgiveness won’t hurt anyone.”

You say that, and yet you don’t want to step foot in that shop ever again.

+++

It was the summer before your junior year. Aaron was a rising senior, so there was the weight of it being his last year already hanging in the air. Especially when he was already looking at a pre-law track for college — meaning he’d be insanely busy after graduation with not much time for you.

Unfortunately, you didn’t realize that his being too busy for you would start before then.

You were a year younger — technically almost two, but the way your birthday fell, you were only one grade younger — but that didn’t stop Aaron from being your friend. At first you thought he had ill intentions (as most older boys in high school did), but he didn’t. He genuinely enjoyed your company, and you genuinely enjoyed his.

More than genuinely. You say now that you don’t believe in love at first sight, but you know that’s because it already happened for you, and you believe it to be a one-time deal.

That one time was when Aaron sat across from you at the lunch table.

You were alone and reading a book. You were a freshman then, and being an extra year younger didn’t exactly help in the whole making friends department. Especially when a lot of your peers were already aware of your age.

But Aaron wasn’t aware, nor did he even care.

He saw that you were alone, and reading, and he decided to sit with you. He wanted to read too, anyway, but he knew he didn’t always like being alone when he read. Something told him you were the same way.

He was correct.

It took almost the entire fall semester before either of you said one word to each other. Sometimes you’d be too engrossed in the book you were reading to even notice he’d sat down in front of you. And when you would finally notice, he would be the one with his nose too deep in the book to notice.

But eventually, you started sharing book recommendations.

Which eventually turned into helping each other with homework. You were always better at math and Spanish than he was (you were already in the sophomore levels of these classes as a freshman), but he was always good with history and English. He must’ve noticed you were in freshman English and history, but he never commented on it — at least not in a way that said he was bullying you.

That winter break was when you started going to the coffee shop together. It was within walking distance of the high school, so the two of you would go at the end of the day until your parents could pick you up. Sometimes your mom would drive him home, or vice versa.

And when Aaron got his license, he’d drive you both there and drop you off at home.

The two of you were inseparable. Almost literally.

Until Aaron met Haley.

Haley was in theatre. She was everything you weren’t. Aaron’s age, pretty, funny, outgoing, and worst of all: popular.

You watched your best friend fall in love.

And that wouldn’t have hurt as bad as it did if it wasn’t Haley he was falling for.

You kept your feelings for Aaron quiet, even to your mom — though you found out later that she always knew. You had almost thought he felt the same, or that he might be beginning to, and then suddenly he was talking about some girl named Haley.

Only she wasn’t just “some girl” to him, or even to you. Everyone knew Haley Brooks.

Slowly, your lunch table conversations were less about what the two of you were going to do the coming weekend, and more about Haley. How he was going to get her to notice him (join theatre, even though he never liked theatre before her). How he was going to ask her on a date (it wouldn’t be a date at first, just dinner after theatre rehearsal, that ended up being with the entire cast, but he sat next to her). How he was going to win her over (he brought flowers to the first performance and surprised her backstage). How he was going to ask her to be his girlfriend (that was the same night as the flowers, completely unplanned, but she said yes).

How he thought he might want to marry her one day.

The last hurt most of all. He confessed it to you one night out of the blue as he was driving you home after school. You knew you could handle him being in love with someone else. Some sick part of you knew — or hoped, rather — that the relationship wouldn’t last. What high school relationship lasts longer than a few months, anyway?

But when Aaron fell for Haley, he fell completely. And hard.

He started cancelling plans with you to spend time with Haley — before they were even dating. When they were dating, he stopped making plans with you altogether.

Then came the summer before his senior year.

It had been months since you saw him last. You had a new lunch period the second half of the year because one of your favorite teachers asked for help during the period, which meant you didn’t have lunch with Aaron — but you don’t even think he noticed.

June came and went. The two of you barely saw one another, barely talked when you did. But when you did, you clung to those moments like they were your only lifeline. In a way, they were.

July finally came and he actually made plans to see you. He said he wanted to get coffee again, catch up, hang out for a few hours, sit in silence, even, whatever you wanted. You were excited.

Some part of you thought that he had broken up with Haley — wishful thinking, but you were sixteen and in love, what else were you supposed to think?

But he hadn’t broken up with her. They were very much in love. You know. You witnessed it.

Apparently, Haley didn’t like the idea of Aaron getting coffee and lunch alone with a female friend. So, she took it upon herself to tag along.

You saw them sharing a kiss through the window, Aaron’s back facing you. When they pulled away, Haley’s eyes caught yours, but she said nothing to Aaron, just pulled him back in for another kiss.

You didn’t go into the shop that day. And you haven’t since.

The last time you saw Aaron was the day before he moved to college. He was stopping by to say goodbye to you.

You were reading a book in your room, and your eyes caught the movement on the driveway. You told your mom to say you weren’t home.

You watched him leave from your bedroom window, hands stuffed in his pockets.

+++

You heard that Aaron and Haley got married. Not because you wanted to hear, but because your mom told you. She probably meant well, but you drank an entire bottle of wine that night. You weren’t even 21 yet at the time.

Of course, it’s been years since then. You’re all fine now, and you’ve got the student loan debt to prove it.

But even with three degrees, job hunting can be a bitch. Especially this time of year.

You need coffee.

You blame the fact that this coffee shop is the best one around. And the fact that it’s Christmas season, meaning they have your favorite drink again.  

Dark chocolate peppermint mocha. It’s a godsend. And you haven’t had one in years.

Well, you have. But they haven’t been from here. They haven’t had this shop’s specially made peppermint whipped cream, or the peppermint stick that can be used to stir.

You hate how much you have to psych yourself up before you walk inside. You don’t even know where Aaron is these days or what he’s doing. He could be halfway across the country for all you know.

So, with that fact in mind, you walk inside. You embrace the familiar sight and smells, remembering what it felt like the last time you were here.

You move toward the counter, falling in the short line to the register. And your stomach flips when you see a familiar face standing in front of you.

Well, his back is facing you, so you don’t see his face, but you know it’s him. There’s this thing about first loves. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the last time you’ve seen them. You’ll always recognize everything about them. The back of their head, their shoulders, their hands, the way they walk.

Their voice. Even if it’s deeper than the last time you heard it.

Maybe he won’t recognize me.

But what you don’t know is that no amount of time could pass to make you unrecognizable to Aaron.

Or that he saw your reflection in the glass case next to him when you got in line, and he’s been internally trying to figure out what the hell to say to you since.

If it hadn’t been for his voice, you wouldn’t have recognized Aaron at all. A black coffee? That’s it?

The barista pours it and slides it over to him before he’s even done paying. He’s at a coffee shop -- this coffee shop, and he orders a black coffee?

Who is he?

You step up to the register as he steps away, and you swear you see him looking at you through the corner of your eyes. But you must be seeing things because why would he do that?

You focus on ordering -- a medium peppermint mocha, complete with the whipped cream and peppermint stick. After paying, you step to the side to wait for your coffee.

You nearly knock right into Aaron, but you stop yourself, well aware of his presence.

Another thing about first loves: you’re always painfully aware of their presence.

“Hi,” he says, awkward and fumbling even though it’s only one word. He’s wearing a stuffy suit and tie, which seems odd, but you’re positive that’s just normal lawyer attire. He probably lives in a suit these days. His hair is shorter than it used to be and he looks older, but so do you. Despite all of this, he’s still Aaron. He’s still the same Aaron Hotchner you fell in love with at sixteen.

“Hi,” you return the awkward smile, tugging on the strap of your purse. After a beat, you nod toward his drink. “Black coffee, huh?” You try to tease. “Who hurt you?”

He laughs loudly then, shoulders and head shaking. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Hotchner,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself.

The conversation dies for a moment, so you busy yourself by looking at the different cakes and pastries in the glass case. You probably should’ve gotten one, but maybe another time.

Another time. Fifteen minutes ago you wouldn’t be caught dead in this shop and now you’re already thinking about another time.

“Are you busy?” Aaron suddenly asks, prompting you to look at him with furrowed brows. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” you smile gently, knowing you might regret this later. But it’s been over a decade since you’ve seen him last. One coffee won’t hurt.

And I’m over him, you remind yourself, no matter how untrue it might be.

Once you have your peppermint mocha -- finally, you think, it’s been too long -- you walk with Aaron to find a table. A lot has changed about this shop, but one thing that hasn’t (because there isn’t much that can be changed) is the seating.

Aaron leads you to your old table. The table the two of you practically lived at.

It makes your heart warm and ache all at once. The drink you decided to order isn’t helping matters either.

“So…” You pause, shifting in your seat. “What are you up to these days?”

“You stole my question,” he jokes.

“Tough,” you smile into your drink. “I asked it first.”

He chuckles, but answers anyway. “I’m working for the BAU now.”

“The B-A-What?”

“The-- FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you… Did you really just say you’re working for the FBI?”

“I think so,” he says. “I’m the unit chief.”

“You’re the-- Okay. So, you don’t work for the...the BAU, they work for you.”

“We’re a team,” he offers.

“Said every boss ever,” you quip, taking a long drink of your mocha. You take the peppermint stick in between your fingers and stir, eyebrows furrowing down at the swirl of coffee and whipped cream. “So...what do you do exactly?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then stops, hesitating. “Do you really want to know?”

You give him a look. “Of course I do.”

“It’s not great.”

“Aaron, just tell me, or I’ll start reciting my dissertation word for word.” Your statement stuns him to silence, so badly that you almost laugh. “That’s boring. Working for the FBI can’t possibly be boring.”

“Oh, it’s never boring, that’s for sure,” he mutters. “We profile serial killers.”

“You what?”

He laughs. “We look at their behaviors and crimes and build a profile, what they might look like, their age, that stuff.”

“Intriguing.”

“I can’t believe you’re interested.”

“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t be,” you counter. “You know I thrive off this stuff.”

“I remember,” he says quietly.

And just like that, you remember, too.

It’s so easy to forget about all the hurt he caused, all the pain he left behind. Especially because you know he never intended to hurt you. He would never do that, not to you, not on purpose. You never told him how you felt. It’s not his fault he couldn’t read your mind.

“Well, you’ve got a doctorate,” he says, shifting the conversation. “What else are you up to?”

“How did you know it’s a doctorate?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you profiling me? Did I use that correctly?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “And no, not intentionally. You said you’d recite your dissertation. Those are normally written to get doctorate degrees. You always wanted one, I assumed you met your goal.”

“You assume correct,” you nod. “I’m back to start job and apartment hunting, but after the new year. I wanted to spend some time with my mom.”

“How is she doing?”

“She’s good, she--” You pause, shaking your head with a laugh. “She actually brought you up yesterday.”

“Me?” Aaron looks genuinely shocked.

“Yeah, you,” you knock your foot against his leg without thinking, but you pay no mind, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to it. “She’s actually the one who put the bug in my ear to come here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I haven’t been back here since…”

It takes him a moment, but he nods slowly. “Right.”

“Yeah,” you draw your legs closer to you on instinct. “But that was a long time ago. How are you and Haley?”

You don’t expect the way his face falls. You glance down at his left hand. No ring.

“We got a divorce a few years ago, split up about a good year before that,” Aaron explains. “She’s good, last I heard. Remarried already.”

“Wow,” you murmur, not knowing what else to say. “What-- I mean, what happened?” When he hesitates, you backpedal. “Sorry, I shouldn’t even ask, it’s probably a sensitive question.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron chuckles. “I don’t mind talking about it with you.”

That sends a dangerous flutter through your stomach. “Okay. Well I’m all ears.”

“Oh, it’s not a long story, it was just my job,” he shrugs. “I took the unit chief position and she was happy at first. But then, there was a period of time where we had what felt like case after case after case.” He shakes his head. “I was barely home, but I was barely in one state for long, anyway. It was a stressful time. We were everywhere at once.”

“That does sound stressful,” you frown. “Has it slowed down now?”

“Kind of, it has its moments,” he admits. “But being gone so much, it took a toll on her. She wanted to start a family, but said she couldn’t do that if I was never there.”

“But I mean she had to have known how your schedule would be with the new job, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, then shrugs. “It’s been so long now that I stopped trying to understand her thought process.”

“I get that,” you say sincerely. You understand not wanting to waste energy on something like that anymore. Sometimes you just have to give it up and have peace with the fact that you’ll never understand.

“What about you?” He asks suddenly, catching you off guard. “Seeing anyone?” He adds it quietly, like he’s shy.

Aaron Hotchner. Shy. Around you.

“Oh,” you nearly laugh at the prospect. “No. No, I’m not. Do you really think I would be if I was moving back in with my mom?”

He laughs, bringing his coffee to his lips. “You have a point there.”

A comforting silence settles over the two of you after that.

You shouldn’t feel slightly giddy that his and Haley’s relationship didn’t work out in the end. You’re over him by now, anyway. But something about being right has you fighting a smile. You smother the urge, though, knowing he probably doesn’t want to hear anyone, let alone you, say, “I told you so.”

You do feel bad for him, genuinely. Divorce is never easy for anyone, and you hate he went through that. Especially like that. Haley knew his work schedule would change. Why would she act supportive if she knew this in advance? Just sits uneasy with you, that’s all.

Of course, you feel that overprotective-best-friend nature coming back to you.

“What plans do you have now that you’re back?” He asks, keeping the conversation up, but you can tell he’s earnest — which makes you smile.

“Nothing, really. My mom and I are getting a Christmas tree later, but that’s all I have on my schedule.” You pause, giving him another look. “We both know you were my only friend in high school. Who do you think I’m going to see while I’m here?”

“Hopefully a lot of me,” he replies easily, smiling around his coffee.

And for once, you don’t hesitate to reply. “I hope so, too, actually. I didn’t think you were still around here. And I really didn’t expect you to be working for the FBI.”

“This might be presumptuous of me, but what are you doing this weekend?” He asks, quickly adding on, “A good friend of mine is hosting a Christmas party for the team, and I’ve basically been threatened to bring a plus one.”

“Threatened, huh?” You raise an eyebrow.

He nods seriously. “They won’t let me inside without one.”

You gasp comically, keeping up the act. “Well you can’t miss the party!”

“I know,” he sighs, propping his head in his hand.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to come with,” you say, still deadly serious.

But Aaron’s lips split into a grin the same time yours does. “It’s this Saturday.”

“Lucky for you, I’m free.”

He doesn’t stop grinning. “I can pick you up, if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d love that,” you say. “I should probably give you my number, shouldn’t I?”

“I was going to ask,” he admits.

You roll your eyes playfully. “I figured.”

After exchanging numbers, the two of you return to your idle conversations. Only, they’re less idle than they ever have been before.

He vents about still not understanding how people can be capable of the things he sees. How he knows that everyone is capable of unspeakable things, but it’s how they do it that still makes him stumble sometimes. And you try to sympathize, though you know you can’t. But still you tell him not to try to understand.

“You’re a good man,” you say. “You’re not going to understand it because you’re not like them.”

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I know that, consciously. Sometimes it’s good to hear it from someone else.”

Then he tells you it’s your turn, and again, you don’t feel the need to hesitate.

You tell him how you weren’t planning on moving back here at all. But the job market where you were didn’t...fit you, for some reason. You never felt like you belonged, and so maybe that’s why you wanted to come back here.

Because even though you left this place heartbroken, you still felt like you belonged when you were here. You felt like you belonged when you were with him, but you don’t tell him that.

Something tells you he heard it anyway, though. Being a profiler and all. Which you still don’t quite understand, but you’re sure he’ll have plenty of time to tell you in the coming future.

+++

After an hour or two, you decide it’s time for you to head back home. Partly because you need to make some lunch for yourself, and partly because you’ve watched Aaron dismiss at least three phone calls in the last twenty minutes.

But he didn’t say a word each time, so you know he won’t tell you who it is or if he needs to go. It makes your heart warm at the thought that he wants to spend more time with you, but if it’s his job, then he needs to go.

He walks you to your car and you hug him around his neck, unashamedly taking a deep breath of his cologne when you stretch up to wrap your arms around him. He didn’t wear cologne back in high school. But this one smells good.

You mentally prepare yourself on the way home for the amount of questions your mom is no doubt going to ask.

You’re supposed to be going to pick out a tree with her today, which means you were supposed to be home a little earlier than this, which means your mom probably already knows what happened and you won’t even get a chance to explain yourself.

In the end, your prediction was correct.

“How was your peppermint mocha?” You glance over to the couch and find your mom sitting there, idly reading a book.

The question is as directly indirect as they come. You raise an eyebrow and kick the front door closed (yes, she asked before you even stepped foot inside the house). “It was good,” you reply, shrugging your jacket off your shoulders. “Why?”

“Oh, you enjoyed it for almost two hours, so I was just wondering.” Your mom fights back a grin, but she’s not doing a very good job.

You sigh. “Just go ahead and ask.”

She closes her book. “Alright, fine, I will. How is Aaron?”

There it is.

“He’s good,” you answer rather pointedly, making your way into the living room. “He’s working for the FBI now.”

“Oh, I knew that already.”

You plop down next to her on the couch. “Seriously?”

“Of course!” She cries, like it should be obvious. “Small talk happens when you see someone in the store.”

“Right,” you scoff. “Anyway, thanks for not telling me him and Haley divorced.”

She grimaces.

“Yeah, exactly,” you nod at her expression. “That’s how I felt. I bet it was just awesome of me to ask about how him and his ex-wife are doing.”

“I’m sorry,” your mom says. “It completely slipped my mind. It’s been so long since those two split.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”

“Because I didn’t want to bring him up,” she answers sincerely. “You seemed like you had really moved on. I figured it didn’t matter, and I didn’t want to make you start thinking about him again when you had finally gotten over it all.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “Well, thank you, then, but...still. I feel like an idiot.”

“Did he seem angry when you asked?”

“No, the opposite,” you sigh. “He explained what happened and I let him talk about it for a second, but he seems mostly moved on from it.”

“I don’t know how he can be,” your mom scoffs. “She’s already remarried, you know.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

Your mom shakes her head. “I should’ve shook some sense into that boy when he came to say goodbye that day.” Then she pauses, poking your leg. “And I should’ve made you say goodbye to him. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“I didn’t wanna talk to him,” you shrug. “We barely had all year, anyway. And one goodbye would not have stopped him from going to college and marrying Haley, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sighs. “It’s fun to think about, though.”

“Well stop thinking about it,” you mutter. “We are friends and he’s probably seeing someone by now. I don’t even know how long I’ll be here, so.”

Your mom raises her eyebrows. “I never said anything about what you guys are now.”

Damn. Caught. “I know, but I’m just...catching you before you do.”

“Mmm, more like catching yourself.”

“Shut up.”

She lightly hits you with a pillow. “Don’t say that to your mother,” she jokes. “Especially not when I’m right and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Are you ready to pick out a tree?”

“Of course,” she replies. “Just let me find my shoes.”

While she’s getting ready -- because “finding her shoes” really means fixing her hair and makeup and changing outfits a couple times -- you get a text from Aaron.

Aaron: It was nice catching up with you today

You smile and type your reply. Ditto. We should do it again sometime.

He doesn’t reply, but you figure he’s busy at work, anyway. And you’ve got a tree to pick out and decorate, so you’re technically busy, too.

You try not to think too much about it.

+++

And truthfully, you don’t think much about it, until Aaron finally replies. It’s hours later when you’re decorating the freshly-cut Christmas tree in the living room, with Michael Bublé’s Christmas album playing through the stereo speakers. It’s just like when you were younger.

You check your phone and see that it’s Aaron texting you back, but you pocket it before reading the message. You’re busy.

Your mom notices the change on your face. “Everything alright?” She asks as she places a snowflake ornament on one of the smaller branches.

You nod without thinking, hating yourself for even feeling what you’re feeling right now. A glittery red ornament hangs from your index finger as you try to find the right branch to hang it on -- and while your mind wanders all over the place.

“Clearly not,” your mom replies. “But alright.” She turns and reaches into a different box, picking up one of the golden jingle bells that she always hides deep within the tree each year. When you were younger, she’d hide them without you seeing, and then on Christmas Eve you’d have to search the tree for them before you could open one present before going to sleep.

You snort a laugh, always loving her way of getting you to open up: sarcasm. “It’s just Aaron.”

“Aaron?”

“Texting me,” you explain, looking down at the glitter coating your fingertips from the ornaments.

“Aren’t you going to reply?” She asks, grabbing another jingle bell.

“Technically he’s the one replying from earlier today.”

“Okay…”

You sigh. Time to cave. “He invited me to a Christmas party this weekend.”

Your mom doesn’t even try to hide her excitement or her wide grin. “Really? That’s great!”

Is it? You want to ask, but you stop yourself. “Yeah,” you shrug. “I guess so. It’ll be nice to hang out with him more.” You pause, finally hanging the small glittery red ornament on the tree that you’ve been idly holding for the past two minutes. “Apparently a friend of his is hosting it and basically told him he wouldn’t be allowed inside without a plus one.” You chuckle quietly, knowing Aaron had to have rolled his eyes when his friend told him that.

“So it’s...a date, then?”

“What? No,” you shake your head. “No, no. Not a date. He didn’t phrase it that way.”

“Sweetheart, plus one implies date.”

“Who says?”

“Everyone!” Your mom laughs. “Bringing a plus one to a wedding is usually a casual date, if not bringing your significant other along.”

“This isn’t a wedding, it’s just a Christmas get together.”

“Same difference.”

“Well, I think you’re doing that thing again where you try to plant seeds in my brain for things that are unnecessary,” you raise an eyebrow at her when she avoids eye contact, so you know you’ve caught her red-handed. “All that aside,” you sigh. “I’m over him. It’s been so long. If something was going to happen, it would have already.”

“Whatever you say,” she shrugs indifferently, grabbing the final jingle bell to hide in the top of the tree. For a brief moment, you wish you hadn’t been watching where she hid them, so you could do the search on Christmas Eve one more time.

+++

You bump into Aaron one more time, two days later, at the same coffee shop.

“Back for more?” He teases as he slides into the seat across from you, another black coffee in his right hand.

You’re sitting at the table the two of you call home with yet another peppermint mocha sitting in front of you and your laptop. More job hunting is the task for today, even though you’re ready to give up and just pick it back up after the New Year. It’s not like your mom is making you pay rent, and you have enough in savings to help with groceries (without her knowledge, of course, because she refuses to let you pay for anything) and buy your own coffees. But, you decided to give it one last go today.

That is, until Aaron slid into the seat in front of you. Now, you close your laptop and place it back in your bag. “Just needed some fuel for more job hunting,” you grin. “What are you doing here?”

“I took off for lunch for once and thought I might find you here.”

“Oh?” You raise your eyebrows. “Were you seeking me out, Hotchner?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits with a shy smile. “Are you still good for tomorrow?”

“As long as you are,” you nod. “What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at five, if that’s good?”

“Perfect,” you smile. “Are you ready to introduce me to your friends?”

“Depends,” he exhales exasperatedly. “Are you ready to meet them?”

“They can’t be that bad.”

“They might be. If you aren’t used to them.” He pauses. “They don’t know you’re coming, by the way.”

“What?” You almost laugh. “Why not?”

“I told them I was bringing someone, but I didn’t feel like hearing it all week about who I was bringing.” He pauses again, like he’s holding something back, and then he lets it out. “They know all about you.”

You blink. “They do?”

“Yeah,” he smiles gently. “I talk about you all the time.”

“No,” you shake your head. “No you don’t. There’s no way.”

“You’ll believe it tomorrow,” he chuckles. “I’m sure they’ll try to embarrass me.”

“I-I mean...what do you even say about me?”

He shrugs. “That you were my best friend in high school and...that I missed you and wondered what you were up to these days, and how we used to hang out here.” He looks around the shop, then back to you and your bewildered expression. “What?” He laughs. “You didn’t talk to your friends about me?”

“No, I did,” you laugh quietly. But I said different things. And most of the time I was crying because I missed you, especially my first year of college when my roommate tried to get me to go on a double date with her boyfriend and his roommate, but I refused and had to confess that I wasn’t over you and that you broke my heart, and I was such a mess that she brought ice cream and chocolate back after their date.

But you don’t say any of that. Obviously.

“I just didn’t expect you to even...think about me, I guess,” you finally spit out, still shaking your head. “I mean...we haven’t talked since high school, I figured you’d forgotten or moved on, at least. Especially since you had Haley.”

Aaron’s expression softens and turns sad, quickly. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know you thought any of that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you wave his worry away. “It’s years ago. Water under the bridge.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. Then, he says, “Haley was jealous of you, you know.”

You immediately look up from your mocha, your eyes wide in shock. “She was what?”

“Oh yeah,” Aaron laughs. “Devastatingly jealous of you. She swore we were dating or that I was in love with you or something.”

Or something. “Wow,” you chuckle, trying to mask your hurt as much as possible. “Why did she even think that?”

You know why. You know exactly why. Because before her, you and Aaron were attached at the hip. You sat together during lunch, walked each other home, hung out at the coffee shop, went to school functions together (well, you’d actually go with a big group, but you two always ended up together anyway), and so on and so forth. Anyone would’ve been an idiot to not assume you two were dating.

“We were so close,” he shrugs. “She said she was so surprised when I asked her to be my girlfriend because she swore I was dating you. She actually asked me that, when I gave her the flowers. She said, “What about Y/N?” And I said, “Y/N? She’s just my best friend.” And she didn’t believe me.”

“That’s so crazy,” you say, but you’re really thinking back to that day you and Aaron had decided to meet up here and hang out after so long. When Haley crashed the hangout. When she locked eyes with you and smirked before pulling him back in for another kiss.

She was jealous. She was jealous and she knew exactly what she was doing that day.

Aaron’s phone starts ringing and he sighs heavily, pulling it out. He almost declines it, but then stops himself. “It’s the boss,” he says. “My boss. I’ve gotta take this. I’ll text you later?”

“Sure,” you smile, knowing he might forget or get too busy to think about it. But that’s okay. “Good luck with the phone call.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. “I’ll need it.” And then he brings his phone up to his ear. “Agent Hotchner,” he says, and you hate that you find it so hot.

+++

You almost cancel with Aaron a dozen times before 2p.m.

You blame the conversation the two of you had yesterday. For some reason, the thought of Haley being jealous of you had never crossed your mind. Because to you, it was so obviously the other way around. Of course, you weren’t vocal about your jealousy, but you were certain she knew. Not that it was the other way around.

Old feelings have already resurfaced, which is bad enough, but the talk about Haley and about how Aaron’s friends know all about you made things worse. Especially the latter.

Why would he talk about you so much if the two of you hadn’t spoken in years? Not even years, but like an entire decade. Why would he still talk about you and think about you that much?

You have dwelled over those questions since he left the coffee shop yesterday.

But now, you have no idea what to wear, and Aaron will be here any minute. You’re assuming the attire is casual, not fancy, since it’s just a get together with his friends -- who all happen to be his team of agents. FBI agents. Because he’s just casually the Unit Chief of the BAU.

It still baffles you. He wanted to be a lawyer. Not in the FBI. God.

He’s still your Aaron. That’s what shocks you the most. He’s experienced law school, marriage, practicing law, working for the FBI, becoming a Unit Chief, divorce, and yet he’s still the Aaron Hotchner you were best friends with in high school.

You wonder if you’re still the girl he was best friends with in high school. Or if you’ve changed so drastically that he doesn’t see you that way anymore.

You take a deep breath, going back to digging through the many boxes of clothes that you have yet to unpack. You need a sweater or something. That’s safe enough, right? It’s too cold for a dress, and frankly, you’re not in the mood for wearing one, anyway.

Finally, you find the sweater you were looking for. You tug it over your head, figuring your jeans are fine enough. You’ll wear some low heels to make it look like you put in a little more effort.

Your quick thinking is to your benefit because the doorbell rings almost as soon as you’re done doing the clasp on your second heel.

But because your mom is quicker than you, she’s already opened the door and let Aaron in before you can make it downstairs. And by the time you are coming down the stairs, Aaron is sitting on the couch with your mom, making idle conversation.

“Hey,” you smile at him, resisting the urge to glare at your mom. “Ready?”

“If you are,” he nods, standing to his feet.

When he turns, you shoot your mom a look. “We’ll be back later.”

“You’re not in high school,” your mom laughs. “You two have fun for as long as you like.”

“I know,” you say. “But I also know you’ll wait up until I get back.”

“And you can’t stop me,” she replies pointedly.

Aaron laughs at the two of you, your banter just as he remembers from all those years ago. Neither of you have changed one bit.

After a final moment of bickering, you bid your mom goodbye and leave with Aaron.

In the car, you ask, “Have you told them about me coming yet?”

From the driver’s seat, he shakes his head. “No, so prepare yourself for a lot of questions.”

“I think you’re the one that’ll be in hot water, but alright,” you chuckle. “I can hear them now. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were bringing her!’”

He laughs loudly. “That’s not a bad impression, actually.”

“Why, thank you,” you smirk. “It’s a hidden talent of mine.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

The two of you share a grin as he keeps driving.

+++

After some time -- long enough that you were beginning to wonder where he’s taking you -- Aaron finally turns into a subdivision. But it’s still not what you were expecting.

You assumed FBI agents must make good money, but not this good. This is a mansion. It’s massive. There has to be at least six bedrooms in there, maybe more.

“Is your friend a millionaire or something?”

Aaron chuckles, “Maybe. Probably. Maybe more.”

“More?” Your eyes widen. “Wow.” And then Aaron pulls into the driveway. “Wow.”

He puts the car in park and says, “Try not to look too surprised. Dave won’t shut up about the house if you get him started.”

“What if I want to hear everything?” You ask, scrambling out of the car to look up at the house. “Jesus Christ.” Then you whip your head around to look at Aaron exasperatedly. “Does your house look like this?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “No. This is too big. Dave’s crazy for buying it.”

“He’s definitely insane,” you nod. “I mean, what do you even need a house this big for?”

Aaron shrugs. “Christmas parties, I guess.” He pauses, holding out his arm for you. “Ready to face the lions?”

You roll your eyes through a laugh, loosely holding onto his arm. “Quit being so dramatic. I bet it’ll be just fine.”

“Let’s hope so,” Aaron replies. Because truthfully, he is a little worried that they might scare you off. They have a habit of doing that.

The two of you walk up to the front door, and you try your best to act like you’ve been in the general vicinity of a house this big before. Dave must be a really good friend of Aaron’s, because instead of knocking or ringing the doorbell, Aaron twists the doorknob and walks right in with you on his arm.

“Dave’s making pasta,” Aaron whispers, smelling the air. He shuts the door gently, wanting to surprise the team as much as possible.

You sniff the air, too, smiling happily. “Smells really good. Is that carbonara?”

“Good nose,” a voice says from the kitchen.

“That’s Dave,” Aaron chuckles, walking you down the hall toward the smell.

The team’s eyes all widen dramatically and comically when Aaron Hotchner steps inside the kitchen with a woman on his arm.

“Well, hello,” one of them says, sliding off the stool at the counter to saunter over to you. He’s all suave and swagger.

“Derek Morgan, this is Y/N,” Aaron introduces you quickly, knowing the reaction your name will get.

“Hold up,” Derek pauses, glancing between you and Aaron. “Y/N? As in the Y/N?”

“I don’t know about being the Y/N, but that is my name,” you laugh. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Derek says, a hand over his heart to add to the sincerity. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“Getting a doctorate,” you shrug, only now realizing that your hand is still holding onto Aaron’s arm, but he doesn’t seem fazed by it either, so you don’t move.

“Oh, alright,” Derek chuckles. “Hey Reid, we’ve got another doctor here.”

The man in question, Reid, looks up from the book he was reading with furrowed eyebrows. “Hi.” He waves.

“Hey,” you wave back. “What’re you reading?”

“War and Peace. In Russian, though.”

“In-- Wow, okay.”

“He’s a genius,” Morgan explains.

“I see that,” you chuckle.

Aaron finishes the introductions for you. “That’s JJ, handles the press for us because none of us want to do it.”

“He’s not wrong,” JJ replies with a laugh. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” you smile.

“You met Reid, his first name’s Spencer,” Aaron supplies, and Reid is too far gone in the book again to notice. “This is Emily Prentiss.”

“And I have been dying to meet you,” Emily says. “You are exactly how he described.”

“In a good way, I hope?” You laugh nervously.

She nods. “Definitely.”

Aaron points to the other woman at the counter. She’s dressed in all sorts of crazy colors with glasses that match her outfit. And before he can introduce her, she says, “I’m Penelope Garcia, technology extraordinaire. I keep them out of trouble.”

“And we love you for it,” Derek adds.

“And this is Dave,” Aaron finishes.

“It is very nice to finally meet you,” Dave says, and actually shakes your hand. “Do you know how to make carbonara?”

“Yes, actually,” you say, earning a surprised look from Aaron. “I went through a phase when I was younger, wanting to make anything and everything that sounded good, so I’ve made this a few times. My mom loves it.”

Dave loves the sound of that. “Would you like to help me?”

You practically light up inside and out. “Seriously? I’d love to!”

“Oh, here we go,” Derek groans. “He’s roped her in.”

You ignore him, slipping away from Aaron to grab the other apron off the hook by the entrance to the kitchen. You slide your head through the loop and tie it at the back in a matter of seconds, too excited to contain it.

“I almost went to culinary school, you know,” you say to no one in particular, but Aaron is listening, and so is Dave.

“Why didn’t you?” Aaron asks.

You shrug. “Didn’t seem practical.” Which isn’t the real answer at all. The real answer is you got your heart broken and needed to do a complete 180 in life, so you did. Culinary school was out. Getting a doctorate was in. You turn on the water in the sink and begin washing your hands. “What do you need me to do?”

For the next hour, you help Dave make the carbonara, occasionally answering any questions Aaron’s friends have for you.

Aaron pours you a glass of wine and sits at the counter, watching you cook. You look more at peace than he’s seen you since a few days ago when he first bumped into you again.

You catch him looking at you more than a handful of times. It feels good. Spending the evening with his friends, his team, with him. You’ve missed spending time with him more than anything else.

Dave serves up the carbonara, telling you to sit down since you helped so much already. You don’t make him ask twice.

+++

After dinner, everyone moves into the living room, scattering on the various couches and chairs. Reid has finished reading War and Peace, so the book sits discarded on one of the coffee tables.

You take the spot on the couch next to Aaron, careful not to spill your wine. Penelope sits on the other side of you, with Derek on her other side, which all but forces you to move closer to Aaron, and something about the look on Penelope’s face tells you it was done on purpose.

You’re not exactly complaining, though. With a full stomach and a fresh glass of wine, Aaron’s presence is even warmer than before. You pay no mind when he shifts his left arm, stretching it over the back of the couch and allowing you to scoot closer, your legs pressed against each other’s.

The conversation continues, and somehow the subject of relationships is brought up.

“Yeah, why was I the only one asked to bring someone?” Aaron asks. “I’d like to see all of you find a last minute date.”

Another warm rush goes through your body at the word date. This is a date. Alright then.

“I think you did just fine,” Dave says, nodding to you. “Don’t you?”

You shrug, not sure of what to make of it. “I’m having fun, so I guess so.”

“See?” Dave gives Aaron a look. “You did fine.”

Aaron gives his friend a tired glare. “Only because she happened to be back from getting her degrees. Otherwise, I would’ve been stuck.”

“Nah, man, you could’ve called Beth.”

You feel Aaron tense next to you, but you aren’t sure if he tensed up or if you did. Maybe both. Probably both. You weren’t aware there was someone else.

“Who’s Beth?” You ask as casually as possible, ignoring the heated glares Penelope, JJ, and Emily alike are sending Derek. Seriously, Derek would be dead three times over right now if looks could be deadly.

Aaron shrugs before answering you. “Her and I dated briefly last year.”

You nod slowly, trying not to seem hurt or upset or anything by this because it’s ridiculous of you to be fighting back tears, but you can’t help it.

It’s high school, goddamnit, it’s fucking high school all over again.

The topic of conversation shifts thanks to Reid being the endless supplier of random facts. One question about Russian from Emily and he’s taking over, washing the awkwardness away in two languages.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work as well for you as it does for everyone else.

You set your wine glass down on the table and tell Penelope you’re going to use the bathroom. You have no clue where it is, but she doesn’t know that.

Aaron does. And Aaron hears the tone of voice you use.

He waits until you’re down the hall before he stands to follow you, foregoing any explanation to his friends. They already know what he’s doing.

Aaron’s suspicions are correct when he hears the front door close and sees your coat no longer hanging next to his on the hook by the door. He grabs his and only gets one arm through a sleeve before he’s opening the door, eyes searching the premises for you.

Thankfully, he finds you after two seconds, and his racing heart slows a little. You’re standing by the reindeer lights on Dave’s front lawn. Your coat is only hanging on your shoulders, something you’ve always done since high school when you were upset.

“It feels more like a blanket,” you had told him one day. “Blankets are more comforting than jackets.”

He doesn’t see the difference, but you do, and that was enough for him.

He has both arms through the sleeves by the time he’s next to you. He gently touches your arm to get your attention, adding a soft, “Hey,” for good measure.

You turn your head at the sound, having already known he was coming because you heard the front door open. In the back of your mind, you had wanted him to follow you out here, but now that he’s done it, you aren’t so sure this is what you wanted.

You wanted to ignore the feeling. Get it to disappear on its own. Survive the night, then never talk to him again. You were heartbroken, but it was better when you weren’t speaking to him. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says softly. “Beth and I haven’t spoken since our last date a year ago. It was only three dates. We weren’t serious at all.” He pauses. “I have no idea why Derek said that. He doesn’t think before he speaks sometimes.”

You nod, not having it in you to laugh at Aaron’s small jab, even though he is entirely correct. Derek is a quick thinker with a sharp wit, but you can see how it might backfire sometimes. Like tonight.

You believe Aaron, you really do. But it’s so hard. “Did you love her?”

Aaron is stunned for a moment, but says, “No. I don’t think I did.”

“Okay.” You shake your head, looking down at the grass. “I’m just trying to figure out why Derek would’ve brought her up if...if you guys dated so briefly.”

Aaron sighs. “I don’t know.”

“And is this a date?” You blurt, finally finding the courage to get that one out. “Because if it is, I…I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

You shake your head again, trying to find the right words, but they always seem out of reach. “Just...tell me this won’t be like high school.”

This time Aaron is too stunned to form a real answer. “What?”

“Please,” you sound like you’re about to cry and you feel so pathetic that you wish you had never agreed to come tonight. But you’re here anyway. “I was in love with you then, and I’m still in love with you now, but I can’t do that again. So if this is a just friends thing and always will be, I need you to tell me before I hurt myself all over again.”

Aaron can’t believe his ears. He swears he heard you wrong. He must have. “You were in love with me in high school, too?”

“Yes-- Wait, too? What do you mean too?” Now you’re looking at him, eyes wide in confusion, shock, every emotion possible. “Too?”

“I was in love with you, Y/N,” he chuckles, reaching for your hands. “I thought you just saw me as an older brother. That’s why I never...said anything.”

“What?” You breathe, letting him thread his fingers through yours. “Are you serious? You better not be pulling my leg, Hotchner. Don’t do that to me.” You tug on his hands for emphasis, giving him a stern look.

“I’m not joking,” he says, taking a step closer. “I wouldn’t joke about this.”

“Oh my god,” you say, disbelief a powerful thief of words. “I can’t believe… So you went after Haley because…”

“Because I heard from one of her friends that she had a crush on me,” he admits. “I did love her, but not as much as I loved you. Never as much as I loved you.”

You don’t know what else to do or say. He looks so beautiful in this light that it hurts, and now he’s saying words you never thought you’d ever hear.

“Do you forgive me?” He asks. “For breaking your heart?”

“Only if you forgive me for breaking yours,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “I broke my own. I should’ve told you how I felt.” He pauses. “I even talked to you about Haley all the time. Is that why you didn’t say goodbye to me?”

You nod. “It sounds so stupid now, but I was so hurt.”

“I’m an idiot,” he laughs. “I’m the dumbest fool to ever walk the Earth.”

“We both are,” you correct him, taking a step closer. It’s cold out here, but he’s warm. He’s always been so warm. Like home.

And you-- you’ve always been who Aaron thinks of when he thinks about being happy. It’s always been you. A moment like this, and a thousand others. He wants them all. And to think, you do too.

His lips meet yours in a long-awaited kiss, cold noses bumping against one another, his warm hands holding your face, your chilled fingers finding their home on his neck, stealing his warmth.

From the window, the team watches, and Emily exchanges money with Derek.

#winter love #all i want for christmas is you #aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x you #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner christmas fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch fanfic #hotch fanfiction #criminal minds christmas fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #merry christmas #!!! #<3 #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #small angst with a happy ending #angst with a happy ending #mostly tooth rotting fluff tbh

[gemma-collins-ily]

It’s my birthday today and I was wondering if you could do Jesper celebrating the reader’s birthday?

Jesper Celebrating the Reader's Birthday

a/n - keep in mind, fics don't normally come out this quickly, but I saw this and wanted to release it on your special day! This may be a little uncoordinated but I hope you enjoy and have a brilliant day! Also, just to let everyone know, requests are closed for a few days, just so I can catch up on requests xoxo 💞

Warnings: nothing?

Tagged: @mrs-brekker15 @i-am-the-1930s @inthegistoftime

it is guaranteed

you hear me?

guaranteed

that he will try to plan you a party

it's Jesper, he has to

so he'll set up streamers and a huge poster displaying your age

for all who enter the Slat to see

he'll get Nina to distract you, taking you out for waffles probably

his words would probably be exactly like this:

"I don't know Neens, just take them away from the Slat and don't come back till, like ummm seven."

she'd look at the half hung decorations and many more still in boxes disapprovingly and ask:

"You didn't plan this out did you?"

"Are you accusing me, the Jesper Fahey, himself, of being disorganised?"

She grabbed her coat and you, covering your eyes as she went, very clearly conveying something was happening, then left without a word more.

so, by now, you knew something was happening

or at least suspected it

but would go along with it for Jesper

trailing after Nina until your feet were sore

finally having enough and asking if you could stop and sit on a bench

she agreed with a groan

so, she was obviously tired too

"How long do we need to stay out?"

"I really do not know what you're talking about, (Y/N)."

"Come on, I know there's a surprise back at the Slat, I just need to know how long I have to wait to go home."

she'd continue to blatantly refuse the very idea of a surprise until she randomly gave in

and you'd smirk, happy to get the answer

as soon as it neared seven, she'd try to drag you back to the Slat but you'd tell her they wouldn't be ready yet

Nina would not listen and take you firmly by the wrist, marching back to the Slat

when you got there you were right

of course

bestie, can you predict the future?

no, actually

you just know how frazzled your boyfriend can get

but you were surprised to see even Kaz was helping

it did not look like he wanted to be there voluntarily

but still

you take what you can get

it was an effort so you appreciated it

when Nina would let out a dramatic gasp at the sight of Kaz Brekker hanging up decor, Jes would notice you

yelling at Nina to take you out again or to your room

just go over and peck him on the lips, tell him you don't really care about the streamers and he'll relax

even if he wanted it to be perfect

you have all the calming techniques down bestie

Kaz will sigh exaggeratingly and drop the colourful swirly thing he was eyeing with disgust

it would be between his forefinger and thumb as he did so

and this meant it was twice as funny to you

oops you may have laughed

you received a glare in return

aww such a nice present

everyone say thank you Kaz

anyway

there's probably a table with gifts on it

kaz got you a new book

but left it anonymously

no message on the tag even if you know it's him

you thank him and he pretends he has no clue who gave it to you

"Awwww, thanks Kaz."

"I didn't get you a gift, (Y/N). It's obviously from someone else."

Inej would get you some sort of herbal tea I think

if you don't like tea then it's probably also a book

wow what a match for those two

thinking the same thoughts

Nina may have forgotten to get a present and would promise waffles instead

or she'd have tried to sneakily get a board game while you were out earlier

you acted like you did not notice

it's a grammy award for you

Matthias could have either gotten you some kruge because he wasn't sure what you wanted

or a new scarf, coat ect.

he has a pretty good taste in fashion

now, Jesper would either wait till later to give you his gifts

because aww, sentimentality

or he'd give you them with everyone else's to make you blush publicly

at that point, you wouldn't care

either way, he'd keep at least one spare to give to you in private

I think his gifts would be a little something like this:

a type of jewelry, whether it be a necklace or an anklet, it would have a J on it

he probably bought a matching one for him with your initial on it too

a necklace feels a little more personal but could be taken advantage of by enemies

like in finding out you were together

not like it was oBVIOUS or anything

but an anklet would ultimately be sturdier and less likely to be taken as a means of affection from a loved one

so anklet it is

chocolates that are actually quite rich in flavour and are rare in Ketterdam

he saved up some money for those

if you like to play with his rings

he'll have bought you one

again, it may be a little blander to avoid it being interpreted as a gift of love by enemies

you didn't mind it being a little more hidden

Jesper was happy with you and you with Jesper

so you felt no need to show off to the world

you would probably take it off if you had to do any good old fashioned fist fighting

pocketing it quickly

he'd also give you a nail makeover the next day

but you would have to paint on his nails in return because if he tried, he would probably mess up while using his non-dominant hand to paint the other

you could match because #couplegoals

he'd bring you breakfast in bed the day after your birthday

being so busy planning the day before, he didn't get you any

I hate to disappoint but it would not be made by him

he would burn everything

so Matthias' second present to you is the breakfast

delivered by Jesper

he'd probably be sat at the counter making snarky remarks about Matthias' cooking

until he got whacked with a tea towel

if you're an early bird

Jes would be given the task of distracting you and stopping you from walking downstairs

or getting out of bed at all

this could be easily done with the persuasion of cuddles

then Matthias would yell for him and he'd have to leave to get the tray

when he brings it up he'll sit you between his legs, leaning your back against his chest and resting the tray on your knees

may feed you bites that sOMEHOW end up like a lady and the tramp scene

even if it's a slice of french toast, he'll manage

would tactfully steal little bits off your plate

and you couldn't really be mad at him because he would just smile charmingly

(maybe with half a piece of bacon sticking out of the side of his mouth)

but charming none the less

he might have a gift hidden in the corner of a chest of drawers somewhere you find one day and he remembers he was supposed to wrap that up and give it to you

if it's almost a year later and near your next birthday

just leave it on his dresser

no words need to be exchanged

the only difference is now one of your presents is less of a surprise

oh cards

kaz would write in his a simple,

'Inej made me write this. Have a good day. You are one year closer to being dead. Congratulations.

-Signed sincerely, Kaz Brekker'

Nina and Matthias share a card

meaning she wrote it and he signed his name with an extra

'I hope you have a lovely day, (Y/N).'

Nina's message/ the main one in the card would be:

'I can't believe we're all growing so old now! Anyway, we love you, hope you enjoy the presents and your birthday. You deserve it! Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Nina'

Inej's would have a very sincere message:

'(Y/N),

You are truly a wonderful friend and person, helping everyone with anything they may need. I feel so lucky to have you as my friend and I hope you will continue to be for years to come. You deserve a fantastic day and I hope you get one, I know Jes will try to make it perfect!

-From, Inej x

p.s - I tried to get Kaz to sign a card, but he was smirking and wouldn't let me see it before he put it in the envelope, so I'm terribly sorry if it's rude.'

now to Jesper's

'Love,

I adore you with all my heart and wish you a truly happy birthday. I hope you like the gifts I bought, I wanted to symbolise my love for you through each. I know one or two presents are a little bland but I hope they mean as much to you as they do to me. You are the most amazing partner I could ever dream of having, and every time you do something, I never expect it.

You are unpredictable, my love, and I can honestly say I do not mind it. In fact, it is one of the many factors that made me fall in love with you. Have a happy birthday!

-Love from Jesper, xxx

p.s - Kaz looked terrifyingly happy when he finished signing your card so be careful, he probably pulled something.

you might have cried

yes

you, a Crow, feared on the streets sniffled over even Kaz's message

knowing if he didn't actually want to, there was no way he would have signed that card

all in all, you have a great birthday and Jesper (and everyone else) makes you feel really special

#jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey x you #jesper fahey fluff #jesper fahey fics #jesper fahey imagine #jesper fahey headcanons #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone imagine

[milkiane]

revelations and confessions

pairings: regulus black x reader

warnings: mentions of food, mention of abuse, manipulative parents, getting tied up, jily, implied wolfstar

word count: 5548

note: for @rcwenaclaw’s writing challenge — this is my favorite fic so far <3 s/o to @iwritesiriusly and @hellounicorn for listening to me rant and and rave about y/n and reggie, u’re the best mwah

“... and you would be married to the crowned heir of grimmauld by the end of the month,” your father declared.

if you have been listening to what you’ve been blindly agreeing to, you would have had the opportunity to assert your own appraisals of the sudden betrothal.

you choked on your food, earning concerned gasps and theatrical pats by the maids, “‘m fine, ‘m fine,”

your parents stared at you with iffy looks as you cleared your throat, “i thought we’ve agreed years ago that i wouldn’t be betrothed to some high-strung bloke i’ve never met before?”

your mother pursed her lips before giving you a well-mannered response, “well, dear, we ought to make some amends with that agreement,”

you just stared at her with a blank expression so she continued, “and we believe that it would be for the amelioration of our country, considering that the blacks are quite exceptional and-”

“and rich?” you smiled derisively, cutting her off.

your father looked around the royal maids and guards around the dining room, “may you excuse us for a moment?” to which they nodded and left.

he sighed, “look, y/n, i’m aware that you’re upset-”

you scoffed, “i am more than upset, father. you agreed that i will be married on my own time, on my own accord,”

“and i am the king, you ought to meet my commands.” your father bellowed, slamming the silver utensils on the table, making you and your mother flinch.

he cleared his throat, calming himself down, “tell your matron to arrange your attire for this week, we must meet the blacks tomorrow evening at the grand chateau, and i shan’t hear any more complaints.”

“yes, father,” you mumbled, excusing yourself from the table to make your way towards your bedroom, eyes becoming glassy from the upcoming tears.

you arrived at the chateau a few hours before the royal gathering with the blacks, meaning you would have enough time to devise an escape plan.

you haven’t spoken to your parents unless you’re absolutely required to, you know that you shouldn’t be disobeying them, but they should have known from just acknowledging your mindset and behavior.

you weren’t the usual prim and proper princess, no. you are your own person, you’re noble when strictly necessary, but, in all honesty, your personality was far from dainty.

you wouldn’t have chosen to have this life if you could. as fun as it was to play dress up in magnificent ball gowns, you would have chosen a life full of adventures, skinny jeans, crop tops, and dyed hair instead.

the matron knocked on your door, bringing in the gorgeous dress robes that you’re supposed to wear for later evening.

you gratefully smiled at her, asking her to give yourself some time to prepare by yourself until the formal reception.

as you hung it over with your other dresses and gowns, you walked towards the balcony, breathing in some fresh air. it had a clear view of the beautiful gardens of the chateau, the same balconies from your left and right.

you flopped yourself down on the queen-sized bed, staring at the ceiling as you thought of possible ways to avoid the betrothal.

none of your ideas sounded good enough, so you turned on the television in front of your bed to distract yourself from the inevitable proposal.

flipping through the channels, you stopped to watch audrey hepburn’s roman holiday.

when you’ve watched the scene where she snuck out of the castle, an idea popped up in your head. you knew it was impossible, of course, but it was worth a shot.

you glanced at the clock, you still had at least an hour and a half before the matron would come back to get you.

grabbing the satchel you’ve bought at a fair once, you made your way towards the elegant bathroom. you shuffled through the things, you knew that if your mother found out about your clandestine possessions, she would go calling you atrocious for merlin knows how long.

you slipped on your cargo shorts and a halter top. you stared at your long hair, you knew that if you wanted to slip away easily from the guards’ line of vision, you had to make some adjustments.

you grabbed the scissors from the corner of the countertop, taking a deep breath before snipping a lengthy portion.

you let out a hushed squeal, laughing as you stared at the chopped-off hair. you continued cropping and trimming until your hair became an uneven bob cut.

not bad, you grinned, cutting a few more strands to add curtain bangs, impeccable.

you scuffled deeper into the bag, your hand retrieving a bagged pink wig. perfect.

you started packing a few essential needs in your satchel.

you looked out the window, the sun had set an hour ago, meaning it was dark out. which also means it would be easier for you to sneak out.

you had at least ten minutes before meeting the blacks so you immediately stared across the room, looking for something to act as a rope.

stopping at the closet of gowns, you groaned in reluctance. you loved your gowns too much but you wouldn’t risk getting married, so you grabbed the scissors, ripping them up and tying them together.

once you’ve ensured that it was tight enough, you fastened it around the huge handles of the door and threw your makeshift rope out the balcony.

when you heard the whispers and footsteps of people coming you hastily grabbed your bag and ran towards the balcony.

you carefully grabbed onto the silk, lowering yourself down.

a noise from your right caught your attention, making you freeze. you snapped your head to the balcony next to you and made eye contact with a boy doing the same thing.

your prolonged eye contact was cut short when the doors to your room burst open, making you yelp in surprise as your rope had a sudden shift.

you could hear your matron holler for the guards, so you briskly lowered yourself faster, the friction of the silk burning against your hands.

you landed on your feet the same time as the mysterious guy did.

he made a run for it, dodging the bushes and flowers across the garden. his trousers not giving him any justice.

you were not too far behind him, thanking merlin that your yoga and workout lessons paid off.

the yells of the guards caught your attention, surrounding you and the man in the middle.

they all pointed their blades at you, making you gulp.

there goes your escape plan.

“which one of you has the princess?” a guard shouted, shifting the lamp between you and him. each one of the men slowly closing in on you.

that’s when you realized that they weren’t your palace guards. they were merely the chateau’s security.

“does it look like we have a princess with us?” the boy beside you refuted, gesturing between the both of you.

ten guards.

one of them asked their superintendent, “what was the description given?”

“long h/c hair, s/c skin, e/c eyes, last seen wearing a peach nightgown,”

they turned their gaze back at you, one of them approaching you to take a good look, “wait a minute,”

you sucked in a breath, but before any of you could make a move, the guy grabbed your hand and ran, swerving through the distracted guards.

“oi!”

but you already had a head start, you were out of the gates and into the forest the moment they called for backup.

you ran, and ran, and ran.

the adrenaline coursing in your veins had done nothing to stop you from running, it made you feel so free, so alleviated.

so alleviated that you didn’t notice the huge rock that made you stumble, but before you could even hit the ground, the man caught your arm, pulling you against him.

and you were certain that time stopped when you finally locked eyes with him. specks of green and blue surrounding his alluring hazel eyes.

they said that when you meet someone for the first time, they would either be nothing more than another face amongst the crowds of memories or a face that would be burning at the back of your mind for a long time.

it was the latter.

the moonlight was shining over the both of you, the soft light making him look so ethereal. his celestial facial structure giving the famed sculptures a run for their money.

regulus looked at you in awe, neglecting the fact that you almost fell flat on your face. his gaze fell onto your gentle e/c eyes, the smooth arch of your nose, and the sleek curve of the cupid’s bow on your lips.

you would’ve loved staying in that position, admiring the young man for the first time every chance you would be given, but alas, the distant shouts of the guards forbade you from doing it any longer.

“who are you, anyway?” the guy asked. after successfully carrying out your escape plan, with your pink wig askew, he offered to buy you a mug of warm butterbeer at the nearby pub; the leaky cauldron.

you removed the wig from your head’s hold, ruffling your hair a bit to soothe the headache. your eyes searched around the room, looking for a possible new name.

“erm,” guest singer, liane moonshine, “miliane…” holyhead harpies quidditch poster, “harper.” you finished, “miliane harper, yeah,”

he eyed you suspiciously as he took a sip from his drink, “alright, miliane harper, what’re you doing sneaking out’f the princess’ bedroom like that?”

“i could ask you the same thing, stranger,” you mused, fiddling with the straps of your satchel.

“regulus,” he said, “call me regulus,”

“what were you doing sneaking out next door, regulus?”

“i asked you first,” he said, shooting you a pointed look.

thinking of a reasonable explanation, you mumbled, “stealing?” you winced, cursing yourself for hesitating.

“a’right, here’s the deal, miliane harper, because i know f’myself that you aren’t who you claim to be and you certainly weren’t there to steal,” he whispered, leaning in ‘til his face was a few inches away from yours, “now, ‘m gonna ask you one last time, who. are. you?”

you gulped, faintly murmuring your answer, “the crowned heiress of diagon.”

“salazar,” regulus cursed, “you’re princess y/n?”

you shushed him, shoving your hand to cover his mouth as a few heads turned to look at the both of you. you were certain that your parents have sent a search team to look for you by now.

“yes, but be quiet, would you?” you hissed, retracting your hand to curtain your face with your hair, avoiding the curious gazes amongst the patrons.

he blinked at you, leaning back on his chair. he observed your appearance for a bit before snorting, “your hair, it’s uneven!”

your face flushed a deep shade of red, your hand automatically clutching your hair. you scowled at him, “how long have you been aching to tell me that?”

he chuckled, “ever since you took off your wig,” seeing that you rolled your eyes, he continued, “don’t worry, y/n, you look quite beauteous, if i must say.”

“i don’t require you to flatter me, regulus,” you scoffed, grabbing your mug to take a drink, though before the rim of the mug reached your lips, regulus set a few galleons down on the table and spoke up, “as fun as it was to meet you, your highness, i’ve got some places to go,”

“what?”

“good luck with this endeavor of yours, but i mustn’t risk being one of your accomplices,” he quipped, wearing his sweater, “fare thee well.”

it took you a moment to finish your drink and grab your things before leaving the low-lit pub. your eyes searched amongst the throng of people, trying to catch the sight of his brunette curls.

you hurried beside him, trying to avoid bumping into the others. you grew quite fond of the handsome lad who ran with you, despite the fact that he was still nothing but an enigma to you.

“mind if i join you?” you sought, clasping your hands in front of you, walking side-by-side with him.

regulus groaned silently, he looked down at you and sarcastically replied, “it’s a free country,”

you rolled your eyes and responded with a retort of your own, “actually, it’s a monarchy occupied by foreign oppressors.”

he ignored your sardonic comment and asked you a question to defuse the gauche atmosphere, “why’d you run away, princess?”

you looked at him, “y’know, i’m not really obliged to answer your question,”

“i… am well aware of that,” he huffed amusingly, “but given the fact that we’re going merlin knows where, i’d rather have a conversation going than walking in utter silence.”

regulus had a gist of why you ran away, assuming that you had the same reason as him.

you laughed softly before staring at your white tennis shoes, “‘ve been betrothed, and i was s’pposed to meet the lucky bloke who’ll have my hand in marriage,”

regulus swallowed the lump in his throat.

“what about you, regulus?” you asked, “why were you running away?”

“oh,” he let out a nervous laugh, “i- stealing.”

you gave him a keen look, “i used that excuse not too long ago, if you’ve forgotten,”

he smiled tensely, “f’real though, the prince owed me something, and i’d be pleased if he returned the favor.”

you huffed, not sure if you’d believe him, but thankfully for regulus, you caught sight of your palace guards questioning some people about your whereabouts, “shit,”

you immediately linked your arm with his and whispered, “palace guards, let’s go. just- act normal,”

he carefully unhooked your hold, opting to snake his arm around your waist instead, evidently making both of you flustered.

you let out a sigh of relief when you passed by them without causing any havoc, though it was short-lived when one of them called out, “excuse me, sir, ma’am?”

the both of you continued walking, slightly hurrying your steps.

regulus hauled a carriage and helped you get in, “godric’s hollow, please,”

the guards left standing behind, one of them writing down the descriptions of the suspicious couple and the carriage they’re in.

“where are we?” you asked, looking up at the lovely cottage amongst the rows of houses.

regulus sighed, “godric’s hollow,” he walked up from the gate and knocked on their doorstep, stepping back to wait for someone to open the door.

you hummed, “alright, but what exactly’re we doing here?”

merlin must’ve been on his side again because before he could even reply, a beautiful red-headed woman opened the door.

she must’ve been taken aback for a moment because her eyebrows shot up and mouth agape. she stuttered, “i- regulus, hey,”

“evans,” he nodded politely, “is, erm, sirius with you?”

she licked her lips, “it’s actually potter now,” she showed her wedding ring, “and uhm, yes, give me a moment.”

she shuffled back inside, letting the door open but didn’t make a move to invite you in.

“she’s lovely,” you jutted out your bottom lip.

���reggie?” another man, another attractive man, whom you were assuming was sirius, inquired.

“sirius,” he greeted.

the tension was so thick that you could feel it enveloping you with warmth. or that may just be because of the additional presence of the bespectacled man behind the redhead.

“i don’t mean to be rude but are we all going to just stand in here,” you awkwardly shuffled on your feet, “or are you gonna let us in?”

sirius looked at you in wonder, “i- oh, yes, yeah!”

the man whose presence was still looming over, blinked at him, a small smile tugging at his lips as he huffed amusingly at his best friend, letting you in. you looked around the house, the atmosphere giving you a sense of comfort and a feeling of home you’ve never felt.

“james potter,” he grinned at you, “and this is my lovely wife, lily.”

“y/n l/n, the heiress of dia--” you paused, “actually, it’s just y/n. sorry, force of habit.” you chuckled sheepishly, fiddling with your fingers as they looked at you in surprise.

you wondered if you could trust that they wouldn’t send you back to your kingdom.

“you’re the crowned princess of diagon?” lily spluttered.

you smiled bashfully, “i may or may not be?”

“merlin, what’re you doing here? guards’re all over the place, knocking on doors n’all,” sirius remarked, his eyes not leaving yours.

“i also may or may not have ran away?” you grinned, scrunching your nose which both the black brothers found quite endearing.

“i would love to continue the chit chat, but d’you mind letting us stay here for a while?” regulus interrupted, but before they could even answer, a knock was heard from the door, “diagon sovereignty wards, we’ve got a couple of questions to ask.”

you cursed silently, sirius and lily quietly ushered you into the living room whilst james went to get the door.

“good evening, sir, we’ve been alerted that you’ve had some contact with these people?” a guard asked, pulling up a sketch of you and regulus.

james smiled warmly, “i’m sorry, but i reckon you’ve got the wrong person. ‘tis just me and my wife, and my best mate in ‘ere,”

they nodded politely, “that’ll be all. thank you, sir, have a great evening.”

as soon as he closed the door, james sauntered back into the living room, looking at the worrying looks on your and regulus’ faces.

he and lily exchanged glances before she smiled softly, “i’ll go prepare the guest room.”

it was deep into the night, the potter household was surrounded by a quiet and serene atmosphere as the people living in it had already dozed off, yet you and regulus were far from drifting off to a dreamy slumber.

both of you had your backs against the headboard of the queen-sized bed you were supposed to share, staring into the void of nothingness as you let the comfortable aura rage around you.

“regulus?” you whispered. as if once you’ve spoken even a tad bit louder, the brittleness of the atmosphere would break.

he turned to look at you, “yeah?”

“what’s your biggest regret in life?” you wondered, voice laced with drowsiness. the adrenaline from a while ago slowly fading away, now being replaced with exhaustion.

regulus pondered for a moment. he had a lot of regrets, letting his parents abuse him and sirius, letting sirius just leave him alone in the dark and lonely castle, not living his best childhood. he had plenty, and lying to you was one of them.

he hummed, “i suppose being a coward,”

you fluffed your pillows and lowered yourself on the bed. you yawned, “i don’t think you’re a coward, regulus. after all, you just ran away with a princess.”

regulus looked at you fondly, watching as you slowly succumbed to sleep. he smiled softly, “yeah,”

your stay with the potters, and sirius, has been wonderful. you’ve felt more at home in godric’s hollow than in your palace. no amount of grandeur wealth would compare to the amount of love and belonging you’ve felt in your sojourn.

regulus has successfully managed to keep their mouths shut about him being a prince as well. the conversation and intention still went unnoticed by you.

you and lily have been the bestest of friends. the sweet girl that made you feel more at home than anyone else could, an evident friendship blossoming into a charming one.

james and sirius welcomed you into their arms as if you were one of their long-lost mates, and quite literally if you must say. they locked you beneath their armpits and ruffled your hair one game night.

you were convinced that james was the human embodiment of a ball of sunshine, never failing to put a smile on your faces. sirius had more of a flirty demeanor, which you’ve brushed off with a quip or two of your own.

“does the princess have a prince charming or do i have to step up?”

“not every prince is charming, sirius.”

and regulus— you’ve grown closer to regulus than you’ve ever had with anyone, getting to know each other more, spending more late nights talking about everything and nothing, and not that any of you would admit it, but inevitably falling in love was part of the list.

you and lily were in her room, she was lending you some clothes to wear as all of you have made a plan to go to the market fair in town.

james was on the phone with remus, asking him to meet up at the place whilst sirius and regulus were in the living room, catching up after a few years of not seeing each other.

sirius has grown quite fond of the princess. not that he was catching feelings, but a date wouldn’t sound too bad, if he must say, so he asked his brother, “d’you reckon y/n would fancy a date w’me? maybe i could bring her to hogsmeade,”

and to say that he was dumbstruck when he heard that was an understatement, “what? no, you can’t,”

sirius looked at him with a confused expression, “how come?”

regulus hesitated, “she’s… betrothed.”

the eldest black brother scoffed, “yeah, t’you, and she doesn’t even know that you’re that bloke,”

regulus shook his head, sitting up straight as he heard your giggles from upstairs, “just- don’t, sirius.”

padfoot grinned at his brother in realization, “by the love of merlin! you love her, don’t you?” he teased, bumping their shoulders together.

“let’s go, handsomes, i’m not getting any younger here!” you laughed. regulus thought you looked angelic, the white dress hugging your curves in the most surreal way possible, the smile on your face proving that any blue day would get better with just a glimpse of it.

“this isn’t over, reggie,” sirius sang mockingly, getting up and linking his arm with yours.

the market fair in godric’s hollow is incredibly enchanting. fairy lights were hanging above the booths, multitudes of colorful stalls, the smell of the amazing street food, and the bubbly spirits of the people mingling around had you in a state of awe.

you went in separate groups, lily with james, sirius went off to find remus, and you were stuck with regulus— not that you were complaining, really.

you dragged regulus by one of the stalls that sold clothes, wanting to buy a few to avoid borrowing more from lily.

you were currently strolling around with him, your shopping bags in his hold as he insisted to carry them for you.

whilst you stopped to look at the fancy daggers, regulus caught sight of a gorgeous necklace. convincing himself that it would only take a few minutes, he left your side and onto the booth to buy the jewelry for you.

once you’ve managed to choose a design, you paid for the dagger and strapped it on your thigh with the holster you bought, “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

when he didn’t reply, you looked up to where he was standing just a few moments ago to find that he wasn’t by your side.

you crooned your neck to look around but instead of seeing him, you saw your palace guards slowly approaching you.

you cursed, turning around and running away from them, making them step up quickly and ran after you.

“regulus!” you called out, hoping that he’ll hear you.

“regulus!” you tried once more, and he finally heard you. he immediately pocketed the paid necklace and dropped the bags as he tried to run after you, “y/n!” but it was too late.

the guards were already surrounding you, two of them managed to carry you to a carriage while you thrashed around, “let me go! i don’t want to go back, please!” you cried, “regulus!”

regulus was running around the big plaza, trying to figure out where your voice was coming from.

the carriage was already a menacing dot as it continued to advance forward, leaving regulus frustrated and broken.

“what were you thinking running away like that?” your father barked, pacing back and forth on the castle’s lounge, “d’you know how ashamed we were when we found out that you snuck off? even more so whe-”

your father stopped talking when your mother gave him a stern look. an expression you know all too well when they didn’t want you to know something.

“it came to our attention that you ran away with regulus, yes?” your mother asked, giving you a tense smile.

you didn’t answer. looking at your parents with hatred as your eyes blurred with tears.

she sighed, “well, if you must know, he was the one who called for the guards. he knew about the huge amount of payment if someone gave you up. he contacted the palace guards before you even stepped foot in that repugnant marketplace.”

“no,” you let out a teary laughed, “regulus would never do that,”

he would never. especially after all those moments you’ve shared, those constant touches, the sneaky eye contacts. he would never.

“no? then where was he when you called for him?” your mother scoffed, a sly smirk on her face.

you glared at them, taking a shaky breath, “i-”

she tutted, “i’m not done just yet, my dear daughter. you will be married to lord riddle, on the contrary, seeing that the walburga and orion’s son was quite… negligent,”

“i will not be married to anyone!” you objected, “if there’s anyone i’d rather get married to, it would be regulus.”

your mother let out a cackle, “quite amusing if you asked me, dear, because regulus was the prince you were supposed to marry!”

you froze, managing to croak out a small, “what?”

your father chuckled, “oh, don’t tell me he didn’t tell you that?”

you swallowed the forming lump in your throat, “i hope you rot in hell.”

your mother scowled at you, “guards! bring her to the room.”

“i don’t need bodyguards surrounding me all the time, mother,” you spat, “i may be of the royal bloodline, but i am no weakling.”

“... and don’t forget to tie her up,” she smirked.

before you could even react, you were hauled up by your arms, screaming at them to let you go.

you made sure to give them a hard time while they walked up the stairs. once arriving at your room, they threw you on the carpeted floor with a right thump.

you flailed around, whimpering as they tied your arms and legs, “stop, stop, stop. please,” but they paid you no mind, leaving you alone in the dark.

after a few hours of trying to remove the rope from your limbs, and a few chaffings later, you ultimately gave up on trying. you didn’t know what your parents’ plan was but you were quite grateful for the noise and crashing outside your door.

crawling a bit towards your door, your forearm brushed against something rough on your thighs. you cursed yourself for being dense, and lifted your dress a bit, carefully grabbing your new rose gold dagger from its holster.

when you heard the jingling of your door, you hastily tried to cut the rope from your wrists.

you cussed as you dropped it on the floor, you tried to get a hold of it once more when the door suddenly burst open.

“y/n!” regulus breathed out in relief, he rushed by your side, grabbing your fallen dagger and cutting the ropes. your eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, before turning your gaze to the man you’ve fallen in love with, the same man who lied to you.

sirius approached the both of you, trying to tell you to hurry up before the guards caught up with them, “let’s go!”

“are you alright?” regulus asked, cupping your face in his hands.

you glared at him, rubbing your arms to soothe the burning, “don’t touch me.”

you stood up, grabbing the dagger from his hand, and placed it back on your holster. you snatched your satchel from the floor and started packing a few necessities that could fit in.

regulus looked at you in confusion and hurt, standing up as you shuffled around the room, “what’s wrong?”

you ignored him, shoving past him, and made your way towards sirius, who just shrugged at his brother.

the three of you sneaked past the guards and the members of the order, successfully escaping and meeting up with lily and james at the entrance.

“oh, merlin!” lily brought you in a hug, “are you alright, y/n?”

“lily,” you breathed out, hugging her back. you closed your eyes in relief, letting out a teary laugh, “i’m alright, don’t worry,”

“we’ve got to go, they’ll catch up soon enough if we don’t leave,” james said, “‘m sure frank and the rest got ‘em distracted for a while.”

arriving back at the potter household, they let you retire back at the guest room, regulus following in suit.

“hey, y/n, what’s wrong?” regulus asked, grabbing your arm so you’re facing him.

you looked at him in anger and hurt, “you lied to me!”

“wha- what did i lie about? i don’t understand,” regulus was dumbstruck, he didn’t know what you were talking about until he remembered all about the betrothal. he looked down in guilt.

“stop the act, regulus. you were the one i was supposed to marry,” you whispered, “why did you lie to me?”

regulus sighed, sitting down on the bed as he ran a hand through his hair, “i was scared, alright? i was scared because i fell for you, y/n, and when i found out that you didn’t want to marry me, i didn’t know what to do… so i lied because i was afraid that you’d go if i told you that i was the prince.”

“and it’s terrifying how i would’ve given you the stars if you asked,” he chuckled softly, “but i chose to keep that to myself because that’s how much of a coward i am…”

“reg, i didn’t even know that it was you,” you frowned, expression softening as you sat down beside him, “and i frankly don’t care about the stars, or anything at all, honestly, because all i want is you, regulus,”

“don’t be so sure about that, y/n,” he breathed out, “if you’ve known that it was me, you wouldn’t agree to marry me.”

“you’re right,” you nodded, smiling softly, “i wouldn’t marry you because of some stupid betrothal, i’d marry you because i love you, regulus black, and i know f’myself that you’re the man that i would love to spend the rest of my life with.”

he looked at you with adoration and love in his eyes, a small smile adorning his lips.

regulus tucked the loose strand of hair behind your hair, his eyes shifting from your eyes down to your lips, “may i?”

not trusting your words, you nodded instead, slowly leaning in. regulus cupped the side of your face with his hand, your hand running through his brown curls as the both of you drew closer. eyes fluttering close as you felt the soft, warmth of his lips caress your own.

after a few moments, he pulled away slowly, pressing his forehead against your own, smiling softly at the result of the sudden revelations and confessions.

“let’s run away, regulus,” you whispered, “away from here and our wretched parents.”

“yeah?” he chuckled softly, “where’d you want to go, m’love?”

“italy.”

“... and they lived happily ever after.” you smiled softly.

“mum, what happened in italy?” your daughter asked, hugging her teddy bear as she looked up at you and regulus with her doe eyes.

regulus hummed, “they settled down in florence, italy, with the help of the marauders-”

“dad, who are the marauders?” your son questioned, exchanging looks with his sister and his cousin, harry.

“they’re the best friends of the prince and princess, orion,” james grinned, snaking his arm around lily’s waist.

“what happened next, aunt y/n?”

“well, they had a small wedding by the beach, they traveled around the world, had kids, and are now telling their stories to their adorable kids and godson,” you smiled, “and the said kids and godson should be asleep in the next five minutes.”

the three of them let out simultaneous groans. you, regulus, and the marauders had small smiles on your faces, finding the situation amusing.

“good night, my darlings, we love you,” you and regulus kissed their foreheads and tucked them in bed, as lily and james did the same with harry.

after ensuring that they were fast asleep, you and the rest went back down to the living room.

sirius grinned, grabbing the firewhiskeys and crisps out of the bag, “they finally went to sleep?”

“yeah,” you smiled, fiddling with the moonstone necklace regulus bought you from the fair, “guess our story worked perfectly fine as a bedtime tale, didn’t it, reggie?”

“indeed it did, m’love,” he kissed the top of your head, sitting down on the couch for your traditional game night.

general taglist: @daltonacademia @inks-and-jinx @weasleyyy @oldschoolkiddo @accioweaslcy @inglourious-imagines @peterssweetpea @iwritesiriusly @fives-cup-of-coffee @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @band--psycho @marswilson24 @miraclesoflove @chokemepansy @spideyspixies @lolooo22 @justfangirlthingies @sw33tgirl @remugoodgirl @tatestripedsweater @gryffindorgirly @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

marauders taglist: @sweetnspicysimp @cherie-draco @eunoniaa @acosmis-t @amrtxntias @cedrics-grave @dracosgoodgirl @msmb

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[pleasantanathema]

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Revelations 

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of death, violence enemies to lovers, angst, and eventual smut (ohohoho we’re so hot on it now, just wait until the end of this one)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Thank you so, so much to everyone who has left comments, screamed in reblog tags, and just encouraged me to create this story. I have never felt so much love for a fic in the time I’ve been writing.

This chapter reveals a lot, and it’s a little longer than the rest, but it’s for good reason- the end of this is one of my favorite things I’ve written.

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        Reiner’s apartment truly wasn’t much. You thought he’d been joking, perhaps was even being humble, but the small studio apartment was quite dismal. The walls were stark white, a few faded posters peeling off the wall from neglect, a couple of medals and trophies lining a small bookshelf that was bursting with paperbacks and notebooks. A simple bed with a royal blue comforter and overstuffed pillows, the most compact L-shaped couch in front of a tv, and a corner dominated by a desk with two monitors and stacks of documents, manila envelopes, and crates of papers crammed below.

        A kitchenet that looked hardly used was tucked away in another corner, the entryway to a small bathroom right near it.

        There was truly nothing worth looking twice at, save a handful of framed photos scattered around. 

        You’d taken it all in rather hurriedly, still out of breath from practically running through snowy alleyways, the developing snowstorm covering the land like fresh linen. There was a window near his bed, which you gravitated toward after kicking off your damp boots by the door. Not much a view, either. Just more desolate, brick buildings and a sorry looking street below.

        He told you once that he didn’t grow up with much, and it unfortunately seemed like despite joining the ranks of the military, he was still left with close to nothing.

        “What are we here for?”

        He was busy toiling with the thermostat, thick fingers mashing against the heat button to try to warm the small box of an apartment.

        “You won’t like it,” he grumbled, golden eyes glancing over to you with a tinge of regret painting his brow.

        “Then why bring me?”

        “Because you need to see it.”

        You tucked your hands under your arms, the chill of the winter’s day finally settling into your bones.

        You watched keenly as he shrugged off his snow laden jacket, hanging it by the door before promptly locking it. He seemed as out of breath as you were, nose red from the cold, hands shaking as he fumbled with his phone. You bit the inside of your cheek with impatience, a small flame of ire licking its way into your chest.

        Bringing you out here could get you killed. He knew that, right? Of course he did, but he did it anyways. Surely this matter of seemingly great importance could’ve been fetched by one of his comrades. You hadn’t quite considered the danger leaving the headquarters could bring upon you until you were dashing through the streets, the heavy paw of Reiner’s hand squeezing around your wrist. At one point in time, he’d shoved you back down another corridor, shielding you with the size of his body as particular caravan of cars turned down the roadway. He seemed to fear any pair of government eyes spying you.

        He always was so careless.

        He was busy texting someone, still standing idle, lip worried between his teeth.

        Must be the girl you ran into that’s giving him a headache. He probably thought he could slip out and back again without a soul noticing, without anyone giving him grievance, but that bright eyed little cousin of his had ruined that. She’d been so excited to see him; he probably hadn’t been to see his family quite a while, seeing that he was on guard duty after his last mission. 

        How many days had it been since you’d been here? You’d honestly lost track of time, your world feeling like it had been caught in a slow turn of molasses. A few seconds could feel like hours, days felt like minutes, every heartbeat felt like it could be your last. You tried to add it all up in your head, eyes closing as you replayed all the events that led to you standing in Reiner Braun’s home in Marley.

        A week and a half, you surmised. But it could be a little more, a little less. You think you would have kept your eyes on the sun a little more acutely, seeing that you’d missed it rise and fall for at least two days when you were bound in that cell.

        “Are you alright?”

        For a moment, you thought you had spoken the words. You were thinking them, but he asked you instead.

        “That’s a loaded question,” you looked back down to the street, catching the sight of a line of what appeared to be school children marching in tandem down the sidewalk, snow in their hair and happiness on their faces, “but for the moment, I’m okay.”

        Reiner pulled his lips to the side, considering your words. Maybe it hadn’t dawned on him that you couldn’t have been in any state of ease since you’d been promptly abducted and plopped down in this new world to navigate.

        “Are you alright?” You encored, observing how his worried thumbs were still fast against the screen.

        “Have I ever been?”

        You made at face at that reply, corners of your mouth turning down while your shoulders shrugged. Fair enough. 

        Though, for the first time, a bit of pity crept into your mind. Reiner didn’t really ask for this life, did he? He was doing whatever he could to get by, fallen rather inelegantly into the position of being sent to Paradis, and was now being handed you to watch over, presumably without his full consent. You were both pawns in this world, kings and rooks dominating the board and playing you both for fools.

        Being a Scout hadn’t been your intention, either. You’d once had other dreams: college, a career, a family, but you’d been grandfathered into the role by your government working parents, and cemented into it when they’d died. You had nothing else to do, so you served. You served your country, your friends, but you also served yourself, using the role to keep your life afloat, even if it sometimes meant spilling the lifeblood of others, even if it meant sacrificing aspirations and settling. Though, you would admit that some rather beautiful things managed to bloom from the barren soil. Regrettably, those had all been left behind, washed away by tides you couldn’t control.

        “I’m sorry,” Reiner grunted, sinking into the cushions of the couch, “she—she already opened her mouth. I’ve gotten Annie to settle things at HQ, but I imagine Chief is still furious.”

        “Is it such a bad thing to take me out here? I mean, you could easily stop me if I tried to run away.” 

        “Could I?”

        You debated his question. While you were quite nimble, you’d be like a rat in a maze trying to find a way out of this god forsaken place.

        “If I let you,” you reasoned, a tinge of humor behind your words.

        He smiled, all warm and soft, full lips parting. The realization that you hadn’t seen him smile in years pummeled into your chest like a heavy hand stealing from your lungs. It made the sorrow that much more palpable.

        “For the record, Zeke is more upset I didn’t ask permission. He’s hellbent on his authority.”

        “So I’ve noticed.”

        You also pinpointed something else of note, a picture glinting on his nightstand catching your attention.

        It resembled the same one you’d seen on Zeke’s desk, only now you could make out the faces. Reiner didn’t pay you any mind as you reached for the framed memory, plucking it from its home, dust from the back of it staining your fingers. 

        A red booth housed five familiar faces, all grinning over half-drank pints of beer. Their arms were interlocked around each other’s shoulders, all the men young and handsome, Reiner and Bertholdt even more youthful than when they’d first walked through the doors of the Scout Office. Then there was Zeke seated next to Porco, the latter in that green jacket you’d seen him in earlier. But your eyes were set on a face you’d never thought you’d see again, a face that possessed the very recesses of your mind, only appearing late at night when you’d see it in corners, catch it lingering behind your eyelids. He was attractive, appeared personable, messy dark hair and distinct brow that matched the boy next to him.

        “Reiner…” you whispered, still unmoving from your spot between the bed and the window pane, “who is this?”

        He peered over his shoulder, any hint of a smile now vanished like etchings being erased from a page.

        “You don’t recognize him?”

        Him, a photo full of faces, and he knew who you were asking about. He’d probably stared too long at the ghost himself. You wondered if he ever placed the frame down at night to sleep better; you would have, if you’d killed someone you cared about.

        “You know I do.”

        Reiner held his hand out, long arm stretched across the back of the couch. You finally talked your feet into moving, shuffling across the hardwood as you placed the offending item into his upturned palm. 

        Then, you sat next to him, your knees bumping together as you tried to analyze the emotions stirring within. You couldn’t quite place any of them—Regret? Fear? Curiosity? Sadness? But they were quelled when Reiner placed his hand on your twitching thigh, pressing that anxiousness away for a moment.

        “Marcel Galliard, Porco’s older brother.”

        Your lips parted, both of your attentions centered on the souvenir held between you.

        “It was his birthday, and we hadn’t had the chance to celebrate mine and Zeke’s yet either, so we all went out for drinks. I unfortunately don’t remember much from that night, but I remember being…happy, content.”

        “Why’d you do it?” you asked it a little quickly, “why would you…save me, not him?”

        “I told you, some things I don’t have a choice about.”

        “But you—you could’ve said he killed me and got away, right? You did have a choice.”

        You saw how his jaw clenched, muscles in his cheek flexing.

        “I don’t know.” Agony lined his voice, the words soft, hushed.

        That situation was something you both thought about far too often than you’d like to admit, a late-night mulling that never led to conversation.

        “I’m sorry.” You took the photo away, placed it face down on the coffee table.

        “Don’t be. We can’t change the past,” he said solemnly. 

        You could, however, lament it. Which is something you did perhaps too often.

━━━─── • ───━━━

         Reiner wasn’t ready for what was to come. He knew he never would be, which is why he threw precaution to the wind and decided to lay his cards on the table now. 

         He had to pick a side. Even if these wars didn’t truly concern him, even if the fate of countries ultimately didn’t matter to his conscious, you did—you mattered, he mattered, and he had to start thinking about things on a smaller scale. 

         He wanted to go back to Paradis. He practically yearned to go back in time, to return to a place where being Eldian didn’t matter, where his status didn’t matter, where he could remake himself into something new. If it hadn’t been for his binds connecting him to Marley, he could’ve actually seen hope instead of sorrow on the horizon. He could never seem to cut the vines, could never actually get away from the people controlling his life. 

         But now, now he saw an out, and it was with you. When this cataclysm first happened, all he wanted was for you to be dead, for you to go away and leave him and his miseries alone to rot and wither. Being with you, however, reminded him of a life he could have. He just had to make it happen, he had to start molding his own clay, had to keep bearing the weight of the world like the weary Atlas until he could find a way to make it turn in his favor.

         He was tired of wishing for death.

         Which is why he had to bring you here and why he would handle the consequences that were waiting in the distance. 

         You might not be very helpful to Marley, but he could be of use to Paradis.

         “I believe you,” he hadn’t noticed he was still touching you, fingers gripping onto your leg like a lifeline, “about Zeke. I believe you because I—we, Pieck, Annie, Bertie—we know he’s up to something beyond what he tells us and the generals. He is working with someone in Paradis. We don’t know who, but we do think we know what for.”

         “Oh my god…oh my god. Why didn’t you—”

         “You think I can just fucking say that when anyone could be outside my door listening?” 

         “I thought you said I wouldn’t like what you have to show me.” 

         He noticed how your shoulders relaxed, like you’d been holding in tension for far too long.

         “That’s not…I have something else for you.”

         He didn’t move just yet, not quite ready to actually set this all in motion.

         This all hinged on you. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew you quite well; of course, that was the you of four years ago. The you he had next to him now was older, scarred, burdened, but he still felt that same magnetic pull to you that he could never explain. He was just a moon consigned to orbit you, to be connected to you even when neither of you desired the attachment.

         He knew you were going to be upset, livid; his skin was already prickled at the thought of how you would possibly punch him if when you read what he had to give.

         At least you always looked pretty when you were angry.

         He could still remember how Jean had cowered undeath his desk when you’d stomped into the office after discovering he’d used the branch’s own money to play in a high-stakes poker game while undercover. He’d been fishing for information on the elites, found himself tipsy, and then found himself on the receiving end of your fury. The only thing that stopped your yelling was Erwin, who, for personal reasons, didn’t want any fuss made over government money being gambled away.

         Erwin. He’d never cared for how close you were to him.

         Reiner finally stood, expecting you to sit and wait, but you were following him like a shadow, small hand wrapped around his forearm as he moved to his computer. When he sat down, that hand moved up to his shoulder, your fingers squeezing into his muscle with encouragement. It didn’t really put him at ease.

         He turned the desktop on, the monitor flashing to life. He typed in his password quickly, then went searching for that folder he’d kept hidden away so he’d never bother to look at it again. 

         “Hand me one of those,” he nodded his head in the direction of a small container of flash drives on the other side of his desk. You plucked one out of its resting spot and went ahead and placed it into the port on the computer. He knew you wouldn’t question why had so many on hand—you both knew how it all worked, you both kept important documents that had to be shuffled around digitally.

         Familiar names lined the inside of the folder, ones he’d once tried to forget. He heard you suck in a quick breath and took a moment to look up at you. Your brow was set, tongue obviously caught between your teeth to keep yourself from saying anything. 

         This was his job. He was in charge of keeping tabs on The Scouts, he was the one who fed Marley all the information they could. Well, almost all of it. 

         “These are files I never gave over. They’re yours now. I never gave Marley everything they wanted I…I thought I was protecting you. There’s also a few files on Zeke that Pieck created in here, too.” 

         You both watched as he copied the folder over to the flash drive, one by one the names and dates slowly dropping into a new safe place for them.

         He touched your waist, signaling you to step back. He rolled his chair out, ducking under the desk for a split moment to gather a box of the printed documents he had actually handed over; the action was a mistake. 

         You were leaned over him in an instant, hand clutching and moving the mouse so quickly it scraped against the desk. He attempted to reach up and stop you, but he paused—there were still bruises on your wrist, on your fingers, faded watercolors of surviving pain. He’d gripped your hand, your wrists, all day, why hadn’t you stopped him?

         He already knew which file you opened; he didn’t need to look. But he did anyways, moving the crate to the side and sitting back in his chair, arms crossed across his chest. His poor heart felt like it was going to burst.

         Marco Bott’s face filled part of the screen, all sweet and freckled like he remembered. Those kind eyes were looking straight at him, judging him. Reiner was just waiting, he knew what was said in there, he wrote it all, still recalled how puffy his eyes were when he did it, how much he regretted it.

         There was a pregnant pause, one so heavy he felt like he was being crushed.

         This all hinged on you. He needed you to help him, needed you to help you.

         “I fucking knew it.”

         He was already flinching, shrinking. He watched the screen scroll, the black letters and white spaces all a blur.

         “Threat eliminated by gunfire, killed by organized crime members after…” you hesitated, eyes dancing as you reread the words, “after his gear was removed to ensure death.”

         He was on his feet before you could hit him, backing away from your clenched fists, chair rolling to be forgotten in the corner.

         “What. Did. You. Do?” 

         Each word came with a step toward him. He was running out of space, nearly tripping over the edge of the couch as you encroached upon him.

         “What did you do?” Your voice was getting louder, pain written across your face like he’d just stabbed you. “You told me there was no fucking truth about Marco!”

         “There isn’t! Marco’s dead, there’s no changing—”

         “There’s no changing the past,” you mocked his words, venom dripping from your tongue.

━━━─── • ───━━━

         Your blood was boiling, wrath itching between your fingers. 

         You were going to kill him. You were going to wind your fists around his neck and watch the life drain slowly from his eyes like he fucking deserved.

         You couldn’t believe you’d let you guard down, that you’d started to trust him. You always knew something had gone awry the night Marco died. He’d been slaughtered, ransacked with bullet holes across his body. It was like he had been dropped into the line of fire, dangled out like a piece of meat to be eaten alive.

         And he didn’t have his gear, that’s what stumped everyone looking into the mess of it all. It was like he had walked in unprepared, like a boy on a suicide mission walking straight to his death. Thirty-six bullets and even more empty, splattered holes littered had riddled his corpse. Jean had fallen to his knees. Connie didn’t speak for a week. Sasha didn’t eat for days.

         Because of Reiner’s decision, that man suffered, you all mourned, and you felt like you most of all had let him down. Marco had been your protégé, you’d taught him everything he knew, and that was the first mission he was allowed to go on after his training. You’d been tailing a rather violent gang, found their hideout, and were infiltrating for arrests and to see what was inside. Marco had been paired with Reiner and Bertholdt to lead the first wave of infiltration, while you and the rest waited for the signal to rush the back doors to the run-down ranch not far out of the city of Trost. They’d been up ahead by the barn that was sandwiched between stables.

         But your signal turned to sounds of gunfire. You could still hear it echoing in your ears as you approached Reiner. The sounds of metal clicking, of repeated blasts from automatic weapons ringing across the hillsides like single note windchimes in a raging storm.

         “Tell me why.”

         Your fingers were digging into his shirt before you could stop yourself, the threads of the worn Henley threatening to rip from your nails sinking into it. You could actually feel his heart beat against his chest, a frightened bird trying to flee his ribcage.

         When he didn’t speak right away, your anger flared, made you shove him back against the wall with all your might. It made your arms hurt, like you’d just slammed your hands against brick, a sharp pain that made you hiss.

         “He overheard us—”

         “Overheard what?”

         You could tell he was getting a little infuriated as well, nostrils flaring as he looked down his nose at you. It must look funny, you pressing him against the wall of his own apartment. Reiner was nearly twice your size—he was bigger than most people, and he towered over you like a looming threat.

         “Let me fucking finish,” he took a deep breath, eyes nearly glazing over, “He overheard Bertie and I talking about how we should relay the details of that gang, of organized crime in general, to Marley. We—we hadn’t had time to talk alone since we’d been prepping that shit for days. We didn’t know Marco followed us around to that side of the rooftop.”

         “That’s it? He heard you whispering little secrets and you killed him for it?”

         One of the buttons near the neckline of his shirt popped as your knuckles dug deeper into the fabric.

         “He literally heard us say that we needed to find a time to call General Magath of Marley. If he lived and told someone that—,” his breath caught for a moment when one of your nails started to pierce his skin, “it would have compromised our entire mission. We’d been there for three years, and he could’ve ruined it all.”

         You were at your breaking point. You could feel that terrible heat that comes with sadness creeping up your neck, snaking around to your cheeks. If you weren’t careful, you were going to cry. All this time, all this time spent wondering why, and this was why he had to die?

         Killing wasn’t unusual in your life. It was part of the job, something you’d unfortunately had to do on a few occasions. You knew those strangers who ate your bullets or your knife had families, that they were people too, but most of them were monsters, thieves, rapists, threats to the corrupted balance of the governmental structure. But Marco…he was like family, and finding his limp, almost unrecognizable body had sent even the most hardened veterans into despair. Levi took off from work the next day; the only time he had ever missed a day on the job.

         “Tell me how!” You truly didn’t mean to scream it, but the emotions raging in your stomach, your chest, it all ached too much. 

         “Be quiet, I have neighbors—”

         “I don’t give a fuck about your god damn neighbors, Reiner!”

         He finally moved then, his once idle hand now jerking up to your face to fiercely hold your cheeks beneath his fingers. You tried to smack his hand away, your own fingers digging and tugging at his wrist.

         “Letme-go!” Your words were jumbled, your open mouth allowing his fingers to press your cheeks in between your teeth.

         “You have to be fucking quiet,” he hissed, a whole new light shining in his eyes, a familiar rage you had seen when you’d fought against him the day Paradis was invaded. The reality of how large he was sunk in again; he looked like a vengeful god peering down at you, all hot-blooded and incensed.

         You thought for a moment he wouldn’t hurt you, but then you remembered he already had. He had the inclination to be just as cruel as you could be.

         His fingers stayed firm against your cheeks, holding you like he was daring you to speak again. 

         “Tellmehow,” you managed to spit out, wincing when he took the leverage he had on your face and used it to shove you back. You stumbled, banging into the side of the couch as you rubbed at the sore flesh of your mouth.

         But he was unmoving, back straight against the wall, a statue built on the foundation of wrath and agony, waiting to crack and fall onto you if you made the wrong move.

         “We knew their guards were patrolling. Bertholdt covered his mouth while I stripped him of his equipment, of his guns, and I pushed him off the roof and into their sight.”

         He said it so calmly that it made you sick. But that was a reality he had to live with every day, wasn’t it? He had to replay in his mind over and over again that he had done such a vile thing, he had to justify it else it would eat him alive.

         Your tears were hot, but contained, your lashes blinking them aside as you just stared at him. You opened your mouth to scream at him, you were so ready to spew hatred and let it burn him, but he was quicker than you. 

         With one step, he was on you, your hair wrapped in his fast as he wrenched your head to the side, smarting your scalp to silence you.

         “Marco’s dead, and I’m sorry for it. You fucking screaming will do nothing but have the assholes who live below me calling the authorities and you’ll find yourself in a much worse prison than before.”

         You didn’t like how he was right. Still, you glared up at him, brows pinched together in pain.

         It felt like you’d merged into him, those rapid hearts within your chests suddenly beating as one with the same suffering, the same torment. You both had to live with the poor reality of your lives; you were killers, you were monsters too. 

         You were too close to him, could smell the heat of his skin, could feel his breath against your sore cheeks. Your hands were flat against his chest, trapped between you, his arm an anchor as it tugged at the roots of your hair, keeping your face turned towards his.

         You couldn’t help but look at him, there was nowhere else to focus, only on him. It was like you could see the pages of a book open across his face, wretchedness and anguish painted in broad strokes in the fair wrinkles around his eyes, in the curve of his brow. It was beauty and pain bleeding together, the amber color of his eyes swirling as he searched your own face like he was looking for something. What would he find hidden behind your own grief?

         “I hate you,” you whispered, breath long gone.

         “I know.”

         “And I’ll never forgive you.”

         It was like he was moving closer, the time you were losing now completely stopped, frozen between your bodies.

         “Don’t want forgiveness,” he caught your whisper and gave it back, “just judgement.”

         His lips met yours with a bruising fervor. 

         The hand in your hair flexed, pulled you closer, made you gasp as your hands slid up his chest. Your fingers found his rumbling throat, and in the back of your mind, you recalled how just moments ago you were waiting to snatch the life from his neck. You felt his pulse beating beneath your thumb, a war drum beating hot and fast in his veins. Your mouth was moving against his, eyes closed, suddenly greedy and hungry; for what, you didn’t know. All you did know was that this felt so wrong, like you’d taken a misstep and landed right into the lion’s lap, but that it also felt like absolution, like he was devouring your sins and taking them for his own.

         Your mouth slanted for him, a hum resounding from both your throats as you fell into this new, strange rhythm. You’d thought about it before, kissing him like this, feeling those plush lips against yours, angry and hot and needy. You cherished the taste of him, like a dark, rich wine filling up your mouth, spilling over and enveloping your senses. Your tongue tempted him to open his lips, to let you in. There was no hesitation. 

         His other hand found your hip, fingers mean and pulling you impossibly closer. Your palms drifted up from his neck, found his face, thumbs smoothing over cheekbones. You could feel the soft hairs of his cheeks, his chin, sweeping against your skin. It all felt too good, like you were getting lost, delirium taking over. Nothing else mattered anymore, just the gratification of tasting his emotions, of taking his groans into your mouth and echoing them back. You pressed harder into him, kept your tongue tangled with his, noses brushing as you found new beats to your rhythm. 

         It was wicked, sinful, something your heart was pleading for and your mind screaming out against. But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t stop. It was as if you kissed for as long as you’d known each other. Every year passed by, every regret, every sharp turn of your tongues against one another, all the hurt and longing, placed into one moment of your bodies finding one another.

         When the heat began to die, you were both still stroking the flames, deep, languid kisses turned into smaller presses of your lips against one another. It was intoxicating and you felt so drunk, so, so drunk off of him.

         There was a stillness between you, like the gentle sigh and breaths of the world as it awoke to the morning sun when you finally stopped. A lulling peacefulness lingered in the wake of what you’d done.

         His hands were still on your body, in your hair, looser now. Yours were still on his face when your eyes fluttered open.

         “I’m sorry,” he murmured, lips plump, wet.

          “I know.”

Next Chapter

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[koreanmadeingreece]

Why, why, why (3)

University student!Yuta x reader

Genre: slight enemies to lovers au, a bit of angst, a lot of fluff, and several mixups

Summary: You just got into uni and decided to move in with your childhood friend!Taeyong at the city where you are going to study. As you’re about to start your new, adult life, you meet his friends, and you realize that not everyone likes you. Nakamoto Yuta in particular almost seems like he hates you.

A/N: In this fic, Jonghyun from NU’EST appears for a while (just to avoid confusion). Also, wow I never thought I’d post this. I hope you guys like it. Also I thought I’d update every Sunday but I couldn’t restrain myself. Welp. 

Warnings: n/a

Word count: 1.8K (I should let you know that I’ve finished writing it so I’ll update it every 3 or 4 days!)

Part 3/I don’t remember First / Previous / Next

Taglist: @melitadala @chxotickpoptrash (please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

When you entered the house, V ran into your arms for an embrace, calling you his savior, as you had just brought the food, which made the others laugh. When you reassured them again that you were okay with treating them, you all sat down in your freshly cleaned living room to eat. 

That was when you noticed Yuta sitting a bit further than the others, eating quietly, and decided to come a bit closer to him.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?” You tried to joke around since no one would listen to you. The others were arguing about one of the professors at uni and if he’s single, so they wouldn’t even notice you switching places. 

“Oh, sorry, it was just that I was thinking about something. It shouldn’t make you worry, really,” he answered.

“Are you sure? Because you haven’t talked to me all day. I mean, I know you just met me this morning and that I’m not your friend, but I’d love to get to know you a bit better.” 

“I’m okay with that, don’t worry about me. I’m just paranoid sometimes and I’m thinking a bit too much about certain things, so just ignore me when I do that, okay?”

“So, we’re off to a good start, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess you can say that.” He smiled at you. This was the second smile he had offered you ever since this morning, and it kind of made you light up a bit. You still didn’t know what made you so interested in him. You just had to get to know him. 

The next day was similar to the first, as you had to finish cleaning and start unpacking both yours and Taeyong’s things and decorate the living room. Thankfully, Taeyong didn’t have a much different taste than yours, so it was actually easy to decide what you’d hang on the walls and what color the couch pillows would be. The biggest issue was your rooms and what you’d do with them. 

You took the boxes with your stuff and Johnny immediately came to help, offering to also help you with your room. V followed you and Yuta went to help Taeyong. You enjoyed their company a lot if you were going to be completely honest, and you secretly thought they’d let you join them sometimes. You really thought you weren’t a burden for them, as they’ve been friends for years and you just came to disrupt their lives. You’d never even think of causing a problem to them, so you waited patiently for any signs that would show you how they felt about you. There was just one thing you had to ask.

“So, how did you guys meet?” you asked, as you were placing your clothes in the closet.

“Do you mean us two, or…”

“All of you. How did you become like… a group?” 

“Ah, funny story,” V said, “I got into a fight on my first day of uni. Someone just came straight to me and called me names because I was zoning out, and Johnny with Taeyong came to my rescue.”

“Aw, they’re true heroes,” you laughed.

“Something like that. Taeyong and Johnny met right there in front of me, and then we all decided to go to lunch together. Then Yuta came. Taeyong had met him a few hours earlier and told him to go to lunch with him, so we all sat together. And we clicked.” 

Johnny nodded in agreement and gave you a stack of clothes to put away, while V was telling the story from your bed. You hadn’t put the sheets on it yet, so it was only a mattress, but it worked well for him. 

“I don’t know if I should be asking this but are Taeyong and Yuta that close? I mean, he doesn’t tell me much over the phone, and with all the stuff going on because of the house we haven’t really talked yet,” you asked.

“They’re close. They’re not together if that’s what you’re asking. They’re just really good friends. If you ask me, we make a great group. It’s just that he always was a bit more protective over Taeyong, but Yuta’s definitely straight. If he wasn’t I’m sure they’d already been together by now,” Johnny told you and you continued putting clothes away, when Johnny interrupted your thoughts. “Don’t mind him. He might seem a bit distant, but he’ll open up eventually. It’s probably that you’ve been friends with Taeyong for so long and he feels kind of left out.”

“Oh my god, have I done anything like that?”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it. He was thinking about it ever since he found out you’d move with Taeyong but, trust me, you haven’t done anything. I mean, you didn’t make any of us feel bad. You’re actually fun to be around. You can come to hang out with us whenever you want, okay?” Johnny’s words were music to your ears. What you were hoping for was coming true. Your new life had officially started taking its form, and you were ecstatic about it. 

Your house was finally ready, your posters were on the walls and your clothes were in the closet. After you made your bed and had V try it out, you could finally sit and enjoy it.

“Did you call your mom? She’s probably scared to death that she just let you handle a new house on our own,” Taeyong told you after the guys left.

“I did and I also sent her pictures. She’s thrilled.”

“Your dad?”

“Mom said he just nodded. I wouldn’t expect anything else.” You sat on the couch next to Taeyong.

“He doesn’t get really involved, does he?”

“Only when he’s in the mood. Which happens about… five times a year?”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Yeah, especially when he missed my gymnastics performance.” You took a bite of your sandwich. 

“Well, now you’re here. If he doesn’t want to lose you, he has some work to do. Now, will you give me a bite?” And that was how the evening passed with Taeyong. You were calm, relaxed and it was exactly how you imagined it to be. All you had to worry about for the time being was the first day of uni. 

You woke up the next morning and looked too pale to be human, as you had barely managed to sleep last night. You got dressed in one of your favorite outfits, a loose red shirt and black ripped jeans, and washed your face before putting some mascara and lipstick on. When Taeyong confirmed you looked hot, you were ready to go. Taeyong left you outside of the building of your first class and left for his class.

You went inside and found a seat not too close to the professor, and soon after, you noticed a tall guy approaching you and taking the seat next to you.

“First day, huh?” he asked you. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I’m kind of stressed too. What’s your name, by the way?”

“I’m Yugyeom. It’s nice to meet you.” He extended his arm to you for a handshake. 

“I’m Y/N.” And that was your first acquaintance. He seemed really nice. Kind, at least. You liked him at a first glance. He turned to speak to you quite a few times during our first class, but he didn’t annoy you. He was quite pleasant to be around. 

After a while, you heard someone enter the room, stumbling on the stairs. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” he said and took the seat next to you, on the opposite side of Yugyeom. “Was I too loud?” he whispered to you. 

“No, don’t worry about it. No one’s going to remember it tomorrow anyway,” you smiled at him. 

“I hope so. And, if they do, at least I made them laugh.” He smiled back. “I’m Chan.”

“I’m Y/N and this is Yugyeom,” you said and shook hands with him as well.

When the first class was over, you headed to the other classroom for the next period and sat next to the two boys you had just met. They were extremely fun to be with, especially Chan, who was a walking mess and extremely clumsy. 

You suggested going for coffee after class, so you texted Taeyong not to pick you up and walked next to Chan and Yugyeom, who knew a nice coffee shop around the corner. You found a table and sat down when you saw a guy approaching your table. 

“Hey, Yugyeom, wasn’t he sitting close to us in class?”

“Now that you mention it, yeah. Should we tell him to sit with us?” And, before you could even answer, Yugyeom was already standing up from his chair. “Hey! Wanna sit with us?”

“Uh, sure.”

“We saw you in class, we’re not creeps, I promise,” you reassured him. “This is Yugyeom and this is Chan.”

“I’m BamBam.”

“BamBam?” Chan asked. “Is it a nickname?”

“Yeah, I’m from Thailand and no one actually remembers my real name, so I use this one instead.”

“Oh, that’s so interesting!” Yugyeom was amazed and started talking to BamBam nonstop, which he didn’t seem to mind, so you just talked to Chan until Yugyeom’s rant ended.

“Would you like to order?” The waiter interrupted you. He was standing next to your table for a while, but no one had noticed him.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said and turned towards him, as he was standing beside you. That was when you noticed how hot he looked and, right after everyone ordered, you turned to Chan. “I don’t know if you’re gay, straight, or anything else, but that one was hot as fuck.”

“I’m bi, and yes he was. You should ask for his number.”

“Chan, I’m not that bold.”

“Yeah, but you have nothing to lose. Look, we can send you to pay when we’re done, so you can talk to him without us there. That doesn’t involve any flirting, right?”

“Fine. Give me your money, y’all.” The other two guys turned to you in shock, but Chan promised to explain while you were gone. So, you got up and walked towards the register. 

“Hi,” you told him. When he turned towards you, you deeply wished you hadn’t agreed to this. He was too handsome for you to handle.

“Ah, they sent you to pay?” He laughed.

“Yeah, they did.” You paused and contemplated if you should continue the conversation when your thoughts were interrupted.

“Um, I’m sorry if it’s weird to ask, but what’s your name.”

“I’m Y/N.”

“Ah, that’s a beautiful name. I’m Jonghyun. Do you happen to go to uni here?”

“Yeah, film major. This is my first year. What about you?”

“Me too! But I’m in the third year.” He smiled at you, but he was called to a table and had to go. “You should come by again tomorrow. I can treat you to a cup of warm coffee. My shift ends at 6.”

#yuta fluff #yuta angst #yuta x reader #yuta headcanon #yuta x you #yuta fanfic #nakamoto yuta x reader #nakamoto yuta x you #nakamoto yuta angst #nakamoto yuta fluff #nakamoto yuta fanfic #nakamoto yuta headcanon #nct yuta x reader #nct yuta x you #nct yuta fanfic #nct yuta angst #nct yuta fluff #kpop #nakamoto yuta #nct yuta

[airi-p4]

Face up (songfic) - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Epilogue

Remember my illustrated fic + comic ‘The listening’? I started writing this other songfic around that time, since the song is by the same author. This is everything I could finish for Wipril... *sigh*

Inspired by the song ‘Face up’ by Lights. (Lyrics in bold)

Summary:  Marientte is tired. Busy with work, unmotivated and uninspired; her life has become monotonous and lifeless. Regretful for neglecting her friendship with Alya, she finally accepts her invitation to go out one Friday evening to a pirate themed bar called 'Liberty', in which according to Nino, an 'incredible amazing guitarist' was going to play...

AO3

______________________________________________

Chapter 1

' I shouldn't have come '

A mountain of files and clothes are piled on Marinette's desk. Work, work, work and more work. It had been a while now since Marinette's life has been revolving only around her jobs and studies. Days. Weeks. Months. She felt like a robot programmed just for that sole purpose.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was tired. 

And so was also her best friend Alya, fed up of being turned down whenever she asked her to go out somewhere together.

But not that evening: Alya and Nino decided to drag Marinette out of her lonely apartment, to let her enjoy a proper and well deserved break after days without seeing the daylight. 'How can a 21 year old Lady not go out and have fun!? ' Alya had asked her. And she had been forced to accept, out of the regret of constantly failing and neglecting their friendship.

The chosen place for their friendly meeting was a musical bar on a ship called 'Liberty'. Small round tables and some stools were ready to be used for its consumers, 2-4 seats for table. Some wooden benches with comfortable looking cushions at the sides of the bar and some stand-by tables outside were also part of the ship's furniture. Both outside and interior design seemed to be trying to imitate a pirate ship with dark wooden flooring, walls, stage and counter. Some vintage rock music related posters were on the wall, next to treasure maps and, surprisingly, they still managed to keep the pirate theme on point. The counter was just at the entrance and the lights were focused mostly to the stage at the back of the bar, making the lighting quite low for the guests- 'too dark to draw' , Marinette confirmed.

According to Nino, the best thing about this bar was that, on Friday nights, it held multiple artists performances from 8pm to 12pm, an hour each. And according to him, some awesome guitarist was playing at 11pm. His eyes were showing his contagious enthusiasm and Alya soon got excited too.

But Marinette's mind was not focused on the bar or the music. It was 10:25pm, and Alya had dragged Marinette there early- at 8:40- so they could get a table- the limited seat capacity and amount of customers surely proved it was necessary, but she couldn't focus on her surroundings as in her head thousands of work-related thoughts occupied her mind.

To draw, sew, bake, study and to sleep in order to work more, all in an endless loop. That had been Marinette's routine for weeks, and she had no intentions of stopping until she finished all her constantly coming errands- but they were endless. She felt like a robot programmed only to work and she almost forgot what free time was.

'I want to go home', the aspiring fashion designer kept repeating to herself.

 But the guests of the bar seemed to favor her best friend's ideas: enjoying the music. Marinette's eyes took a minute to observe her surroundings, noticing how crowded the bar was getting as 11pm approached. At her side, Marinette could see how excited Alya and the recently arrived Nino were, clapping and dancing next to her.

 But Marinette was not feeling it. Not at all. 

 A big sigh left her mouth as she used the table as she played unamused with the melting ice cubes from her drink, trying to ignore the strident rock background music. She was exhausted and not in the mood for 'fun'. She was tired and her eyelids were slowly closing, but just when her mind started to find its way to dreamland, Alya called for her attention.

 "Look, Marinette! The guests in the second row middle table are about to leave! It's our chance to get a closer seat to the stage!"

 "Ugh…"

 The stage was just a few steps away, but it seemed like kilometers to the young woman. 

 "C'mon, Marinette! Nino secured the seats! Grab your drink and stuff and let's go over here!"

 Exhaustion and somnolence confused Marinette's senses while Alya jolted and called her. 

 "C'mooon… Nino can't keep looking for our seats forever! Not when there are so many people eyeing up those stools!"

 Marinette knew Alya was correct. And not only that: she was pretty impatient and intense, too, so she was well aware that refusing her was almost impossible.

 Finally, she made it to the closer to the stage table and had a slurp of her drink. 'Maybe Alya is right and I can try to enjoy the live performances?' . 

 She tried, yes. But nothing. She wasn't feeling the music.

'When will I be able to have fun too? When will I be able to have a rest and forget about work? When will I be able to enjoy life? When will I be able to LIVE my life…? '

 I just want to feel alive

She was stressed. No inspiration seemed to strike her lately, and she had been too busy to go look for it. And honestly, she didn't expect to find some in this old-fashioned dark pirate themed bar. With those thoughts, Marinette rested her head on her hands wishing for the time to go faster so she could already go back home. 

The bar became more than full when the clock pointed to 11pm. 

Marinette frowned her eyebrows. "Can I go home now that the performance is over?" She asked. 

Alya directed her a deathly glare and Nino gasped in shock. "No way, dudette! You can't be serious!" The boy then pointed to their surroundings. "See? All these people gathered here to see the musician I told you about! His talent is no joke, just look at that!" An excited Nino commented, showing her how people were even waiting outside of the bar and even outside the ship in order to listen to his music, as she could see through the round fisheye windows. Was it even allowed to have so many guests on the ship? Wasn't it overcrowded? Or going to sink? Marinette worried. 'Why should I worry when I'm already sinking myself, huh? '

"I'm getting all excited already!! Look at that, Marinette" Alya commented. But Marinette was not answering. She was playing with a straw in between her teeth, instead. "Marinette!!" Her friend insisted, but emerging turbulent bubbles on her drink was her only response.

"Oh, look! He's here!" Nino suddenly exclaimed, and both her friends seemed to forget about her to focus on the stage. 'Maybe it's my chance to leave when they aren't looking' , she thought, but she had to wait until Alya's arm stopped being linked with hers to make her move. She hoped for that moment to be soon.

"Wohooo" the crowd became loud immediately after Nino's said guitarist appeared on the stage from the back door. 

 Marinette didn't even look. She wasn't interested. She just wanted to get home, finish her work, sleep, and get some well deserved hot bath to relax.

"Good evening. My name is Luka. Wow, so crowded today! I can see some new faces... Hi there. Thank you all for coming"

'His voice sounds nice' Marinette thought, taking a quick look at him for the first time: blue hair, tattoos, piercings and an electric guitar on his hands. There was a stool ready for him, but he was not using it. His aura definitely stood out and he was glowing in the stage lights.

Before starting, he played a few random notes, to check the guitar and the volume. The crowd was excited just with that. Not interested in the music, Marinette let her mind travel to her work space again, taking mental notes on how to proceed with her commissions when she made it home.

"Today's first song is an oldie: 'Space show' by CrocoDuo" 

It took only an instant for the aura of the bar to change completely. The audience was losing it at the combined sound of his voice and guitar. Some young women were fangirling and squealing. Nino's eyes were sparkling and Alya's body moved, dancing along with the music. 

'He's good' Marinette thought, trying to stop her fingers from tapping on her chin at the music's rhythm. As the song was close to its end, during its instrumental part, the blue haired young man took a big look at the audience, grinning at the excited crowd. Marinette closed her eyes and tried to focus again on her mental work, frowning her nose and eyebrows hard, trying hard to concentrate on finding whatever inspiration she could in the music. But she didn't seem to get it right.

As the last notes of the song elongated, the musician spoke again. 

"Oooh? What do we have here…? Don't you know the rules, lady? No sad faces allowed on this ship!"

Marinette was unaware the guitarist was talking to her until Alya bumped her elbow to her ribs to catch her attention and pointed to the stage. 

"What?"

She was surprised to find the guitarist staring at her eyes. ' He's handsome ' her inner self told her when their eyes locked and she was feeling called by its blueness. Her smile remained unseen, confused and unsure if it was really her the one he was talking to, but her heart skipped at the eye contact.

"Yes, there, the lady on the second row, you… you seem to be feeling like this" he said, and then played some chords that seemed to describe the feelings of her repetitive, uninspired and unmotivated life perfectly. 

She felt like her secret had just been exposed to all the customers of the bar. Embarrassment was too much to handle, and she kept her head low. As the famous song says: 'Killing me softly with his song'.

"A beautiful lady like you deserves to feel something like this" he said, and the music this time brought her back to her cheerful and happy childhood memories, something she hadn't felt for years. ' Wow. How can he do it? ' 

"Let me try to cheer you up". He placed his electric guitar aside and grabbed his acoustic instead. After adjusting it, he sat on the stool and brought the microphone to his mouth. Then, a totally different melancholic sound started filling the bar as he tested the strings. The audience seemed pleased and curious. "That's rare for him" Nino whispered, making Marinette's eyes open even bigger.

Suddenly, accurately and quickly, his eyes darted to meet directly at Marinette's eyes, with a soft but determined gaze that conflicted Marinette's unprepared heart. 

The times you don't wanna wake up

'Cause in your sleep it's never over when you give up

 'Wow… I surely look depressed, don't I?' Marinette thought, surprised of how the lyrics fit with her daily thoughts.

 The sun is always gonna rise up

You need to get up, gotta keep your head up

 Look at the people all around you

The way you feel is something everybody goes through

 Marinette then looked at Alya and Nino, who were nodding with a sympathetic smile at her. The rest of the people at the bar seemed to agree with the lyrics too, nostalgic smiles on their peaceful faces. ' Is it ok to feel like this? Am I really not alone? ' The song continued.

 Dark out, but you still gotta light up

You need to wake up, gotta keep your face up

 The lyrics were surely… encouraging. Marinette could feel her heart become lighter and more confident, relaxed too. She then focused again on the guitarist, who had a kind expression on his face that almost made her fall for him. Almost ? 

"C'mon, everybody, help me cheer this pretty lady up!" he said, his smile softly widening as he repeated the lyrics of the song. Soon, the audience joined to sing with him and Marinette felt embarrassed but touched at the kindness of all those strangers towards her. Alya put a supportive hand on her shoulder too, encouraging her to join the chorus.

 And finally her face lit up and she started singing a little after remembering the lyrics. Her face was not looking down anymore and an honest shy smile was finally on her face. 

Alya looked relieved, while Nino had an: ' I told you he was good ' smirk on his face. Meanwhile, the guitarist never stopped smiling at her. 

Luka's gaze was dangerous for Marinette's heart, as a pleasant warmth began to occupy it. A feeling she hadn't felt for a long time was now threatening to stay, sinking deeper inside her heart with every syllable he sang. 

"See? That's much better. You have a beautiful smile. Don't hide it!" Marinette blushed at his compliment and she couldn't stop smiling like a lovestruck fool.

 After winking at her, Luka continued with his performance. "Ready to enjoy some rock and roll now? Next is 'Rock Giant' by Jagged Stone" 

Marinette's favorite song. Did he know that too? ' Wow! It sounds even better than the original' . As soon as he started to play and sing Jagged's most iconic melody, Marinette was finally loosened up to enjoy the music. It was the fastest an hour that had passed for her while having fun. Wow . And she was grinning at the excitement, while trying not to freak out at the short glances and smiles the musician directed to her from time to time, or the long stares she pretended to not notice. She could notice her heart beating again after what it seemed like an eternity. 

She felt alive. More than she had felt in months, maybe years.

But the performance had a set time to end... 

"Thank you for coming. That's all for today. You're the best!" he grinned, while wiping some of the sweat drops that ran down his face. It was obvious he gave it his best and the audience was all in for it. Marinette had never seen anyone able to enthrall the public like this before. He was… absolutely amazing in the crowd's eyes, Marinette's included.

"Noooo!! Encore encore encore!" the bar customers started begging in loud voices, and Luka couldn't keep his gratitude to himself, as his fond smile showed. He looked at his surroundings, slowly, memorizing every face, as if thanking each of them individually. Until his kind yet powerful gaze stopped to focus directly on Marinette's pupils and his smile widened.

 "You want an encore, guys? What does the lady on the second row say?" he teased with a smirk that made Marinette's knees weak. She could feel her face flushing red as the people of the bar's eyes focused on her.

 "E- Encore!" She shouted in a voice she wasn't aware she owned.

"So you want an encore, right? Very well. Here's the last song for today: ' Liberty ' by Luka".

 The energetic and happy cheering for the encore audience lasted only until Luka's guitar strings started to vibrate to form a melody.

 "No way, dude!! A Luka inédite original song! Alya, we have to record this!" Nino fuzzed, pulling his phone out from his pocket. "Awesome!"

The song was amazing and had the audience lose it. 'Wow' . Marinette was speechless and she could feel the adrenaline flow through her body like it hadn't for years. Unable to tear her focus from the musician, the young woman could feel her heart beating faster- too fast.  

When the song finished Marinette noticed how half the audience was crying in excitement and how the fangirling women from before were close to passing out. It was a very good song with good lyrics about looking for your inner freedom- totally fitting for Marinette. And his final greetings started.

"Thank you. Did you have fun?" 

"Yeah!!! Wohoo!!!"

 "Great, I'm glad. Thank you so much!" he giggled. "Thanks to you, it seems I have a new song to write" Luka said, with his sharp eyes and slightly curved smile hinting those words were meant for a certain lady seated on the second row. "And remember: the Liberty is a place where you can be free, honest to yourself. Feel free to come here anytime. Everyone is welcome here. Well, except agent Roger, maybe?" Luka said, pointing at the grey haired woman at the counter, who laughed at his comment. "Good night, everyone!" 

Before leaving the stage through the back door, Luka exchanged one final look with Marinette and waved at her. Or so she wanted to believe, even if she wasn't sure. 

‘ He’s so hot ’. Marinette fanned herself with her hand and drank all the alcohol that remained on her cup. It wasn't cold anymore and she needed to cool down, so she stopped the goth waitress with long purple hair to order a drink, and a minute later the small blond short-haired waitress brought it to her. She drank it in one shot, mouth dry from the shouting and her burning cheeks and quickly beating heart.

"Hot much?" Alya teased her best friend, with a knowing smirk.

 "I told you he was lit! Wow! He even played a brand-new original song! You don't know how lucky we are. We have to come back again sometime soon!" Nino enthusiastically exclaimed. "A man like that is going to make it big in no time. We won't get the chance to get to listen to him like this when he becomes internationally famous"

Marinette couldn't help it but to agree. He was amazing… in all aspects. Maybe… it wasn't a bad thing she came… 

 No. It definitely wasn't.

 "Yeah… maybe live performances aren't bad… maybe… we should come again, yes…" Marinette said under her friend's satisfied and knowing smile.

 Who would have thought she would find inspiration on a pirate ship themed bar? She had unwillingly come and found something she didn't regret, as she found something even more unexpected: a crush on a talented guitarist. 

 And even though she was not sure if she was ready to pursue someone or to start a relationship, she knew she didn't want the clock of her life to keep spinning around a monotonous life, and she had just felt the way she had been wishing to feel for years; ALIVE. 

'Yes… I'll definitely come back again'

#my fic #airipyon #airip4 #songfic #lukanette fic

[winterhawk-olympic-bang]

Emotive Writing

Guest Poster: @thepartyresponsible​

Emotive writing is about making people Feel Things. People use this all the time to sell you stuff, but we’re out here giving emotions away for free. Here are a few tips and tricks I’ve found to make people feel the most emotions.

Word choice:

This is the most straightforward part of emotive writing. Your word choices add an extra layer of complexity to your message. You aren’t just telling readers what happened; you’re signaling to them how they should feel. Most writers do this unconsciously, but being deliberate can make it especially effective.

Here’s a non-emotive, just-the-facts sentence: The soldier lifted his weapon and turned toward the enemy.

Here’s the same sentence reworked to make you care a bit more: The exhausted soldier raised his broken shield and faced the invading army.

The actions here are fundamentally the same, but exhausted and broken invoke sympathy while invading skews negative.

The words you choose are sign posts for the reader. They indicate how to interpret the story and help your readers orient themselves and form expectations. Subtly building expectation is important because, while surprise can be effective, shock is generally numbing and confusion tends to be irritating, so word choice helps you frame things and guide your reader along.

One of the keys here is to attempt some subtlety. If every sentence about your protagonist reads like an ad campaign (effervescent, brilliant, impervious) and every sentence about your antagonist reads like a political diatribe (cruel, spineless, malicious), you’re probably overusing your sign posts. People want to know who to root for, but too much emotive language can make them feel manipulated.

Think of word choice like adding spices to food. If you put oats in boiling water, you’re making oatmeal, and the spices you use won’t change that. But if you throw in some honey and cinnamon, I know we’re headed somewhere wholesome. If you sprinkle in little discordant notes of garlic powder and cayenne, what we’re cooking is a tragedy. And if you upend an entire bottle of cinnamon, a quarter cup of nutmeg, and toss in seventeen whole cloves, I am not staying for breakfast.

Narrative distance:

Narrative or psychic distance is the space between the reader and the character, usually navigated by the intermediary figure of the narrator. Your narrator can be an omniscient figure that knows the thoughts, feelings, and intentions of every character in the world. Or your narrator could be sitting on the shoulder of your main character, close enough to hear their thoughts and know their story but not so close that they speak with the character’s voice. Or your narrator could be your character.

If you want to ramp up emotion, you usually want a narrator who is very close to one character (or, alternatively, to separate characters in turn). But you don’t have to stay at one distance for the whole story, and, just like word choice, shifts in narrative distance can be helpful indicators to your reader about the story and the characters.

A sudden, dramatic shift in narrative distance is quite jarring, like a sudden zoom-in during a movie. It can be effective, but it’ll lose its punch if it’s overused. Generally, if you want to shift narrative distance, you should build to it slowly. Here’s an example of shifting from a distant third person to a closer third person:

They wake the Soldier because the archer is missing. He has a habit of slipping his lead, disappearing post-mission. The chase grew tedious years ago, but the Soldier runs it just the same. He’ll do as he’s told. But it bothers him, when he lets it. The why.

Why does he do this? the Soldier wonders, when he shouldn’t, when it isn’t his place. Where is he going? he thinks, when he can’t stop himself. Who is he running to? But he tries to think nothing at all.

Another trick of narrative distance is to suddenly pull back to show a character who’s been compromised, shocked, or deeply hurt by something. Imagine spending a long time in a close Bucky perspective, hearing his thoughts, and then being abruptly walloped across the face with: The machine went quiet, and the Soldier opened his eyes. Zooming out can emphasize what’s been lost. Because you aren’t just taking the soul of Bucky Barnes right out of him, you’re also taking that closeness away from the reader. You’re silencing the voice they’ve been listening to.

Whether you zoom in or out during highly emotional moments depends on what you’re trying to accomplish and also on who’s involved.  Some characters have loud, messy emotions that will get louder when they’re hurt. Some characters will freeze over and push a narrator further away. You can use narrative distance to show a character slowly opening up or suddenly slamming a door. But you need the reader to have a solid understanding of the character in order to follow what the shift means, which leads to the next component.

Know your characters:

So, here’s the thing. You gotta Velveteen Rabbit this. Every character is Tinker Bell. If you stop believing, they die.

If you want people to care about these characters, you have to treat them like living, breathing, fully feeling people. They have favorite colors. They have phobias. They have Friday night plans and blisters from new shoes and sesame seeds stuck in their teeth. They have superstitions and secrets. You don’t need to know all of these facts, but you should try to give the impression that someone could know them. The more real your characters are, the more we’re going to care about them.

Since this is fanfiction, you start with a receptive audience. Your readers are fond of these characters. Figure out why. Figure out which parts of the character you can relate to and dig in until you feel like you can understand the parts of them you can’t relate to.

Try to collect things that make you feel close to that character. I always have music playing when I’m writing, so I make playlists for characters and playlists for stories. If I feel like I’m losing a character, I’ll go back to their playlist. But you could also use Pinterest boards, reread favorite fics or comics, rewatch movies or fanvids, or spend an unreasonable amount of time researching bows and tactical knives. Whatever works!

Also, remember, your characters don’t know what story they’re in. They don’t know it’s going to end well (or terribly). Maintain that tension, because that’s where the emotions are. When you watch a good horror movie, you’re not really scared of the monster. You’re scared for the characters, because they don’t know if they’re going to survive.

Emotions come from the characters. That’s why it’s still sad that Tony Stark dies, no matter how many times you watch it happen. Tony Stark was brave and flawed and usually right and often sarcastic, and it hurts to watch him die because that’s a full, unique human we’re losing. We know him well enough to know he’s choosing to sacrifice himself and why he made that choice and who will mourn him.

Know your characters, and let them be messy and weird and wrong and hopeful and cantankerous and unique. Fear is relatable, flaws are relatable, and awkward, ungainly, stubborn progress is relatable. Just remember what it is that makes their progress their progress because, if you can swap Dominic Toretto in for Ted Lasso and have the exact same story, you’ve probably lost your characters.

Plan your emotional trajectory:

Okay, time to get a bit technical. This is for people who like to plan. For those terrifying, godlike writers who just sit down and write, this might not be helpful. For my fellow planners:

There’s a theory (which you can get a general overview about here or, if you’re very into data, right here) that there are six core emotional trajectories in narratives:

1)      Rags to riches (rise)

2)      Riches to rags (fall)

3)      Man in a hole (fall then rise)

4)      Icarus (rise then fall)

5)      Cinderella (rise then fall then rise)

6)      Oedipus (fall then rise then fall)

Since rise and fall can mean different things, I find it helpful to combine these building blocks with emotional axes, which you can find some examples of here.

So, basically, for my winterhawk baseball au Got a Heart in Me, I Swear, I planned to follow the “man in a hole” trajectory (fall then rise) along the anxiety-confidence emotional axis with some bleedover from the humiliation-pride axis. Which basically means Clint started comfortable enough, nosedived deep into anxiety and humiliation, and then slowly built his way to confidence over the rest of the fic.

If the listed axes don’t appeal to you, you can very easily create your own. Just think of an emotion, identify what links it to its inverse, and then list the related emotions between the two opposites. Disgust and adoration are opposites, but they’re linked by attention, right? You can’t ignore something you find disgusting or adorable. So, here’s an example emotional axis you could follow: Disgust – Resentment – Obsession – Fascination – Reverence – Adoration. Enemies to lovers, anyone?

Emotional axes help provide a natural framework for your character’s emotional trajectory. They can be subtle; you don’t have to start on one end of the spectrum and go all the way to the other. A story that moves just a step or two on an emotional axis can be incredibly compelling. That small progress from discomfort to hope can hit really hard if the progress feels fought-for and earned and real.

Tips for writing emotions:

·         Get physical: If you want to show an emotion instead of telling it, describe its impacts on the body. Most characters won’t think I’m embarrassed. They’ll feel a drop in their stomach like someone cut the elevator cables and a hot stinging in their face like they’ve been slapped by some disappointed version of themselves. The more visceral your descriptions, the more the reader will feel them. If you want your reader to feast on feelings, you have to set the table.

·         Dramatic zoom: When something very intense happens, shift the narrative distance. In or out is fine, but a sudden, dramatic event should result in a sudden, dramatic change in focus. Characters might hyperfocus on their physical bodies (the mechanics of breathing, the ringing in their ears, the mad animal urge toward flight) or they might be kicked so far out of their own heads that they feel like they’re dreaming or watching the scene play out from overhead. This distance is useful for two reasons: it feels real, and it allows readers to absorb the situation in pieces, without being overwhelmed by it.

·         Unreliable narrator: Some emotions can be so charged that people don’t want to own them, like grief, shame, jealousy, rage, lust, and guilt. Characters might unconsciously misrepresent these to themselves as something else. A grieving mother might insist she’s tired. A rehabilitated assassin who’s fallen in love with an absolute dork might tell himself he’s just tracking a target. Everyone knows what it’s like to lie to themselves, so this makes characters relatable. And, also, everyone likes being in on a secret, so, sometimes, this is just fun.

·         Face the monsters: We’re often conditioned not to dwell on unpleasant things, which is part of why it can be powerful to examine them in stories. From small things like inglorious emotional states (envy, cowardice, resentment) to character flaws (recklessness, withdrawal, arrogance) to personal tragedies (loss, betrayal, abandonment), the negative parts of human emotional life pack quite a punch. Acknowledge them. Not only are they relatable experiences, but redemption and recovery arcs are some of the most compelling stories we have.

#whob #winterhawk #winterhawk olympic bang #writer workshops #writer workshop: emotions #guest post #thepartyresponsible

[eideticmemory]

EVER SINCE NEW YORK II | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic.

PART 2! Read Part 1 here.

Soundtrack:

Maps - Maroon 5.

Me & Ur Ghost - Blackbear.

Keep You Close - Frenship.

Word Count: 3,341.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, substance use, a bit of angst.

Fall, Sophomore Year.

Tisch School of the Arts,

New York University.

New York City. 

“Okay, you know what?” You scoffed, throwing your hands up in surrender. “I give up. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Claire laughed from behind you, “You alright over there?”

“No,” you grumbled. You pressed down on the black frame, using all your might to make the command strip stick to the wall. Yet, when you stepped back, it would pop off of the surface, and your ballet poster was lopsided. It’d been a vicious cycle for 10 minutes. “This goddamn command strip won’t stick. What the fuck?” 

“Okay, grumpy, step away from the poster,” Claire ordered, grabbing onto your shoulders and escorting you to the center of the room. “The room looks great, [y/n], why are you so stressed?” 

“I am not stressed. I am frustrated, and those damn command strips aren’t cheap. I’m pissed.” 

“Okay, staples queen, tell you what,” she sighed. “I will go buy you a pack of command strips and personally mount the poster myself, okay?” 

You looked up at Claire, giving her a soft smile. “Did I win the roommate lottery or what?”

“Yeah, but better not say stuff like that too much. People are gonna start thinking we’re a different type of roommates.”

You laughed, and shook your head at her. 

“[y/n], what’s up?” Claire asked. “You’ve been moody as fuck ever since we moved back in for the semester. Classes haven’t even started yet and you’re moping around. What’s going on?”

Well, Claire, you thought. I’m glad you asked. I’m glad you brought it up, because I’ve been dying to talk about it for a while. You see, I fucked my mortal enemy, and it was so good that I did it a second time. And no, I’m not talking about my cinematography professor, I’m talking about Matthew. Gubler. I fucked Matthew Gubler. Yes, I know. Hell has frozen over. Because I hated him. I hate him. I think he’s awful. Especially since he thinks it’s okay to fuck someone, ignore their existence, fuck them again, ignore their existence, and then leave them with a vague ass note? 505. 505! I’ve looked up every possible meaning of 505 that there is. The song, urban dictionary, numerology. And I can’t figure the shit out. And it doesn’t help that Matthew didn’t say a word to me over summer break. I’m just lost and confused and I know you would understand and you would know what to do. 

But it’s Matthew. 

And I can’t tell anyone. Especially you. 

“Last semester was a royal disaster,” you sighed. “I just don’t wanna overwhelm myself again. Y’know with class, and shows, and parties. I wanna do right this semester, but it’s a little stressful. So, I’m a little stressed.” 

Claire looked at you for a long time, eyebrows lowered and her eyes scanning your face. She had a gut feeling that you were lying, but didn’t wanna be a bitch. So she bit her tongue. 

“Let’s go get something to eat,” she smiled. 

Classes started that following Monday. Your first lecture was at 10 o’clock. And you woke up at 10:15. Having showered the night before, you brushed your teeth, put on your outfit and fixed your hair all in ten minutes and hiked it across campus in 4 minutes. You rushed up to the classroom door, and entered the lecture very calmly. People were scattered about in the auditorium, some towards the sides, a lot front and center. But only one person sitting in the very back row.

Matthew. 

Too occupied with explaining yourself to your professor, you didn’t notice Matthew until a few minutes after entering. You refused to make eye contact with him, nervously staring at your feet as you walked over to him. And took a seat at his side. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.” 

Those were the only words spoken for an hour and fifteen minutes. However, within 10 minutes of seeing you again, Matthew began to rub your thigh. His fingers grazed the top of your leg, slowly but surely making their way to your inner thigh. You held your breath, staring up at the professor the whole time and pretending to take notes. 

When Matthew’s fingers pressed against your clit, you almost gasped. But you kept your mouth shut, stifling the sound. He smirked to himself, only glancing at you when you were too shaken up to notice. You propped up the screen of your laptop, hiding your face behind it so you could let out quiet moans. You were so sensitive, and very glad that you wore a skirt to class. 

Matthew’s fingers slid your panties to the side and made skin to skin contact with your clit, applying pressure as he rubbed you. You exhaled for a long time, swear words wanting to fly out of your mouth instead. The professor’s words drowned out a long time ago, and at this point you didn’t care. You just needed to come. 

Matthew remembered the way you liked to be touched, he had to. Because he was able to bring you to the edge so quickly, it was insane. You clenched your thighs around his wrist to signal your nearing release, and he grinned. 

You rested your head on the keyboard of your laptop, hiding from everyone as you came. Your jaw dropped, and you had to stop yourself from groaning too loudly. Matthew removed his hand from under your skirt. He sucked on the tips of his fingers, just to get the taste of you on his tongue. Then, with only 2 minutes left in class, he packed up his stuff and walked out.

You should’ve dropped the class. At the very least, sat somewhere else. But you didn’t. You stayed in that course. With Matthew. In the back row. And wore skirts every other day for a month. Some days he would repeat the action, and some days he wouldn’t. It was like he could tell how desperate you were each time. And if you were really desperate, he simply didn’t touch you. It sucked, but it kept you on your toes. 

He missed class one day, and to cope, you had a dream about him that night. You imagined him using his mouth on you, in an empty lecture hall, bending you over the desk, making you come. When you woke up, you were in a cold sweat. You couldn’t believe you were having thoughts like this about Matthew Gubler. But you were. 

You hopped out of bed, put on your slippers, and left the room to go to the vending machines. Holding a soda and some candy, you walked back to your dorm room silently. Alerted by the sound of footsteps, you turned your head down the hall to see Claire walking out of someone’s room. She noticed you and rushed up to you with a big smile. 

“Hey!” She beamed. “What are you doing up?”

“Oh, uh, I couldn’t sleep. Where you been?”

She sighed happily, “I’ve been doing adult things, [y/n], I cannot lie.” She wrapped her arm around your shoulder as you both walked to your room. “I’m in love, kid. It’s crazy.”

“You’re in love? With who?”

“Ah, that will soon be revealed, my dear [y/n].” 

That weekend, you two invited everyone to come hang out at your dorm. Someone was able to swipe some liquor, and it was a party. A handful of people, getting a little tipsy, music in the background. Claire insisted Matthew be invited, but you weren’t expecting him to show up. But of course, he did. Because he’s a nuisance. 

He laid down on Claire’s bed and she sat beside him, the two of them quickly joining the conversation at hand. You tried not to look like a kicked puppy, tried not to pout, to sulk, to watch. But inch by inch, second by second, Claire moved closer to Matthew, until by the end of the night, her head was on his chest. 

That Monday, you sat in the front of the class. 

And every class after that for the next month. 

Missing your daily release, you became cranky and nasty and moody. You didn’t mean to, but that’s how it happened. To help you get over the nagging feeling, you went out one Saturday night. A group of friends dragged you along to a dorm party in the next building over. You used it as an excuse to dress up, ignore your homework and get some fresh air. In a tight purple dress, you walked into the booming dorm. It was packed, smelled like booze and filled with heat. 

A cup of vodka in your hand, it wasn’t until about two hours in that you realized you didn’t want to party. You sat on the couch the whole time, fiddling with your hands and the hem of your dress. You’d drank an entire solo cup of alcohol by then, and you were starting to get tired. Your friends had gotten lost a long time ago, and you knew it was fruitless to look for them. So, you picked yourself up and started to head for the exit. 

“[y/n]!” 

You turned around to see a guy walking towards you. Jonathan. “Hey, John, what the hell is going on?” You asked, noticing him supporting another guy on his shoulder. His friend was a drunken, sloppy mess, and could barely stand.

“Our boy Steve here had a little too much to drink,” John replied. “I’m taking him back to his room. You going back to your place?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I am.”

“Okay, do you mind helping me with him? Please? I’ll give you a dollar.”

You laughed, shook your head and put your arm around Steve’s waist. “Ooh, a dollar! Sounds exciting.” 

It was cold, and you shivered on the way back to your dorm building. Steve only lived down the hall from you, so helping wasn’t too far out of the way for you. John used Steve’s key to let the three of you into Steve’s suite, guiding both of you to Steve’s room. 

You both worked together to lay Steve down on his mattress. You covered him with his blanket. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” John told you. “We both are actually.”

“Maybe we should start a business. We escort drunk people home for a small fee of $100.”

He laughed, “I’m in as long as you dress like that every time.”

You blushed, and ducked your head down to hide it. 

“What’s going on in here?” A voice called to you two. 

You looked up at the threshold to see Matthew standing there, looking sleepy, disheveled, shirtless, and beautiful. 

“Hey, Gube,” John greeted. “[y/n] and I were just dropping Steve off. Kid couldn’t  hold his liquor.” 

Matthew scoffed, “You could’ve left him there. Let him get dicks drawn on his face.”

“Well, aren’t you full of love?” John laughed. “No, seriously, I’ve gotta text Lindsey and let her know I’m staying in for tonight.” He padded at his pocket, followed by a loud groan, “Fuck, I left my phone at the party. Fuck me.” 

“That’s a higher power trying to tell you that you need to stay out longer,” Matthew said. 

John smirked at him, “You’re right. Wonderful insight, Gubler.”

John walked out of the door, heading for the exit, and you followed him, avoiding eye contact with Matthew. As the two of you approached the front door, you froze. John exited the suite, not noticing that he was leaving you behind. And you would’ve moved if you had the power. 

Hanging on the door of the suite was the room number: 505.

Your breath caught in your throat. 505. The room number. The room number of the suite you saw Claire leaving that day. 505.

“What took you so long?” Matthew asked, standing behind you. 

You released your breath, goosebumps crawling on your skin as you felt him get closer to you. Your heart raced, your body trembled. You had a physical response to being near this boy. It was intense. 

“I’m not doing this, Matthew,” you whispered. 

“Doing what? We’re just talking.”

You turned around to face him, suddenly very angry, “No! You know what I’m talking about! You know what I’m talking about! And it’s gone on for long enough, Matthew. I’m out!” You kept your voice quiet, but still aggressive. You turned to exit the dorm, but he grabbed onto your waist and pulled you into him. 

“Listen, Princess Peach,” he said.

“Fuck you—“

“Listen. I don’t know what your deal is, but I do know that I miss you—“

“You’re full of shit. You just wanna fuck.”

“That’s what I said. I miss you. I mean, for such a short person, your pussy packs a punch.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Face it,” he murmured. “You may hate me, but your pussy doesn’t.”

Your body melted into his at the sound of his voice. The feeling of his hands running down your body, landing on your thigh. “Just admit it. Or tell me to stop.” His fingers trailed under your dress, the tips grazing you through your panties. Your head rolled back at the gentle touch and he took that as an invitation to kiss your neck. 

“Cmon, shortcake, tell me to stop,” he mumbled. “Tell me to stop.” 

You responded by wrapping your hands around his throat, using all your strength to push him out the living room couch. He chuckled under his breath, stumbling back onto the cushion and pulling you into his lap. 

“Oh, you gonna choke me?” He asked, his voice coming out strained. “Okay, princess, you hate me so much? You can’t stand me?” He pushed his pants down to reveal his erection. “Fuck me like it then.” 

You crashed your lips onto his and pushed him back onto the couch, reaching down to grab his cock. You pulled your panties to the side and teased him against your core, moaning as his tip rubbed against your clit. You sank down onto his dick, feet pressed into the couch, hands holding his neck. 

He stared up at you as you fucked him — fast and careless. Swear words fell off of his lips uncontrollably, his hands pawing at your breast. Your boobs fit perfectly in his palm and he was obsessed. He had to bite down on his bottom lip to stay quiet, grunting into his mouth. 

“F-fuck,” he panted. “Wait, wait.” 

You leaned in and kissed him roughly, grinding your hips against his. You made sure to stay silent, giving no indication that you were experiencing so much pleasure. 

“H-hey — shit, fuck,” he groaned. “Wait.”

Matthew placed his hands on your ass, his eyes closed tight, his body tensing up as you rode him into the wall. “Oh, fuck!” He exclaimed, and lifted you off of his cock. Quickly, just in time for him to release all over his stomach. He panted, he quivered, he mumbled soft, dirty words. Whispered something about you. 

As pretty a sight as it was, you refused to sit there and stare. So, you stood up, pulled the hem of your dress down. And this time, you left. Not a word said. Nothing. 

Matthew followed you on instagram that night. You didn’t accept the request for a week, and when you did, you didn’t follow him back. He tried to add you on snapchat, but you declined it. You continued to sit far away from him in class, giving him no access. He brought you a drink at a party once and you asked for water instead. When he returned with the water, you had already left. 

He had met his match. You dominated him, successfully, fearlessly, and without even trying. He wanted more. But you liked to watch him so squirm, so you didn’t give in. 

Christmas break rolled around, and instead of focusing on the actual holiday, you and your friends planned your first spring break vacation. A group of you would head to South Beach for the week, and stay at a relative’s beach house. 

You sat on your bed, trying to map out the cost of the trip. “So it’s me, you, the four of them...Claire, are you listening to me?”

“Is this a good Christmas gift for Matthew?” 

You turned your head to her quickly, “Huh?” 

“This,” she held up the book - The Magic Encyclopedia. “You think Matthew will like it?”

“Claire,” you sighed. “What are you doing?” 

“What do you mean?”

“What are you doing simping over this boy? Buying him gifts? This isn’t you, Claire.”

“Leave me alone, [y/n], okay? We’re just friends. And he told me he bought me a gift so I got him one. Jeez, do you have to hate him so much?” She pouted, dropping the book into a gift bag. 

“Um, actually, yeah I do,” you nodded. “He’s a dick.”

A knock rang at the door, and as Claire hopped up, she pointed her finger at you, “That’s him. Do not pick a fight.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to planning. Matthew stepped into the room, carrying a bag in one hand. He used his other hand to cup Claire’s face and give her a small kiss on the cheek. “Santa Claus is here!” He exclaimed. 

“Gimme, gimme, gimme!” Claire pleaded, reaching for the gift bag. 

“Wow, Claire, I’m hurt. You’re so materialistic.” He chuckled. 

“Oh, please, Gube,” she scoffed. “Give me my gift.”

“Okay,” he reached into the bag and pulled out a small box, wrapped into festive paper. “I got this for you, Claire,” he handed her the box. “And I even got something for your roommate here.”

You picked your head up, face ridden with confusion. Matthew licked his lips as he held the gift out to you, “I saw it and I couldn’t help myself. Merry Christmas, short stack.” 

“Aw, Gube!” Claire squealed. Matthew let her tuck herself under his arm and hug him. “You’re so sweet.”

You stared at the tiny box in your hands, feeling it’s weight. “Thanks...” you whispered.

“Here, open what I got you,” Claired ordered Matthew, stepping over to her bed and grabbing the gift bag. She handed it to him with a wide smile, and giggled as he reached inside. 

“Wow!” He cheered, holding the book in his hand. “Holy shit, Claire. This is incredible, thank you!”

“I knew how much you wanted that book so I remembered to get it,” she said. “So, I hope your gift for me is as impressive.”

“It is.”

As the two of them spoke, you opened up your own gift, quietly, hiding it behind your pillow. Claire unwrapped Matthew’s gift, and squealed. “Shut up! Where did you find this film?”

“Amazon!” he replied. “That fancy camera of yours only takes a certain type of film so I wanted you to be stocked.”

You pulled the item out of the box, focused on figuring out what it was. It was cold, metallic, and shone under the light as it was revealed. 

“Oh, Gube!” Claire pulled him into a hug. “This is incredible!”

It was an antique. A silver polished miniature  ballerina, perched on a pedestal. There was a knob on the side, and when turned, the ballerina twirled. It was precious. 

You looked over at Matthew and Claire, watching as they broke out of their hug and looked at each other. “I expect a bunch of pictures when I get back,” he told her, backing out of the room. 

“And I expect a professional magician,” she winked. Yuck. Claire turned her head to you after Matthew left, grinning, “What’d he get you?” 

You quickly pushed the ballerina back in the box, shaking your head. “Socks. Mismatched socks. Very funny.” You replied. 

She giggled, “But hey, a gift! That’s growth!”

“Yeah, whatever,” you grumbled. 

“Matthew’s great,” She said. “You’ll get to know him better soon, since he’s coming to the beach with us.”

“He’s what?”

[PART 3.]

#mine #college!matthew #matthew gray gubler/reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler fic #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #mgg imagine #mgg smut #mgg x reader #esny