#a few steps above u id say
Text
uneven
#adventure time#fionna and cake#simon petrikov#betty grof#golbetty#petrigrof#mine#fanart#first a step below him#then same level#but never got on the same level in reality#and now shes merged with a god#a few steps above u id say#wish this message of getting lost in love or a partner came in my life sooner ngl
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I feel like it’s been forever since a new Harry Potter fic was written, so I’m here to request(if u feel like writing it ofc<3)!
Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Male!reader where reader likes to admire him from the background, but word gets out that they have a crush on him. Reader gets picked on for it because “why would Draco Malfoy of all people go for a Hufflepuff boy?”. U can choose what direction it goes in 👀 (unless you want me be more direct then I can add on to it!)
Yes! I’m here for it- hope you enjoy <3
Also, prefacing this by saying I don’t at all like Rowling or support her bullshit, this is just a cute request id like to do
CW: teasing directed towards reader, reader is like half an inch shorter than Draco (something like that, just for context) unedited (I’ll do it soon I promise) and makeout scene (spoilersssss uh oh)
x
Sound booms across the length of the long walls, the bustling Great Hall full of kids across grades eating their meals. Chicken, mashed potatoes, loafs spread out in baskets, it’s like a thanksgiving meal.
The sun, high in the sky, shines through the tall windows and creates a natural light to outshine the various floating candles. Down at one of the various tables, the Hufflepuff children sit at the wooden table and talk.
“I don’t think he understood the assignment, either.”
“He’s the one who wrote it!”
“Exactly the issue-“
Y/n, accompanied by F/n, sits across from another group at the decorated table. A yellow and black scarf sits loosely around his s/c shoulders, a few rings wrapped around his fingers. He takes another bite from his plate, listening to F/n and another student bicker quietly- the slightest pull of a smile rising on his lips.
“You guys still talking about Snape?” He asks, eyeing the two. They both nod.
“He’s so grumpy all the time, Y/n,” F/n complains, jutting his chin towards the stone faced man across the room. Y/n chuckles and shakes his head.
“Snape always knows what he’s doing.” He says, planning to check out of the conversation when words of disagreement are thrown his way.
Y/n moves to keep watching his friends- but his eyes flicker.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the platinum blonde hair his eyes always seem to catch. And suddenly, his friends’ words are but mush against his ears.
Draco sits at the Slytherin table, green banners hanging above his head just like the yellow ones above Y/n’s.
He has a normal scowl, that would dull anyone else’s face if it weren’t his. As his friends continue to talk, though, his eyebrow lifts and a smooth smirk almost replaces it.
And oh, how pretty his lips are.
Y/n wishes he could hide the thoughts as they ring in his head, wishing his small smile wasn’t such a giveaway.
“Y/n? Did we lose you again?” The girl across the table asks, bangs falling into her face. Grace, is her name.
“Yeah, you look distracted.” F/n snickers, nudging Y/n’s elbow because unlike the others, he knows exactly where his best friend’s gaze is lingering.
Blood rushes to Y/n’s face, realizing how obvious he had been just now.
“I’m fine.” He insists, elbowing F/n right back. The others shrug it off, not noticing how one last glance is shot towards Draco.
Lunch is closer to wrapping up when Y/n notices the time- 1:48.
“Oh, wait-“ he looks over at F/n. “Man, we gotta go-“
At this, the boy looks at the time and nods. They both grab their things, wishing goodbye to their friends- Ms. McGonagall would be expecting a finished project in the next hour.
They weave through the students crowded around tables, holding their bags close to their hips to take less room. Getting out early gets them more time, though their project was nearly done anyways Ms. McGonagall really talked this one up.
Stepping out through the giant wooden doors, Y/n breathes out.
“Alright, you have the-“ his words are cut short when someone steps into his path.
Looking up, he finds 3 people standing in front of him, having bumped into the first one. They’re all from Slytherin.
“Sorry, didn’t see you.” He tries to step around them, but the boy in front recognizes him and suddenly seems very interested.
“Wait a minute,” he steps in front of Y/n again, “Y/n.” His name on this strange boy’s tongue doesn’t sound like a question, honestly it feels threatening. Y/n furrows his eyebrows, and steps back.
“Uh, yeah?” There’s an intimidating look in the Slytherin boy’s eye- one that not even his friends know the reason for. They, as well as F/n, watch curiously.
“Aren’t you that Hufflepuff that has a crush on Malfoy?”
What.
Y/n’s heart stops, his eyes widen. Who is this kid?
“Huh?”
“Oh don’t think I haven’t seen anything,” confidence seems to build in the boys voice, the look on Y/n’s face coming as confirmation for his words. “You’re always making puppy eyes at him- oh, I so knew it!”
The excitement in this boy’s voice is strange- was he betting on this? Does he not realize how creepy that feels?
“Wait, slow down,” one of the Slytherin’s step forward, wrapping her head around the news, “you like Malfoy? Really?”
Y/n doesn’t like the tone of her voice.
“A Hufflepuff? Liking Malfoy?” She scoffs, “oh please.”
Y/n feels too exposed, like he’s suddenly being poked and prodded from under a microscope.
How had they found out?
Who else knows?
He looks at F/n, eyes screaming for help. Another minute here, when kids could walk around the corner at any moment, hear his secret slowly leaking from the safety of his own self, and he might explode.
“You guys are on something strong, aren’t you?” F/n swoops in, trying to play it off and Y/n makes a mental note to remind the boy how grateful he is for him in a moment.
“Quit projecting, will you? Pathetic, really.” F/n says, though avoids any eye contact with the three. He shoves Y/n’s shoulder, who stumbles, and leads him away as quickly as possible.
By the time they get to the library, Y/n’s head is already swimming, mainly from embarrassment.
He never wanted anyone to know- he still doesn’t want that. This little “crush” was supposed to stay between him and F/n, for that was the only person he ever trusted to carry it.
But now? With some smug Slytherin boy walking around with his feelings cupped in the palm of his hand? Y/n’s lost his safety rail. Now, his feelings are vulnerable, ready to be spilled to Draco at any second.
Two hands hold his shoulders firmly, he recognizes them as F/n’s. No surprise, considering there’s barely any one else in the library right now. Y/n’s eyes dart to meet his.
“Hey, you alright?” He asks, and it takes an extra moment for the e/c eyed boy to come up with an answer.
“I think so.” He says, nodding. F/n copies the gesture.
“Good, that’s good. I’m sure not that many people know, ok?” He reassures Y/n, who’s grateful for the words as they bring back some stability.
“Right.”
Now that he’s out of that boys uncomfortable gaze, he doesn’t feel as panicked as he did before. More so, unsettled.
“Right, yeah, uh- let’s get back to the project.” With the nod of his head, and one last look, F/n is agreeing. The two boys sit down at one of the many tables, between two tall bookshelves.
‘Maybe it’s ok,’ Y/n thinks to himself, ‘not that many people know.’
**
You realize now, that you spoke too soon.
The next day comes, and you’re now standing in the bathroom wasting away time that’s supposed to be spent in Snape’s potions class. It’s empty, aside from you of course, nothing but the sound of a running faucet.
It’s so quiet that when the door creaks open, people stepping inside, your head snaps to the side, startled.
It’s two boys, both from Gryffindor, named Avery and Jaxon and you immediately recognize them from a few classes. You turn back to the sink.
Neither of them look at you, instead disappearing into two of the stalls.
By the time they’re both out of the stalls, you’re washing the final suds from your hands. From the mirror, you see their faces change, realizing who you are.
The air becomes unnecessarily tense, you’re unsure why, both of the boys are trying to pretend otherwise.
Avery and Jax glance at each other, walking to the sinks. And it’s not until Avery decides to speak, that the silence is again broken.
“Hey, um-“ you look at him, “I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but…” he looks hesitant to speak, like what he say might come off as offensive, something sensitive. Your curiosity only grows.
“Is it true, that you and Draco are dating?”
You nearly choke.
“What?” You asks, hating that this is the 2nd time Draco has been brought up to you.
“I mean, I heard that-“ Avery seems to notice the growing worry plastered on your face- it’s spreading. Your secret is spreading.
“Oh,” Avery begins to realize, “sorry, Y/n, that was a bit invasive.” His tone is calm, only slightly uncomfortable. Pretty much the opposite to you- itching to drop the conversation. But, you keep a calm face, shoving the gross feelings down.
“No it’s fine, um, why?” You can only hope your voice doesn’t give everything away.
“Oh, I just thought I heard a couple Slytherin kids talking about it.” Again, his voice feels too nonchalant. “Guess I was wrong.”
“Oh.” The slightest shake. Unlike Avery, though, Jax still seems interested.
“Wait- do you like him though?” This results in an elbow to rib, and Avery looks at him like a mother scolding their child.
“Ow!-“ Jax grunts, glaring yet ignoring the hint, “I’m just asking. You know about the Slytherins and Huffs’.”
“They just…” his eyes dart right back to yours, “they just don’t go together, man.” You hate the way he says it- hate how it feels like you’re being scolded, looked down on. Looking down at the yellow and black robes draped across your shoulder, you avoid Jaxon’s gaze.
Which, in hindsight, gives enough of an answer.
The two Gryffindors shuffle out of the bathroom, and immediately you let out a groan.
You’re fucked.
Hands run down your face in exasperation- this wasn’t supposed to get out. Draco probably knows now, people think that you’re dating.
The unusually large bathroom echoes mumbled curses back to you, silence so eery it feels haunting. You feel yourself beginning to doubt if you should even return to potions class- knowing Draco is sitting at the desk a few feet from yours.
“They just don’t go together, man…”
“A Hufflepuff? Liking Malfoy? Oh, please…”
Another sigh.
You feel your fingers pressing into your eyelids, passing over your temples and the wrinkles above your nose.
‘He’s gonna hate me’
Such a childish thought, but once it appeared you felt a sickening feeling in your chest because how you wish he doesn’t.
Outside, footsteps echo in the hallway.
And Draco himself, walks down the corridor towards the boy’s bathroom, taking his time with the silence. It’s a much better option, compared to Snape’s incessant grumbling.
He’s been trying to think the whole day- but is only now getting the chance thanks to that little posse of his.
For hours now, whenever given the chance, his mind drifts back to the conversations from early this morning at breakfast.
“Have you heard?” Pansy leans over the table, one eyebrow raised as if she’s careful of listening ears. Though, to that she doesn’t spare a second thought.
Blaise narrows his eyes, looking at her curiously. “Heard what?” He asks, and Draco impatiently looks at her.
“What now.” The blonde already doesn’t care, Pansy always seems to find some sort of gossip across houses. But this time, she’s sending a smirk right his way.
“Some little Hufflepuff has a crush on you.”
Now, to this, Draco does perk up- and his eyes flicker in your direction for only a moment. But, he doesn’t allow himself to acknowledge it.
“Mhm.” Pansy sounds so smug in her words, satisfied as both boys lean closer to her.
“Who?” Blaise asked, the roughness behind his voice covering any curiosity.
“Y/n L/n.”
Draco looks bewildered for a second- you? He never thought it was actually you, that was only a spark of hope in a moment of weakness. He was prepared to hear the name of some random girl he hadn’t learned the name of before- but the familiar ring of your name brought satisfaction to follow the shock.
He doesn’t even try to hide the smirk that shows through. Beside him, Blaise scoffs.
“You’re joking”. He says, and Draco shoots him a glare.
“What? It’s no surprise,” he says cockily, “jealousy’s never a good look”. The meaningless comeback earns a glare and an eye roll from Blaise- and surprises Pansy.
“Draco,” she narrows her eyes, “do you like this? Him?” She gives him a once-over, checking to see if he’s serious. He is.
Draco doesn’t give a straight answer, though, instead scoffing and going back to his plate.
“Get a life, why don’t you. Your gossip is boring me.” He says- but there’s the slightest pull at his lips, smiling your way.
Draco pushes open the large door, stepping inside the bathroom and immediately- his eyes land on you.
“Y/n?”
Your head snaps up, and a new feeling sinks into your stomach when you see him. You can’t tell if you wish it was someone else, or if this is perhaps what you were hoping for.
“Uh, hey.”
Draco steps closer, and you can see some sort of glint in his eyes, and you can’t quite name the warm yet uneasy feeling that follows.
“Skipping Snape’s class now, are we?” He teases in a smug voice, and your blood aches in your cheeks.
“Just taking a break-“ you don’t look at him, using a towel to wipe off your hands. You simply want to play it cool in front of him, though you’re unsure considering the past two times you seem to have failed.
“A break, hmm? I’m sure.” He says sarcastically.
Instead of picking a stall, like you expected, you watch from the corner of your eye as he approaches you and leans on one of the sinks.
“So,”
You freeze.
‘Don’t say it..’
“There seems to be a bit of a rumor spreading around.”
You visibly wince, the moment you prayed would never come has arrived. He found out- and just like the others, he knows that he could never accept a silly school crush from your house.
Turned away, you’re unable to see the smirk on his face- but you can hear it in his voice.
“Draco…” you mumble, feeling the dread of what his response is going to be. He’s closer now, you feel it- and suddenly his figure is right beside you.
“Y’know, if you wanted a date so badly you could’ve asked.”
You pause.
What?
His voice is new, because while there’s still such a teasing tone buried in the words, you notice…hope, as well.
You look at him, and notice his eyes have softened.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he says, “no need to have waited so long.” He still sounds partially like he’s joking, but his fingers are creeping closer to yours by the sink’s ledge.
The pieces are starting to connect in your head- he hasn’t pushed you away, hasn’t called you any names. In fact- he’s the one getting so close.
Draco watches, examining your face. He’s starting to feel impatient, actually, feeling he’s been clear enough. He doesn’t seem to understand how confusing his words can be- how your beating heart is twisting and unraveling in your chest. He’s too preoccupied with his own churning heart.
“What’re you saying?” You finally ask, and he nearly scoffs.
“Hell, you’re real thick in the head aren’t you?”
He doesn’t even try stopping himself as his hands cup your face, and his lips are molding right into yours.
He’s so quick with it, like he’s been waiting years for this, yet so smooth at the same time. You can feel your eyes as they shoot open, only to hazily fall half closed a moment later.
His arms loop around your waist, so you were almost bent into his body. You have to take a cautionary step back just to stable yourself, one hand holding his neck, it almost takes you too long to realize he is kissing you.
‘Holy shit, holy shit holy shit holy shit-‘ your mind races, and it feels like only half of it is functioning. Part of you is swimming, the other half melting into his arms because oh how long have you been waiting to feel him so close.
He’s smirking into the kiss now, breaking it into quicker, shorter kisses that mesh together to make one, long breathless one. Through the haze of his lips, your hand creeps into his hair and he wonders why he waited so long to experience this.
You tug slightly, other hand grabbing his jaw, and you pull him away.
The room is no longer silent, both of you catching your breath.
“I’ll take that as your confession, then?” You ask.
“‘Course,” he replies, “meet again after Potions?”
“Sounds good.”
[I hope you all enjoyed- I feel there’s probably more I could’ve added or something, but for now this is good. If anyone wants an add on or more or like a part two let me know!]
#Draco Malfoy#draco Malfoy x male reader#harry potter fandom#Harry Potter fandom x male reader#66 recs&replies
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im SO excited u reached 800 followers jj!!!
ok ive got a ton of ideas but firstly id LOVE a reconciliation fic with stiles and his dad with the prompt "i never want to fight with you. i love you too much to put you through that." i guess the context would be that Noah used to drink a lot but since finding out stiles uses age regression to cope with life hes been sober and trying to be the best dad he can be for him!
<3 @bebbie-bilinski
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ dump it out ⋆ﾟ⊹ ➢ event masterlist
|| stiles stilinski & noah stilinski
warnings: past alcoholism, alcohol, talk of Claudia’s death, hurt/comfort, this turned so sad whoops
-
After finding out Stiles regressed Noah’s been careful about his behavior, not swearing as much, trying not to share as many gory details of the job with his son, even if he searches them out on his own. But he’s never taken into account what happened after Claudia’s death, not until right now.
Stiles is standing wide eyed by the doorframe leading to the kitchen, his face is one of shock mixed with discomfort. It takes Noah a few moments to deduce what the issue is but then it hits him, he’s got a glass of whiskey set out in front of him, and the bottle sits opened on the table. He pauses and runs over what to do next, Stiles cuts his thoughts off before he can decide.
“Dump it out.” His voice is hard but has that signature slur to it that he gets when regressed, the one Noah’s never heard so upset. Stiles is usually such a happy little, he just wants to cuddle, to draw, to watch cartoons, he rarely gets fussy and never angry.
“Stiles-.” Again stopped.
“Please dump it out. I don’t- I can’t- dump it out or I’m gonna call Scott to come get me.” It’s paired with a sniffle Stiles is quick to cover but Noah still catches. His heart breaks hearing his kid so distressed, even more so when he knows it’s his fault.
After Claudia Noah was a mess, he’s not afraid to admit that, but it’s hard to see the consequences play out firsthand. He remembers yelling in Stiles’ face, finishing bottle after bottle, having so much grief that it turned him cruel. He never got to the point that Rafael McCall did, but he was close, and he knows Stiles and Scott have both talked about their experiences together. If Scott came to get Stiles tonight Noah’s not sure Stiles would ever come back home, not if Scott could help it.
“Okay, okay I’m getting rid of it.” It’s the only answer and even after the horrific case Noah saw today, he doesn’t need the drink. It’s not nearly as important as Stiles is.
The bottle of Jack gets tipped to lean against the side of the sink, spilling down the drain along side Noah’s half drunk glass that he tips over to empty. Stiles is watching his every move so intently it’s a little anxiety inducing.
“Kid I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have poured that drink.” He says as reassuringly as he can. He didn’t think before picking up the bottle of booze from the cabinet above the fridge, he just figured he needed something to calm himself, he should’ve thought about it more. He should’ve gotten rid of that bottle months ago.
"I never want to fight with you. I love you too much to put you through that.” Noah steps to put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, fingers gripping the sleep shirt Stiles has on that he recognizes is actually his own. It makes his chest warm to think that his kid wants to be like him, wants to have something to remember him by while he’s at work.
“I don’t like it when you drink, it makes you scary.” Stiles’ head stays ducked down as he mumbles the words come out. Stilinski freezes in that moment. He never thought he scared Stiles, of course he knew Stiles was upset about his drinking, mad at him, more distant, but never scared.
His arms wrap around Stiles within seconds, hugging his son as tight as he can. There’s a small moment of hesitation before Stiles hugs Noah back, sinking into the familiar feeling of his father holding him.
“I’m so sorry Stiles, I never meant to scare you, I promise I’ll never drink again. I love you so much.”
“It’s okay, I love you too.”
#jj writes#jj events#teen wolf agere#little!stiles#caregiver!noah stilinski#noah stilinski#stiles stilinski#stiles stilinski & noah stilinski
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have u seen the new jacob geller video? seems like itd b up your alley. id be curious to hear your thoughts on the philosophy of archival he talks about
Oh it was DEFINITELY up my alley, as an (at the very least) above-average obsessed fan of archiving my life's work to the best of my abilities. Geller brings up a really good point I've had to wrestle with, myself: What's the extent to which I can, well, archive?
Lately I've had to omit archiving multiple versions of my art because there's just... so many. Often I found myself erasing old versions just to put new ones in, only occasionally regretting it months or years later. There's some physical doodles I just haven't been able to archive, some that are probably lost forever. Sometimes I go about my day and check Discord only to find something missing I can't quite put my finger on; another server, deleted.
How much do I archive of myself? Every word? Every pen stroke? Every conversation? Every thought, every dream, every morsel of food, every footstep, every blink, every fucking breath I've ever taken? Where does it stop?
The answer is it doesn't stop. At least, if you want a full archive of yourself. Different people have focused on different things, yeah. Some make dream journals, others make food diaries, others digitize their notebooks, others have github repositories or the like. But by god, is it hopeless to do everything.
I've tried to back those servers up, but, well... They get updated every day. I can't make backups of every server, every day. Archiving takes time, immense amounts of time, out of my day.
Lately, I've been going to class lectures only to spend the time archiving my mind-boggling collection of notebook doodles from high school, for a purpose that isn't really that important right now. I'm not saying it's a universal experience, but to me, the process and goal of archiving puts me violently in the past and violently in the future, and rarely in the present.
I find myself just scrolling through my Everything Drive aimlessly, taking in the same colors I've already looked at for years, and it just feels like... I'm getting nothing new done. And then I continue building up this Everything Drive, for some unforeseeable unattainable "ideal" state that will never happen.
I look back and I look forward constantly and sometimes I forget I can just step back and take in the moment as it is, without having to save an audio log of it, without having to record a video of it, without having to be constantly in fear of the decay of my memories.
(Note that I have nothing against recording videos of things. I mean, I do that. A lot. That's why I bring it up. It just gets a bit too much after a while. I have 2000 videos and 2000 audio recordings on my phone. I barely ever check them.)
Callie, you probably have a few art pieces that might not be accessible anymore, because you might have put them in a discord server and just... Never kept a copy on your computer. Even for the art you made that is still accessible... How will you even go through the effort of collecting and archiving them, now? I got lucky to start my Everything Drive project relatively "early", in 2020, because Unus Annus scared lil ol me. Even then, I had a lot of work before me. I can't imagine starting that same project now, 3 years later.
On a slightly related note, sometimes a friend's hard drive just gets wiped. Sometimes someone's art hosting site gets taken down. Sometimes there's even something as mundane as someone quickly deleting their discord message as a joke. Things get deleted all the time, outside of my control.
I try to archive as much of myself as possible, but that's basically where I stop. Just myself. I can't archive everyone else to the extent I do for myself. I just hope they get to archive at least a small piece of themselves, their own way.
Back to Geller's video, though. I wanna say, The Internet Archive isn't fully a forever archive. People can try, yeah, and with enough people, something could very well last forever. But with individual items, it's a different story.
I used to be very into the Archie Sonic comics, all for one specific character (if you want to know, it's Shard the Metal Sonic). Internet Archive, at that time, had a collection of pretty much every archie sonic comic, neatly organized and easily accessible straight from the website. It was a beautiful thing.
Months later, trying to find a panel of a comic to take a screenshot of, I realized the collection had been taken down for copyright reasons.
Sure, there's other collections of Archie Sonic comics, but those often fail to capture... Everything. Even the one I was looking at probably failed to capture everything. Some only have the early era of the comics, some only have the comics from Ian Flynn onwards. Some omit the spinoffs, others omit the end pages of the comics with fan mail and whatnot. One collection appears to be the most substantial, but seems to have forgotten a few pages in a few issues.
It's just... Impossible, really. To get everything, and make it out in one piece.
I can't capture my paper doodles as accurately as they appear; in the Everything Drive, you zoom in enough, and you see pixels. There aren't pixels in real life. If I were to preserve every page of my high school notebooks, the scale of the collection would become gargantuan and completely inaccessible; just like Borges' map.
I don't currently have the resources to download every video I've ever put on youtube or every stream I've done on twitch, and keep them on some external hard drives. I certainly don't have the space or even the time to preserve everything I love, everything I wish could stay just a little bit longer on this Earth. We all have our times to go, and all we can do is move just a few centimeters higher on this sinking ship.
So here I am, carving out my own corner, displaying only a select few categories of what I wish to preserve about myself.
And in this corner, I'm happy.
Sorry if this rant is unhinged. I'm not deleting any of it. Guess I'm staying true to this topic, lmao.
I want to end by saying that if anyone wants to scroll through my Everything Drive (a google drive collection of as many digital + physical things ive made as im able to find and archive), I can send you a link! Just dm me if you wanna. Haven't fully finished organizing some recent art projects and a vast majority of my notebook doodles, but there's still already a fuck ton of shit in there.
Also my music streaming platform of choice is VLC Media Player
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Happily Evil After (The Courier/Evil Sivle)
Masterlist
Warning: swearing
Y/N- your name
Y/L/N - your last name
Y/U/N - your undercover name
Summary: After Maxwell's death you reach out to The Courier, informing him that you know of his son's location. You offer him your assistance but in exchange for something extremely valuable in return.
Note: In the movie JDM's character doesn't have any other name besides Courier or Evil Sivle, which of course we know neither is his real name. So, we're going to give the name him, John as the story goes on.
Dividers created by @firefly-graphics
You were parked further up the street as you watched The Man walk up the path through an overgrown lawn towards the boarded-up shell of a house. Having waited a few more minutes after he had entered the house, you finally exit out of the car and make your way towards the house as well.
You stood quietly as you watched The Man crouched down in front of a piano, silently staring at a toy marble he was holding in his hand.
“You’re a hard man to keep track of, COURIER. Or should I say… EVIL SIVLE-” you smirk at his quick reflexes as you were now staring down at the barrel of a gun that was pointed directly at you, whereas moments before he had just been crouched down in front of the piano.
“Who the hell are you?” The Courier breathes out heavily.
A broad smile then breaks across your face as you answer him, “I’m the one that’s going to give you what you’re now so desperately seeking for-”
“And what exactly is it you believe I’m seeking?” The Courier stared at you suspiciously.
Folding your arms behind your back and rocking back and fourth on the balls of your feet with a knowing smirk you respond, “well, your son of course-”
“My son?” The Courier then suddenly seems more interested in what you had to say as he lowered his gun a bit.
Nodding your head in confirmation, “Stanton’s his name, right? He’s a teenager now though, not the little boy you remember since the last time you saw him.”
“Yes.” The Courier sighs out somewhat disappointedly.
“It must have been a major shock finding out he was alive after believing him to be dead all these years-” you comment with a sympathetic smile.
“You don’t know the half of it, lady-” The Courier grumbles out.
“Oh, I know quite a bit. In fact, what I know you will find to be immensely valuable...” you confidently state.
“Who exactly are you lady?” The Courier questions, confused at what exactly was going on.
“Oh yes. Where are my manners..." you formally introduce yourself, "I’m FBI, Special Agent Y/L/N.”
“Your buddy, Lispy sent you after me?” he asks with a look of distain written across his face.
“That fool doesn’t even know about my involvement with this case” you chuckle in response.
“How do I even know you’re speaking the truth” The Courier challenges.
“Oh, yes!” you say going to reach into the inside pocket of your jacket. “Hey! Not so fast! Keep your hands where I can see them!” The Courier points the gun directly at my head.
“Whoa! Hold up there cowboy!” you quickly respond holding your hands up above your head, “I was just reaching inside my jacket pocket for my ID-”
The Courier steps closer towards you, gun still directed at your head, “keep your hands exactly where they are”, he then reaches into your jacket with one hand.
“Getting a little bit handsy there aren’t we?” you remark when the back of his hand brushes against your breast while he searches in your pocket.
Giving you a weird side look, he then finally pulls your ID out and holds it up beside your face.
“Ok, so you’re who you say you are." The Courier snaps at you, "Now what the hell do you want?”
“Out… I want out-” you firmly state. Giving you a confused look, The Courier responds, “out from what exactly?”
“I want out from all this bullshit" you replied. "The undercover job inside Maxwell’s organization, as well as the FBI and to do so I need Maxwell’s fortune”
“And why the hell do you believe I can help you with that?” The Courier looks at you even more suspicious than before.
“I’ll tell you everything you need to know Evil, but I think the wises thing for the both of us right now is to get the hell out of here before Lispy pitches up unannounced" you suggest. "I have a room booked where we can talk much more privately and it’s safer than being out in the open like this.”
“And why should I trust anything you say?” The Courier challenges you.
“Well… one; I’m the only one that can help you find your son and two; I’m your only hope of evading the FBI or any law enforcement right now” you state matter-of-factly, “hey, if it makes you feel more at ease, then you can keep your gun trained on me at all times.”
You could visibly see the wheels turning in his mind as The Courier contemplates on whether he should trust you or not. Letting out a tense breath, he moves the gun in a pointing motion towards the door, “fine. Let’s go. Lead the way.”
“Mr and Mrs De Vil?” The Courier arches a brow at you as the both of you ride the elevator up to the room you had booked into. His one arm hooked around your waist and holding you close against his side as if in a loving manner, while his other hand was discreetly hidden under your jacket; holding the gun against your side.
“What?! 101 Dalmatians was one of my favourite animation movies as a kid. Besides, ‘Smith’ is such a cliché-” you shrug it off. “Be careful with that toy of yours, ‘Hubby’-” you remark as the gun digs into your side a bit and The Courier groans out in an annoyed manner.
“You know, you’re annoyingly chatty for an FBI agent” The Courier remarks once you guys enter the room.
Unceremoniously throwing yourself backwards onto the bed, “I’m a unique breed, what can I say-” you answer with a smirk while propped up on your elbows, head tilted to the side.
“I do believe that my eyes are up here Big Guy… and not where ya staring at the moment-” you snap your fingers, directing his attention to your face when you noticed his eyes were focused on your exposed thighs after the skirt of your dress-suit had risen dangerously high with your movements.
Seeming slightly embarrassed at being caught staring, The Courier changes the topic, “so, what exactly is your story, and what exactly do you want from me?”
“No need to be acting all shy now Sugar-” you remark with a chuckle. “Can we get back to business” the man mumbles out through gritted teeth, clearly even more annoyed at you now.
“Ok- ok-” you abruptly jump up off the bed, rolling your eyes at him. “Where are you going?!” The Courier aims the gun at you again when you walk pass him.
“Ugh! I’m just getting my laptop” you state, beginning to become annoyed at his over-cautious behaviour.
“No sudden movements” The Courier warns you. “Yes, ‘Hubby’-” you respond, fluttering your eyes at him.
“As you know, Maxwell had a huge influence that reached quite far and that’s how you got out of that little situation after you were arrested" you explain while booting up your laptop. "He also had millions to play around with, and I had first-hand access to it when he was alive.”
“If you have access to it, then why do you need me?” The Courier asks you. “I’m about to get to that, ‘Mr. Impatient’-” you dramatically sigh out.
“Then get to it” The Courier snaps at you. “Yes, ‘Dear’…” you sweetly smile at him.
“Um, ok... Maxwell had this system set up where it was a two-point access method when it came to handling the bulk of his money. This two-point access came in the form of two flash drives, I held possession of the one and he had the other” you explain, showing him the login page of the account.
“Well, he’s dead now and his body is now the property of the FBI. So, unless you have some magical trick up your sleeve to get it from that said dead body… I’d say you’re screwed lady” The Courier remarks.
“You would think so, wouldn’t you… but no. Maxwell didn’t have the flash with him at the time of his death. He had it stashed away in a very smart manner” you respond with a chuckle.
“Which is?” The Courier arches a brow in question. “The flash currently resides around your son’s neck… in the form of a pendent hanging on the necklace he’s wearing-” you smirkingly answer.
“How is that you know all of this information?" The Courier asks you. "What exactly was your job when you were undercover working for Maxwell?”
“You remember your buddies, the Capo’s” you ask The Courier and he gives a visible shudder at the memory of them torturing him.
“They were Maxwell’s righthand, doing all his dirty work. Gave you a real good welcoming party, did they?” you state with a smirk, causing him to glare at you.
“Sorry. Bad joke, I know” you raise your hands up in a sign of surrender. “Well, as I was saying… The Capo’s were his righthand in things and I was underneath them.”
“Doing what exactly and for how long?” The Courier asks eyeing you suspiciously.
“Not torturing people, if that’s what you’re thinking" you explain to him. "I handled Maxwell’s money. I kept track of all his offshore accounts. Made sure it couldn’t be traced by the Feds back to him, as well as handling in and out transfers whenever he was doing ‘projects’ and needed large sums of cash.”
“If you had access to that information, then why wasn’t Maxwell ever arrested?” The Courier asks. “Never met the man. So, I could hardly arrest him, now could I…” you sarcastically reply.
“How the heck was the transfers done then?” The Courier looks at you in confusion.
“The kid would be sent on vacations alone and I was his babysitter." You explain further, "during those times was when I did the transfers for Maxwell.”
“You’ve met him?” The Courier suddenly sits down next you, excited to hear about his son.
“Yes. Cute kid, and he turned into a quite a handsome young man” reaching your hand out to cup his cheek, “he has your eyes-” you remark stroking your thumb across his cheek, causing him to shut his eyes as he nuzzles into the palm of your hand.
Caught slightly off guard at The Courier’s reaction and the realization that you were feeling an attraction toward him. You immediately yank your hand away, “sorry… got a bit carried away there-” you stammer embarrassed by your actions.
Taken aback himself by it, The Courier gets up from the bed, clearing his throat, “It’s ok… so did I.”
“Uh… Ok, the deal is; I get you to your son and in return the flush drive is mine. So, are you in or not?” you look to him for an answer.
“Yeah. I’m in...” The Courier replies. “But why do you need my help if you’re already acquainted with Stanton. It should be easy for you to get the drive then.”
Exhaling heavily, you begin to explain. “You don’t truly understand the danger that boy is in now that Maxwell is dead. Every criminal is going to be gunning for him in a bid to get their hands onto Maxwell’s fortune. The kid is a walking target.”
“Why do you care so much about what happens to him or not?” The Courier asks, eyes narrowed suspiciously at you.
“I like the kid, ok..." you confess, "I kind of bonded with him during the two years I’ve been undercover. He’s sort of like the kid brother I never had.”
“If you’re so worried about him, why not go and get him yourself." The Courier asks. "Why did you come to me?”
“Well, for one; you’re his father and I knew you would be looking for him. And two; getting to him is the easy part, it’s the getting out with him that’s the hard part.”
“What’s your game plan?" The Courier asks, "How are we going to pull this thing off?”
Letting out a loud yawn, you throw yourself backwards onto the bed, “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. Right now, I plan on getting some rest.”
“Are you fucking kidding me!" The Courier goes off on you. "Lispy is probably tracking me as we speak! My son’s life is in danger! And you want to fucking sleep!”
Catapulting yourself back upwards, you glare at him, “don’t you fucking snap at me!”
You’re caught off guard when he suddenly rushes you, grabbing your shoulders and shakes you, “listen up lady… I don’t give a crap about what you think about my manners! You’re going to get your ass off of this bed and take me to my son!”
Pushing The Courier off you and glaring back at him, “don’t you tell me what to do!” you retaliate.
Jumping up from the bed and placing the gun against your temple, “I-said-take-me-to-my-son-” The Courier slowly sneers out at you.
Grabbing the barrel of the gun and moving it against your forehead, “go ahead. Do it... I dare you..." you challenge him. "Kill the only person that can help you find your son...”
Taken aback by your reaction The Courier lowers the gun, taking a step back from you, “you are crazy lady.”
Giving The Courier a huge smirk, “I know...” you respond, turning around and walking off towards the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” The Courier questions while you grab some items from a bag.
Turning around to face him, “I’m going to take a shower and get ready for bed...” you calmly state and head towards the bathroom.
After twenty minutes later, you finally exit the bathroom to find The Courier waiting for you on the edge of the bed. “I’m surprised you decided to stick around.”
“Yeah. Well, I wasn’t about to let you out of my sight. At least not until I finally have my son” The Courier responds.
“Then I guess we’re stuck together for a bit...” you state throwing yourself onto the bed.
“You’re really going to sleep now, aren’t you?” The Courier stares at you in question. “Yup..." you reply from your position on the bed. "I suggest you do the same, tomorrow we have a busy day ahead of us”
Shaking his head at you, “Well, I might as well grab a shower” The Courier mutters out. “Cool... The second bag has some stuff for you” you lazily point to where the duffle bags are.
The Courier grabs it while muttering further under his breath and head towards the bathroom then.
You were half asleep when The Courier entered back into the bedroom, dropping the duffle bag and making a ton of noise while milling about the room.
“Hey!” you yell out when the pillow you had was suddenly snatched off your face. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, “what are you doing?” you stare at The Courier while he tries to make himself comfortable on the floor.
“There’s only one bed” The Courier answers unsuccessfully trying to get comfortable. “So… There’s enough space for two people” you point out and he archers a brow at you.
“What?? You afraid I might bite or something?” you smirkingly tease him. “Ah, I get it now! It’s the girlfriend, right? You’re afraid she might find out you shared a bed with another woman. Where is she by the way?” you pretend to look around the room.
“She’s not my girlfriend" he grumbles out in response. "We parted ways because she couldn’t handle the situation.”
“Aw, shit… I went to far." you exhale regretfully. "I’m sorry about that. I have the habit of speaking before I think.”
“It’s ok. Don’t worry about it too much” The Courier mutters out.
Cocking your head to the side, you give him a faint smile, “I’m serious about the bed being big enough for the both of us. Besides you’re going to need a good night’s rest for what’s to come and you can’t do so sleeping on the floor.”
“Ok. Fine…” The Courier lets out a sigh and rises from the floor, grabbing the pillow he took from you earlier.
The Courier then settles in comfortably next you in the bed. “Goodnight Courier, Evil or whatever you go by…” you sleepily mumble out, closing your eyes to get some rest.
“Goodnight…” you hear him reply before sleep overtakes you.
The Next Day
You let out a soft moan as you began to slowly wake up. Just as you were about to roll over onto your side, you suddenly realize there was a heavy weight pressed in over your chest area and what felt like a leg draped over yours that was preventing you from doing so.
“Wakey, wakey sleepy head-” you gently tap your fingers against The Courier's forehead to wake him up.
You suddenly gasp out in surprise when The Courier lets out a deep groan and the hold he has around you tightens as he buries his face deeper into your chest while he starts to wake up.
“Top of the morning to ya… enjoying the special pillow are we-” you grin down at The Courier.
Realizing the position he was lying in, The Courier hastily releases his hold on you. “Uh… sorry about that” he mumbled out, avoiding all eye contact.
“It’s cool. Probably thought I was your little girlfriend I take it” you shrug it off. “I’m going to take a shower while you wake up properly” you get up and head for the bathroom.
“I ordered breakfast, so knock yourself out” you remark while packing when The Courier exits the bathroom.
“I’m not hungry… We should get going” The Courier drops his duffle bag onto the floor, shrugging you off.
Knowing that he was just being a stubborn ass, you stop what you were doing and take a seat at the small breakfast table.
“What are you doing?” The Courier stares at you. “I’m having breakfast and so are you-” you sternly state, pointing at him to take a seat.
“We don’t have time for this!" The Courier growls out in disapproval. "We need to go get my son.”
Swallowing the bite of food you had in your mouth, you nod your head “yes, we do…but I also need you at your full capacity. You look like shit after your dance with the Capo’s and I can’t have you dying on me or jeopardising the mission because you’re too weak due to lack of eating.”
“So, where exactly are we going to now?” The Courier questions you as you’re driving out of the hotel parking.
Turning your attention to him, you give a little smirk “we’re going to do a little bank withdrawal-”
You had parked quite a distance away from the bank so as not to draw suspicion to yourself and your new partner.
“Are you sure you don’t want me going in there with you?” The Courier looks at you in concern.
“Yup” you nod your head in confirmation, “I’ve always come here by myself, having you go in with me might look suspicious. Just keep an eye out until I come back and be ready to drive the minute I exit.”
The minute you stepped into the bank you had the feeling that you were being watched.
You knew that news of Maxwell’s death must have spread amongst the criminal grapevine by now, which meant those looking to take over his empire would be coming after Stanton. And those that were part of Maxwell’s inner circle and knew what your job had been; they would be coming after you.
Entering the bank vault, you waited until the person attending you left the room before you went to open the safety deposit box.
Opening the box, you face lit up with unadulterated pleasure upon seeing the golden bracelet amongst the other items inside.
Exiting out of the vault and onto the main floor, you slowly take a thorough scan of the bank. That’s when you see the same suspicious man you had noticed upon entering was still in the exact spot he had been earlier.
Confirming your thoughts of earlier with yourself and exhaling deeply, you carefully tug the sleeve of your shirt down and proceed to exit the bank.
The Courier starts up the car upon noticing your exit. Yet instead of crossing the road, he watches you take a turn and walk up the street then.
Confused at first by what you were doing, The Courier then notices a strange looking guy exiting the bank immediately after you had and that he was now following closely behind you. Realizing then what was happening, The Courier guns the engine, racing to get ahead of you.
You quickly sneak a look behind you, letting out a tense breath when your suspicion of earlier proves to be true; you were being followed and had been since you entered the bank. Hastening your steps, you then notice a alleyway turnoff ahead and quickly turn into it.
You quickly risk another look behind as you rush down the alleyway, not paying much attention in front of you. Just as you were passing a dumpster; you’re suddenly grabbed when you reach the end of it. You were about to fight the person when you then realize it was The Courier that was standing in front of you instead of the person that had been following you.
Letting out a sigh of relief at seeing him, you were just about to ask how he knew you were in trouble when the sound of footsteps nearing was heard. Before you could even react, The Courier pushes you tightly up against the wall with his body, causing you to gasp out in shock at how close his body was against yours.
Feeling slightly affected by the closeness of him, you inquisitively stare up into The Courier’s eyes to try and figure out what his plan was. The person that was following you then passes you guys and before you knew it; The Courier suddenly tips down, capturing your lips in a kiss.
At first you were caught off guard slightly by it for a minute and the next; you were kissing him back. Your lips parting under his, allowing The Courier’s tongue to slip pass them and into your mouth as he deepened the kiss.
You were so lost in the kiss, lost in the feeling of The Courier’s body pressed intimately up against yours that you didn’t notice your stalker had already passed you guys and completely left the alleyway.
You’re pulled back to reality when The Courier finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you stare into each other’s eyes while attempting to steady your breathing.
“John...” The Courier softly remarks.
“What?” you ask in confusion.
“My name… It’s John…” he responds back.
“Oh… Ok…” you reply, still a bit off balanced by what had just happened.
“He’s gone now. We should get to the car and get the hell out of here” The Courier states, grabbing hold of your hand and basically dragging you to the car.
What the heck just happened?! You silently think to yourself during the car ride. I know the KISS was a decoy, but why the FUCK did I kiss him BACK?! You were internally freaking out. And he DEEPENED it in RETURN!
“So, what’s the plan?” you were snapped out of your thoughts by John’s question. “Huh?” you look at him in a dazed confusion.
“Where do we go from here?” John repeats himself, “what’s the next part of your plan now that you’ve got the drive?”
“Um- yeah” you shake yourself back into gear, “we should get the hell out of New Orleans that’s for sure…”
“You’re the lady with the plans…” John tilts his head at you in question, “where to then?”
“According to my sources Stanton is in Miami right now, he’ll remain there for a week before they ship him off again” you inform him, “we have to get to him before that happens, because once he leaves Miami, he’ll be lost to us forever.”
“So, we’re going to Miami” John states and you shake your head at him. “No. Not immediately. We need to get any tails we have on our backs off first before heading there.”
“No!” John growls out, causing the car horn to go off when he hits the steering wheel out of frustration.
“Relax…” you grip his arm in an attempt to calm him down, “what I meant was we’re not going directly there. We have to be smart about this if we want to get Stanton out of there without putting him into too much danger.” You then explain to him the plan in detail more, “so we’ll go around the backway into Miami, from here we’ll head to Texas, from there; New York and then we’ll make our way to Miami.”
“I suppose it will have to do” John sighs out in defeat.
Part 2
#The Courier/Evil Sivle#the courier x reader#the Courier x y/n#the courier (2012)#Jeffrey Dean Morgan#JDM
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Hi Angela!! I loved the “id do it for you” and “look at that, you’re blushing,” that you wrote after my request, I just wanted to thank u sm because i loved it so MUCH AND I LOVE PEACHES SMMM.
I was hoping you could do 3 “if you arent going to help yourself, i will,” and 4 “you look pale…” with Hotch being a stubborn bastard and refusing to do something for his convenience for the sake of bureaucracy or some stubborn useless reason - this could be sometime pre show (Haley won’t exist, I’m sorry) and Morgan would visibly see him wearing himself thin instead of taking it easy like the doctors said.
With that being said, feel free disregard the paragraph above, as long as ur the one writing it I’ll eat it up at this point I just love everything u write sm 😭😭
-❤️🩹
OKAY, first of all? Thank you so much for all of your intensely kind words. I'm glad you liked that story! (And yeah, peaches are THE JAM. It was a love story for peaches, really.) And now for my groveling...I'm so sorry this took me so damn long to do. I wrote 3 different stories for this that just turned out like garbage, and I couldn't post them. And this has been sitting here so long, I feel awful. I hope that this story I finally landed on is good! (Probably not good enough for as long as I took to write it...did I say I'm sorry? I'm so sorry.)
2.8k words | Hotch/Morgan
**
“Your turn,” Hotch said, shifting the weight on his hip against the hard plastic chair. This is their second airport terminal in one day, and the layover just went from one hour to three. Outside the snow was just beginning to fall and he suspected they'd be put up in a nearby hotel for the night before long. The sky was painted an ominous blue gray and getting darker by the minute. Morgan sighed.
“I don't wanna play anymore. Nothing new to see. Know any other games?”
Hotch yawned and let his eyes drift shut. “I've heard napping is a fun game.” Morgan's laughter was subdued and tired, but he nodded in agreement. A nap did sound nice.
“Want me to keep watch? We can take turns.” Like they were two warriors on a quest, not two marooned FBI Agents in some podunk airport in the midwestern USA.
“Just give me fifteen minutes...” Hotch drawled and was asleep before Morgan even thought about replying. He'd been sort of off all day, Morgan thought, a few steps behind his usual snap. Probably just that they'd been on the road for two weeks now and every airport was starting to look the same, let alone every rented sedan with a trunk waiting for their bags and a long drive ahead of them. Sleeping in their own beds was beginning to sound like an actual luxury instead of just a desire.
Morgan read a book. Tried to, anyway. But his eyes were blurry and unfocused often enough that he wasn't getting much out of it, each time he turned the page he realized he'd only taken in about half of the words...if that. Hotch shifted on the row of chairs beside him and let out a soft snorting sound followed by a deep yawn but he never actually woke up. Morgan let him go longer than 15 minutes...he seemed like he needed it.
“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Morgan whispered well over an hour later, running his finger along the rim of Hotch's ear. He'd sort of lost himself in a daze watching the snow flurry outside of the windows, it was mesmerizing. Completely lost track of time and space. “We got ourselves a hotel voucher for the night. Let's go get some real shut eye, huh?”
It took them two days of delayed and canceled flights to make it to Idaho, where they would decide it was more worthwhile to rent an SUV and try to drive through the Pacific Northwest and its snowstorms than try to catch more flights between metro areas. They could drive through Washington and most of Oregon without trouble, stay in roadside motels, and be in California in a matter of days. A few dodgy mountain passes stood in their way, some road delays and scary slippery moments would make for good stories to tell Gideon when they returned but ultimately, it became a sort of adventure.
Until Hotch got sick in San Fransisco. Morgan noticed the first signs while they wandered along with all of the old folks on the cell block tour of Alcatraz. It was one of their very few days off, and of all things they could do during a two week trip across the country to conduct custodial interviews with talkative serial killers was tour a famous prison. Hotch rolled his eyes, but Morgan whined.
“You're only against it because you've already done it...” he lobbied, and Hotch had no argument after the obvious.
“Haven't we been inside enough prisons? This is the only day we have without a prison visit for the next six days...”
“One more won't hurt.” He said that in his best Sean Connery accent, and Hotch cringed at the attempt. Anyone who would humiliate themselves like that deserved a pass, so he bought them two tickets and they got on the ferry. That was when Morgan noticed him clearing his throat more than usual and massaging just beneath his jaw when he thought no one was looking.
Hotch cleared his throat as they stepped onto the island and winced at the sharp pain. “Did you want to see this place because of its value historically or because of the movie?” Morgan only smiled and shrugged. That was answer enough. Hotch didn't complain the rest of the day, he did his best to enjoy the tour through the look of bliss on Morgan's face.
In the hotel room that night, Morgan noticed Hotch behaving a little off. He'd thought about the airport terminal, and he'd bounced back from that after a good night's sleep. He was a little off while they were at Alcatraz but he couldn't have really said how off, he was a little distracted.
Still, he wasn't too bad, so they ordered room service with their combined per diem and fell asleep full and content after watching “The Rock”. Morgan was pleased as punch.
Hotch woke in the morning with a fever. He knew he was sick right away. His eyes felt crusty and wet, his skin hot and his throat had pinpricks like tiny bonfires that he knew would spread rapidly. He winced as he swallowed the lukewarm water on his nightstand.
“You look pale,” Morgan said, stepping out of the shower just after he'd managed to pull himself upright. It had taken far longer than he'd anticipated and came with a lightheaded feeling he didn't care for. Hotch frowned and searched his foggy head for an appropriate response. He was sluggish, though, and the delay was obvious to Morgan.
“I'm always pale.” He avoided the question, and Morgan couldn't help but respect his tenacity even if it was frustrating. He wasn't going to let him have it, though.
“Yeah, true, but more than usual...are you sick? Should I take you to Urgent Care? You gonna pass out on me or something?”
“No.”
It was colder than intended, and Derek read it loud and clear. He'd press again in a bit but Hotch was figuring it out for himself right now and he could respect that.
“I'm sorry,” Hotch muttered, resting his cheek against the cool wood of the headboard. “I don't know if I'm sick or just...”
“Worn out? Stressed? Yeah, this travel shit is rough. But you look pretty bad.”
In the end, he decided he didn't have time to be sick, so he allowed Morgan to talk him into the Urgent Care. Just a precaution, if it was something serious they could catch it right away, and if not...well at least they knew. They could medicate it with DayQuil or AlkaSeltzer or something and he'd just have to walk through it.
But it was never that simple.
He had strep throat. He wasn't willing to miss their custodial interview, though, so he spent the day preparing in the hotel room while Morgan explored the city with what little free time they had. Hotch reasoned that Morgan should spend as little time with him in close quarters as possible so long as he wasn't showing symptoms and while that sounded absolutely absurd, he knew better than to argue with Hotch when he was sick. He was more like a porcupine than a puppy. When they showed up for the interview, Hotch could barely talk but he was still unwilling to let Morgan do it alone.
“Stay in the car.”
“No.” Hotch's voice barely worked but that word came out loud and clear.
“You think I can't talk to an inmate?”
“No,” Hotch whispered this time, even though he'd been told not to. No whispering, talk at full volume or not at all. Whispering felt better and he never had been good at following directions. “You're good at interrogation but this isn't an interrogation...we have to gain their trust and make them want to talk. They're not confessing, they've been sentenced, they're giving us a gift.”
“A gift!” Morgan scoffed but Hotch narrowed his eyes and nodded.
“A gift. They don't have to talk to us. They're essentially teaching us how to catch them...”
They left their credentials and their firearms with the guard and walked in, Hotch letting Morgan lead the way. This was technically his interview today, Hotch's intention had been to take the backseat and just observe. Like a trial run, one of many. He couldn't count how many of these he gave with Gideon or Rossi sitting behind him watching his every move. He'd been so nervous at first, but once he got over that on-stage feeling it became natural.
Except he was on enough cold meds to kill a horse just to stay upright and it didn't help. He was nearly asleep sitting up.
“Am I boring you, Agent?” Hopper, the inmate, asked with a sneer. Morgan glanced at Hotch who jerked himself upright quickly and glared at the man in the prison blues. His arms were folded over his chest, eyes blinking slowly while he gathered his senses. Where he was, what he was doing, who he was talking to. His eyes flickered briefly, catching the tape recorder, and then Morgan's stunned features before he turned rather lackadaisically to Hopper. His sleepy eyes never changed.
“Yes,” he replied finally in his weak television static voice and Morgan couldn't help a little smile. “You're not a very compelling story teller and you're wasting our time.”
“Come a little closer and I'll show you how I tell stories...” Hopper growled, his meaty paws forming fists inside the cuffs on the table. Hotch didn't even flinch.
Instead, he stood, indicating for Morgan to do the same. “He's been lying to us for a half hour. I don't like having my time wasted. I don't feel very good and I'd rather be in bed.”
Hopper, the sudden realization of what he would lose if those two agents walked out the door, looked like he was choking on his tongue while he formulated a response.
Hotch continued in his flimsy painful whisper. “Whatever deal was made with you in return for the information you were willing to share is now void.”
“No, no wait! I'll tell you the truth! I swear!”
Hotch waved Morgan through the door now held open by a guard. Morgan couldn't believe Hotch ended the interview so abruptly, couldn't believe he'd picked up the guy lying even while he was sitting there with his eyes closed. Morgan had looked, thought Hotch really was asleep but he wasn't going to say anything. It all sounded so close to the file they had, so close to the trial transcripts he wasn't even sure where the lies were until later when he listened to the tape and made a comparison. The differences were stunning in their simplicity, and he wasn't sure if Hopper was lying on purpose or if he truly couldn't remember.
“How'd you know?”
Hotch shrugged, leaning his seat back in the car. He looked drained. Utterly miserable. “You get a sense for them after a while. Just like profiling a crime scene.” He couldn't explain it, except to say that it was why Morgan needed training time. It wasn't asking the questions, it was reading the answers. There were subtleties to these people, the way their minds worked.
“They lie a lot?” Morgan hadn't really given much thought to the motives of someone already in prison for life. Especially these guys who had already confessed to their crimes,they had no innocence to protect, they were just talking. Telling stories, like they were having biographies put in print. Hotch cleared his throat and frowned.
“Often. Depends on the deal they work out with the FBI to get us out there. Sometimes they just can't help themselves, the idea of having some kind of power over us is too enticing..” Hotch paused, letting out a wheezy cough into his elbow. “They like to feed us a line and see if we take it. If they can get us to publish their lies.”
“Fuck.”
Their schedule was packed, one after another. Each day was a presentation with a police station or two, followed by a custodial interview. Driving down the 101, motel sleeping, Hotch medicating himself beyond any reasonable amount just to stay upright and focused. It was really no wonder the travel had caught up to one of them.
“Let me do this one on my own,” Morgan said, sitting on the edge of the bed and yawning. It was only 3am, they still had hours before their wake up call, but it was time for another antibiotic dose and Hotch's fever wasn't showing any signs of improvement. That wasn't surprising since he hadn't rested one single time since finding out he had strep throat. It was almost like he was trying to outrun it. Out work it. Morgan handed him the pills, an antibiotic and two NyQuil with a glass of water.
“Derek,” he whined, glaring at the bright green medication even in the dark of the room. “I just want the Tylenol.”
“You're coughing instead of sleeping, man. Just take it. Otherwise we're both fucked tomorrow.”
Hotch considered it earnestly and finally let out a defeated sigh. “Fine. You'd better wake me up on time.”
“I can do it on my own, you should sleep. You're no good to us like this.”
“Wake me up.” He took the meds knowing that the NyQuil was going to knock him out and trusting that Morgan would wake him anyway. He might be a little tired during the interview but he'd be there, Morgan didn't need much more than that.
To no one's surprise, Hotch slept through the alarm and Morgan didn't bother to try and wake him. He finally looked peaceful and he wasn't going to bother him.
When Morgan returned triumphantly from the custodial, he found Hotch sitting upright on his bed looking furious. Pale, feverish, furious. Morgan thought he was pretty cute when he was sick and mad, with his sweaty hair matted to his forehead and the fever flush in his cheeks. Beside him, he had his phone, a bottle of water and a box of tissue.
“You said you'd wake me.”
“No, I never said I would.”
“We are a team, Derek. You don't have enough experience to do these interviews on your own, you're supposed to be training. Jason is going to have my head when he finds out you went in alone.”
“Man, you've been sick for three days. I've been doing them on my own the whole damn time. You practically slept through the one yesterday. That guy was pissed. If he hadn't been lying...Aaron, you got lucky.”
Hotch didn't have anything to say to that. It was true.
“If you won't help yourself, I will. That's all. I didn't mean to piss you off but you looked so damn miserable I just wanted you to sleep.”
Hotch had a litany of arguments he'd been muddling through about them being a team, but the look on Morgan's face was so apologetic that he couldn't. So he sulked instead. Just pulled out the big, pathetic watery eyes and Morgan almost fell into the bed with him to make that face go away. With some hot soup and the rest of the night listening to Morgan's interview (which, of course, was great) and watching movies, Morgan got his one wish. For Hotch to rest.
On their way to another custodial down the coast, Hotch wasn't feeling great but he was doing better. The fever had broken sometime over night, finally, and now he was left with a few days more of antibiotics and his throat on fire. Halfway to their destination, his pager went off. It was Gideon.
Morgan found a little diner and pulled over so Hotch could jump out and use the pay phone. They had a cell phone but they had no service out there overlooking the ocean on the highway.
“Jason, it's Hotch,” he said, forcing as much of his voice through his strained and painful vocal chords as he could muster. He would pay for it later.
“We have a bomber,” Gideon says gravely, taking no notice of Hotch's wobbly voice. “Get on the next plane to Boston. I need you both there immediately.”
Hotch returned to the vehicle with a shadow over his features, all the wind had been taken from his sails. Morgan leaned toward him, his arms folded over his chest and his hips resting against the hot hood of the SUV expectantly.
“What did mom say?”
“Looks like we're gonna have to stand up Bailey and Arlington, Gideon needs us in Boston.”
#aaron hotchner#derek morgan#criminal minds#fanfiction#sweet people send me prompts and i take ages to respond to them
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if it's not too much, would it be possible for you to reference the font you used and/or how u got the sidebar to the bottom left corner? it looks GORGEOUS and i'd love to figure out how to do it T__T. thank u for ur time!
no problem, i'm happy to help!!
with reference to the customize page
1. when i was editing this theme, the font family was Source Serif Pro, but now it's called Source Serif 4. in order to add support for special fonts you need to go to google fonts and get the URL (see below where it says "custom stylesheet url".
paste [https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Source+Serif+4:ital,opsz,wght@0,8..60,200..900;1,8..60,200..900&display=swap] into the custom stylesheet URL box.
then in the "use embedded css" section, any time it says font-family you need to replace whatever font family name is there with the new font family. like so (text comparison: left being the original, right being my modified version). the serif/san-serif thing after is to provide a default in case the font doesn't load properly. if you were doing this with the above URL you'd type "Source Serif 4" in that spot though!
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2. the sidebar will be more difficult because i made so many changes and i don't remember what did what LOL but feel free to ask me again if it's not working for you. these steps are going to be somewhat specific to recessional though and i don't know how well they would apply to a different theme...
the sidebar is controlled by the div id called "secondary"... this page might help you tell the sections apart and the tool that helps me troubleshoot is the f12 key (windows) which shows you the elements of the webpage you're on.
for the widescreen/desktop version of the layout, i fixed the secondary module to 10% page height off the bottom of the page and 3% width off the left... more info on pages like this. i usually just experiment with those numbers until they look good and test them on a few screen sizes.
i made some other changes that apply to the mobile version as well, but i added this code at the end of the secondary "section" of the css and right before the comments section (lines 599-605 are the relevant ones here).
something else i had to do to get my sidebar to work properly was change the page setup in dw to 1 column (different to what was specified in the theme install). i'm not sure why, i'm by no means a css/html expert T__T
i hope this helps and you can figure out how to customize your theme to your liking!
#response#ironically discovered a coding error in my tumblr theme thanks to that long link text i put in this... i do not want to fix that rn LOL
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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
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Fic Prompts: Transformers Tuesday
(Returning to my Shattered Glass Prime characters, but this time we get a look at what was happening on the other side while Megatron was stuck in the reverse polarity Prime world. Introduces a character who seems to have been implied but never introduced for SG)
Soundwave was worried. It had been well over a month now with no sign of Megatron. Starscream hadn't left the Bridge bay in Arizona more than twice in that time. He was still trying to recreate whatever had gone wrong with the Transwarp Bridge before.
Considering the Autobots hadn't been any quieter, Starscream's absence on the field was starting to cause some tensions in the Con ranks. Especially with Sephie and the Trine. Soundwave was starting to fear that Sephie would do something drastic again.
"HMM!" Ravage bounded up to perch on the edge of the water tower beside Soundwave. "THERE'S NO BOTBOTS HERE AIFINKSO. MAYBEE I CAN ASKS DAT SPAYCESHIP, K?"
Soundwave twitched. He bent down and scooped up the excitable Deployer. "Dude, what spaceship?"
Ravage butted his head affectionately against Soundwave's chin, pushing his visor towards the sky. "UM, DAT WON, BOSS."
It took a moment to access the right satellites, but eventually Soundwave saw what Ravage was talking about. The craft was small -- by the standards of a Cybertronian -- and sleek; it seemed to be made for aerial combat. And it was headed for the atmosphere a little faster than Soundwave thought was advisable.
"OoOooOH. IT'S IN OUR AIRS, VOYDIN ITS WARRANTEE!?" Ravage fretted, hopping down from Soundwave's arms.
Soundwave hastily contacted the Nemesis.
"Like, HQ, we may or may not have mondo unidentified dudes incoming. Uh...we got any like, IDs on these bros?"
Airachnid's irritated voice crackled over the comms.
"Soundwave, if you don't stop butchering that surfer language, I'm telling Sephie to burn your cartoons."
"She totally wouldn't!" Soundwave gasped, outraged.
"She will if I bribe her. Give me the coordinates of the UFO?"
"You're like, the worst." Soundwave grumbled as he transmitted his location. "How come you get to say uncool stuff like UFO but like, I can't have any fun?"
"Because I'm older than you." For a moment, there was silence on the line. When Airachnid came back, she sounded tense. "Soundwave, that's a Decepticon signal, but that ship was registered as destroyed before we evacuated Cybertron. Keep your guard up. I'm sending Skywarp to your location."
"Stealth mode, got it," Soundwave agreed.
"I WILL BE ALL THE QUIETS!" Ravage loudly added.
The ship landed hard, shaking the water tower and plowing through the asphalt like soft earth. It came to a stop three miles from Soundwave's perch, leaking fuel from damaged engines.
"Well," Soundwave muttered, "If it wasn't totally busted before, it is now."
He dropped to the ground and crept closer. Until he could read life signs, he would refrain from broadcasting his presence. For all he knew, there could be Autobots aboard. Or pirates. Maybe even Cosmic Rust.
Hopefully not Cosmic Rust.
A hatch on the port side buckled suddenly. It seemed like the mechanism was damaged, unable to open. A muffled shot barely rose above the hiss and groan of the wrecked ship, and then the hatch was forcefully kicked open. A formidable frame forced its way out of the damaged hatch and kicked its way clear of the rubble. Soundwave instantly relaxed when he saw a familiar red brand on the being's chassis.
"Yo! Over here!" Soundwave jogged up to offer a hand to the Decepticon. Belatedly, he realized that he was much smaller than the hulking warrior, and probably wouldn't be much help.
"What planet is this?" the stranger asked. Her vocoder buzzed oddly, clearly experiencing some kind of crash damage.
"Earth, Sol System," Soundwave answered quickly. "It's rad, full of cute little organic dudes with nasty tempers. So watch where you step."
"Earth," the femme repeated. "Good, that's good. What is your designation, soldier?"
Soundwave couldn't help standing just a little straighter as he answered, "Soundwave, Communications and Morale, ma'am."
"AND RAVAGE! U SEE ME? I AM WAVING!" Ravage interjected before getting distracted by the reflection of sunlight off of metal. "OOH!"
The femme nodded. "I am...well, the Quintessons who healed me, bless their embers, could think of nothing more than Mega Magna. Now the Autobots have begun to designate me "Mega-Empress", unfortunately."
"Mega...empress?" Soundwave tilted his head and flashed a confused emoji onto his visor. "That's um...that's..a name, alright."
"Commander Magna will do," the Decepticon sighed. "To avoid confusion with my conjunx endura."
Something tugged at Soundwave's memory. A story Starscream had told him about the origins of the Decepticon faction vorns ago. But the pieces hadn't quite fallen together yet.
Mega Magna turned back to the wreckage of her ship and called down the hatch, "Girls! Let's go! Don't worry about the ship, it's all salvage now."
Two smaller femmes, probably no older than Skywarp -- or maybe even Sephie -- at a glance, scrambled out of the wrecked ship. The black and pink one scurried up behind Magna and clung to her arm nervously. The black and blue one primed a path blaster and stared warily at Soundwave and Ravage.
"Satellites indicate a lot of Autobots on this planet," the blue one warned.
"Acknowledged, Moonheart." Magna appeared to be unbothered. "Any sign of Megatron?"
"I think I hate this place," the pink femme mumbled, "I wanna go home."
"We just totaled home, Luna," Moonheart snapped.
Soundwave looked back and forth between the newcomers and reluctantly commed Airachnid again.
"Uh, good news and bad news, dudes."
"What is it, Soundwave?"
"Good news is, they're Cons! Bad news is, they're looking for Mega-Boss."
"Well. Scrap." Airachnid mumbled a few more choice words under her breath, then added, "Bring them back to HQ. Shockwave can fill them in."
Magna frowned sternly and took a step forward. Peering down at Soundwave she asked a single question.
"Where is my husband?"
#transformers tuesday#HASBRO WHY DID YOU NAME HER MEGA EMPRESS???#HASBRO WHY????#She was a redeco of Pyra Magna so I renamed her Mega Magna because typing Mega Empress over and over would get old fast#Lunaclub#Moonheart#Megatronia#shattered glass#transformers shattered glass#tfp#megatron sg#sg soundwave#sg airachnid#apparently Mega Empress was 'originally' going to be named Titania and have the Elita-1/Ariel backstory#while Megatron was Tronus as the Orion/Optimus backstory#was not expecting them to actually be conjunx endura but that works for me#fic prompts#writing prompts#Ravage made me actually look up old Lolcat memes#that sure was a Time for internet
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hi so @self-absorbed-pretty-boy (💖💖) sent me an AMAZING list of prompts a week ago and while i had truly no time this week to do as much writing as i wanted, here is a 4+1 thing i whipped up between classes that is pure husband fluff— i hope u all enjoy<3
prompt: the first time mickey calls ian his husband in front of a stranger (could be a cashier, a pharmacist, a cop, some weed buying college kids, you decide)
--
The first time that Mickey did it, he didn’t even really realize it— it was a slow Tuesday morning, just after their “honeymoon,” when he woke to the abrasive, slanted sunlight streaming in through the blinds. He immediately noticed that the house was silent, surprisingly quiet from any of the classic Gallagher clamor that usually bounced through the thin walls in the mornings, especially these days with Franny and Liam in their final weeks of the school year—and the absence of noise made Mickey curious enough to rub his eyes and open them, finally pulling himself out from the last warm dregs of sleep.
Ian’s arms were wrapped around him, a comforting spoon bear-hugging him in close, and Mickey took a moment just to take in the sensation of the solid, sleeping weight of him— he could feel the rise and fall of Ian’s ribcage pressed against his back and the soft fabric of the t-shirt that clung to Ian’s chest, the only barrier between him and Ian’s pink, sleep-warmed skin. Mickey rustled in Ian’s arms, reaching for his phone on the bedside table; and no wonder there were no cabinets slamming or lunches being packed or Debbie screaming that they had to get out the door— it was nearly noon for some fucking reason, and he and Ian were still sleeping like babies.
Which, okay, maybe that had to do with the fact that last night involved lots of tugs of hair and searing kisses and bodies pressed together until late into the night— Mickey felt his lips tick upward at the memory of it. But still— ever since returning a few days ago from their honeymoon in the dingy motel with the musty satin sheets, they had both been tired; the last few months had been compounded by a release from prison, a murdered P.O., the engagement shitshow, and a wedding to top it all off, and each incident had pushed a sense of normalcy more and more off-kilter, until finally they both just had to crash.
There was no mistaking that this was harder, more draining, for Ian; he was trying to sink back into a routine existence in the Gallagher house after all of the events of the past few months, and it was clear that he was still reeling from the shift— Mickey could see it now, in the way that Ian was so deeply sleeping well past noon, a dead weight pressed close against him.
Mickey scooted himself up to a seated position on the bed, letting Ian’s arm limply fall off of him and cascade onto the bedsheets with a muted thud—and again, he let himself take a moment to just look at Ian, his mouth parted and breathing steadily, the light coming in through the blinds illuminating the constellations of freckles smattered across his face and cheekbones, threads of sunlight weaving between the strands of bright, rusty hair on the top of his head that were partly splayed onto the pillow. Since getting home Ian had been slicking his hair back less now, and letting it grow wiry and wild and curled—Mickey fucking loved it, and he couldn’t resist reaching a gentle hand out to brush Ian’s hair back from his forehead, feeling its mossy give. He took it all in; the tides of Ian’s even breathing, his fully relaxed face, and the blossoming blue rings of exhaustion that were still there under his eyes, even in his sleep; and Mickey felt a swell of gratefulness that Ian was still sleeping soundly, that he could sleep all fucking day if he needed to, at least for now while they were just getting back and settling into a rhythm—if Ian deserved anything, he deserved to recharge.
Mickey silently sat beside him, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone and every so often running a hand through Ian’s hair—because, fuck it, his husband was sleeping next to him, soft and warm, and something about touching Ian always grounded him. He was leaning propped on a pillow he’d shoved between his back and the wall, and was just beginning to contemplate putting on the tattered robe he’d found in one of the stray bedroom drawers and dragging himself downstairs to make some coffee when he heard a buzz from Ian’s phone on the nightstand, and saw the screen flash with a silent alarm:
“PICK UP MEDS”
So ultimately that was the reason why Mickey forced himself to crawl out of bed that morning— or afternoon was more accurate— and detached himself from the cocoon of his husband’s warmth to go for what was usually Ian’s own Tuesday morning walk every month before his shitty shifts with Paula to go over to the pharmacy and get his meds. He bounded down the front steps of the Gallagher house, turning the corner to walk down a few blocks to where the sagging houses turned to the brick storefronts and neon signs of the few ramshackle businesses that were left on the Southside. Since getting back a few days ago, he and Ian had barely done anything except lounge around the house with everyone, settling in— and now Mickey realized how long it had been since he’d gone for a walk outside, breathing in the not-so-fresh Chicago air that smelled of gas exhaust and cigarette smoke, but also of something earthen and familiar. Sunbeams were radiating off of the sidewalk, and the air was cool, like the late spring weather had finally just broken into something crisp and clear— Mickey let his feet carry him over the pavement past the dingy corner store with the faded sign hanging crooked above the awning, and then two more doors down to the business with the glowing red and white sign that read “SAVE RITE PHARMACY.”
Mickey entered the pharmacy, hearing the tinkle of a bell as he pushed through the glass door.
There was no one really in the store on a Tuesday afternoon— his eyes adjusted to the waves of artificial light bouncing off the white shelves that contrasted with the soft glow outside. Mickey made his way through the aisles to the pharmacy counter at the back of the store, and was met with a middle aged woman in a lab coat typing on a computer.
“Hey. I’m, uh, pickin’ up for Gallagher.” Mickey slid his ID over the linoleum counter, quickly doing a double-take to make sure that this was a real ID and not one of his fake ones; not that it would really matter anyways, no one was getting high off of whatever shit Ian was taking on the daily.
The woman glanced at Mickey’s ID over the rim of her classes, then clicked the mouse a couple of times.
“Gallagher. Just one moment.”
She turned and filed through a few organized-looking bins, and retrieved a crinkly white paper bag and placed it on the countertop. Mickey stood there in silence, listening to the heavy thud of keys typing on the desktop computer.
“And who are you in relation to Mr. Gallagher?”
Mickey opened his mouth—and for just a millisecond, he let himself pause. Usually he just said “partner,” or sometimes “family” when the situation required him to be vague—but in this moment, he had a flashing realization. They were married—and today he got to drop that word, and all the weight of it, into the empty aisles of the drugstore on a Tuesday afternoon. Mickey cleared his throat.
“S’my husband.”
Mickey couldn’t help it—there was some weird, warm, giddy rush in his chest as he said it. It wasn’t natural yet, and he almost fumbled over the word as it fell out of his mouth, like a kid trying to swear for the first time— but he said it. And the pharmacist barely flinched—which, thank fuck for that, after the whole geriatric florist incident a few months ago. She just gave him a curt nod, a half-smile, and she handed Mickey the paper bag and a printed receipt and sent him on his way.
And so what if Mickey stopped at the grimy corner store on the way home and bought a pack of cigarettes for himself and a fucking Kind bar for Ian, because he knew he liked that shit— and so what if there was a little extra bounce in his step as he walked back from the store, his arms swinging by his sides in the cool, early summer breeze as his feet hit the sunwarmed pavement and he headed home to his husband who was curled up in the warm safety of their bed, sound asleep.
His husband.
**
The second time it also just sort of… tumbled out of Mickey’s mouth, a little more naturally this time. It was a day or two later, and he and Ian had finally rejoined the land of the living— and to Debbie, that meant that the two of them were now available to be drafted into a circuit of random chores and errands with lists of shit to pick up, tasks that Ian tried to squeeze in between shifts at his new warehouse job and that Mickey mostly just ignored. But much to Mickey’s dismay, there was no getting out of their assignment this afternoon; Debbie had some hotshot welding gig on the Northside and Frank was nowhere to be fucking found, and Liam needed a parent or guardian to come to his parent-teacher conference at the end of the school year. Liam had softly voiced this information in the swirling hurricane of conversation at dinner the evening before, and Ian couldn’t resist saying that he and Mickey would go, even though Mickey had repeatedly kicked his shins hard under the kitchen table and passed him a series of dagger-like glares. Mickey didn’t realize why Ian had volunteered the both of them to go to this shit— it was Ian’s brother, not his— but after lots of long glances and fucking puppy-dog eyes and some very intense manipulation the night before, when Ian whispered into the crook of Mickey’s neck at a very inconvenient time and said with a mischievous smile “C’mon Mick, I don’t want to go alone”—well, let’s just say that was how Mickey ended up weaving through the sweltering, barren hallways of Liam’s public school on some random muggy summer afternoon with Ian, trying to find Liam’s teacher’s classroom.
As much as Mickey did not want to be here right now, in the paint-chipped locker-lined halls of the public school that mostly just brought up a lot of angsty memories of dirt under his fingernails and cardboard signs written with sharpies and pasted up with duct tape, the whole thing also felt vaguely nostalgic— like those days before everything went to shit and he’d gotten married to Svet, just after he’d busted the fuck out of juvie and was trying with all of his might to force down all the tidal waves of feelings he had about gangly fucking teenage Gallagher with his crew cut and his camo pants—and walking through the halls next to Ian, feeling his tangible presence beside him, was enough to keep Mickey’s mind from veering into other darker places about his own wasted potential.
“Where the fuck is this room, anyways?” Mickey huffed out. All the rows of lockers looked the fucking same, and all Mickey wanted to do right now was go home and lay back on the couch and sip a cold beer, instead of standing in this stuffy hallway with sweat dripping down his neck.
Ian playfully elbowed Mickey between his ribs. “We’re in Liam’s school, Mick. You’re not supposed to say ‘fuck.’”
“Fuck you.” He flipped Ian off for good measure.
Ian halted in front of a closed classroom door, glancing down at the slightly crumpled piece of paper that Liam had written his class number on.
“I think this is it.” Ian softly rapped his knuckles on the classroom door, and a young woman in a pencil skirt appeared to open it.
“Hi, lovely to meet you both. You must be Liam’s dads?”
Mickey spluttered out a laugh, a surprised noise catching in his throat. His first feeling was a flicker of annoyance at this random lady, that always popped up anytime someone so immediately knew he was gay, which probably had to do with some deeply internalized shit— but his second feeling was a warm sort of astonishment. Liam’s dads?
He and Ian could be someone’s fucking parents someday. Fuck.
Ian’s cheeks had turned slightly pink, like he was equally as affected by the assumption— so Mickey spoke up, trying not to sound like his insides were squirming as much as they were.
“Nah, man, you got it all wrong. I mean— not totally wrong, he is my husband. But we’re not his dads.”
Ian’s ears nearly perked up when he heard the word— this was the first time they’d called each other husbands so casually out in the world, while they were both in each other’s presence. A crooked smile crept onto Ian’s face, and he tentatively reached out to ensnare Mickey’s fingers in his.
“Yup. Husbands.”
Liam’s teacher just looked at them, raising her eyebrows expectantly, like she was slightly confused.
“Alright. So, who are you to Liam, then?”
Ian let out a quick breath of a laugh. “Oh, right. I’m Liam’s brother.”
And as Ian led him by the wrist to sit beside him in a fucking uncomfortable plastic chair meant for ten-year-olds, chattering away with Liam’s teacher, all Mickey could think about was the blood rushing hot, hotter than usual between his ears.
He didn’t know if he’d ever get tired of calling Ian his husband.
**
Mickey had never given much thought to pet names, or any sort of frilly bullshit like that, with Ian—every time that he called Ian something that wasn’t just “Ian” or “Gallagher,” it was some punchy and witty nickname that he’d concocted in the moment in an attempt to make a smile burst onto Ian’s face, with “sugar-tits” and “babyface” being his personal all-time favorites; but never any of that sappy bullshit that other couples called each other, like “babe” or “honey” or other garbage.
But, fuck. Fuck if Mickey didn’t love the fact that he could call Ian his “husband” now, that he was allowed to just do that, whenever anyone was in earshot.
It was a late night at the Alibi, the first time that most of the Gallaghers had been out of the house since the pandemic started; the mayor had finally loosened some restrictions, and Kev had sent a text to the Gallagher family group chat with way too many cork-popping emojis telling everyone to come by the Alibi after their respective evening shifts—and when he and Ian had walked through the door nearly half of the neighborhood was there, including Sandy and Debbie, and a bunch of random Southsiders that most of them hadn’t seen for weeks or months.
Kev had immediately handed Mickey a foamy beer as he walked through the door, and readily poured Ian a shot of Jameson—and now the room was pressed tight with bodies, full of random-ass neighbors puffing on cigarettes and some music playing low, the air hanging heavy with the fog of secondhand smoke and boisterous conversation. At one point, after taking one too many sips of something, Sandy had convinced Kev to give her control of the aux cord—and now the music turned more upbeat, and some of the younger people in the room had started dancing, which obviously caused his over-enthusiastic husband to grab Mickey’s wrist from where he was seated at the bar and pull him into the crowd. And maybe it was just the fact that Mickey hadn’t been around so many people for so long, or maybe it was the fact that he could see that Ian was having a good time, his cheeks flushed and glowing in the dim lights— or maybe it was just that he’d had one or two more beers than usual, if he was being totally honest, but Mickey was feeling happy and light, feeling a buzzing in his veins.
And now they were dancing, and Mickey was just kind of shuffling side-to-side and probably looked ridiculous but he didn’t really care, and the room was getting hazier with smoke, and he could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks and the bass of the speakers thrumming in his chest and the rising tide of his pulse and he felt alive, alive—
And Ian’s body was pressed next to his, doing that stupid fucking dance move he always did where he just kind of bopped up and down with his hands raised above his head with the energy of a golden retriever— and Mickey couldn’t fucking help but lean in, pressing his lips close to meet the shell of Ian’s ear; and yes, they’d been married for a couple of months now, but he couldn’t help the airy feeling rising up, bubbling up in his stomach from the heat of the flames licking at his insides that made him whisper:
“We’re fucking husbands.”
Mickey knew Ian could feel his hot breath in his ear, could smell the whiskey on his lips—and Ian’s eyes lit up, his mouth splitting open in a tipsy grin.
Ian hummed and tilted Mickey’s chin up and pressed their lips together— there was light dancing in his eyes, and Mickey loved him, and he was his husband.
“Yeah. Husbands.” Ian murmured the words against Mickey’s mouth under the music, into the air between their lips.
“Fuck.”
And in that moment, Mickey realized that he’d never really known happiness before, not really— because nothing could fucking compare to the feeling of having his hands wrapped tight around his husband’s warm hips, while Ian’s arms were slung over his shoulders and Mickey could burrow his face into the sweet skin at the crook of Ian’s neck…
And yeah, maybe Mickey could get into the idea of calling Ian his husband a lot more often.
**
It was the evening on some run-of-the-mill weeknight after their security runs, and they were at that fancy hotel gym they’d gotten a trial membership of weeks before— Ian had loved the fancy weight machines and the steamed towels so much (and let’s face it, Mickey had also definitely enjoyed the fact that he could check guys out in the steam room) that Mickey had used some cash he had on hand (of questionable origin, which just made Ian frustratedly roll his eyes) to get them both a membership at the place for a month— and Mickey had to be honest, working out under mood lighting and mirrored walls with a bunch of chiseled gay dudes beat hauling kegs around the musty back room of the Alibi any day.
So now, they made a habit of stopping by the gym after work, typically parting ways after stripping off their camo by the lockers to go do their own thing in the weight room. At the current moment, Mickey was standing off to the side of the open floor plan, leaning against a weight rack and curling a 40 pound dumbbell into his bicep— but more accurately what he was doing was drooling over his husband, who was across the room with his tank top sticking to his skin, energetically hitting a static punching bag hanging from the ceiling. Mickey let his eyes bore holes into Ian from across the room, watching the sweat gleam on Ian’s body, watching his muscles ripple—and fuck, he was married to a fucking Greek god, like those fucking sculptures he saw in textbooks at school that made his blood run hot when he stared too hard, wasn’t he?
Mickey was so fixated on watching Ian that he barely noticed when his upper arm started to burn, and he realized that he’d forgotten to keep track of how many times he’d curled upward. Fuck it. Mickey bent down to place the weight back on the rack—and that was when he noticed another guy, some scrawny, slender dude wearing a neon-green tank top and with fucking hot pink sweatbands on his wrists, who had his eyes locked in on Ian from across the room almost intently as Mickey did.
Tank Top noticed Mickey staring at him and sheepishly smiled, putting a hand on his hip—and then in the spirit of light gym-time chatter, something Mickey was definitely not interested in entertaining, the dude opened his mouth.
“You think he’s gay?”
The old Mickey, Mickey from a few years ago, would’ve pummeled this guy’s sorry ass for even looking at Ian the wrong way, and even Mickey from a few months ago would’ve felt some sort of anxious panic or jealous fear that someone other than him desired Ian— but today there was a heavy band of silver pressing into Mickey’s finger, and he could feel the solid weight of it. So Mickey just raised his eyebrows, and gave a passive reply as he placed his dumbbell down and strolled past Tank Top Dude to walk across the room towards Ian:
“He’s my husband, asswipe.”
**
It was late— all there was in the empty room was a half-deflated air mattress, sinking under their weight. The streetlight beamed in through the paper-thin curtains— they would definitely have to invest in a better pair to block out the light, but that was an issue for tomorrow.
Right now Mickey and Ian were just sprawling out on the mattress, letting themselves sink into it—their few boxes of belongings were stacked along the wall, the papers had been signed, and now they could let themselves breathe.
Ian cradled the back of Mickey’s head in his hands, giving him a quick peck just above his eyebrow. “I’m fucking exhausted.”
Mickey breathed out a low chuckle. “Yeah, man, me too.”
Ian rustled, turning onto his side on the wobbly mattress to face Mickey fully. “‘Man?’ You’re my fucking husband. I think we can do better than that.”
Mickey smirked, leaning in close to hover over him. “Whatever you say, husband.”
#ty for the prompt bb i am so grateful for u!!!#woke up very early before a busy day & felt compelled to post this Right Now lol#<3#gallavich#gallavich fic#shameless#shameless fic#ian gallagher#mickey milkovich#ian x mickey#ian and mickey#ixm
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To bee or not to bee - a Jasonette fic
@moonlitceleste I almost let this die, I honestly really wanted it dead but alas it was clearly meant to bee
(WARNING: contains puns, angst, crack and fluff. You have been warned)
If you don’t want to read my sarcastic/funny/fangirl commentary, skip the brackets
I have another bee movie au, i didn't plan it ("I don't claim to be proud. But my head won't be hung in shame. I didn't plan it. But the light turned red, and I ran it. And I'm still standing. It's not what I wanted, but now that it's right here. I understand it. A story written by my own hand" as quoted from Waitress), it just happened and i just couldn't resist. I'm not sorry
So what if instead of dying Joker turned Jason into a bee. Because Harley convinced him and told him that people were talking shit about him because he's named the Joker and they don't think he's funny. It surprisingly works. (Obviously Harley was the one who made the plan and did the magic I mean really what do u expect of Joker?)
Ok so now Jason’s a bee right? And he’s like 15 because .~:°*plot*°:~.
They look for him and Jason’s like flying around like, “Guys! Guys I’m right here!” Poor kid. (I mean I would make it funny but like angst)
Obviously they don’t understand him because he’s a fucking bee and Joker cackles madly and Harley laughs too but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and it's kinda that laugh u do when ur supes overwhelmed and sound maniacal but like soft (I’m a simp for Harley being portrayed as the complex and beautiful character she id leave me be)
Jason is very sad. And also quite pissed
Not knowing what else to do he follows Batman home, he listens to them trying to find him, watches Dick freak out and Alfred wipe a tear the rest of the family doesn’t see.
Jason tries to approach Alfred, hoping he somehow recognizes what happened
He doesn’t, Alfred closes him in a glass and paper and takes him outside.
He sneaks back into the manor and sleeps in one of the flowers (it's a red tulip because aesthetic) next to his bed. He cries himself to sleep. (Can bees cry? Is this possible? Is this like a thing??? I don't need sleep i need answers)
The thing is even tho he's now a bee, he still has the durability of a human, so even stepping on him won’t crush him and he still has a human lifespan
Because Harley isn’t a monster and what Puddin didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. (Simping for Harley Quinn strike 2)
After a while at the manor and following them he decides he can’t stand it anymore. Alfred has thrown him out three times and Dick freaks out each time he sees him as he’s a tad allergic (read: he would die if stung)
Which is how Jason found out that getting hit with a newspaper wouldn’t kill him.
He leaves.
He’s a bee and it’s not like he knows about a way to reverse it.
But there was someone who might.
He goes to Arkham.
Luckily, Harley was still there. (YAY we get to see mah gurl)
He flies into her cell and she just watches him, then she seems to click. She gives him a small smile, “Hi birdie,” (she puns, honestly would make for a better clown of Gotham and I saw an idea for that once where she steals Joker’s title once and I’ve been yearning for it ever since)
She holds out a finger and he lands on it, she laughs but tears come to her eyes,” Hey at least you’re not dead. That was his original plan you know? To kill you with a crowbar. I convinced him this would be a cruller fate. I guess maybe it is, but at least this way... Ugh how the hell did I get here,” (Harley angst, honestly it’s all just self service at this point)
He simply stared at her as she cried, and he felt his heart clench. From here she looked so sad... not crazy, just broken.
She took a deep breath and looked at him seriously, “Look kid, there’s a way to get you back to normal, you just need to find someone, they’re called the Guardian of the Miraculous. They can help, I don’t know who or where they are, just follow your instincts. And come say hi when you get back, yeah? I could do with the... healthier company. And remember, I bee-lieve in you,” (Gasp what a shock, you mean to tell me Miraculous magic is gonna be involved in this Maribat au. Well I never what a shock. Also puns. Oh and she’s so nice to him. We love Harley in this house)
He sat there and studied her for a while more, there was more to her than it seemed. Than what he’d assumed.
But for now, he had his own problems to deal with.
She gave him a small wave as he left. (Adorable)
He left and started considering his options, as a bee, it would probably be safest to stay inside, away from birds and things that would view him as a snack.
Staying in Arkham seemed like his best option, as bad an option as it was.
Most of the prisoners wouldn’t have a second thought about trying to crush him.
A strong scent of flowers and plants suddenly came to his attention.
Of course! Poison Ivy. (Round 2 of me simping for beautiful, complex, badass women. Too bad Catwoman ain’t here.)
He followed the smell to her cell and saw her staring out of her small window. He was still taking a chance, but she loved plants and flowers and bees were important to those, weren’t they?
He flew to the window bars and sat on one. The moment she spotted him she smiled widely, in a soft way he hadn’t seen on her before. (Ahhhhh my darling plant redhead. I love writing the Sirens as soft badasses. Also has anyone noticed how rare brunettes are in superhero worlds? Like both in Marvel and DC but like irl brown is like a pretty damn common)
She held out her finger, “Hey there, little guy. A little far from home, aren’t we?”
She had no idea.
He landed on her fingertip and watched in awe as a flower and a few leaves formed on her hand. She let the flower grow itself around one of her window bars and held her finger next to one of the petals.
“There you go, it’s all I can manage with my power dampers. I haven’t had company in a while,” she said softly as he crawled into the flower. He made himself comfortable.
She laughed to herself and he saw her shaking her head, “Talking to a bee, well, I guess stranger things have happened,” (yeah ur crush is dating a green haired murderous psychopath and you get beat up by a billionaire in a batsuit on like a biweekly basis)
The flower was soft and warm and felt safer than he expected it to. He found that he could move between the petals but decided to curl up in the middle. (It's a pink rose this time because fuck yeah flowers)
He slept better than he had in days.
The next morning he took his leave, stopping only at the manor to say a mental goodbye.
Then he headed off.
Jason flew a lot the first few months, our boy was smart at least, travelling with a cruise ship on its way to Europe.
It was Spring in the Northern Hemisphere so he had until Autumn until it was in his best interest to head south to avoid the snow. He decided to head towards Africa when summer started coming to an end. (I have no reasoning for this, just that I want to)
His first spot would be the United Kingdom. Then he'd go through the rest of Europe following his instincts.
At least it was Spring.
Jason diligently searched through England, Scotland and Ireland but found nothing.
By the time he was done he realized it was time to start heading South. He’d decided to take another cruise to South-Africa, where it would be summer, he searched through the country until April. He would admit that he didn’t feel drawn to anything in any of their 9 provinces so his search wasn’t as diligent as in England. He didn’t feel anymore drawn to the neighbouring countries like Namibia or Botswana either.
(Once again no reasoning for why I picked these countries, I mean the French Hugonotes went there when they were fleeing from the French Catholics who wanted them dead so I guess I could make up some bullshit about Mari having an ancestor in common with someone there or maybe it was just the ship he could easiest get access I don’t know, you make something up)
Which was why he decided to go back to Europe as soon as April hit.
He hitched another ride on a cruise headed for France.
It’s been a year since he got turned into a damn bee.
He was sixteen now and while he’d seen some amazing things all through South-Africa (a place that proves that humans really do have a weirdly obvious way of naming things I mean the Amazon river and Chad Lake are just more examples really) as well as the United Kingdom, all he really wanted was to go back home, to be human again.
When he gets there he diligently makes his way through France, eventually arriving in Paris.
He lands on the tip top of the Eiffel Tower. As in the point of the antenna because why not.
During his year he realized that birds and other animals tended to avoid him, sensing his strangeness so that was at least one positive.
He stared out over the city. Well, the one good thing about this was definitely the views he’s been allowed to see.
That was until a massive explosion hit.
“What the fuck?” he said out loud, searching for the source. No one understood him, human or bee, but talking to himself reminded him of his humanity.
He found the source of the explosion but just as he started flying to its general direction, a blinding white light shone followed by a horde of ladybugs that were fixing everything that was wrong. (Imagine how scary this would lowkey be irl tho? Just a shit ton of Ladybugs descending on Paris my dude)
He decided that he needed a night’s sleep before he could even begin an attempt at deciphering what had just happened. He flew lower, finding a nice little balcony right above a bakery. And it had flowers. (I’ll give u five seconds to guess who this balcony belongs to)
He flew down, exploring.
He turned around when he heard a loud thump from behind him. What appeared to be a super heroine in red spandex with black spots had landed on the balcony.
She detransformed and started to talking to a floating bug- fairy thing. Strange. Though it wasn’t like he could judge, as an ex superhero sidekick who was thought to be dead but was actually a bee.
She disappeared down her trapdoor and he made himself comfortable in one of her flowers.
He slept soundly until somewhere during a night another thump woke him. He looked out of his sleeping spot to see a cat superhero stand on her balcony. He leaned down and knocked on her small trapdoor.
Ah, a teammate of hers, they were probably meeting about something, he thought as he heard her open up.
It didn’t take him long to realize that even though they were teammates, the cat, Chat Noir he later learned, was not aware of this fact.
Oh this was rich.
He couldn’t bee-lieve his eyes. (ok so Jason used self-referential puns but can you really blame him? It’s really just me and my pun problem so don’t blame the kid)
He was going on and on about his feelings for Ladybug, the girl’s hero form, that were clashing with his feelings for another girl he fenced with, while she listened, clearly fed up with it.
He also claimed that he thought that maybe they were one and the same. Which, to Jason, was hilarious as he was literally saying this to the actual Ladybug’s face.
Marinette- he learned from the Cat’s ongoing blabbering, he was a real blab-bee mouth, - was clearly tired, nodding half asleep, probably having heard it all before.
When he finally left Jason went to sleep again, incredibly amused and even more thankful that he was fluent in French. ( u think this is plot convenience? Just u wait mah dude iz about to get worse)
The next morning he decided to follow her to school. Which was how he learned of her huge crush on a boy named Adrien Agreste.
After learning the boy could fence thanks to Marinette’s obsession interest in him, he got suspicious.
Could it really bee? (not a typo)
After seeing the boy transform a month or two later for patrol he laughed like he hadn’t for over a year. It very much was. He'd spent the time staying on Marinette's balcony and decided to stay another week before moving on and continuing his search, after all, he couldn't stop now that he finally felt like he was getting close.
The next day she got home crying, claiming that Adrien had started dating someone else.
Kagami, she called the girl. Probably the fencer if he had to place a bet.
“I’m sorry, Marinette,” Tikki told the girl.
“That boy's an idiot,” he said, speaking his mind, another thing he’d gotten use to being allowed to do without consequence.
Marinette nearly jumped out of her skin, she looked around and he realized that she could hear him. He hadn’t really spoken too much before, at least not when she was around. He was usually content with watching her do whatever she was doing that day.
“Tikki, did you hear that?” she asked, Tikki nodded, her eyes landing on him.
“Oh,” the kwami said softly, flying over to him, “Oh, you poor thing, who did this to you?” (Tikki is the first ever mom friend and u can fight me on this)
He stared up at her, flying so that they were eye level.
Marinette gaped at them, heartbreak seemingly forgotten, “Tik- Tikki, are- who are you talking- are you talking to a – Tikki is that a bee?!” she finally spluttered out.
“No,” Tikki said, studying him, he felt his heart twist in hope and his stomach roll in surprise. Did she know?
“I mean yes, but no. He’s a boy whose been turned into a bee,” Tikki explained, turning back to Marinette.
“Oh,” Marinette said softly, turning to him. She held her hand out and after some hesitation he landed on her finger. She looked at him then back to Tikki.
How did they know? Would he really be that lucky? Was this real?
“Uhm, how?” she said, staring at him in disbelief. He tried shrugging but realized he couldn’t anymore- beecause of his- well if you haven’t caught on to the fact that he’s a bee by now you should really start from the beginning of this story.
“I don’t know, but Joker and Harley Quinn were involved,” he said.
Marinette stared at him in disbelief, blinking a few times. She sat in shock a few moments longer. (Our darling is an awkward lil bean, and while in media awkward is portrayed as cute, irl it isn’t, it’s just well… awkward. And we’re writing a serious and realistic fic about this sidekick of guy who wears a batsuit/billionaire's ward getting turned into a bee and falling in love with a magical girl fighting a butterfly man- none of this unrealistic nonsense)
Tikki flew over and sat on Marinette’s shoulder while her holder processed the information, the kwami stared at him sweetly, “What’s your name?”
He swallowed, he hadn’t said his name in ages, it stirred up something (emotion, it’s called emotion, Jason, you know? The thing Batman can’t process??) in him, “Jason Todd,”
Marinette seemed to finally snap out of her daze, “That sounds American. Are you American? Wait if Joker and Harley are involved then you’re probably from Gotham. Are you? Wait I’ve seen the name Jason Todd somewhere. Weren’t you some rich guy’s ward? It was all over the news last year, Alya wouldn’t stop talking about it for a month, she had a million theories. He was – you were announced dead two months after Robin was taken captive by Joker, everyone thought he was – you were killed. Joker made outrageous claims as they arrested him... saying that they’d never find Robin... that he’d all but disappeared in thin air... that he wouldn’t be the only one wearing stripes... I remember because he put a really weird emphasis on the words be and stripes and...,” her eyes widened and she gasped as she looked at him in what could only be described as pure shock. (Yes this happens, people can talk for this long and since I personally know headcannon that Marinette is ADHD this long ass paragraph is just another Tuesday bud)
He sat there, surprised that she figured it all out so quickly. (yeah bub it’s called plot convenience and it’s because of me, the writer, I don’t wanna focus on secret ID shenanigans, I got other plans for yall, also Mari is smart, don’t underestimate her)
“You’re Robin,” she breathed, “they turned you into a bee. Wait- How the hell did they turn you into a bee?!”
He chuckled, “Bee-lieve me I’ve been asking myself that question for more than a year,”
She bit her lip, seemingly contemplating his words and ignoring his pun, “Tikki do you know anything that could help? Do you think Miraculous magic-,”
He felt his heart stop, he flew up to her face, flying at eye level, “Wait, did you just say Miraculous? Harley said if I could find the Guardian of the miraculous, they could help me, do you know where they are? I’ve been looking for so long,” (‘°;~*.plot convenience.*~;°’)
Marinette blinked at him and Tikki's face dawned with realization.
“I’m the guardian of the miraculous,” Marinette said softly, “Tikki, that means I can help him, right?”
Tikki nodded and he had to dial down the hope in his heart because the look on her face told him there was a Kim Kardashian sized butt on the way.
“We can help him, but we’re gonna have to wait. (don’t look at me like that, do u want them to have time to bond or not?) You’re not trained enough to pull it off yet. If you were to do it now, all three of us would be out of commission for far too long, especially with Hawkmoth on the prowl,” Tikki said.
They must’ve been able to sense his sadness because they were staring at him with an incredible amount of pity. The amount was quite unsettling actually and he suddenly felt a primal like urge to pun. (An extract from my book: “My unhealthy coping mechanisms and how to use them,” specifically Chapter 8: “Humor hides the pain”)
Suddenly Tikki’s face lit up, the whiplash of her expression change throwing any notion of punning out the window.
“Well, there’s one thing we could do,” she said, excitedly, zipping buzzing around “If he wears a miraculous, he'll return back to human form while transformed,”
Marinette perked up at the idea, but confusion soon overtook her features, “But Tikki, most of the miraculous are bigger than he is,”
Tikki waved her away,” It’s fine it’ll work,”
“Ok,” Marinette said after a bit of thought. She stood and he followed while she started climbing down her skylight,” I’m thinking you can try each of them out for different patrols and then we’ll see which one matches you best. This could be fun, having some fun sized company while figuring out how to defeat Hawkmoth,”
He laughed, flying near her ear, “Fun sized, huh? I’ll have you know I’m considered tall in human form, unlike some of us,”
She laughed and rolled her still tear stained eyes, and so, the beginning of a bee-autiful friendship bloomed.
Marinette walked to her closet and Jason took in her room. It was very pink, but in a well-balanced way - it wasn’t completely overbearing. His eye caught on a few pictures of Adrien Agreste on her wall but figured now wouldn’t be a great time to bring it up. (Look he’s already more emotionally aware, #foreshadowing of character development)
She removed a big box from her closet. She opened it and it was filled with what appeared to be a bunch of scrap materials. At the bottom she removed a bigger bundle of black and red fabric and he flew closer.
She put it in her lap and Jason had to do a double take when he realized that her hands were glowing and what the actual fuck- it was a box now -fuck fuck fuck- why was it a box? How? What- Jason was pretty sure he did not sign up for this.
She put the box down in front of her and to his relief she opened her mouth to speak as she lifted the lid, so he’d understand everyth- and its jewellery.
The box contained jewellery. Animal themed jewellery by the looks of things.
He then realized that these were probably the other miraculous.
She looked over each artefact before handing him the yellow and black hairclip.
Out of all of them, she picked the bee miraculous.
“Hilarious,” he replied dryly, giving her a look, he realized too late she wouldn’t be able to register- on account of, well you know… (if u don’t know by now, you don’t get to find out anymore)
She gave him a grin and replied, “I certainly think it is,”
Her teasing expression turned into one of worry, “I mean we could switch it out if it makes you uncomfortable-,” (being a sassy people pleaser with no filters really do be like this tho)
He laughed, “Don’t worry, I’m only teasing. What do I do?”
Marinette opened her mouth to answer before obviously realizing that she didn’t have an answer. She turned to Tikki and the kwami had a fond smile on her face before turning to Jason. (Just Tikki casually mentor- moming Mari because Fu is useless)
“Just step on the miraculous, it’ll sense that you’re human,” the creature replied.
When he stepped onto the bee miraculous, its kwami appeared.
Pollen stared at him for a few seconds before she realized what was happening.
After an explanation about her power set and what exactly he could do in suit, he transformed.
He felt his human body appearing. He was taller and more built than he remembered being. His flying clearly had physical consequences then, not that he was complaining.
His suit included a pair of bee wings. His hair was longer than he remembered it being too.
He had a black leather jacket and combat boots. With it was a pair of practical black leggings and a yellow t-shirt with three thick black stripes. (The three stripes represent each one of his families, the Todds, the Waynes and The Dupain-Chengs, because I can) He also had a pair of black gloves. His boots had yellow laces. On his face was a black and yellow striped domino mask. The top sat on his hip. The bee miraculous sat on the middle of his chest in the form of a broach.
He all but sprinted to the mirror. He stared at his face, his blue eyes and his nose that never healed quite right after breaking it that one time. His black hair was messy and stuck up every which way, his cheekbones were as high as always, and he had a little bit of stubble and it was so familiar and so new all at once.
He touched his face, barely registering the tears flowing down his cheeks and laughed in relief. He was human again. This was real! He could- he was closer to normal than he ever thought he’d get to be.
He turned to Marinette who was staring up at him in shock. He picked her up and spun her around, laughing in joy. And after a moment she joined in. He put her down and put his hands on her shoulders, smiling widely, “Thank you. Thank you so much,”
She smiled up at him, a slightly sad look on her face, “I’m sorry, it’s not permanent,”
“Don’t be sorry. For the first time I have hope. It will be permanent eventually, and till then, I have you with me, right?” he squeezed her shoulder, still high on the feeling of hope and warmth and familiarity.
When he was overcome with the sudden urge to pull her into a hug, he didn’t resist.
He held her close, resting his chin on her head, “Damn, I missed this. Hugging, I mean. I haven’t... it’s been so long,” (not that he got all that many hugs from Bruce “emotionally constipated” Wayne)
She wrapped her arms around him, “I can imagine,”
They stood there a while before the time for patrol came along. She transformed and they made their way to the Eiffel tower, where they met Chat.
The cat themed hero rose his brow questioningly, “I thought we didn’t recruit new heroes unless it was an emergency?”
Ladybug smiled nonchalantly, “It’s Guardian business, he’s gonna be a permanent fixture in our team for at least a few months so we might as well get used to working as a team,”
Chat Noir eyed him wearily and he stepped forward, sticking his hand out, “Hi, I’m Blackback, nice to meet you,”
Chat Noir shook his hand and gave Ladybug a sceptical look, “An American? Really?”
“Please Chat, he's not American, it’s just the glamour hiding his actual accent,” she replied simply, shooting Jason a worried look.
He couldn’t give away his identity, but he was also technically a bee, he didn’t really have an identity to give away. So, her behaviour was strange. Unless she wanted to give him an identity somehow?
He couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of patrol.
When they got home Marinette revealed that she wanted to give him the fox miraculous. If they asked Trixx she would be able to design the costume in a way that allowed him to look like a normal civilian, without the mask.
Trixx's glamour was also stronger than the rest so his true identity as Jason Todd would be protected.
And she could help him fake an accent.
Since Marinette was a year younger than him he could just pick up where he left off school wise.
She convinced her parents that he was an exchange student in desperate need of a place to stay because the person he would’ve stayed with backed out last minute.
They agreed easily and Jason decided to not question it.
It was his third family. His second if you only counted non abusive ones. First if you wanted one with a healthy family dynamic.
They got him a fake birth certificate and name. He went with the alias Thomas Grayson. He thought it was kind of funny, and it paid homage to both Bruce and Dick. It gave him something from home to hold on to. (Jason isn’t really salty about not being avenged in this au, he didn’t die and Talia and the pit madness wasn’t there to egg on his anger. But maybe if I ever get back to this au we could do a thing with it… guess we’ll have to wait and see ;-) no promises tho)
He built himself another home with Marinette and her family. And before he knew it, he was happy again. He felt secure.
Through the weeks, he ingrained himself into Marinette's life. In a blink of an eye, they were best friends, and he couldn’t imagine life without her.
He loved living with her family as she trained to be strong enough to turn him back to normal.
He grew close to Marinette’s friends and was her shoulder to cry on about Adrien. He and Adrien got along pretty well, and he and Marc and Rose traded Literature jokes. Max would join in when it involved Shakespeare.
Then Lila happened. (She’s a staple in Maribat fiction. U can’t have Maribat without Lila. Or well u can but that’s usually a very specific au)
Her lies started out simple enough. Then she started manipulating everyone and he, Marinette, Chloe and Adrien were one scheme away from being ostracized. They sat in the back row.
They ignored her sneers and let her lie to her heart’s content. Then one day she said something that made both Marinette and Jason freeze.
“You know, I was childhood friends with Jason Todd (I know she usually gets the names wrong but like her knowing the name just makes this next bit better) You know, Bruce Wayne’s ward who died a while ago? It was just so sad. He grew up in a nice family but his parents both died in a car accident and Brucie took pity on him. He even let us keep in contact afterwards, since our parents were such good friends. We all miss them dearly of course. We were neighbours the year we lived in Gotham, you know? We'd play every day-,” she started fake crying, “Oh it just gets too much sometimes,”
But to Jason’s shock Alya didn’t move to console Lila, in fact, she was staring at the brunette in shock.
He turned his gaze to Marinette to see the girl wearing the biggest, coldest, most satisfied smirk. She rested her chin on her hands and grinned at Lila in a way that made shivers go down his spine.
He turned back, this ought to be good.
And it was.
Alya absolutely lost it.
She ripped Lila a new one and frankly? Jason was impressed. (Alya has a temper and she’s a fangirl, and we all know how we get when someone gets something wrong about one of our hyperfixations, even if it’s an old one so like yall can imagine how bad Lila had fucked up)
When an akuma flew in towards Lila, Alya grabbed it, staring the girl down with a fury he didn’t know she could possess, “Don’t you dare! Do you think I’m blind? I’ve seen how easily you get akumatized and this time I’m not letting it happen!”
Of course, Alya then got akumatized but hey it beat another version of Lila.
Everyone made up but they weren’t quite as close as before. Their group tended to consist mostly out of him, Marinette, Chloe, Adrien, Kagami and Luka.
Other than that incident and akuma attacks, life was pretty good.
In fact, it was great.
He and Marinette would spend nights on her balcony, laughing and slow dancing. They star gazed and went on patrols. He helped her when she got nightmares and she returned the favour. They went on long walks and spent the holidays together. They crammed for tests and he played model for her designs. They worked in the bakery and hung out with their friends both in and out of suit. They’d joke about his technical bee-ness and he and Chat drove her mad with puns. In retaliation she’d introduce him as her bee friend to people or only give him honey and bee themed things. (ok this sentence sounds weird but I mean like when she brings them sweets from the bakery to snack on while working and stuff.)
And one laugh, memory and fight at a time, he started to fall. (I just want good things for Jason, and really can you blame me?)
Through the months, he kept up to date on the news about Bruce Wayne and Marinette held his hand each time a new kid joined his brood. She reminded him that no child could be replaced and reassured him that of course Bruce would want him back when they figured everything out.
And if he didn’t, she’d kick his ass into space, and he’d stay with her family in Paris- a family she made sure he knew he was a part of.
He helped Sabine in the kitchen and was the only one who came closest to beating Marinette’s Ultimate Mega Strike 3 record. Tom taught him to shave and bake. He was integrated into their family and they treated him as part of the family.
But even if they were giving him everything they were, he missed Bruce. And Dick. And Alfred. And Barbara. And Gotham. He missed them all so much. He missed home.
So, 14 months later, when Marinette told him they had a meeting with the Justice League about the Hawkmoth situation, Jason felt his heart skip a beat.
“What?” he asked softly, his eyes brimming with tears (Marinette taught him how to emotion, you see. So Jason is emotionally stable-ish enough to cry without feeling embarrassed about it), “I get to see him again?”
Marinette nodded and hugged him from behind, “I’m planning on telling him what happened. Is there anything you can tell him to verify who you are?”
Memories from a million years ago entered his mind, “Yes,”
She took his hand and took a step back, “And I think I can fix you before we go, I’m strong enough. But I’d still like your help in the final battle, I mean I know you’re going home but...,”
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and smiled, “Of course, Pixie. I’ll always be there for you when you need me,”
He pressed a kiss against her forehead, a movement so familiar it was practically a part of him. He pulled her close and cried into her hair.
“What if he doesn’t believe me?” he asked softly, after a while, resting his chin on top of her head.
“He will,” she replied, tightening her grip around his waist.
They both knew she had no guarantee of that. That she had no way of knowing for sure. Neither of them did. And it scared him more than he wanted to admit.
The next day they do the magic turning back thing. It freaks him out quite a bit but not as much as her revealing the miraculous freaked him out the first time, you get kinda used to the magic shenaniganary. They’re both passed out for an hour afterwards and when they wake up, he holds her, crying, because he was finally, finally back to normal and this was real and permanent, and it was over.
She cried with him and held him, and they then went out and he wore a shirt she made for him, and they got ice cream the next day. They celebrated some more and went to the park with the squad and they had a picnic.
It was better than he ever could've imagined.
While the sun was setting, they stood back on her balcony, where they first spoke all those months ago, slow dancing. He pulled away and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at her as the orange light of the sunset shone on them. (So aesthetic)
“Thank you, Marinette, for everything,” he says as he rubs his thumb across her cheek. His hand holding her face. She puts her hand over his and closes her eyes, savouring the moment.
She opened her eyes again and smiled, “I’d do it again and more, if it meant I’d get to be with you,”
He started leaning down, “If I lost you, I’d fly all over the world just to find you again,”
She raised to her tip toes, faces millimetres from one another, blue bells meeting ice, “So it was all worth it in the end?”
He moves closer, eyes searching hers. “Definitely,” he breathes.
She closes the distance, and he picks her up and spins her around. They break apart and their laughter fills the air.
(now that’s enough fluff, allow me to drown you in angst)
The next day they stood on the Eiffel tower. She took his hand, “Let’s recap. I go in, we have our Hawkmoth meeting, then I ask if I can speak to Batman and Nightwing alone. Then I tell them I found you, then I give them – are you sure it’s necessary for me to give them your blood, hair and a cheek swab? Isn’t that overkill?” (Batman is serious about his no kill rule, but he’s also serious about his there’s no such thing as overkill rule)
He shook his head and she sighed, “Okay. Then I give him means to contact me and I come back. Now remember they might take a while to process and they won’t necessarily call immediately-,”
“What if they never call?” he asked, gripping her hand tightly.
She ran her finger softly through his hair, “Then you have us to help you get through it,”
He nodded, she kissed his cheek and stepped through the portal with Queen Bee, Chat Noir and Viperion. He and Ryuuko stayed behind as backup, he wielded the Fox miraculous these days, but kept the name Blackback, always wearing a black leather jacket no matter the transformation.
He and Ryuko discussed fighting styles, she was kindly trying to distract him, and if it had been anything else he needed distracting from, it would’ve worked.
So passed the slowest forty-five minutes of his life. Chat Noir and Queen Bee exit a portal and so the wait for Marinette and Luka began.
She and Bruce were talking now. Bruce would know he was alive. This was make or break for him. Luka was nearby to act as back up worst-case scenario.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, followed by someone taking and rubbing circles on his back. He looked down to see Ryuuko on his one side and saw Chat Noir on his other.
“We’ve got you,” Chloe said standing in front of him, hand on his unoccupied shoulder.
He swallowed and nodded. She squeezed his upper arm and met his gaze, “Breathe, you’re safe, honey,”
So, 30 more minutes pass. They sit down and somewhere along the line Chat goes and grabs a dozen croissants from the bakery.
In another situation he might’ve laughed. He’d baked this morning’s batch and now he got to eat some of it for free, of course, technically he could get others for free too but-
The portal opened behind them and Ladybug and Viperion stepped out. He noted that she didn’t have the bag of his DNA with her anymore.
She smiled softly at him, “Now we wait,”
And wait they did.
They waited two weeks.
And then the burner phone that's number they'd given Bruce rang.
Jason froze, Marinette jumped up and ran to get it.
He couldn't move as she walked over and put the phone on speaker, she grabbed his hand and he held onto her for dear life.
"We can both hear you now, Nightwing," she said.
There was a beat of silence on the other side of the line, "Can he- If you're- can I speak to him? In- um- private?"
Marinette looked at him, and he nodded. She took the phone off speaker and handed it to him.
He held it up to his ear and squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the circles Marinette were drawing on his hand with her thumb.
"He- hey Dick," he said. He heard his brother's breathing hitch, followed by a few seconds of silence.
"When did Batman find you?"
"25th May 2017,"
"Who's your favourite author?"
"Mary Shelley tied with Jane Austin,” he replied.
Dick stayed silent for too long and before he could stop himself the words fell from his mouth, desperation clinging to each syllable,” My favourite- my favourite playwright is Shakespeare, and my favourite school subject is English. If I could pick any day job it would be being a writer. My favourite colour is blue. Alfred has a secret fear of dolphins. You have had a ridiculously huge crush on Barbara for years and she had no idea, and I found a picture you drew under your old room's bedside table of you two getting married. I folded the picture up and hid it in a small box of memories I kept in the farthest corner of my closet under clothes I never wore. I have a round scar on the lower left side of my back where Willis Todd burned me with a cigarette when I was 5 that you don’t know I know you know about. My first Christmas at the manor you found me in the rose garden cutting a few off to take to my mother's grave and I was terrified that you would yell at me but instead you drove me to the graveyard and that was the day I decided to give you a real chance. I despise carrots but I eat them when Alfred makes them because I don't want to be a burden. And I-," he choked on a sob- when had he started crying?
He took a shuddering breath, and swallowed some of his tears, trying to make sure the words got out right, "I've missed you guys for every single second that I've been gone,"
His stomach tied itself up in a million knots as the silence stretched on. He could hear Dick moving the phone.
"Can I speak to Ladybug again please?" A female voice he didn't recognize said.
He handed the phone to Marinette and pressed his hand over his mouth to try to contain the sobs. He felt like a knife was twisting his stomach. He couldn't even hear what Marinette was saying. (I’m going through something irl and as a result u guys get to read angst by the bucketloads and I regret nothing)
Dick didn't want to talk to him. He should've just answered the question, he shouldn't have given all the extra information. Now they were never going to believe that it's really him and he would never see them again. Maybe they knew it was him and they just didn't want him-
"Jason, breathe with me," he heard Marinette's voice. His eyes latched onto hers like a lifeline, he became aware of her hands holding his.
She took his face in her hands and rested her forehead against his, in a motion so familiar that it came as easy as breathing. Well as easy as it usually was to breathe, right now excluded.
After he calmed down, she explained to him what they discussed. They would go to Gotham and meet and discuss things from there.
They wanted to meet him, but they still didn’t completely believe that it was him. He knew this for a fact because they had organized for M’gann to be there to confirm what he was saying. (Yassss M'gann my darling girl, I adore out lil Martian)
Marinette had suggested that they meet in the Batcave in an hour. Everyone had agreed. He assumed she had a plan as to why she wanted to wait. And he trusted her, so he waited for her to explain.
“I want to take the team, as backup. If you’re not comfortable with it, I want to at least take Luka. I would suggest just letting one of us wield is miraculous, but his Second Chance Timer limit is an hour so it would be most beneficial,” she said, gesturing with the hand that wasn’t holding his.
He nodded, sitting up straighter, but not releasing his grip on her hand, “We can bring the team, it’s smart to have backup. Besides if things go haywire, we have Luka to stop us.”
“Then let’s go get our team, love,”
(oh, I should probably mention that only he and LB knows everyone’s Identities. Or well rather no one knows like officially. Like everyone lowkey knows everyone's and a few of them have officially revealed themselves to each other, but not everyone is officially revealed to everyone and Mari and Jason are the only ones who aren’t officially revealed to anyone else, it’s kinda like the vibes of knowing your best friend is queer but not saying anything because they haven’t officially come out yet but like you know because they ain’t nearly as subtle as they think. Like that aesthetic.)
Anyway, 50 minutes later, they’re all gathered on the Eiffel Tower. Jason saw Marinette give Luka a nod to reset his timer. Suddenly he was enveloped in a light with a scratch that wasn’t there a few seconds before on his cheek, his expression quite annoyed.
Marinette immediately furrowed her brows, “How many times?”
Viperion shook his head, “Don’t worry, only one so far, but they try to restrain us. We’re gonna have to try plan b this time,” Everyone nodded, they waited two minutes before the agreed upon time and Mari opened a portal, but instead of appearing out in the opened, they hid in the shadowy parts of the cave.
Jason used his illusion to hide them from any observant eyes and they spread out a bit. He and Mari stayed together, Cloe flew to get a higher perspective and hide Viperion on one of the cave’s many ledges while Chat just moved a few feet away to have a slightly different hiding spot. Kagami dropped into her wind form and was flying above them to eavesdrop, she’d go to Luka if she heard anything of importance so he could go restart again.
They’d be one step ahead of the Bats no matter what they pulled, after all, they had all the time in the world.
They watched them all get into position as time neared. Jason didn’t know all the kids but recognized them from the news.
Dick, Bruce and M’gann stood near the bat computer with Barbara – who was in a wheelchair but that was a realization to deal with later- and Alfred.
The minute they were supposed to appear Jason cast another illusion to make it appear as though they had arrived. As expected, weapons and restraints immediately swarmed on them, each kid going for a different miraculous member. Too bad the images turned into orange dust as soon as they touched them.
The tiny one in the Robin uniform was red in the face and immediately started throwing a tantrum, “Father! They’ve tricked us-,”
Before he could get another word out, Chloe mass-venomed the horde of kids that we’re sent to attack them. He counted Black bat, Red Robin, Batgirl, Signal and Robin. They were all frozen in the middle of the room and before the others near the computer could move, Kagami trapped them in a (rather large) ring of fire. They had enough space to move around comfortably but if they tried approaching the edge the flames would grow larger.
Batman growled and his eyes searched through the cave, but he wouldn’t see them, no matter how hard he searched.
Jason stared at them. Dick was also searching the cave, but he seemed to look more hopeful than angry. Alfred seemed his usual calm self and Barbara was glancing around the cave more subtly. He didn’t bother looking at the rest of the batkids because M’gann was staring right at him, staying right where she was despite her ability to fly.
“Hi, Jason,” she softly spoke into his mind, he felt emotion overwhelm him, she’d known him before everything, and she knew it was him and it was a lot.
He knew she wasn’t probing around his brain for information like he was sure Bruce had asked her to, she didn’t have to, she knew it was him.
“Can you please tell me why we’re surrounded by fire?” she asked.
“We have a time traveller,” he replied.
“Ah, not a fan of Bruce’s restrain and question method, then? Can’t say I blame you, though I do think you’ve proven your point,”
“You really think it’s a good idea to release all of them?” he asked sceptically.
“… Good point. Maybe leave the brood in the middle in whatever frozen state they’re in and just let us in the fire out. They really just think it’s too good to be true… Jason, I won’t let them hurt you,”
“Okay,” he agreed softly. He turned to Marinette and gave her a slight nod. She returned with one of her own.
They walked over to Kagami’s ring of fire and he held their illusion until they were right in front of it. He held on to it for a bit to make sure everyone else would be able to stay in position. Chloe would keep the cavalry venomized and Chat and Viperion would stick to the shadows, unless necessary.
Jason dropped the illusion and watched four heads snap to him. M'gann simply gave him a soft smile and a nod of encouragement.
Kagami moved herself to stand next to Marinette and turned back into her human form, glaring at them with a silent warning.
Their attention was elsewhere, though. For a long time they just stood there and stared at one another in silence. They studied every part of one another they could see.
His eyes caught on Barbara’s wheelchair and he felt ready to destroy whatever put her there. She met his eyes and he held her gaze. She must’ve seen something there because she gave a small smile as she allowed a few tears to escape her eyes.
“Miss Martian?” Batman broke the silence like a cheap dinner plate, shattering it in a matter of seconds.
“It’s him,” M’gann answered without a hint of hesitation.
It was Alfred that moved first. He took a few hesitant steps towards him and before Jason knew it the man was in front of him. Alfred reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, desperately studying him for a moment before pulling him into a hug only Alfred could give.
It took Jason a moment to respond but when he did he returned it wholeheartedly.
After a few minutes they pulled apart and it took him a moment to realize that they’d both started crying. When he looked up Dick was only a few feet away. The moment Alfred stepped away Dick pulled him close.
“I thought you were dead, kid. I thought I’d never see you again, I thought I lost even more family. You were too young, too innocent. Fuck Jason,” Dick whispered, tightening his grip, “I’m so glad you’re alive,”
Jason held on to his brother and that night they cried about terrible endings and broken beginnings. They cried about lost time and found family.
It wasn’t the end yet, Hawkmoth was still terrorizing Paris and he had no idea what Bruce thought yet. There were all his other kids, his brothers and sisters. There were his teammates and the incredible story of how he’d been turned into a bee of all things.
They had a lot of catching up to do.
But just for a moment, a strand of a singular moment, he had his brother in his arms again and he was back home. His first real home.
Things weren’t perfect, as things rarely are but it didn’t matter. Because part of the beauty of life is how it builds and breaks us in a cycle of love and loss.
And that night they laughed with a lightness and joy none of them had fully been able to hold onto in years.
I hope you guys enjoyed!
This is lowkey totally gonna be the au I go to when I don’t know what to write lol, maybe write a bit of what happens afterwards or a part of everything during the year he lived with Mari them or just y’know shenanigans
#maribat#jason todd#marinette dupain cheng#jasonette#bee movie au#aka the deep dark hole within the deep dark hole#I've been working on this for a month#probably more#my brain held me captive with this au it held me at gunpoint and stalked me and wouldn't leave me alone until i wrote it#me: casually attempting to write anything else#my brain: *slaps me with ideas for this* NO#and the worst part is there's more that's not written just bull my brain came up with#and i can't believe I put angsty life philosophy writing in a CRACK AU#THIS IS THE VERY DEFINITION OF A CRACK AU#WHY#I AM SO INVESTED AND I'M MAD ABOUT IT#i enjoyed writing this and that fact alone infuriates me#blame moonie for this#and u know what blame bugabunny too#(fuck i hope i got their name right)#if it hadn't been for the two of them discussing this again i would've forgotten all about it and i woulda been allowed to write#my kaldur x marinette fic in peace. or my lila time loop fic. OR LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE#anyway i tried to make his outfit red hood esque but like only the parts i liked about it#aka the leather jacket and the combat boots#I don't know how i feel about the fact that i wrote this but what's done is done#*sigh*#jason x marinette#why me#nightwing fluff#but also angst
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Cobra Hybrid! Yukhei/ fighter AU
Warnings: pussy eating, breeding kink, competitive fighting, bl**d, mentions of open wounds, eagle hybrid Xiaojun, scorpion hybrid Hendery, minor mentions of getting high, angst, mentions of near death experiences, fluff bc Xuxi loves u an unhealthy amount
The sky outside of your bedrooms hopper window is scattered with rich hues of deep violet and burgundy, a sight that is too captivating to not sit and admire for at least a moment while your food cools off on your beside table.
You've always been particular about the temperature, needing it hot enough to burn your palms but not the surface of your tongue.
You smile warmly to yourself as you think of Yukhei, the way he can practically scarf anything down no matter the heat. You've had to physically stop him from inhaling piping hot ramen quite a few times, though he never listens. "Its okay, promise!I like when it's hot!"
Stubborn boy.
The colors above seem to dissipate by the second into shades that better suit the nighttime hour, not even a quarter of the sun peeking from below the horizon as the city below continues to buzz with work commutes, or perhaps lovers that are eager to be in the same space their partners occupy.
You sigh ruefully, knowing that it's just your suboncious missing a certain doe eyed, raven haired boy.
It hasn't even been two days since you last saw eachother, the navy blue sweatshirt that he wore over still hanging off the corner of your dresser, the scent of patchouli and cedarwood clinging to the fabric.
Your fingers reach out to undo the latch that keeps your window closed, the cool, dusk air gentle against your cheeks.
You know you shouldn't worry about him, he's with Hendery and Xiaojun and the others and they're all celebrating YangYang's birthday in his uncles house near Shenzhen.
At least that's what his last message said, and truly, you're not one to be overly nosey or obsessive. But the thought of Yukhei, your Yukhei, back in that poisonous red ring with barbarous eyes latched onto his body, eager for his blood to spill across the white floor-
You feel your throat tighten at the thought, eyes closing as you inhale through your nose, the air not as thick with smog this time of year and allowing for at least somewhat of a peace of mind.
You find the juxtaposition to the outside world, and the world that lies below the boutiques and indie music shops and niche cafes, to be sardonically humorous.
It makes sense, strangely, that the evil and greed that people possess would no doubt be thrumming with a life of its own in the hybrid world, even more so than that of the human world, sometimes.
And for hybrids like Yukhei, the ones with a little more strength, a little more aggression once the animal that coexists with their dna is provoked, for a king cobra; merchants practically frothed at the mouth when your boyfriend put himself up for rivalry.
It was the last thing he ever wanted to do, and not just because the clubs usually smelled of dry blood and spit among other noxious substances, or because of the fact that his body felt as if it had been hit by a train every morning when he awoke.
It's because of how you sobbed when you found out. Your eyes and nose raw with the fury in which you had rubbed them, your body shaking. It hurt more than anything, more than a fierce kick to the jaw or a pair of canines ripping into the flesh of his shoulder.
It was agoninzing, almost more so than the fact that he had to do it in order to pay off some stupid, futile debt that he owed.
It was a nefarious fox hybrid who helped him out of an almost brawl at a club downtown during the time he worked there, fixing drinks sometimes, or lending a hand in securing the canvas and apron that was needed for the fighting ring.
It was easy work for him, and he needed the money if he wanted to get through school by even a little, but the people who occupy spaces like that, they weren't too keen on a snake hybrid being allowed in during daytime hours; helping or not.
It was just a bigheaded bull, a new bartender who caught a glimpse of the few iridescent scales that gleamed acrosss the expanse of his shoulder blade, and before he could even smell the unprompted vexation wafting off of the hulking man- he was thrown across the room.
He was nearly impaled on the bar top, nearly. Though the fox jumped in almost too eagerly after the bull busted your boyfriend's top lip open, introducing himself as the owner and kicking the aggressor off of Yukhei after professing his status.
As far as the story goes, the owner was still quite upset at the fact that two bottles of expensive liquor had been busted and wasted in the whole debacle, news to Yukhei since he had been, well, fearing for the safety of his face due to the close proximity of six inch horns.
So, it was lose a decent job and have no other options left as such a reclusive breed, or use his strengths to his advantage.
You shudder everytime you think of the ladder. Nothing prepared you for hearing that from Xiaojun's mouth, for seeing him look so weak, so close to the brink of deterioration. He looked broken.
Your noodles are cold now, and you curse yourself for allowing your thoughts to wander off to a place so unnecessary to revisit.
You're too tired to heat them back up, moving from your window sill to your quaint, welcoming bed. You peel the thick comforter back and nestle yourself into the warmth, grabbing your old (but still functioning) laptop in hopes of finding something new to watch on netflix. You have too much of a habitual personality to start a new t.v. show, but a movie might suffice.
It's hard to focus your attention elsewhere, to not to think of him. He's the type of person that you can't ever get used to seeing upclose, so effortlessly beautiful it's almost painful, an ache in the pit of your chest.
Maybe that's silly to say, but it's not jusy because you're sickeningly in love with him. It's this force that he carries with him, like he's made of pure, raw sunlight.
You close your eyes for a moment, picturing the way his plush lips feel against yours when he smiles into a kiss, noses touching and giggles resonating in his throat as you play with the wild strands of his perpetually fluffy hair.
You think of all the things that make him inherently him. His hands, the way they always seem to be steady and gentle, elegant, despite their size. Even when he caresses your cheek with the back of his knuckles, it's featherlight.
It's in his nature to be so agile, so stealthy in his movements. You sometimes forget he's a snake hybrid at all, his outside appearance similar to a lion shifter, or a wolf.
It's probably the most unobvious thing about him, unless he were to take his clothes off and reveal the miscellaneous littering of scales across his broad back and shoulders.
They're similar to his eyes in the way that they're usually onyx until they glimmer under light, ranging from shades of dazzling silver to veridian. You think of the way he hums in satisfaction everytime you run your fingertips along the surface, eyes captivated with wonder.
You jolt in surprise as your phone rings obnoxiously loud, your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at the prospect of your pleasant thoughts being so rudely interrupted. Your indignation vanishes when you see the caller ID.
Hendery 🦂 is calling...
"Hello?" Your voice is neutral for the most part, the rational side of your mind trying not to panick so suddenly.
That doesn't last long once you hear the troubled pang in the hybrids voice, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up.
"Hey, uh- I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry to have to- look Yukhei is hurt-" You're sure all the blood in your body has suddenly been drained, stomach twisting as the words fly from Hendery's mouth. "We can't go to the hospital, Yangyang isn't with us and-"
This can't be happening. Not again. Who lied? Did they all lie?
"Is it the same club?" The stillness in your voice is unsettling, though you're pretty sure you might be going into shock at this point. You can't feel your limbs properly.
"Yes." He replies bleakly, and your fingers tremble as they end the call.
It's like you knew, you always know. There's something about being with Yukhei that has given you a sort of second sense, it's like knowing when a step is missing and you're about to trip.
You know you're going well over the speed limit, skin pulled fiercly over your knuckles with the force in which you're gripping the steering wheel. You're only aware you're crying when streaks of warmth cascade down your cheeks and soak into Yukhei's sweatshirt that you threw on before leaving.
You never wanted to be back here, navigating the slim dark streets to find that familiar, seemingly abandoned building with a simple red logo spray painted on the side. It can only be understood by hybrids, humans not able to translate.
The building is tucked so far back behind the city, it makes for an incredibly unpleasant journey, along with an already unpleasant destination. It's a dark corner in a place full of light. It's the door to a shadow world, to the creatures that find comfort in malice and anguish.
You're surprised you've arrived so fast, not even aware of the strange, curious glances you've been getting by passerbys. No doubt wondering what a little human girl is doing in one of the most dangerous, underground parts of the city.
But they can't touch you, not legally anyways. It's forbidden for hybrids to harm humans, and none of them would dare risk exposing their little side show for a taste of a mundane.
It's Xiaojun you spot first, his conspicuous head of nearly white hair sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the darkness of the alleyway. It's only as you approach that you can see he's slumped under the weight of Yukhei, who's figure is akin to a wilting flower.
You feel your stomach lurch, though adrenaline is what drives you to throw yourself out of the car like a madman, leaving the door open and all to run to his side. You share a brief glance with a wide eyed Hendery, gesturing towards the car as your knees scrape fiercly against the pavement.
You almost don't want to look at him completely, gaze set on Xiaojun as you round to the other side and slip yourself underneath Yukhei's heavy arm. You can't, however, ignore the blood that sticks to your skin, nor the scent of it clinging to him. He murmurs your name with a strained cry, your knees wobbling.
It's a complete blur, happening in what you guess is only about two to three minutes. Yukhei slurs his words as you and the blonde haired hybrid hoist him up with all your strength, agonized groans bellowing from his throat while you move him to the back seat.
You help to manuever his long legs into the car, every bruised, wounded, and bloody part of him visible now underneath the light above your heads. It's even worse than before. How can it be worse?
You throw yourself in beside him, Xiaojun slamming the door shut before he sprints to the passengers seat, Hendery hitting the throttle as soon as everyone is secure inside the vehicle.
You turn to your boyfriend, your love. You have to resist the urge to reach out and touch him, terrified to accidentally skim past a laceration. You whisper his name into the darkness, hoping that he'll answer and that he won't disappear before your very eyes.
Getting him inside of their apartment complex isn't easy. And not just because it takes two of you to carry him, his body too weak to do much of anything; it's mostly because carrying a half dead looking hybrid to an elevator isn't really the most optimal option.
Luckily Hendery knows how to pick the lock to the fire escape hatch in the back of the complex, allowing the four of you to somewhat subliminally carry him up two flights of stairs before finally arriving at apartment 236.
Not the essiest thing you've ever done. But none of that matters, nothing matters right now except for him.
"Couch!" Xiaojun yells, Hendery two steps ahead of him, pushing the old coffee table in the center of the livingroom to the far right corner.
Yukhei stammers before you both set him onto the piece of furniture as gently as you can, a choked whimper being the only sound he can make. It's even worse in this light, all the shared meals and nights binge watching movies suddenly lightyears away. Now this room is tainted with the sight of him falling apart.
"What do we do? Oh god, what do we do?" You speak through a broken sob, on your knees next to your boyfriends limp figure, his long limbs hanging off the side of the couch while his head struggles to stay upright.
You don't even realize Hendery has ran off until he is jogging back with a first aid kit that probably won't do any good, not in this situation. He reads the uncertainty and disbelief in your expression, quickly rebuttling.
"Venom, we need his venom," He and Xiaojun share a look that you don't quite understand, but you're too overwhemled to question it right now. "We just need to clean him up first, as best as we can."
He hands you a warm, damp washcloth and you are quick to bring it to Yukhei's face, the only place that isn't too damaged to touch and somewhat tamper with. His swollen eyes struggle to stay open, but once your hand caresses his sweltering cheek, he uses all of the strength he has to mutter your name.
"I'm so- sorry, you don't...you don't under..understand."
You place a gentle finger to his busted lips, pulling back immediately as his eyebrows furrow and he winces, not yet aware of the two others pouring some sort of unfamiliar disinfectant onto the open wounds.
"Shh, not right now. We gotta get you fixed up, okay? It's gonna be alright."
The words are probably more comforting to yourself, though nothing is comfortable at a time like this. Everything is happening so fast, Hendery gently pushing you to the side and whispering something to Yukhei that is inaudible to your human ears.
He nods weakly, and you can't hide your horror nor contain the frightening gasp that escapes your throat when Xiaojun approaches and bares his claws, shoving them into your boyfriends side.
You're frozen in place, time stopping for a an infinite moment as you sit and watch what's unfolding. Hendery muffles Yukhei's agonized shout initially, removing his hand when he realizes that the cobras fangs have been ejected.
He holds a vile up to his mouth, puncturing the top open with the sharp edge of his tooth, allowing the sticky clear venom to drip down into the glass container. You've never seen Yukhei's fangs before, mostly because snake hybrids and cobras alike aren't one to use them unless absolutely necessary.
Life or death.
It happens quick, Xiaojun with a needle inbetween his deft fingers, likely from the inconspicuous looking first aid kit, pulling the venom through the syringe before handing it to Hendery to inject into your boyfriends carotid artery.
His body stiffens as if he's gone into shock, veins protruding from his skin and pulsing like his heart beat has gone past the safe amount of BPM.
And then, he's still, so still it feels like you're getting a glimpse of what it's like to lose him, and you still can't find the strength of the willpower to move.
"He'll be okay, I promise,"
Hendery is by your side in an instant, panting as perspiration drips from his forehead. "He just needs to rest, he's the only type of hybrid who can use his own venom as a healing agent."
It feels like you've stepped into a different dimension, like somehow now is the time that your brain finally begins to over process the fact that none of these boys are human and that monsters really do exist.
They're not the monsters. You're not bothered by their otherworldy state of being in the slightest, but there's something in the way that they speak that makes it seem as though you're missing a vital detail, like a page ripped straight from the spine of a book. A page that could very well determine the entire stories fate.
"Where's Yangyang? And the birthday?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, incredulity in your tone.
He and the blonde haired eagle look guilty beyond belief, hesitancy in their eyes. The anger that boils inside of you, starting from your toes and rising to your ears, pushes you to stand to your feet and move past them to where Yukhei lies.
Theur admittance to whatever the fuck is going on, can come later. You don't trust yourself right now anyways, too angry, too overcome with grief to yell or shout or throw things in the way you wish to.
You sit by his side, and reach out to brush his tousled hair out from in front of his scraped forehead, examining the violet and burgundy hues that blooms from underneath his honey colored skin.
"I love you, I'll always be here."
You whisper, lying your head against the cushion next to his, exhaustion suddenly clouding your brain and allowing you to forget, just for a second, that you almost lost him.
The sunlight burns red from behind your eyelids, last nights events not yet in the forefront of your brain until you hear the low timbre of voices from the other room, haunting images forcing you awake.
You sit up too fast, head pounding from the restless sleep you've endured. You realize you're in someones bed when you kick off a familiar pair of black sheets from your feet, the setting around you like a second home. Yukhei's room. Someone must have carried you here during the night.
You're quicker and more eager than you've ever been in the morning, feet carrying you towsrds the half open door as you practically sprint into the livingroom, expecting to see him lying there as immobile as he was last night; preparing yourself for the worst.
But you don't see anyone on the couch, in fact. It takes you a moment to register that everyone is in the kitchen, huddled around the island. You're too beside yourself to realize that the broad, tan back that's facing you belongs to him, until he turns around.
You don't get a good look at his face, already smashing yourself against his chest with a force that doesn't even budge him. You gasp suddenly, recoiling in fear as you step away, terrified that you've hurt him.
His long arms are still open expectantly, doe eyes glossy as he stares back at you in confusion, your expression as shocked as it is dubious. He's healed. Well, not completely. Your fingers trace over the scabs that have formed where gashes and lacerations once were just hours before.
He pulls you to him again by your elbows, and you look up at him through wet lashes to see that the bruises are no longer a severe shade of purple and blue, only slightly yellow.
It doesn't take many more glances before you're forcing yourself up onto your tippytoes, grasping his cheeks in your palms and pressing your mouth against his.
His arms enclasp you fiercly, nearly making it hard to breathe but you don't care, not at all. Not when he's whole and alive and smells like himself again, not when he's kissing you like it's been years since you've last seen eachother.
When you part you realize that Yangyang and Kun are here, and the confusion that you harbored last night for their actions and secret glances, has you reluctantly pulling away from the embrace of your lover.
You see it now, the fear and worry that colors his expression. All of their expressions. Your eyes are suddenly fierce, fists clenching by your sides as your nails form crescents into the flesh of your palms.
"Someone better tell me what the everliving fuck is going on and why this happened again," You've never been so furious, have never lashed out as anyone as angrily as you are right now.
"A birthday party? Really? That's the excuse you came up with?!" Yukhei hangs his head in shame, knowing that it's in all of their best interest to let you finish. It's only fair.
"And you all knew, every single one of you let him walk into that ring again, every single one of you were okay with letting him die!" Your voice rises an octave, fresh tears now springing from your tired eyes.
"And I know there's something more, you're all shit liars. I just don't know what's going on and I dont know why, I just need to know why?" You sound defeated this time, covering your face in your hands as the cobra cradles your head against his chest.
You're too weak to pull away, too run dry to sob any longer.
Kun is the first to speak.
"His venom, it's-" You can only guess that someone glares at him, Hendery murmuring to his elder to let Yukhei tell you himself.
You finally glance up, meeting the teary eyed gaze of the man you love, who looks as terrified as he does stricken with unidentifiable emotions. He's silent as he deliberates with himself mentally, looking over his shoulder and nodding to the group in a silent understanding, before gently guiding you towards his room.
Venom, money, high.
These words echo in your brain as you sit across from Yukhei on his bed, his eyes too scared to meet yours as he finally finishes his explanation.
It's the whole hearted truth, as painful as it is to admit to the one person in this world who he so desperately wants to protect. But it had to be done, for your sake and for his.
"So the drinks you were making, they were filled with your venom...and people drank it willingly?"
You're still struggling to understand, no anger or shame laced in your voice as he expected, though it still doesn't lighten the indescribable weight that sits on his chest. He swallows.
"It's like...it's like a high for some people, or like being drunk but to an extreme, euphoric level," He anxiously picks at the skin beside his nail beds.
"The fox knew he could profit off of it, but it's still taboo. He was my employer and could easily pass me off as a crooked cobra hybrid who was sneaking my venom into drinks for secret cash. So he told me if I wanted to stop, for good, I had the chance to get my get out of jail free card during the upcoming fight,"
Your heart feels as if it might rip through your shirt, the pain and obvious regret in his voice tangible. It all makes since bow, though, in hindsight. Though you still don't understand why the others were so involved.
As if he read your mind, he continues.
"And Hendery, Xiaojun...they were just protecting me. They'd wait and make sure that I left the club everynight unharmed, and they knew the cost of confronting the fox. Hendery's venom as a scorpion is lethal, so he couldn't get involved for obvious reasons. They weren't happy or okay with any of it, I just didn't have a choice."
You suddenly feel like the guilty one now, chest heavy as the pieces of the gigantic, horrifying, and confusing puzzle finally come together.
It's alot to take it, more than you were prepared for. And your anger isn't directed at them anymore, in fact wvery ounce of fire that had been raging inside of you burns at the idea of that stupid fucking fox doing all of this for cash.
Sensing that he's still worried you're upset, you reach out to grab his fidgeting hands, his chin lifting only slightly as to peer at you through his dark lashes.
When you crawl over to him and on his lap, he looks dumbfounded. Even more so as you kiss him gently, softer than a rose petal as your thumb caresses the apple of his cheek.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, I'm so so sorry." Tears slip past your waterline before you can contain them and he kisses them away just as quickly, voice incredulous.
"Baby no, don't apologize, ever," He lifts your face to his, eyes wide and full of reverie. "I'm okay, I'm okay because you were there and I promise with my entire heart and soul to never get wrapped up in that shit ever again, ever."
You kiss him again, the taste of tears not bothering either of you. You just need to feel him, to remind yourself that he's not going anywhere. You can't shake the thought of how he looked last night.
"I almost lost you, Yukhei you...I thought I'd wake up and you'd be gone and I'd never get to kiss you again or hear your laugh," He's crying now, too, silently as he closes his eyes and you bury your face against his neck. His hands cradle you as if he has the entire world in his grasp.
"Shh I'm here, m'not going anywhere baby. I'll stay forever with you."
And he means it to his very core, feels it in his bones, solidifed as you kiss him again and again like he suplies the air in your lungs. You're both so in love with every fiber of your being, so enraptured in the feeling of one another.
When you push at his chest to silently ask him to lie down, he's quick to assert who's taking care of who, eagerly gripping your soft waist and letting your back fall against his mattress.
"My sweet angel," You arch into his touch as his plush mouth nibbles the soft skin underneath your jaw, traveling across the expanse of your throat and to the sides of your neck. "Let me make you feel good, been so patient with me."
It dawns om him that you're wearing his hoodie and he swears his heart throbs in his chest, quick fingers pulling the garment over your head and tossing it to the side with your shirt underneath, before continuing his descent.
He's shamless in the way he cups your breasts in his wide palms, gazing up at you through slitted eyes as his pink tongue flicks over one of the hardening buds. You reach out to touch any part of him you can, whining as he repeats the action on the opposite breast.
He wanders even further down, across every inch of your tummy, humming all the while in satisfaction at how sweet you smell between your legs, at how needily you whine for him.
He's all too excited now, pulling the shorts from your body with a force that should've ripped them in half, kissing your inner thighs sweetly but not as earnestly as he'd like. He's just too focused on the enticing sight of your glistening sex, mouth practically watering.
He doesn't wait for you to prepare yourself, digging in immediately. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling themselves in the strands as his mouth encloses around your throbbing clit, suckling before he licks a broad stripe over your folds.
"Yu-yukhei...oh!" Your thighs threaten to close around his head but he holds them open with an inescapable grip, endulging himself wholeheartedly as he slurps and licks at every drop of juice that flows from you.
It's a maddening sort of pleasure, your toes curling and belly tightening. His nose is pressed against your pubic mound as he keeps his mouth over your center, wriggling his head back and forth as his tongue flicks over your clit at an inhuman pace.
"Ah, I can't- oh fuck." You're blabbering incoherently, though it only drives him further. He relishes in the way you're writhing underneath him, the way you're so wet just for him and him only.
"Want you to cum on my tongue, can you do that for me?"
All you can do is cry out in response, bucking your hips against his mouth as he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue. You're so close it's humiliating, but he's elated, already sensing your orgasm in the way your walls throb and pulse with every lick to your bud.
The sounds are so nasty, so lewd in the way your wetness combined with his saliva is so audible in the small room.
You cum without a warning, not being able to speak or do much of anything except jerk and twitch as he keeps his mouth on you, unrelenting in his determination to taste your release.
You whimper.
"Fuck me, please Xuxi p-please."
You beg softly, with half lidded eyes and he reluctantly lifts himself from your center with dark yet gentle eyes, mouth saturated in your juices. He can't resist you.
He kisses you like this, and you don't complain one bit. Not when he's got his pants down faster than you can blink, gripping his thick shaft and rubbing the ruby hued tip of his cock against your sensitive clit.
"Want me to fill you up, huh? Want me to make you mine forever and ever."
You're unable to verbally respond when he pushes himself in, not even an ounce of friction due to a mixture of your cum and his spit coating your walls as well as the inside of your thighs. He buries himself to the hilt, your hands on his broad back.
His pace is determined but not frantic, body held up by his forearms so he can continue to kiss you while his dick spears into you. Your lips are one of his favorite parts about you, so soft, the perfect size to slot right against his.
"Yes Xuxi, want you to give me all your cum, pretty p-please."
He supresses a hiss, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you wrap your thighs around his middle, heels pressing into his lower back.
"Mm, gonna give you my babies," He doesn't miss the way your walls flutter around him, as he pulls himself almost all the way out before sheathing himself inside of you once more. "Want you to be leaking with my cum for a w-whole week."
You whimper, and it drives him mad. His hips are agile and precise as he fucks into you now, controlled and skilled. He knows exactly where your sweet spot is, exactly what has you clinging onto him for dear life.
"You're s-so big, missed your dick, missed you."
He's the one whining now, scattering wet kisses under your jaw, nibbling your earlobe. It's like no other sensation, being together like this. You can't tell where he ends and you begin, all you can do is feel.
"You like my big dick, hmm? Want me to stuff that pretty pussy full." His words are filthy, but his candence is sweet like honey, earnest in the way his voice trembles. He's just as high on pleasure as you are.
"Please, please, yes."
His thrusts become harsher in the way he fucks back into you, reaching past your cervix. Your fingers bury themselves into the dark strands of his hair as quiet whimpers bubble from your throat, senses overwhelmed with Yukhei Yukhei Yukhei.
It doesn't help that he's so vocal in your ear, the deep timber of his groans sending chills down your spine and causing your belly to fill with heat, spreading throughout your limbs like wildfire.
It's not just fucking, this feels like what making love really is. It's a reunion in more ways than one, a solidification of your bond. You wish it could last forever, the scent of his skin, the softness of it. You can feel every muscle in his body strained with the strength he uses to please you, to reach depths that have your toes curling.
When you turn your head to kiss the skin just below his ear, his hips falter.
"Oooooh, shit baby m'gonna cum, fuck."
You pull his face from your shoulder to smash his lips against yours, cradling his face as he cups the back of your neck. His tongue slips inside your mouth, and you purposely squeeze your walls around his length.
He mewls, cursing under his breath. "Cum for me, please Yukhei," He's looking right into your eyes, lips kiss bitten, skin flushed. "Make sure you give me every last drop."
He's done for, hair sticking to his forehead, a broken groan straining to leave his throat as he pushes himself as deep as possible, both of you watching each others expression in the process.
"I love you I love you I love you." He chants, while spurts of his cum paint your walls white. You unravel when you look down between your bodies for a fleeting moment, catching a glimpse of the amount he's released as he disappears inside of you over and over again.
He kisses your face as you struggle to grasp onto him, the pleasure too much to handle, physically and emotionally. It has tears springing from your eyes, nails digging into his biceps as he continues to fuck you through it.
"I love you too, I love you so much." You finally reply, finding the strength to speak no matter how slurred and sleepy it might sound.
He smiles warmly with irrevocable adoration, eyes crinkling at the corners. He strokes your cheek with the soft pad of his thumb, leaning down to peck your nose, and then your forehead, and then your eyelids.
"You have my entire heart," He professes. "I'll always be here."
"Guess I saw that cumming."
Xiajun glares at Hendery.
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promise
ship: drug dealer!spencer reid x gender neutral reader
word count: 1.8k
summary: your boyfriend’s drug habits are starting to worry you.
warnings: implied/referenced drug abuse and dealing
notes: the plug!spencer au belongs to @jemilys / @subspencer !! thank u for letting me use this idea 🥺🥺
read it on ao3!
I had never loved anyone in the way that I loved Spencer. I had only been in a few relationships, none of them serious, but I knew that what Spencer and I had was different. It was real and it was tangible. It was tangible in the way he kissed me, how he held my face like I was made of glass. It was in the way he looked at me, his big brown eyes wide and his smile glowing. It was in the sweaters he leant me, that still smelled like weed and cologne. Usually I might have been grossed out by the smell, but it was so very him.
If you had told me three years ago that I’d be dating a drug dealer, I probably would have laughed at you. I was so…good. That was the only way to describe it. I smoked, yeah, but rarely. I didn’t involve myself with people who did a lot of drugs. I didn’t have anything against them, it was just never my thing.
I met Spencer through a friend. I remembered the way he had looked at me when I walked into his apartment. Like I was a godsend. My friend was dating one of his friends, so she had dragged me over to his place to hang out with them. It inevitably ended in her having sex in the next room while I awkwardly sat in the living room with Spencer, a man I had known for approximately ten minutes.
We could hear the clear noises of a bed frame hanging against the wall. We both glanced towards the room and I found myself trying to repress a laugh. Before I knew it, we were both falling into bursts of giggles. Once it died down, he looked down at his blunt and offered it to me.
“Do you, uh, do you smoke?” He asked. “It’s okay if not, I mean, obviously I won’t make you.”
“Sometimes,” I replied. “Not…Not a whole lot, but I have before, yeah.”
“Well, it would be rude of me not to offer to share,” he said with a lopsided grin. “After all, listening to your best friends have sex is quite a bonding experience.”
We’d been together for almost a year and a half now. Spencer was something special. He was kind and gentle and goofy and he loved me. I loved him just as much.
I loved him, but sometimes he scared me. Not with the way he acted towards me—oh, no, never. He was the furthest thing from scary I could think of. He never yelled or got angry. What scared me was his habits. I didn’t have any issues with him smoking weed, but the other things, the coke and xanax and the heroin, those fucking terrified me. The amount of times I had wiped blood from his nose after he did a line or held him as he came down was more than any girlfriend should have to do. It was hard.
All this time I had known Spencer, he had always been using and selling drugs. How could I ever ask him to change everything about his life just for my sake? Asking him to detox would be asking him to cut off all of his friends, quit his job, stop doing pretty much everything that he had been doing for years.
It had been bothering me a lot lately, and I was pretty sure that Spencer knew something was up. I didn’t think he knew what exactly, but he would have to be an idiot not to notice the way I had been acting lately. I really didn’t mean to be different towards him, it was just happening. I usually spent almost all of my time at his apartment, but for the past few days I had only been over there a few times, never for longer than an hour or two. I knew that it wasn’t fair to be doing this to him, but nowadays just looking at him hurt.
I was in a dilemma. I couldn’t keep watching him hurt himself like this. I couldn’t spend every waking moment terrified that he would overdose and no one would be there. I could never ever leave him, I loved him too much for that. But I couldn’t ask him to uproot his life for my sake, a girl who he hadn’t even been with for two years.
Well, the time part didn’t matter so much to me. Just because we hadn’t been together for several years didn’t mean that we weren’t serious. We moved quickly in our relationship--we had said the “L-word” quickly and we basically lived together. But I didn’t know what he would say if I brought it up to him. Would he get angry? Offended? Upset? Would he leave me?
These were the questions that had been plaguing me for going on two weeks now.
I was lying on my couch, watching TV and trying to keep my mind off of the situation. My phone suddenly vibrated, and I grabbed it quickly without even looking at the caller ID. I was constantly worrying that any call that came in would be the one from the hospital or one of his friends, telling me that they found him in his bathroom after--
“Hello?”
“Hey, baby.”
Thank fuck.
“Oh, uh, hi Spence.” I inwardly winced at my tone. Could I be any more obvious that I was scared to see him?
Not scared to see him because of anything he would do. I was scared to see him because I was terrified of my own feelings. I didn’t want to see him, have him high, and make myself spiral into an even deeper hole of anxiety.
I didn’t want to fall even more in love with him when he was testing his own physical limits, when I didn’t feel like he was permanent.
I could hear his hesitation. My heart broke a little bit more. I was being unfair to him by closing myself off. I wasn’t just hurting myself, I was hurting him. I hoped he knew that I loved him and would never leave him, but if I were him the thoughts that I’d be thinking wouldn’t be of love and loyalty.
“I’m outside,” he said, clearly trying to smile. “Come here!”
“Okay, one second.” I hung up and placed my phone aside. I bit my lip and got off my couch, walking over to my door. When I opened it, I found Spencer standing there, a lopsided grin on his face. To my relief, he looked perfectly fine. Well, as fine as he usually did. He didn’t look any more high than usual.
“Hi,” I said, a smile creeping its way to my features. He stepped in and wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me up with ease as I wrapped my legs around his torso. Usually I would laugh and kiss him, but I couldn’t bring myself to. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him to put me down, either. I just let him carry me to my bedroom and place me on the mattress.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, crawling on top of me. I forced a smile which I hoped looked genuine as he pressed his lips to mine. I awkwardly placed my hands on his face, forcing all of the motions that usually came to me as second nature. For once, I had to think about the things I did with Spencer. I knew that if I didn’t want to touch him he would never make me, so why wasn’t I pulling away? Why was I so fucking scared of hurting his feelings, when I knew he always put me above everyone else?
I could feel my chest tightening, but I once again made myself ignore it. It wasn’t until he was pulling off his sweatshirt and leaning back over me that I broke. I caught a quick glance of his arms. There were dark bruises on his forearms, track marks that littered his pale skin. I knew he wasn’t actively high -- this was not Spencer high on heroin, I had seen that before -- but the marks seemed fairly fresh.
Before he could lean down to kiss me again, I was inhaling sharply and letting the dam that had been cracking for weeks finally break. He stopped immediately and his eyes widened, looking at me with a mixture of worry and confusion. I covered my face and sobbed, my chest heaving with every shaky breath.
“Shit,” he swore under his breath, still straddling my hips. “What’s wrong, baby? Hey, look at me, it’s okay…I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you didn’t want--”
I let him take my hands and move them from my face. I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face against him, sobbing openly. He hushed me as he moved beside me, maneuvering us so we were both laying on our sides facing each other. I kept my face nuzzled against his chest as he rubbed my back, letting me cry it out.
Finally, I managed to steady out my breathing and the tears began to dry.
“You need to tell me what’s wrong, princess,” he whispered. His words weren’t insistent or rude, he wasn’t trying to force me into anything I was unsure of, just calm and full of love and concern. “Why won’t you talk to me? I’ve barely seen you lately, and now I come over and you can barely touch me…if you want to break up, I--”
“No, no,” I said quickly, looking up at him. “No, Spence, I don’t want to break up, I just…”
“Please tell me.” He cupped my face gently, wiping a stray tear off of my cheek. I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch. He was so tender with me, his eyes full of nothing but adoration. “Let me help you.”
“I’m so scared,” I blurted out. He frowned as he tucked my hair behind my ears, listening to me speak. “I could never ever ask you to change your life for me, Spencer, but I’m so fucking scared all the time. I know you don’t see it but I have to sit and watch you hurt yourself, I’m the one that has to sit at home and hope to god you’re not overdosing in some bathroom somewhere all by yourself where no one would find you in time. I know it’s not fair, we haven’t been together for all that long but I’m so in love with you and I don’t know what I would do if I lost you--”
“Hey, shh,” he whispered. When I forced myself to look at him, I saw that he looked fucking heartbroken. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I don’t want to make you change your whole-whole life for me…”
“You aren’t making me do anything,” he said softly. “Look at me, (Y/N). I don’t care if we haven’t been together for years. I love you. I want you in my life. I want a future with you. I know it’ll be hard, but I’m willing to do it for you. I want you to feel safe with me. I don’t want you worrying over me like this, it’s killing you. It’s killing both of us.”
“R-Really?”
“Really.” He pressed his forehead against mine. I could tell that, even with the brave facade he was putting on, he was scared. I placed my hand over his, giving him all the reassurance he needed to let himself go. “You’ll stay with me, right? Through...withdrawals and stuff? They’ll be bad, I’ve seen people go through them before.”
“Of course I will.” I pressed a chaste kiss against his lips. “I’ll always stay with you.”
“Even if I relapse?”
“Of course.”
“...You promise?”
“I promise.”
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Entry
(Story Post)
It was high noon but raining out so it wasn't the brightest. Regardless, Nari was decked out in full heliophobic dress, from well above his head down to his toes. Umbrella, hat, sunglasses, overcoat, turtleneck, gloves, pants, suspended long socks and boots with a side of SPF 5mil and he was set.
The front entrance hall to the library was very unassuming. Going into the gothic building, he was met with a small reception desk, some benches, local newspapers, two metal detectors and a couple anti-theft sensors. The hall itself was only about 100sqft with wooden doors at the entrance, on the other side of the metal detectors and behind the reception desk. The guard at the reception, with the nametag Toma, was human and he had his feet up on the desk as he looked at his phone.
Nari closed his umbrella and went up to him. “Hello. Um, zdravo.”
“U susjedstvu se nalazi kupaonica u Starbučksu. Starbucks has toilet next door.”
Nari cleared his throat. “I'm here for the library.”
Toma glanced up and put down his phone slowly. He looked Nari up and down then sat up straight. “Do you have card?”
Nari produced the patron card from his pocket and presented it to the guard. It was snatched from his hand and inspected with great scrutiny.
Toma looked at Nari and held out his hand. “ID.”
Nari frowned but presented his Korean passport. Toma didn’t snatch that, but he stared at it a few moments, glancing sometimes at Nari.
After a moment, he waved the card in Nari’s face. “How did you get this?”
“The founder gave it to me personally,” Nari stated. “Is there a problem, Toma?”
The guard pursed his lips. “You're telling me the founder of this library—that founder—” He pointed to a relief sculpture behind Nari depicting a huge fearsome black dragon climbing a mountain. “—Gave you this card personally?”
Nari stood his ground. “If that's meant to be Kardynkyr, then absolutely. If there's a problem, then I'd like to speak to Kobann.”
“Kobann?” Toma frowned. Hearing the names outright seemed to sway him but he wouldn't shake his scepticism. “Give me a moment.”
“I have all the time in the world,” Nari stated, putting his hands in his pockets.
The guard stood up and went through the door behind him, leaving Nari standing there alone.
He wondered to himself what would happen if he just jumped security and made his way in, but it was hard to say if the doors would be unlocked and there were cameras everywhere. Being a weaker level vampire, Nari still showed up in footage.
Regardless, Nari wouldn’t try to break in anyway, it wasn't his nature. He just waited patiently.
A minute later, the demon Kobann stepped out of the reception door with Toma at his heels.
“Do you know this guest?” Toma asked.
Kobann's eyes lit with mischief when he saw the little vampire. “Hm, no, I don't believe I do.”
Nari staggered. “What? But Kardynkyr—"
Kobann dropped his hand on Nari's head. “I'm messing with you.” Kobann wrapped an arm around Nari's shoulder and turned to the guard. “Yes, Nari here is a friend of Kardynkyr. A VIP, if you will. How long have you made him wait?”
“Uh, well… You understand, I have to be thorough,” Toma said going back to his desk. “It's unusual for the library to be accessed at this time of day, you know, so I have to be vigilant...”
“He provided you a card for this library with his name on it and valid photo identification,” Kobann said. “Not to mention, the strict exclusivity of this establishment has come to the attention of the founder, and they will be around at some point to discuss revisions.”
Toma nodded quickly. “Understood...”
“Are you going to return his card?” Kobann asked.
“Uh, right!” The guard picked up the patron card from his desk and handed it back to Nari. “Apologies.”
Nari dropped his chin a titch. “So, I can go in now?”
“Yes, yes.” Toma sat back down at his desk. “Do you have any metal on you?”
Nari shook his head. “No.”
“Please step through the metal detector then,” Toma said pressing some buttons at the keyboard.
“Is that absolutely necessary?” Kobann asked impatiently.
“It's procedure,” Toma stated. “Silver, you know.”
“He’s a vampire,” Kobann complained. “Why in the world would he have silver on his person?”
“It's fine.” Nari just went over and walked through. No alarms were triggered so Toma pressed another button and the wooden doors ahead of Nari opened up.
Kobann escorted Nari through and closed the doors behind them. The other side was dimmer lit than the first hall and was simply a hallway leading on into darkness.
Nari started to walk but Kobann dropped a hand on his shoulder.
“You'll have to excuse the staff,” Kobann said. “Familiars are a pain.”
“He's a familiar?” Nari wrinkled his nose. “I mean, I shouldn't be surprised European vampires still do that bullshit...”
Kobann shrugged. “Probably has it's perks.”
“It's slavery.”
“They're promised to be turned.”
“They'll never be turned.” Nari snorted. “Not to mention, turning is not an equal exchange for labour. Why in the world would anyone want to become a vampire?”
Kobann shrugged. “Some people seek immortality and eternal youth.”
“Those are absolute hell,” Nari stated. “You watch everyone you love die and if you turn too early in life, no one takes you seriously because of your youthfulness...”
“Why were you turned?”
“It wasn’t voluntary.”
“Ah. Well, it is what it is, I guess,” Kobann said. “Anyway, I hope you find what you're looking for here.”
They were approaching the end of the hall so Nari stopped and nodded. “Thank you for helping me in.”
“Don't mention it.” With that, Kobann disappeared.
Nari continued on without him.
The end of the hall opened up and Nari’s jaw dropped.
The library was already a rather formidable gothic building on the outside, but on the inside, it was an unfathomably large cavern, the ceiling seeming to reach infinitely upwards with rows and rows of tall bookshelves going up hundreds of stories. Rolling ladders hung from the shelves at staggered intervals, seeming to provide the only way to access higher literature. With the lack of windows, light was provided by candlelit chandeliers dangling from long iron chains suspend from somewhere up in the infinite ceiling, resulting in a relatively dim and eerie atmosphere. If any other vampires were there, he didn't see any.
It was intimidating, but Nari was a teacher and a scholar. It was just a library and he was going to find what he needed.
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Sleepality - Inky Freckles
SHIPS: Sleepality, background Virmile and Thomgan, and mentioned Dukeceit (though neither of them show up)
WARNINGS: Remus sends one text message with an implied threat (not towards the recipient), very very background sympathetic deceit and remus (they aren't acc in any scenes), mild swearing
GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread
Masterpost
Patton chewed distractedly on the end of his pen, tapping his foot on his bedroom floor as his eyes remained on his clock, watching as the seconds and the minutes ticked by.
Five minutes. Ten seconds.
Five minutes and ten seconds until the moment he turned sixteen.
January 15th, 1:46 am on the dot: the exact date and time of Patton’s birth. Precisely sixteen years after that moment, his soul would open up, and the bond between him and his soulmate would be formed, like an invisible string from one soul to the other. Any ink spilled on Patton’s skin would show up on his soulmate’s, too, and vice versa. Of course, nothing would happen if Patton’s soulmate wasn’t also sixteen yet, but it was still a big moment in his young life.
(If he even had a soulmate, that was. Most people didn’t, but Patton wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t hopeful.)
Four minutes. Thirty-six seconds.
Patton got up from his desk, pacing around the room a few times before sitting down on his bed, leaning back against the pillows and pulling his knees to his chest. Despite the coolness of his room, and the goose-bumps on his arms, he was dressed in a worn blue t-shirt and pyjama shorts, revealing as much skin as possible, just in case. His father, Roman, had gifted him a new pack of pens – the ones made specially to be safe for skin – and he’d picked out the glittery light blue one, his favourite colour, ready to write.
Three minutes. Twelve seconds.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Patton mumbled.
Three minutes. Seven seconds.
He yawned loudly, stretching and almost dropping his pen. It was late – much later than he usually stayed up. Patton was a well-behaved kid; he went to bed when his father told him to, never stayed out past curfew. He was usually fast asleep by 11pm at latest, so this was rather unusual for him.
Tonight was one of a kind, after all.
Two minutes. Fifty-one seconds.
The tick of the clock was maddeningly slow, every second seeming to take hours. Patton couldn’t wait for when he didn’t have to keep watching.
He reached over to his bedside table, taking his phone and switching it on.
There was one new message, from his uncle Remus, sent a few minutes ago.
UNCLE REMUS
tell your soulmate if he ever hurts you ill rip off his dick and shove it down his throat
Patton sighed, switching off his phone and placing it back down beside him. He wasn’t sure why his uncle was so certain that he had a soulmate – he claimed it was because he was psychic, though his husband, Janus, had chided him and told him not to get Patton’s hopes up.
It was hard not to be hopeful. Impossible.
One minute. Forty-nine seconds.
Patton chewed nervously on his lip, looking over his freckled arms and wondering what exactly he’d write to his soulmate.
Would a simple ‘hello’ suffice?
There was no point in writing a whole paragraph, especially when it was statistically unlikely that Patton even had a soulmate – and even if he did, perhaps they were younger, and their connection wouldn’t start until his soulmate turned sixteen, too.
One minute. Zero seconds.
A minute. A minute. A minute. Just a minute until Patton (maybe) talked to his soulmate for the first time. That was so little time – though it felt like so much.
Patton couldn’t help but burst into delighted laughter, and he was sure that if anybody was watching him, they’d think he was insane. The hope bubbled up inside him, like a cup overflowing with water, unable to be suppressed.
Fifty seconds.
He moved forward, and then lay down on his back, spreading his arms out like a starfish.
Patton tried to keep the hope down, tried to keep it from spilling over even more. Or maybe that was nausea, swirling in his stomach, but it almost felt too good to be that. Too happy. Too excited. Both, maybe.
Forty seconds.
Patton twirled the pen in his hand.
It slipped from his fingers, hitting the carpet with a quiet thump.
He bent down – wobbling slightly and nearly tumbling right off his bed – picking it back up and then sitting up again. He moved so his back was pressed against the wall, and tilted his head up to look at the pattern at the ceiling, counting each swirl.
He glanced back at the clock.
Twenty seconds.
His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and his eyes remained on the clock, watching it tick.
Ten seconds.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Zero.
Zero. Zero. Zero.
Patton sat up straight, squeezing the pen tightly, so tightly that his nails dug into his palm.
He pulled off the cap, dropping it on the bed beside him and holding the tip just above his wrist. His hand shook (nervousness or excitement? Both) as he pondered what to write for another moment.
He pressed the pen to his skin.
Hello?
Hopefully that was good enough.
Patton waited a few seconds, almost a whole minute, and then sighed, leaning back so his head hit the wall and closing his eyes. He was disappointed, but he knew that it was his own fault. He shouldn’t have let himself get so hopeful. Maybe he didn’t have a soulmate – that was alright, his uncles weren’t soulmates and yet they were wonderfully happy together.
(But his brother, Emile, did have a soulmate, and there was something amazing about the way he and Virgil could practically read each other’s minds, communicating effortlessly without saying a word. Patton wanted that. He really, desperately wanted that, more than anything else in the world.)
He wouldn’t cry.
He wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t.
His lower lip trembled.
All of a sudden, Patton felt a funny sensation on his wrist, like someone else was writing on it – the non-existent pen so light on his skin he almost couldn’t feel it. Almost.
Patton’s eyes shot open, and he immediately lifted his wrist to stare at it, wide-eyed.
His breath stuttered at the words now written in black ink just below his greeting.
holy shit
Before Patton could truly process what was going on, before he could regain his breath, the sensation resumed, and more words began to appear below those first ones.
hi
guess im ur soulmate lol
Patton couldn’t help but giggle, practically vibrating with excitement.
He picked his pen back up, ignoring the slight stain he’d left on his bedsheets. He’d spilt enough juice and milk on his bed to care about one little stain, especially right now, when he had a much more important thing to focus on.
Oh my gosh!!!!!!
Soulmate!!!
Im Patton!
Patton Picani!!!
thats a lot of exclamation marks babe
Nervousness tinged the edges of Patton’s bubble of excitement, enough that he almost didn’t notice the use of the word ‘babe’, which made his heart skip a beat.
sorry
not a bad thing
its cute
Patton bit his lip, wiggling excitedly as his heartrate increased. He watched as the words continued coming. They were messy, but Patton was sure the handwriting was the prettiest he’d ever seen, though he could admit that he might’ve been a little biased. He would read a million books written in this handwriting.
im Remy
Sanders
my bdays acc the 16th lol
tomorrow
i turn 17
Its my birthday today!!!!
Only after Patton wrote that did he realise how obvious it was – of course it was his birthday – but he didn’t particularly care. The ticking of the clock had faded into background noise, and it was hard to believe it had ever annoyed him so much, though it was impossible for him to think of anything negative right now. He was floating on cloud nine.
happy birthday
were running out of arm space
id have to strip to get leg room
wanna gimme ur number?
Okay!!!
They quickly exchanged phone numbers, and Patton immediately grabbed his phone, creating a new contact labelled ‘Remy’ followed by seven colourful hearts – a rainbow of love. But before he could text Remy, Remy texted him first.
REMY:
what time is it for u
Patton glanced at the clock.
PATTON:
Almost 2am
REMY:
same
Realisation struck Patton, and his eyes widened with guilt and concern. He bit his lip, and quickly resumed typing.
PATTON:
Oh my gosh im so sorry!!!! Did I wake you up?
REMY:
nah babe dw bout it
i was already up
i always sleep late
PATTON:
That sounds unhealthy :(
Get some rest!!!
REMY:
ha
u sound like my dads lol
PATTON:
What are they like?
REMY:
my dads?
its just the three of us
their names are logan and thomas and theyre the sappiest motherfuckers on earth
gotta love em tho
theyre gonna be real thrilled when they find out bout u
bet theyll love you right away
wbu
whats ur fam like
PATTON:
Oh! Well ive got my dad
His name’s Roman
He works in theatre!!! Hes so cool
And I’ve got my older brother Emile hes 22 and hes a therapist
He uses cartoons to help people!!
Hes also got a soulmate his name is Virgil and hes a florist
They got married last year and the wedding was so much fun!!! So many pretty flowers!!!
And I’ve got my uncle Remus hes my dads twin hes a writer and his husband Janus is a lawyer theyre also both so cool!!!
And that’s everyone!!
REMY:
if theyre all as sweet as u sugar then im sure ur all v popular
PATTON:
Well we do have dinner with our neighbours a lot!!!
Mrs Smith gives me lots of candy
Its often stale but I eat it anyway cos shes just so sweet!
Sweeter than her candy lol
Patton’s door suddenly swung open, and he jumped, his phone slipping from his fingers and landing right in his lap. His father, Roman, stepped inside, yawning and rubbing his eyes, wincing at the bright light that hung from the ceiling.
“You still up, Pat?” He asked sleepily.
He squinted, his eyes landing on the still-on phone in Patton’s lap.
“Who are you te- by the glittering horn of a unicorn! Is that writing on your arm?” He sat down, taking Patton’s arm and looking over the words. He then glanced back up at his son, his eyes shining excitedly. “You have a soulmate,” He breathed.
“I do!” Patton exclaimed, bouncing excitedly in place. “His name is Remy and he turns seventeen tomorrow and he’s just so cool!”
Roman beamed. “Wow, I’m so incredibly happy for you, Pat!” He said. Then, he chuckled, his smile turning a little teasing. “But... it’s late, and you really should be sleeping. And I’m betting that Remy should be, too.”
Patton pouted a little. “But it’s a Friday! I don’t have any school tomorrow.”
“But the family’s coming over tomorrow at 10 for your birthday, and I know you. You’re gonna be all grumbly in the morning, instead of our happy-pappy Patton, and that’ll be even worse the less sleep you get.”
Patton drooped, like a little wilting flower, but couldn’t deny that his father was right.
“Okay...” He frowned, picking up his phone, switching off the screen without looking at it, and holding it against his chest. “Can I at least say night to Remy, first?”
Roman smiled. “Sure.”
He leant forward, squeezing Patton’s arm supportively, before pressing a quick kiss to his son’s forehead. Roman gave him one last smile, affectionately ruffling his hair, before pulling back and standing up. He brushed the non-existent dirt from his pyjamas.
“Goodnight, Pat,” He said. “And happy birthday.”
In the excitement that was talking to Remy, Patton had almost forgotten that it was his birthday, and he blinked in surprise as Roman left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Patton then took a deep breath, before switching his phone back on to see whatever messages he’d missed.
REMY:
u rlly r an angel huh
PATTON:
Awwwww!!
Your making me blush
REMY:
thats the goal babe
PATTON:
Such a flirt!!
REMY:
im gonna be ten times more flirty when i get to see ur pretty face in person
PATTON:
How do you know Im pretty?
You havent even seen me yet
REMY:
i can just tell
im awesome like that
i bet ur the cutest person in the whole damn world
the whole damn universe
but while were on the subject of seeing each other
were waiting to meet naturally right?
PATTON:
Yeah!
Its good luck
REMY:
yea
PATTON:
Welp!!!
Dad says I gotta go to sleep now!!
Night <3<3<3
REMY:
night xoxox
Patton switched off his phone, placing it on his bedside table and getting off the bed. He wobbled slightly as he stood up, suddenly realising how tired he really was, and quickly walked up to his fairy lights, switching them on before switching off the main light. He then climbed back into bed, settling in the soft nest of pastel pillows and blankets, and his last thought before he fell asleep was of his soulmate.
He barely knew Remy, but he already couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with him.
***
The sound of the alarm from Remy’s phone rang through the room, waking him up suddenly. His immediate reaction was to groan, shutting it off quickly and then returning to the warm comfort of his mattress and pillows and blanket. It was the weekend, he had no plans, so if his dads wanted him up, they could come in and get him up themselves. Remy wanted to sleep.
Then, the memories of the night before flooded back to him, and he shot up in bed, pulling out his arm and staring at it wide-eyed.
The words Patton had written last night had now been washed away – likely to leave room for new words and new conversations – whilst Remy’s words still remained, though now a little smudged and faded. The only sign that Patton’s words had ever been there in the first place was the new word on his wrist, just below his palm, in baby blue, like the ones before.
Morning <3
Remy grinned, jumping out of bed much more enthusiastically than he usually did, grabbing the black pen on his bedside table and rushing to the bathroom, thankfully not bumping into either of his dads on the way there.
He washed his arms as quickly as he could, leaving them a little sore and red, though he didn’t care, and uncapped his pen with his teeth, leaving the lid in his mouth.
mornin
!!!!!
Do you always get up this late?
Remy laughed. The handwriting was a little larger and a little neater than his, and each i was dotted with a heart, which made him even more convinced that his soulmate was probably the cutest person on earth.
what time is it
10:30
later usually
what time did u get up
8:30
oof
i could never
What do you do for school then?
suffer
Remy took the pen lid out of his mouth, pocketing it and twirling the uncapped pen between his fingers, watching as more light blue words appeared on his arm. The sensation was feather-light, barely there, but impossible to ignore.
Aww no!!
I don’t want you to suffer :(
dw babe ive got coffee
life saver
id die without it
100%
Well make sure you don’t drink too much!!!!
Its bad for you!!
dw my dad always tells me that
he keeps an eye on it
Which one?
logan
Okay
There was a brief pause, and Remy almost continued writing, but he got the feeling that Patton wasn’t done, so he just waited patiently, tapping his foot against the tiled bathroom floor.
Do you mind if I doodle on my arms?
I usually do when Im bored but I thought Id ask
I wont if you don’t want me to tho
go ahead
what do u doodle?
I usually just connect my freckles
Like little constellations!!!!
It was impossible to keep the grin on Remy’s face from widening – Patton's enthusiasm was adorable and infectious – and he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, crossing one leg over the other as he pressed his pen to his skin and continued writing.
u got a lot of freckles?
Yup!
Theyre everywhere
everywhere?
Yeah!
hm
one day
im gonna kiss every single one of your freckles
(Perhaps that was a little bold for only their second conversation, but Remy was a natural flirt, and Patton was his soulmate, after all. He’d back down at any sign of discomfort, but so far Patton had seemed receptive.)
every single one
Thats a lot of kisses
not enough
but itll be a good start
A little, swirly scribble appeared just beside the words Remy had written – the universal key-smash equivalent for soulmates writing on their skin. Just the thought that he was already able to fluster Patton so easily made Remy very, very happy. He grinned.
Gtg! Presents time!
Ill talk to you later <3<3<3
later xoxo
Remy fished the pen lid back out of his pocket, capping the pen and pocketing it. He then strolled back out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and towards the kitchen.
His fathers were both sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and talking. Their legs were pressed together under the table, and it was clear they’d just been flirting. Both Logan and Thomas looked up when Remy entered the room, surprised.
“What kind of natural disaster got you up before midday?” Thomas joked.
Remy waved his arm, showing off the writing, and Logan choked on his coffee. Thomas patted his back a few times worriedly, and Remy waited impatiently for the conversation to resume, tapping his foot against the floor.
“Is that what I think it is?” Logan asked incredulously, once he was breathing again.
Remy nodded. “Yup. Can I make coffee?”
Thomas nodded slowly, but it was clear he was much more focused on the previous topic at hand.
“You have a soulmate?” He asked. “Oh my gosh! What’s their name? Aren’t you gonna tell us about them?”
“Well, his name’s Patton,” Remy began, heading towards the coffee machine and immediately getting to work to make himself a large mug. “It’s his birthday today – it was actually, like, 2am, or something – and he’s real cute. I think you’ll both like him.”
Thomas exchanged a look with his husband – the former much more openly thrilled, whilst the latter looked more confused, though undeniably pleased. He then stood up, opening his arms immediately.
“I think this calls for a family hug,” Thomas grinned.
Logan sighed, but put his own coffee mug back down, getting up obediently.
Remy groaned. “Really? Before my coffee? Do I have to?”
“Yup! Right now,” Thomas said, wrapping one arm around Logan’s waist and resting his chin on his head, keeping his other arm outstretched, awaiting their son. “This is a big moment! It calls for a family hug. C’mere.”
“There is no point refusing, Remy,” Logan said dryly. “I learnt that a long time ago.”
“Aww, you love me.”
“Of course. That is why we got married, after all.”
Remy groaned again. “Are you two really flirting, right now? Gross.”
“Well, if you want us to stop flirting, you’re gonna have to join the hug.”
Remy sighed exaggeratedly, dragging his feet as he walked up to his dads, reluctantly joining the family hug. Then, he pulled back as quickly as he could get away with, making a face and turning back to the coffee machine. He quickly made himself a large mug – with excessive amounts of milk and sugar, something his father would usually criticise, though he seemed to turn a blind eye for today.
Remy then sat down at the table, beside Thomas, sipping eagerly at his coffee and leaning back in his chair.
His fathers didn’t take their eyes off of his arm, clearly reading the words, and after about a minute, Remy rolled his eyes, placing the coffee on his table and crossing his arms.
“What are you looking at?”
“Attitude, Remy,” Thomas sighed. “Be nice. And we’re looking at your arm because we’re excited! You have a soulmate, that’s a really big deal! We should celebrate.”
Remy perked up. “Celebrate?”
Logan nodded in agreement. “Perhaps tonight we could have dinner at the Italian place that you like.”
“Ooh, the one with that fancy pasta?”
“Weren’t we planning on going there tomorrow?” Thomas asked his husband.
Remy blinked, surprised. “We were?”
Thomas blinked, and then gave his husband a slightly sheepish smile. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”
Logan sighed. “Well, I think we can put that off for tomorrow, then. Today... you may invite a few friends over.” Remy opened his mouth, but Logan quickly continued, interrupting him before he could speak. “Three friends, maximum. No parties.”
Remy pouted. “Only three? Lame.”
“If you complain, we’ll bring it down to two.”
“Three sounds great!”
***
Patton picked up his phone, holding it to his ear as he paced casually around his room.
“Emile!” He greeted. “How are you?”
“Happy birthday, Pat!” Emile greeted cheerfully, and Patton could practically hear the usual smile on his face. “And I’m doing great. Virgil invited his brother to dinner yesterday, so that was fun, and I had a real breakthrough with one of my clients, too. You?”
“I’m good! Hey, do you think this counts as Remy and my anniversary? I mean, I know we haven’t actually really met, yet, but it’s been a year since we first spoke, and we are soulmates. Does that count? Would it be weird to count it?”
Emile hummed. “I think that if you want it to count, it counts.”
“That’s a bit vague,” Patton sighed.
Emile laughed. “That’s just how it works, I’m afraid. How is Remy anyway? It’s his birthday tomorrow, right?”
Patton perked up at the opportunity to talk about his soulmate. “Remy’s great! He got a new job at the Starbucks near his house; he’s pretty excited about it. And yup, it’s his birthday tomorrow! He turns eighteen. It’s a funny coincidence, isn’t it? That our birthdays are so close?”
“It’s actually a lot more common for soulmates to have these similarities than you’d think,” Emile said. “Close birthdays, close locations, things like that. I mean, Virgil and I were both born in the same hospital.”
“Really? Oh, that’s cool!” Patton smiled.
He sat down on his bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged, and moving so his back was against the wall, half-sitting on one of his pillows.
“Yup! I’ve researched a lot about these things,” Emile said. “And- oh, Virgil, there you are!”
Patton heard rustling on the other end of the line, like Emile was temporarily putting his phone down, probably to greet and kiss his husband. He waited patiently, humming a song from the Steven Universe movie and drumming his fingers against his leg. His eyes scanned the various words written across his arms. Shiny black and glittery light blue. There were doodles, too – lines connecting the dots of his freckles, done by himself, and little stars and moons and hearts by Remy.
Then the rustling resumed, more movement, and Patton stopped humming.
“Morning, Pat,” Virgil greeted.
Patton smiled. “Virgil! How’s work going?”
“Not bad. I helped a guy arrange a hate-bouquet for his ex-boyfriend yesterday, so that was fun.”
“Sounds interesting!”
Virgil hummed in agreement, and it sounded like he was nodding. “I’m gonna hand the phone back to Emile, now. Happy birthday, kid.”
“Thanks!”
There was another moment of rustling, and then Emile returned.
“Okay, Virgil and I have to get to work,” Emile said. “We’re stopping by later for dinner, dad already knows. And, before you ask, no I will not tell you what your gift is, you’re gonna have to wait and see.”
Patton pouted. “Aww, okay. Bye!”
“Bye!”
Patton hung up the phone, before switching over to the texting app, and opening up his conversation with Remy.
PATTON
Hey im running out of space
So im gonna clean my arm
Can you too?
Remy responded almost immediately, as he usually did.
REMY
sure
one sec
Patton smiled, getting up and pocketing his phone. He headed over to the bathroom, quickly scrubbing away the words on his arms (he could leave the ones still remaining on his legs and torso, for now), and watching as Remy’s words disappeared at about the same time.
He then returned to his bedroom, sitting back down on his bed and fetching and uncapping his favourite pen.
The moment the tip of his pen touched his skin, a small black dot appeared just below it, like Remy was doing the exact same on his side – unintentionally trying to write in unison. All of a sudden, a wave of peace and happiness washed over Patton, but the emotions didn’t come from within himself. No, they came from an outside source, from somewhere else. Not from him.
From Remy.
At first, Patton was confused, disoriented, and then his heart skipped a beat, and he lifted his pen from his wrist.
The feeling stopped.
He then returned the pen to his wrist, creating another dot of light blue ink. For a moment, nothing happened, the feeling didn’t return, but then a small black speck appeared just beside his.
This time, the happiness was joined by an almost cautious excitement, tinged with something else.
What was it?
Love?
Love.
It felt like Patton was loving himself, except the love came from elsewhere, it came from Remy. Like a warm, comfortable blanket of love, wrapping around him and keeping him safe.
Patton beamed, wide and toothy and delighted, leaning back against the pillows and practically wiggling with excitement, careful to keep his pen tip on his wrist. A similar, thrilled feeling came back at him, and Patton quickly realised that whatever feelings he was getting from Remy, Remy was probably getting some very similar feelings in return from him.
damn babe
either something v weird is happening to me or thats ur feelings im feeling
I can feel it too!!!
Oh my gosh!
good i was worried i might be drunk
Have you been drinking?
nah thats why i was worried lmao
would be v weird to be drunk with no booze
Well that sure would be unusual!
The feelings from Remy weren’t constant, they only surfaced when both Patton and Remy were writing at once – flashes of emotions that were practically addicting. He wanted to keep feeling those feelings forever.
this is v weird
on and off
think itll get more constant the more we talk?
like we wont need to be both writing at the same time to feel it or smth?
Yeah!
I think so
Thats what happened with Em and Virge at least
cool
cant wait
There was a brief pause, and then Remy’s writing resumed.
can we doodle?
might make the empathy connection thingy better
Sure!
Patton giggled, unable to help himself, before pressing the tip of his pen to one of his freckles and drawing a thin line from it to another. Then another and another and another. Over and around the written words. He wasn’t making any specific shape or pattern in particular, just connecting the numerous dots. As he did this, Patton felt new shapes and doodles appearing on his legs, though he couldn’t see them through his trousers. Hearts and stars and moons and pawprints, most likely. The last one was new – Patton’s favourite.
He could feel Remy’s peace and contentment and love (love, love), like it was flowing through the air and seeping through his skin, filling him with happiness. Sometimes, it even increased for a brief moment, usually just after Patton’s happiness bubbled over into delighted giggles. It was a cycle – happiness creating happiness creating happiness.
Patton loved Remy. Remy loved Patton.
Love. Love. Love.
***
“Hey, Remy!”
Remy glanced up from his phone, straightening up as noticed and watched his best friend, Toby, approaching him. His foot tapped impatiently against the pavement, and his sunglasses were on to shield his eyes from bright midday sun.
“Gurl, what was taking you so long?” Remy complained, stuffing his phone into his pocket and crossing his arms, practically pouting. “I’ve been waiting here for, like, hours.”
Toby gave him a dry look. “I’m ten minutes late.”
“And that’s, like, ten hours in gay-and-in-a-hurry time.”
“In a hurry? What the hell are we even doing? Your text was very vague.”
“Well, it’s my dad’s birthday in a-”
“Which one?”
“Thomas. Bitch, stop interrupting me.”
Toby laughed, and Remy glared at him. He held his hands up defensively in mock surrender, and then gestured for Remy to continue.
“Anyway, it’s my dad’s birthday on Sunday and I’m supposed to get him a gift. I dunno what, though, so you’re gonna help me.”
“I’m pretty sure you know him better than I do.”
Remy shushed him. “Gurl, I am not letting you get out of helping me. So, we’re going to-”
He suddenly froze, going silent. Remy’s brow then creased, too, and after a moment of stillness he began to rapidly pat his arms and legs, like he was looking for something, though he didn’t seem to find it. Toby gave him a bewildered look.
“Dude, what are you doing?”
“I can feel Patton’s emotions,” Remy said.
He could, but only barely – just little hints of Patton, pricking the edges of his soul – much less than he was used to, but still impossible to ignore. He was used to these feelings by now, always recognising them immediately, though this time it was... different.
“Okay... so, he’s writing to you? Isn’t that normal?”
Remy looked back at him, looking just as confused as Toby. “No, he isn’t. He isn’t writing to me. No ink.”
“He... isn’t?”
“I can always feel it,” Remy explained. “Always. But not right now. Why... why-” He froze, his eyes widening behind his dark sunglasses.
“What?”
“He must be close. He must- oh my god, he must be close!” Remy looked around quickly, at all of the surrounding pedestrians. None of them looked right – none of them were Patton – but he could practically sense him. He was so close.
Toby blinked. “Really?” He asked incredulously.
“Yes. Yes, really. I know what I’m talking about!” Remy exclaimed, perhaps a little harsher than intended. “The empath shit only happens when you write or when you’re close. Gurl, that’s, like, common knowledge.”
Toby held his hands up. “Right, uh... sorry.” He cleared his throat. “So, how are we gonna find him?”
Remy’s brow scrunched up in thought. “I don’t know.”
His best friend shrugged, even more lost than he was.
“Maybe... maybe...” Remy continued, trailing off, before he suddenly straightened up. “It’ll get stronger the closer I get to him, so I just have to follow where it’s stronger, right? Like... like getting warmer and colder.”
Toby nodded slowly. “That makes sense. So, uh, walk around, and we’ll go in the direction that makes it stronger.”
Remy immediately began to pace in circles around Toby, pulling a slightly panicked face when at one point the feeling completely disappeared. Then, it got stronger, a wave of anticipation and curiosity, nervousness and excitement.
It suddenly hit Remy that if he could feel Patton, then Patton could feel him, too.
Patton was probably looking for him.
The corners of Remy’s lips twitched up into a smile. He was practically oozing excitement, and it was contagious, as Patton’s also seemed to increase – even Toby began smiling, too.
Toby patted him on the shoulder.
“Go on, follow your gut. I’ll be right behind you.”
Remy immediately turned on his heel, sprinting in the direction the emotions seemed to be coming from, and Toby almost tripped over his own feet following him. The empathy got stronger and stronger and stronger with every step, until it was even stronger than it usually was, and as his excitement further increased, so did Patton’s.
He rounded a corner, and immediately ran right into someone running at a similar speed, and they both tumbled to the ground with two loud thumps.
“Ah, fuck,” Remy groaned, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose as a jolt of pain shot down his leg.
“Oof,” The other boy winced.
His voice was like a bell, ringing through the air: suddenly the only sound that Remy could hear.
That was when Remy realised that Patton’s emotions were now equal to his own – mixing together in Remy’s soul until they were one and the same. It was almost like they were thinking and feeling as one, which was rather disorienting, to say the least.
Patton... Patton was right in front of him.
Remy opened his eyes, immediately coming face-to-face with the most gorgeous person he had even seen – a wide-eyed and freckled boy, about a year younger than Remy, staring back at him with parted lips and an equally startled expression. He was wearing a blue and grey t-shirt, showing off his arms and the words Remy had written to him today, and all the constellations he’d doodled on his own skin. Now, Remy could see the stars that he’d been missing, and, in his opinion, they were even better than the ones in the night sky.
Patton.
Patton, Patton, Patton.
“Patton,” Remy breathed.
“Remy.”
Remy laughed, uncontrolled and loud and delighted, sitting up straight and taking Patton’s hand in his own, squeezing it. It was warm and soft, Remy never wanted to let go, and when Patton squeezed back, he felt... complete. Perfect. Heaven.
Patton smiled – like a shining sun, one that thankfully didn’t hurt to look at, as Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of it.
“Wow,” Remy laughed. “You’re... wow.”
“Wow,” Patton echoed.
People were probably staring at them – Toby included – but Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of Patton to check. Patton seemed to be doing similarly, his eyes slowly taking in every part of Remy’s body, before returning to his face, staring into his eyes.
Patton’s eyes were brown, like honey in the sunlight. Beautiful.
“It’s... it’s nice to finally meet you,” Patton said softly.
“Likewise.”
There was a beat.
“You are gorgeous,” Remy continued, the words coming out before he could stop himself. He almost regretted blurting it out, but then Patton’s face turned a particularly pretty shade of pink, and Remy immediately grinned.
Patton squeezed his hand. “You, too.”
“Oh, I know I’m hot, babe,” Remy said, making Patton giggle. “But you, you’re... you’re an angel. Like, damn, how the hell did I get so lucky? I must’ve done something really freaking amazing in a past life to have deserved you.”
“You’re even more of a flirt in person,” Patton smiled, a little teasingly.
Remy laughed. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I warned you.”
“You did,” Patton said, smiling fondly.
“Is it too soon to ask if I can kiss you?” Remy asked suddenly. His tone of voice was casual, like he was joking, but they both knew – Patton could probably sense – that he was serious.
Patton didn’t hesitate, answering quickly. “No. I mean, yes. I mean... no, it’s not too soon. Please?”
Remy didn’t waste any time, reaching forward, carefully cradling Patton’s face in his hand and kissing him gently. His lips were soft and warm and Remy never wanted to stop kissing him. Patton covered Remy’s hand with his own free one, kissing back a little clumsily, though it was without a doubt enthusiastic.
Then, he got a little too enthusiastic, and Remy tumbled backwards, pulling Patton along with him.
They broke apart, and after a moment of startled – slightly awkward – silence, they both started laughing loudly, and Patton climbed off of him. He finally stood up, holding out his hand and helping Remy up, too.
The pedestrians that had been watching them had mostly all moved on by now, leaving only Toby hovering awkwardly nearby. He had his phone out, trying to distract himself, give them some privacy, though he was undeniably still keeping an eye out. It wasn’t every day you saw a soulmate pair’s first meeting.
Remy took Patton’s hands in his own, looking him over again and again and again.
An idea came to him – not a new one, one he’d thought about and talked about and dreamed and daydreamed about a million times – and he grinned in a way that he could feel made Patton’s heart skip a beat.
“Remember how I said I wanted to kiss every freckle?"
#me#writing#sleepality#sanders sides#remy sanders#sleep sanders#patton sanders#mosleep#soulmate au#human au#sanders sides au#thomas sanders#roman sanders#logan sanders#emile picani#cartoon therapy#virmile#thomgan
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Midnight Boba [ Bokuto x Reader ]
⤔ request: danieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee will u right me smth abt boba and also bokuto working at a boba shoppp please hehe (jk u dont have to but id love it big smooches mwah)
⤔ a/n: i hope this is okay baby 💕
*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*
The sudden crash next to you startles you awake, forcing you to sit up in bed as you look around, disoriented.
For a few seconds, you’re completely lost. Having woken up so suddenly by such a loud noise made it a little harder to focus on your surroundings. Once you do, however, the problem is evident, and you find yourself shaking your head with a fond smile as you imagine the scene just outside your window.
You get up, watching where you’re stepping as you expertly avoid the small glass shards on the floor, the gentle breeze from your now-broken window helping your speeding heart relax. You lean down, picking up the large rock that sat in the middle of the broken glass, no doubt the culprit to the mess that is now your room.
Although thinking it through, the culprit is probably standing just outside in the dark, hands tugging on his hair as he desperately tries not to shout at – you glance at your clock – thirty past twelve at night, surely freaking out about his mistake. He’s probably trying to find the reason his plan hadn’t worked – had he not planned it long enough, when he thought about it all night? Had the rock been too big? Is he just incredibly strong? In the end, it doesn’t matter, because you’re making your way towards the window and looking outside, spotting a very dishevelled looking Bokuto. And as your eyes meet, he forgets trying to find the reason his plan failed, and instead loses himself looking at you.
You smile. It’s a gentle smile, if not a bit sheepish, but it doesn’t matter to him, because it is your smile. He returns it twice as strong, the usual happy grin forming on his lips, completely overpowering you and making you forget about the ruined window you’re looking out through. He looks embarrassed, regretful, and apologetic – above all else, however, he looks happy. All he wanted was to see you, the method is irrelevant.
With a number of over-the-top hand movements, your boyfriend manages to explain – well, something. He’s not exactly discreet or straight to the point, so you have a hard time following his rant just by his hands. You do, however, understand he’s calling you to go downstairs to meet him, so you press a finger to your lips in order to quiet him down and step aside, finally breaking eye contact.
You throw on whatever clothes you find lying around, not particularly interested in dressing fashionably so close to one in the morning, and grab a pair of sneakers to take downstairs. You tip toe through the house, making sure not to make too much noise in case you’ll wake someone up, and put on your shoes once you finally reach the front door. As quietly as the door will allow it, you step outside, the keys rattling as you drag them with you.
You had expected to be greeted from afar, but you certainly didn’t expect to be held tightly against someone the second you stepped foot outside of the door. His touch his gentle, it always has been, but he holds you as tightly as he can without pushing it too far, craving the proximity it holds. You have to stop yourself from giggling, instead wrapping your arms around him in return, never as tightly, but just as lovingly.
“I missed you.” He’s the first to speak, the words muffled against your skin from how he’s holding you, mumbled in a hurry, yet so clear to you. You tightened your arms around him in reaction to the sweet words, nodding your head in agreement. You missed him too, of course.
“It has only been a few hours, Ko.” You murmur sweetly in return, though you’re not sure why. Neither of you care about technicalities, too immersed in each other to care about waking up early tomorrow, about seeing each other in a few hours anyway, about having parted ways not even four hours ago. Perhaps you say it teasingly, pushing his buttons just a little, just enough to hear the whine against your skin, enough to have you smile.
He knows you’re right, of course, and he doesn’t take it personally. He does act accordingly to how he always does, however, making a big scene out of such a small fact. “And so what? I’m allowed to miss my baby, aren’t I? Did you not miss me?” He interrogates, and as you pull away to stare at him you notice the way his cheeks are ever so slightly puffed. You take notice of the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you, and of the way he doesn’t let go of your waist even after you’ve parted from your tight embrace.
You can’t resist. You chuckle, breathless and faint, more than used to his silly outbursts. You lean forward, brushing your lips together for a mere second before both your eyes close, and you lose yourself all over again as you kiss. It’s not long, it doesn’t have to be, small kisses that end and restart quickly, one chasing after the other once and waiting for the opposite next time, and that seems to work wonders to distract him for a minute. “I always miss you.”
He glows when you tell him that. It’s as if energy fills up his body completely, and all he can think about is you, and what he wants to do with you, and how he wants to keep you close for as long as possible in order to keep this feeling for as long as humanly possible. “Let’s go on a date!” He seems to have forgotten the time, because he has reverted back to talking in his usual tone. To be fair, you’re shocked he lasted more than a few seconds whispering.
“When?”
“Right now!”
He speaks like you’re silly for asking, and truthfully you do feel a bit foolish. After all, it’s Bokuto, it’s no surprise he’d want a date in the middle of the night. Just like it’s no surprise he came to your house and broke a window instead of using his phone to let you know he was outside. So you go along with it, nodding your head in agreement. And that’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s dragging you along, your fingers interlocked as you walk around the empty streets.
“You feel like having boba right now?”
That’s enough to have you laugh a little harder, though you’re still trying to stay as quiet as possible as you walk through the many houses on the street. His words are enough to have you recognise the path you’re taking, to the boba store he works at. It’s a part-time thing, a way to get a little more money, but he seems to think working there makes him an expert at making the drink. In reality, he’s just a server. You remember one time before the place opened he insisted you showed up to get a free drink, and you had both ended up having to clean the place in a hurry from the big mess he made.
“Why are you laughing? I can totally do it this time!”
You’re laughing again, but it’s by no means meant to be mocking. The memory makes you happy, and although cleaning had been extremely stressful since you were on a deadline, his presence had made it all worth it. It always does, really. “No reason. I’d love some.”
He beams, energised all over again. You can’t exactly remember when, but you’ve started running instead of walking. Well, he started running, and your interlocked hands make it so you have to chase after him. However, it’s not the hands that force a smile to spread across your lips – that’s just the aura he oozes, the bright happy glow surrounding him and slowly surrounding you as well, the warm feeling in your chest whenever you see him smile.
You eventually make it to the small shop, and after a few seconds of fumbling with the keys – probably from being overly excited – Bokuto manages to open the door, stepping inside and turning the lights on. You like seeing the shop like this, completely deserted, the only sounds being your footsteps echoing through the room, followed by a loud gasp from you.
Your boyfriend is insane, he has to be insane.
You glance away from the scene in front of you, instead glancing at him for any sort of explanation – but he’s just smiling, he’s just showing you the same big grin you’ve grown attached to, gesturing around towards the table as if your attention should be on it and not on the amazing person next to you.
It might be sleep deprivation, it might be the shock, but you feel like crying. Your legs don’t want to move, and yet somehow they do, both at the same time. The latter seems to win, and you catch yourself running towards your boyfriend, wrapping your arms tightly around him. For the first time in your relationship, you might be squeezing harder than he is.
“I told you; I missed you.”
You pinch his side in order to shut him up, but that only manages to push him further. He pulls back a little forcefully – not that he doesn’t like the embrace, but he really wants to see your face right now. His grin hasn’t been wiped off, you doubt it will be anytime soon, and he’s eagerly searching for any reaction. You grin widely, mirroring him, and glance back at the table again.
You don’t know when he had the time to prepare it, if he had done it himself or if he had asked someone for help. What you do know, however, is that somehow the two slices of cake are aligned perfectly with the table cloth, and that the flowers’ soft colours are the same shade as the two drinks next to the cake, and you can’t even begin to imagine the amount of effort, planning and dedication it must have taken him to surprise you like this.
He seems a little hesitant, seeing your wide eyes staring at the arrangement, so he starts fidgeting in his place. “Too much?”
“Just perfect.” You blurt out quickly, not letting him doubt himself for a second. You move enough to rest your forehead to his, noses brushing together as you do, and your eyes close, finding comfort in his embrace all over again. You smile for good measure just before you mumble again. “You’re perfect.”
That seems to calm him down, and you stay in the same spot for just a few seconds before dragging him towards the table, pulling the table for him to sit down. You laugh at the way this seems to offend him – not because he thinks it should be the other way around, but because he wants it to be the other way around.
Bokuto knows you spoil him. You take care of him, you help him through his bad times, you listen as he talks and talks about volleyball, as he rushes out his words, as he’s all over the place all the time, as he breaks your window and drags you down a few streets just because he misses you. So, in these moments, he wants to spoil you in return.
You jump in your seat as he starts playing some heavy metal song on his phone, and he seems to be startled as well, if the shriek he lets out is any indication. His phone gets thrown half way across the room – as if that would quiet down the noise – and he’s soon chasing after it, managing to pick the right playlist instead of whatever he just clicked on accident.
“That was part of the plan. I needed an excuse to come over here to get the candles.” He rushes out, and although he doesn’t expect you to believe it, you nod your head in understanding, agreeing to his silly story for the sake of making him happy. After a few minutes, he does manage to find a single candle, only to realise he didn’t bring any matches or a lighter.
It’s a little comical; such a romantic setting to the left, but your eyes are focused on the right as your boyfriend awkwardly – and very nervously, one might add – tries to light the candle with one of those oven lighters from the kitchen, managing after about three neverminds and four yells. And yet, somehow, it’s still romantic. Because it’s him. That’s just how he always will be.
When he comes back, you both chat a little, taking in this precious moment you have with each other. It doesn’t bother you when the clock strikes three in the morning, it doesn’t matter that you’ll not get a good night’s rest, it doesn’t even worry you that someone might notice you’re not home.
As you lie together on one of the small couches, barely fitting, having to hold onto each other for dear life, you conclude there’s no other place you’d rather be. There’s no clean room with no broken windows that would make you want to leave this place, that would make you forget this feeling.
He feels the same.
And if you aren’t sure, just in case, he turns to you in order to whisper it.
“Thank you for loving me, Y/N.”
*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*
taglist: @cleopatera ; @kunimi-bby ; @snazzieyama
#haikyuu!!#haikyuu#haikyū!!#hq#hq!!#bokuto#kotarou bokuto#kotaro bokuto#bokuto x reader#bokuto x yn#bokuto x you#bokuto fluff#bokuto imagine#bokuto scenario#fukurodani#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu imagine#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu scenario#haikyuu fluff
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